“You have to sit down,” she said quietly.
“I can’t. What if he’s there?”
“Be backup.”
They drew their guns. She was surprised her hands weren’t shaking, although every hair on her body seemed to be tingling.
Holding her gun with both hands, she cautiously approached the structure. Booker motioned for her to go one way and he’d take the other. She pointed to the window. He nodded, and she squatted beneath it, trying to keep her breathing under control. She was almost gasping, her fear bubbling to the surface.
Not now. Please, not now. Ashley’s life depended on her. If she failed…
No. She couldn’t, wouldn’t fail.
Slowly, she peered into the room. As her eyes adjusted to the near dark of the cabin, she saw a naked woman tied on a filthy mattress in the middle of the floor. Her blonde hair looked dark from dirt and blood.
The pain, the anger, the humiliation came flooding back, overwhelmed her, and she sank to her knees. Oh, God, why? Why did you create such a monster?
It wasn’t Sharon, it was Ashley. And Ashley needed her.
What if she was already dead?
Miranda took a deep breath and stood, looking through the window again. As she watched, she saw the rise and fall of the woman’s chest. She was alive. Maybe there was a God after all.
Then Miranda realized Ashley wasn’t alone.
Miranda was ready to shoot the man through the window. He was lying next to Ashley as if basking in the afterglow of sex. She’d shoot him and cut off his balls and stuff them down his throat. Hate and rage filled her and she lifted her gun.
She paused when she saw a glint of metal. She tried to see the man’s face, but couldn’t. He was restrained, tied with rope, his hands and feet bound behind his back.
The body was familiar. Dark hair. Beige shirt.
Nick.
He was alive!
CHAPTER 31
Miranda rushed around the side of the shack. Damn, the door was chained.
She pounded on the door. “Nick! Nick it’s Miranda! I’m going to shoot off this lock and get you out of there.”
She heard a faint voice but couldn’t make out what he said. Ashley cried out, a cross between pain and joy.
“Booker! Where are you?” Miranda glanced from side to side, but didn’t see him.
“Here.” His voice came from the other side of the cabin, faint. She feared his injuries were worse than he’d let on.
“Nick’s inside the shack with Ashley. I’m going to get them out. Larsen is nowhere in sight, but keep a lookout.”
Silence.
“Lance? Are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine. I just need a minute.”
Dammit, now she had two seriously injured cops and a civilian. First things first: free Nick and Ashley. Then she could figure out a way to get them all out of here.
She aimed her gun at the lock. It took two bullets to bust it, then she kicked open the door.
The stench of blood, violent sex, and human waste filled her senses, sickening and familiar. She gagged and turned her head. She and Sharon had lived in such filth.
She froze. She wanted to go in, make sure Nick was okay. But her feet felt filled with lead, embedded in cement, and the harder she tried to make them move, the heavier they became.
Her body trembled. Just the thought of crossing the threshold of the shrinking space numbed her. Slowly, her peripheral vision closed in.
She fell to her knees.
“Miranda?”
Nick’s voice. Gruff and raw.
“Miranda!” Still raw, but commanding.
“Nick. I-” She took a deep breath. She was going to hyperventilate if she wasn’t careful.
“I need you. Ashley needs you. Get in here. He’s going to return.”
After all these years, the Butcher would defeat her. He made her claustrophobic. He gave her fear.
“I. Can’t.”
“You can, Miranda. I know you. I trust you. Take a deep breath.” He sputtered and coughed, struggling to get the words out. “You can do it,” he said, ending on a gasp of air.
She could, couldn’t she? She could overcome her fear. She had to. For Nick. For everything he’d done for her, for his support and encouragement and friendship. She hadn’t come this far to fail.
And she loved him. She could see it so clearly now, the difference between Nick and Quinn. She loved them both. She hadn’t realized that before. But she could love two men. One as her lover. The other as her brother.
She took another deep breath and forced herself to enter the shrinking room. The walls started to cave in around her, each step drawing them closer. Her chest tightened. She had no air. No air.
Shaking, she reached for the ropes that bound Nick. Her fingers struggled with the elaborate knots. The walls reached out, grabbing for her.
“Miranda.” His voice was raw.
“I’m getting you out of here.” Her voice sounded weak and her body trembled. She focused on the knots. If she simply worked on them she could forget the shrinking walls, the foul stench, the memories of violence. She had to. For Nick. For Ashley.
For herself.
“Forget me. Get Ashley out of here. Send someone back for me.”
“I can’t. Nick, the Butcher is David Larsen. Delilah Parker’s brother. The police can’t find him, but he was seen near here. I can’t leave you, he’ll be back tonight.” Or sooner.
“I don’t think I can make it,” Nick said, his voice strained.
“I’ll never leave you.” She swallowed her fear, the shame that she would fail, and worked the knots so she wouldn’t think about how much smaller the room had become since she’d entered. “We thought you were dead.”
“I made a mistake.”
“You can tell me all about it later,” she said.
Dammit, the knots were too complicated and tight! Her knife. Why hadn’t she thought of it first? Her mind was going. The room was stifling. Sweat poured from her face, her body saturated in her own panic.
If she didn’t pull herself together, Ashley and Nick would die. And if she didn’t find a way out of this, she and Lance Booker would join them.
But there was safety in numbers. Four against one, even if three of the four were in less than prime condition.
