The Abducted Book 0 (2 page)

Lang raised his hand in a reassuring
gesture.
“No, no. Don’t worry about it. I’m fine
observing for now, Sergeant.”

The cruiser sped through a long curve,
flanked by palmetto bushes on both sides, and came up suddenly on a
slow-moving blue station wagon, right in their path. The
double-yellow lines said enough: don
’t pass. Not
wanting to act reckless around the rookie, Miriam slowed as they
got closer to the Buick’s wood-paneled hatchback.

“
Sometimes you just have to turn your
lights on to get them out of the way,” she said with a
laugh.

Deputy Lang took off his sunglasses
and squinted ahead. Something wasn
’t right. “Looks
like they have a taillight out.”

Miriam sighed under her breath. The
station wagon wasn
’t going a mile over
forty-five—usually the case on the open road. On closer inspection,
Lang was right. The Buick’s left taillight was out.

“
What do you say, Deputy?” Miriam
asked. “It’s your call.”

Lang cleared his throat.
“I know we’re wanted at the salvage yard, but we could take a
moment just to let the driver know.” He waited silently for
Miriam’s approval. She found it endearing.

“
Good call. That’s what we’re here
for.” She raised her hand to the ceiling console and flipped on the
flashing lights, absent the siren. Through the window of the
hatchback, they could see the silhouetted driver look into her
rearview mirror. It looked like a woman. The car slowed and drifted
to a halt on the shoulder as they followed, stopping. Deputy Lang
grabbed his handle to open the door. Miriam stopped him. “Hold on,
now. Let’s run the plates first.”

“
Right, of course,” Lang said,
embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn’t want to hold us up.”

“
Good policing takes time,” Miriam
said. “Don’t worry about it.”

Lang nodded and waited as Miriam
checked the license plate database on the laptop. Green text
appeared on the screen listing the owner
’s
registration information, not far from where she lived herself.
“Car is registered to Betsy Judith Cole. Fifty-four years old.
Lives on 2438 Woodshire Drive. About ten miles from
here.”

“
So she’s local?” Lang
asked.

“
Sure is,” Miriam said. “So that’s
good. Go ahead and take care of it.”

Lang placed his sunglasses on,
smiling.
“Will do.” He opened his door and stepped out
as Miriam sent the vehicle information back to headquarters. She
looked up and called out to Lang before he shut the door. He
stopped and turned around. “Yes, Sergeant?”

“
Nothing fancy. Get her license and
registration. We’ll run another check, tell her about the
taillight, and drive on.”

“
Unless we find multiple warrants on
her,” Lang said, smiling.

Miriam shrugged.
“Never
know around here.”

Lang closed the door and walked around
to the front of the cruiser as blue and red siren lights continued
to flash. Miriam watched with a smile as Deputy Lang approached the
Buick
’s driver’s side. He was young. Twenty-five, she
believed. He was polite and eager to learn. His attitude made her
feel good about her job—a job largely responsible for the decline
of her marriage. Deputy Lang walked with a confident stride in his
black short-sleeved uniform. His gun and radio were at his hips. He
was thin and fit. His short dirty-blond hair freshly trimmed—a
model rookie officer. Miriam had to admit, she liked him. As a
colleague of the law, of course.

She watched carefully as he made his
way to the window, instructing the driver to roll it down.
Suddenly, her iPhone vibrated on the dashboard. She grabbed it and
typed her PIN. There was a text from Ana asking when she was going
to get home. It was Friday, and Ana wanted to order pizza. The
request warmed Miriam
’s heart. It had been a while
since her daughter asked to hang out with her. She feared by high
school, it would only get worse.

Wanted 2 have some friends
over & watch a movie,
Ana said in her
text.

Miriam felt deflated.
Oh. I
’ll be home soon
and we’ll order it then
,
she
typed.

Just as she pressed send, a gunshot blasted.
Her head jolted up. Deputy Lang collapsed onto the pavement. The
Buick engine roared and jerked into motion, peeling out. Miriam was
in complete shock, but somehow her mind and body kicked into
motion. She grabbed the hand mic, shouting into it.

“
Code eight! Code eight! We have an
officer down on Route Forty-four! I repeat, officer
down!”

She tossed the mic to the side and jumped
out, reaching for the pistol at her waist. The Buick spewed exhaust
as it sped off, pebbles flying in the air. She raised her pistol
and fired three steady shots, traveling straight through the back
window. The Buick was undeterred and continued on, too far out of
firing range. Lang lay motionless on his back two feet from where
Miriam stood. Her face was pale with sickness. She fell to her
knees by his side and looked at him as tears streamed from her
eyes.

“
Deputy Lang! Speak to me!” She could
see the hole in his left cheek and the blood pouring from his
nose.

She grabbed his wrist, trying to control her
own breathing, and felt for a pulse. There was nothing. No
breathing. No pulse. Not the slightest sign of life. It was
impossible. There was no way.

Her mind raced as the stench of the Buick’s
exhaust settled over her like dust. She placed a hand over Lang’s
chest as more tears flowed from her eyes. Lang’s face was already
turning blue. She wiped her face as her mind kicked into high gear.
There was only one thing left to do, and it didn’t involve waiting
for backup.

She stood and sprinted to her patrol car,
pistol in hand, as the lights continued flashing. She swung the
door open and threw herself inside. She turned the ignition, put
the car in drive, and floored it as the door flung closed.

“
Dispatch, I need immediate air
support!” she shouted into the mic. “Suspect is fleeing. Currently
in hot pursuit.”

The sight of Deputy
Lang
’s lifeless body in the rearview mirror saddened
and sickened her. The only hope she had was that she might find the
shooter and bring him to justice. The cruiser raced down the barren
road at its highest RPMs. She was clocking over one hundred on the
speedometer. She could see dust ahead as though the Buick wasn’t
far off. She looked for taillights, brake lights, anything that
would indicate the shooter.

“
Where’s that backup?” she
said.

“
Bravo Twelve, backup is
on the way,”
the female dispatcher said.

The cruiser raced ahead as the road became
one long, straight line, flashing by in a vortex with no sign of
the Buick. There was no way they could have vanished like that. She
pressed on as chatter came over the radio, other officers telling
her they were on their way. The mood coming over the airwaves was
tense. No one was sure yet exactly what had happened.

Miriam couldn
’t say
herself. Her partner had been shot. All she knew was that she had
to catch the car before the shooter got away.

Crime Scene

In her five years on the force, Miriam had
never witnessed a police shooting within the department. It was new
territory for her. She raced down the cracked and faded two-lane
road, squeezing the steering wheel with fierce intensity.

Chatter from a dozen different
officers consumed the dispatch radio. They wanted answers. Her
siren blared at its loudest pitch as the lights flashed wildly. She
wasn
’t going to let the shooter get away. The yellow
lines in the road flashed by in a rapid blur as she pushed the car
to its limit.

With her eyes locked on the road, she
grabbed the hand mic. Her hand trembled as she shouted.
“Where’s that chopper, damn it?”

“
Air support en route.
ETA, five minutes.”

She could hear a faint
aerial rumble closing in, hoping that it wasn’t too late to
find the fleeing suspect. The barren road sharply curved to the
right. She slowed as the tires screeched against the rough
pavement, and the heat shield around the exhaust rattled as though
it were coming loose. The helicopter was getting louder and closer.
There was still hope, and then, after three miles of intense
pursuit, she saw it—the blue Buick station wagon—parked to the side
of the road, sitting on the grass and slanted on a sloping
shoulder.

“
Vehicle in sight. I repeat, vehicle
in sight!” she said into the hand mic. A blue-and-white police
helicopter flew overhead from the distance.

“
Zeroing in on your
location,”
the pilot’s
voice said
back.

She slammed the brakes as the station
wagon came into view, parked on the side of the road. She skidded
to the side and into the grass, stopping right in front of the
Buick. She jumped out and went down on one knee,
holding her pistol up. She remained crouched down and
approached the Buick with her gun in the air. No one was inside the
car. It appeared to have been abandoned.

She looked around: nothing but trees and
palmetto brush as far as she could see on both sides of the road.
It was the perfect sanctuary for anyone to flee into. The
helicopter was low and circling. They had to have seen something.
She pulled out her handheld radio from her side belt and spoke into
it.

“
This is Sergeant Castillo. Suspect is
not in the car. Preparing to engage on foot.”

She carefully circled the station wagon,
breathing heavily. Adrenaline pumped through her veins. Beads of
sweat covered her forehead, collecting just below her hairline. The
shooter could only have gone so many ways. She examined the ground
near the car, looking for footprints leading into the woods.
Nothing looked disturbed, and the fact that the car had been so
easily and quickly abandoned had her doubting that
fifty-four-year-old Betsy Cole was the culprit.

“
Sergeant Castillo, we
need you back at the scene. We’ve got an officer down here,”
said
a voice through her radio speaker. She
recognized the voice. It was her commanding officer, Captain
Porter.

“
Sir. I am in pursuit of the suspect
right now!” she said, ready to storm into the marshy forest to her
side.

“
We’re assembling a
pursuit team. If you’re at the vehicle, suspect couldn’t have gone
too far. Now—”

She turned the radio off mid-sentence.
He
’d be upset with her, but she didn’t care. The
helicopter was circling the area, aimlessly it seemed.

“
Where are you, you son of a bitch?”
Miriam said under her breath.

She headed into the forest, swiping at
branches and palmetto bushes lined up like crops. She held her gun
up, ready to put a bullet into the shooter’s head. Sticks and
leaves crackled under her boots. Sunlight flashed through trees as
sharp, green palmetto leaves poked her legs. She continued on,
pushing her way through the brush, sweaty and exhausted.

She looked up as the helicopter flew
past, hoping it would land, but it flew off instead.
There was no going any farther. She was already in the thick
of it with nothing to show. She turned back and trudged her way
through the brush, keeping a keen eye out for anything that
moved.

By the time she emerged from the woods,
there were ten police vehicles already parked along the road. Blue
and red flashing lights reflected against the windows of the empty
Buick. She approached a group of officers huddled by her patrol
car, oblivious to the dirt and tear streaks covering her face.

“
The car’s stolen,” she said as they
looked at her, startled.

“
What was that, Sergeant Castillo?”
O’Leary, an older but boyish-looking detective, asked from the
group.

“
The car. I’m certain it was stolen…”
she said, dazed. She tripped and nearly fell against the hood
before O’Leary caught her. The other officers backed
away.

“
Easy there, Sergeant,” he said.
“Looks like you’ve been through enough already.”

Miriam regained her balance and gently
pushed O’Leary away.
“I’m all right. We don’t have
much time. We have to find the shooter.”

“
And we will,” he said calmly. He
turned to his own unmarked cruiser, a gray Ford Taurus. “Let’s go
back to the scene now so you can explain exactly what happened. The
captain is waiting.”

Miriam hesitated, looking around.
O’Leary put a hand on her shoulder.
“Whoever did this
is not getting far. We’re mobilizing the entire department. Might
even get other counties involved in this too.”

“
Okay,” Miriam said, giving in. “Let’s
go.”

She followed him back to his car, stepped
into the passenger seat, and closed the door. O’Leary backed his
car out and sped off, back to where the nightmare started.

Cop cars zoomed past them going the
other way, their sirens shrieking. Miriam wasn
’t sure
how much time had passed since the moment she heard the gunshot.
Everything after that—the car chase, the foot pursuit through the
thick brush—was a blur. It was impossible to think that the shooter
could just vanish like that. She hoped Detective O’Leary was right.
She hoped with more than twenty police officers on the ground, they
could find him.