He looked over at her, surprised. “What?”
“You quit smoking six years ago. Bitched and moaned enough that folks in Screven County probably heard the news. So you brought me out here, away from my husband for something. What is it?”
“Feds called. They’ve gotten a bunch of calls on the hotline number. Most of them are useless, but one of them, a young girl, she called about Michael.”
Carolyn stiffened, her back leaving the white brick. “Michael? My brother?”
“Yeah. Only this girl didn’t call him Michael—she called him Ralph. The Amber Alert doesn’t say where Annie disappeared from, just says the vicinity of Savannah. So for this girl to call and mention Michael, it’s strange, you know?” He studied her face, sitting back against the hood of the closest car, an old black and white cruiser.
She clenched and unclenched her hands, taking measured breaths. “What did this girl say?”
“That he’s had a bunch of phone calls with her—sexual ones. That the calls always center on fantasies he has with a young girl. One named Annie.”
The world closed in on her with one black swoop that darkened her vision and had her legs collapsing beneath her. He stepped forward, caught her arms and pulled her to her feet. “Carolyn, Carolyn. Be strong. Stand up. I need you with me.”
She pushed against him, moving to the car and sitting on the hood, her hands shaking and gripping her dress, scrunching the fabric and then smoothing it out. “Jesus.”
“The call might be bogus. Could be some girl with a grudge. Do you think … do you know anything about him that we need to know? About his sexual preferences?
She shook her head rapidly. “I don’t know. I was older … he never … not that I ever knew. No. I would never suspect Michael of that. Never. Christ, he’s spent time with her. Alone! It can’t—”
“Carolyn.” His voice was strong, and she held on to it with all of her remaining sanity. “It could be nothing. Don’t worry just yet. But we have to check it out. You know that. It’s nothing against you or your family—”
“Enough!” She jerked to her feet, surprising him, and he took a step back. She held up a hand. “Don’t insult me, John. Annie is the focus here. I could give two shits about any inconvenience or offense that is put on my family. If Michael is responsible for this, I’ll be the only person you’ll need to arrest, because I will kill him myself. And I mean that, with every fiber of my being.”
CHAPTER 45
Jeremy is above me, his handsome face intense, worshipping me with his eyes. I arch my back, offering myself, and he groans, lowering his head. He takes me into his soft mouth. His rough hands caress and squeeze my br**sts, pushing them up and into his mouth as he moves from side to side, breast to breast, driving me crazy with his lips and tongue.
I am wet, incredibly ready and wanting, the need throbbing between my legs so strongly—more than I have ever experienced. His touch, masculinity, the breath on my skin—all sensations my body has forgotten, every experience magnified by my time away. I moan, pulling him to me, his hand traveling down. The incredible sound of a zipper reaches my ears.
I wake up, real life bombarding my senses all at once. I gasp, shocked into reality, my subconscious trying to understand the strange setting, sideways, dark truck, a rest stop parking lot.
Asleep. My head nodding, I had fought sleep for over twenty miles, blaring music and rolling down the windows. It hadn’t worked, the truck veering off the highway twice before I pulled into a rest stop and set my phone timer to fifteen minutes, hoping to recharge in that short length of time. Sleep had come instantly, my eyes closing as soon as I had pressed Start on the timer. And dreamed of Jeremy. It was my first dream in a long time that hadn’t involved mayhem and blood. Dr. Derek will be pleased. I roll my neck and start the truck, watching the dash as it comes to life.
The first thing I notice is that Jeremy’s truck is low on gas, the fuel warning light illuminated. I glance at the dashboard clock. 11:46 p.m. I have slept for about fifteen minutes. I look at the GPS, doing calculations in my head. Getting back on the road now, I will arrive at about six in the morning. According to all of Mike’s updates, and the limited chatter on the police scanner, Ralph is down for the evening, and they are going to watch him all night. I assume he’ll head for Annie in the morning, if he hasn’t killed her already. If I can get there quick enough, I can have her out of harm’s way in time. I press on the GPS’s screen, looking for the next exit with a gas station. There is only one option, a gas station seventeen miles away. I cross my fingers and hope that it will still be open.
The station is pathetic and rundown, sitting alone at the exit, the flickering white lights announcing its availability. I pay at the pump, swiping my card and reaching for the handle, suddenly aware of the emptiness surrounding me. I look over my shoulder to find the clerk eyeing me, acne-covered skin surrounding beady eyes and a grinning mouth. Great. I hear the gas topping off and loosen my hold on the pump, watching the number slide past fourteen gallons before the pump clicks in my hand. I squeeze a little more into the tank, hearing the slosh of petroleum topping off, then withdraw the pump. I open the truck, hitting the lock button, my eyes on the black duffel that contains the gun and my cash. I have a moment of indecision, but then shut the door, striding for the convenience store, my eyes conscious of the surrounding emptiness, my good ear tuning to the ominous quiet of the lot. My tennis shoes crunch loudly on rough pavement.
I open the advertisement-riddled door, revealing a small, crowded store, the floors sticky and dark, the air stale. I glance at the fruit basket next to the lotto counter, the bananas browning and oranges hardened. I grab an apple, the skin too soft to be good, and move down the first aisle, snagging some peanuts and bottles of orange and apple juice. I avoid the eyes of the clerk, feeling his presence, even in the farthest reaches of the store. I duck into the bathroom, setting my items on the floor outside, finding no good place to put the apple, and finally carry it into the restroom with me, chucking it into the trash. I shut the door and lock it, squatting over the filthy toilet and trying not to pee on too much of the seat. I relax, the pressure on my bladder lessening, the relief wonderful. My eyes catch movement and focus, watching the handle twitch slightly, just once, and then return to place. The bastard is trying the door. I rip off a wad of tissue, wipe and yank my pants up, my mind realizing the next step before my thoughts do. A key. He’d have a …