Fatal Exposure

chapter 14



Taking the wheel this time, Parker sped toward the mountains of western Maryland, every passing minute like the countdown on a ticking bomb. They never should have stopped at Hoffman’s house. Not only had they squandered valuable minutes, making it harder to find that girl, but it had forced Brynn to confront her past, witnessing that shed where she’d been abused.

He thinned his lips, wanting to get his hands on Hoffman so badly he’d started to shake. But the cold truth was that he needed help. Even if he hunted down Hoffman, he couldn’t bring him in alone. He was out of his jurisdiction. He had no authority here—assuming he still had his badge. And with a hostage involved, Parker couldn’t afford to make a mistake. He needed to call in the FBI, get a hostage rescue team on scene to liberate that girl.

But Guerrero still hadn’t answered his calls.

Hissing in frustration, Parker stomped on the gas pedal and flew past a semi crawling up the hill. By rights he should contact his supervisor and follow the chain of command. But since he couldn’t trust Delgado, he’d have to bypass the chain completely and go straight to the one person he knew he could trust.

Terry “The Terror” Lewis. The woman who’d brought down his father. The woman who was out to get him.

Wishing he had another option, he exited the interstate, then barreled down the two-lane highway toward the mountains at breakneck speed. But as much as he disliked the older woman, he knew he had no choice. Lieutenant Lewis was a straight shooter. She didn’t play office politics, didn’t care who she offended in her pursuit of the truth. He could depend on her to do her duty, regardless of Hoffman’s rank. It galled him to have to ask her—he’d be confirming every bad suspicion about him she’d had—but she was their only hope.

“I need you to look up a number for me,” he told Brynn, handing her the phone. “Terry Lewis. She lives in Baltimore. But you’ll have to hurry. We’re going to lose our signal in a few more miles.”

She shot him a worried glance. “Who is she?”

“A cop. We go way back.” And not in a happy way. “I think we can trust her to help.”

He hoped. Because if he’d guessed wrongly, the mistake could cost them their lives.

* * *

Half an hour later, they bumped down the dirt road leading to the farmhouse at the edge of High Rock Camp. The dense woods crowded around them. Low-hanging branches grabbed at the car, blotting out the star-filled sky. Reduced to a crawl, they jolted through ruts and potholes, the ominous scrapes as the car hit bottom adding to Parker’s nerves.

Lieutenant Lewis had agreed to help them. But she’d needed time to contact the local and federal authorities and get teams into place at the camp. She’d instructed Parker to head to the farmhouse, then wait for help to arrive. Under no circumstances was he to act alone.

The car crunched over branches and pinecones. Parker jerked the wheel to avoid a pothole, wincing when the tailpipe dragged. “You see any tire tracks?”

Brynn braced her hands on the dashboard and leaned closer to the windshield to see. “No, not yet. There’s too much brush.”

“I know.” It didn’t look as if a car had come this way in years. But Hoffman had to be here. He wouldn’t have used the main office. There wasn’t enough privacy there. And the cabins were too close together, not offering enough seclusion when the camp was filled with kids. He needed an isolated place where he could come and go without being observed. But he also needed electricity to run his computer. And since Erin Walker had died at the lookout tower, the farmhouse was the likely choice.

They bounced crazily through another pothole, barely clearing a jagged rock. Then suddenly, the headlights stalled on a fallen tree blocking the road. He hit the brakes and swore. The pine tree was enormous, at least several feet in diameter, far too big to budge. And brush grew over the trunk, indicating it had lain undisturbed for years.

There was no way Hoffman could have driven down this road. They were heading on a senseless wild-goose chase, wasting precious time. But Hoffman had to be here. Erin Walker had died at the lookout tower with that necklace on. Where else could he have gone?

“We’ll have to go the rest of the way on foot,” he decided, cutting the engine. “Any chance there’s a flashlight in the glove compartment?”

Brynn opened it, then shook her head. “Check the trunk. Haley doesn’t go anywhere without emergency supplies.”

He popped the trunk and climbed out, then waded through the knee-high weeds around the car. As Brynn had predicted, there was a cardboard box inside containing survival supplies—a first-aid kit and blanket, a flashlight and boxes of food. An innate sense of caution or a legacy from life on the run?

Regardless, he appreciated her foresight. He grabbed the flashlight and flicked it on, then propped it against the box. He pulled out his sidearm and checked the rounds, then slid it back into his holster, making sure nothing would impede his draw.

Brynn joined him at the trunk, shivering hard in the frigid air. But it was the worry in her eyes that made his heart contract. This wasn’t a game. Hoffman was armed and dangerous. If he felt threatened, he’d kill them both.

“We’re not going near him,” he warned her. “We’re just going to find out where he is, then wait. When the hostage team gets here, they’ll rescue the girl and bring him down.”

“I know.”

“I mean it, Brynn. We can’t risk doing anything to harm that girl. You have to stay out of the way.”

“I said I would.”

Right. Like when she’d thrown that bottle at the gang member. Determined to convince her, he strode to her side. He gently gripped her shoulders, intending to read her the riot act. But the soft feel of her rocked his senses. Her alluring scent went straight to his head. And instead of arguing his point, a jumble of emotions muddled his thoughts—panic over her safety, guilt over his deception, fury over the torture she’d endured.

Unable to resist, he pulled her into his arms. Suddenly needing to kiss her, he slid his lips over hers, relishing her warmth, her taste, giving vent to a deluge of emotions he couldn’t express—fear, tenderness, love.

He loved her. He ended the kiss and pulled back, poleaxed at the thought. But it was true. He didn’t know when it had happened, but he had fallen head over heels in love with this amazing woman.

And his timing couldn’t be any worse.

“We’d better go,” she said.

“Yeah.” Swearing at his predicament, he picked up the flashlight and closed the trunk. He helped her over the fallen tree trunk, then led the way down the overgrown trail, trying to stifle his unruly thoughts. Right now he had to concentrate on Hoffman. He’d worry about his future with Brynn later, once they’d rescued that runaway girl.

The flashlight bobbed over the ground. Dried leaves crackled under their feet as they hiked along. The road turned even wilder, more downed trees and branches sprawling across their path, more proof that a car hadn’t driven this way in years.

A few minutes later, the farmhouse loomed into view, and his hopes tanked even more. The house was completely dark. The roof had partially caved in. Even the chimney had collapsed, littering stones across the ground. A huge tree grew through the sagging porch.

Still, he circled the perimeter, crawling through the bushes and weeds. Finally he shone the flashlight through a broken window, but there was no sign anyone had used it in decades, aside from squirrels and mice.

“He can’t be here,” Brynn murmured.

“I know.” So where had he gone? “Give me a minute. I’ll go inside and make sure.”

He climbed the rickety porch steps, the boards protesting under his weight, and worked his way to the door. He checked the rooms on the bottom floor, then climbed the narrow staircase and flashed his light around. But every room had the same peeling wallpaper, moldy, water-stained ceilings and piles of trash.

A minute later, he rejoined Brynn outside. “You’re sure he wouldn’t have used the cabins near the office?” Puffs of frost accompanied his words.

“I’m sure. He needs somewhere private where no one will hear the noise.”

His belly tensed, that unhinged feeling threatening to overwhelm him at the thought of the torture she’d endured. But he couldn’t go there yet. He had to stay in control until he had Hoffman in his sights.

And then he’d make sure that bastard paid.

“Let’s try the lookout tower.” He knew he was grasping at straws. The detectives who’d investigated Erin Walker’s death would have searched the area, taking note of anything odd. Still, Erin had gone there for a reason. And what other option did they have?

Aware that time was dwindling quickly, he took the lead, trying to envision the camp’s layout in his mind. Hoffman couldn’t have gone to the lake. That campsite was too far away, without an easy way in. They’d already discounted the office, cabins and farmhouse. So where had he taken that girl?

Dodging a decaying tree stump, he tried to reason this out. The night Erin Walker had died, Hoffman had attended a reception in D.C. He’d been present for the senator’s speech, which had ended by ten o’clock. The camp was an hour and a quarter from the hotel, maybe more, so Hoffman couldn’t have arrived before eleven. And since the autopsy put Erin’s death around midnight, that gave Hoffman less than an hour to do his work.

So Erin couldn’t have run very far. Hoffman must have a private place, not far from the lookout tower. But where?

An owl hooted in the night. The cold wind blew, making the pine boughs moan. Parker glanced back at Brynn, glad she was keeping up. They were quickly running out of time.

They reached a clearing a moment later, and the old fire lookout tower loomed into view. Parker came to a halt and studied the wooden structure; the full moon cast it in an eerie glow.

“I’ll climb up,” Brynn whispered from beside him.

“Not with your bad arm. You wait here, and I’ll go.”

He handed her the flashlight, then jogged across the clearing to the tower and started up. But as he scaled the steep, wooden steps—the same five flights Erin Walker had climbed that fateful night—his doubts about the case increased. Why had she climbed this tower? Had it been a result of the drugs? Meth users sometimes experienced delusions of superhuman power, causing them to risk their lives. Or had she been fleeing Hoffman in terror, so desperate to escape him that she’d decided to risk the tower—and then jumped or plunged to her death?

He reached the top of the stairs. His breathing labored, he strode across the platform and peered inside the room. Empty. And with every passing moment, their hopes of finding that girl unharmed dwindled even more.

He strode back onto the platform, then scowled at the inky woods. Moonlight dusted the treetops. Stars glittered across the sky, their beauty lost to his mounting fear. He couldn’t fail that child. He couldn’t fail Brynn. Because this was it. If he didn’t prove Hoffman’s guilt tonight, he wouldn’t get another chance. Hoffman would destroy any evidence. Terry Lewis would turn Parker over to Hoffman, leaving Brynn unprotected. And she’d pay the ultimate price.

Knowing there had to be a clue he’d missed, he shoved his hand through his hair. Erin Walker had left her cabin. She’d run to this lookout tower, crossing the river somewhere—proven by her wet shoes. But why? He still couldn’t see a child that age making a trek like that through the woods at night.

Unless she hadn’t walked all the way. Maybe Hoffman had picked her up. Then he’d driven her to a closer point, somewhere not too far from the tower. With the surveillance cameras down, no one would have seen them leave the cabin. But where had he taken the child?

Frowning, he pictured the map with the river running east to west. But there’d been another creek on that map, a tiny thread running north to south where the rafts and canoes were stored.

His heart thudding, he turned to the north and stared into the dark. And suddenly he saw a flash of light. He blinked, certain he’d imagined it, then looked again. It was gone.

His pulse began to race. He looked away, letting his eyes drift over the woods, then jerked his gaze north again. There it was. A faint light flickering behind the swaying trees, a half a mile or more due north.

His hopes leaping, he rushed down the steps and rejoined Brynn. “Come on, I saw a light. About half a mile from here. We need to run.”

He set out at a jog, crashing through the undergrowth, not worrying about making noise. They had to hurry. They’d already delayed too long. And backup was still minutes away.

He zigzagged through the trees, ducking under branches, then hurtled over logs and vines. Brynn kept pace, her breath rasping as they rushed along, despite her wounded arm.

Suddenly, the sound of rushing water increased. Parker slowed and shone his flashlight ahead. They’d reached the creek. He stopped on the bank, then studied the water rushing by. It was a dozen feet wide, probably a few feet deep.

“Up there,” Brynn said, pointing upstream. “We can go across those rocks.”

“I’ll go first, then help you across.” He jumped across the stones to the opposite shore. Brynn followed a moment later, gasping when he took hold of her injured arm. “You okay?” he asked.

“It’s just my shoulder.”

“We’ll get it looked at later.”

Her eyes met his in the moonlight, and he could guess what she was thinking, that they might not survive the night. “Don’t worry. We’re going to get him.”

“I know. But we’d better hurry.”

Returning his mind to Hoffman, he started jogging again. A few yards later they reached a trail. It wasn’t much bigger than a deer path, narrow and bumpy with tree roots, but it was the first sign of civilization they’d seen.

His heart began to drum. The trail widened and turned. And then he glimpsed a light through the trees.

He came to stop, throwing his arm out to keep Brynn back. “Quiet,” he warned her. He turned off the flashlight, then crept to the edge of a clearing. In the center was Hoffman’s car. So there had been another road in. It just hadn’t appeared on the map.

He ducked behind a tree, thinking hard. Brynn stood close behind him, her breath rasping in his ear. There were two log cabins and a toolshed, similar to the one at Hoffman’s house. The lights were on in both.

He checked his watch. Within minutes Terry Lewis would be arriving at the farmhouse. But there’d been no way to leave a note, no way to tell her where they’d gone. For now they were on their own.

He tucked the flashlight into his pocket and pulled out his sidearm. “Stay behind me,” he murmured. Then he led the way toward the nearest cabin, the faint glow flickering through the window guiding the way. He ducked below the window, waited for Brynn to join him, then rose and peeked inside. He scanned the bunk beds along the wall, the dresser and corner desk. The computer on top of the desk was on, its soft glow illuminating the room. But Hoffman was nowhere in sight.

“Wait here.” His nerves stretched tight, he climbed the steps to the door. Then he nudged it open and stepped inside. No one was there. He went to the desk and searched the drawers, unearthing a pedophile’s treasure trove—computer disks, photos of naked children, magazines. In the bottom desk drawer was a cache of necklaces, all bearing that hand-engraved heart design.

They’d found their proof—enough to put Hoffman away for good. But they had to find him first.

He forced in a calming breath, the need to exact vengeance riding him hard. Then he hurried through the door and rounded the building.

But Brynn was gone.