The ride to the firing range was one of the longest rides of his life. It seemed the general didn’t have much more information beyond what he’d said. Lydia had disappeared while she was at the firing range with Briggs.
The general’s SUV skidded to a halt behind another black SUV. Briggs was bent down, studying the gravel. Rick jumped from the SUV. “What the hell happened?”
Briggs stood up and pointed to the ground. “She was taken, and by the looks of it, he dragged her.” He walked about two feet away. “To about here and then there are nothing but tire tracks.”
Rick’s heart sank into a pit of despair. He glanced around at the wooded area, unsure how they were even going to find her without some sort of trail. Brody put his palm on Rick’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll get her back.”
Rick closed his eyes and said a prayer that Brody was right. A man in camouflage pushed open the door from inside the establishment. “General, you need to come take a look at this.”
Brody patted his shoulder. “See? We already have a lead.”
They all filed in behind the general to a cramped room behind the counter. The room looked out of place from what the array of guns he’d seen coming through the entrance. The room was on the high-tech side for a normal business owner. Two monitors lined the walls, showing everyone that came and went. Lydia, with her palms on the SUV, filled the paused screen.
Rick’s heart sped up at the vision in front of his eyes. She looked paler than normal. She looked as if she might be sick. He couldn’t take his gaze off the screen. He was riveted to it as though it were the last time he’d ever see her.
“Hit play in slow motion.”
Lydia looked up into the sky, her chest rising and falling as she let the sun absorb into her skin. A dark-haired man in blue jeans and a black sweater approached her from behind. He shoved a cloth in his hand over her face.
The general looked on in disapproval. One arm across his chest and his other elbow propped against it. He rubbed at the stubble on his face, “Must have been chloroform.”
Rick nodded. That was his conclusion too. He watched as Lydia’s hand went up to the hand around her mouth, trying to push it away before all of her limbs went limp.
Brody pointed to the screen. “Who the hell is he? That’s not Floyd. He doesn’t look anything like the sketch we have and he wouldn’t have resorted to using chloroform on her.”
The general nodded. “I agree.”
“It’s not.” Rick chimed in. “I’ve met Floyd, and that sick bastard would have done way worse.” Rick pointed to the screen. “This guy looks familiar.”
They all watched in silence as Lydia was dragged the two feet Briggs had indicated when they first got there. The asshole let her body fall to the ground, and he pulled the door open and shoved her body into the back seat of an old beat-up blue four-door car; the same car driven by that asshole that had bumped into Lydia at the café. That was where Rick recognized the man from. He’d been watching her.
The car on the screen backed out, and the general yelled, “Stop it here.” He patted his soldier on the shoulder. “Can you zoom in on the license plate?”
The soldier nodded and zoomed in on the numbers that could potentially save Lydia’s life. The general pulled the phone from his clip. “Jonah, I need you to run this tag for me and get me an address ASAP.”
The general walked out of the room, relaying the information over the phone. Rick turned toward Briggs. “Any of her sisters call you yet?”
Briggs went to reach for his phone. The clip was empty. “I used it to call the general to get her name sorted out, and I don’t know where the hell I put it.”
The old bearded man walked in the room with the phone in his hands. “You looking for this, sonny?”
Briggs snatched it out of the old man’s hands. “I sure hope Mrs. Thompson is okay.”
Brody and Rick looked at each other. Rick turned toward the senile old man. “You mean Stevens.”
The man shook his head. “No, that was why I didn’t let her in.” The man walked back to the counter and grabbed the book and handed it to him. “The person who called to give me the names said Lydia Thompson, and she signed the paper as Stevens. The two didn’t match. That was why that fellow there,”—he nodded with his head toward Briggs, who was listening to his messages—“was still inside. He was on the phone trying to get it all sorted out when he noticed the young lady wasn’t outside like she said she’d be.”
Rick handed the book back to the man and walked outside. That must have been why she looked sick. He was going to wring Jonah’s scrawny little neck. When he’d asked the guy to give Lydia a new identity, he didn’t mean his last name.
Brody and Briggs came running outside. Briggs had the phone to his ear. “The girls are tracking her; she’s heading east.”