A second pair of hands joined his. “Jesus Christ. You think the bastard buried her?”
“I don’t know.” Hunter fought for air as blackness pushed its way around his heart.
The two worked in madman tandem. John was bent over the mound like an egret digging for worms as he helped claw away the dirt.
“She’s in here. I can feel it. We have to get her out. We have to dig.” Hunter swallowed his tears. “Faster.” Stones and twigs cut his fingers. His muscles burned and his fingers bled as he scraped the dirt from the earth. He touched something. “Wait.” He brushed back more dirt. I hit wood.” His body froze.
John moved next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and together they pushed aside the earth. Hunter nearly suffocated from lack of air.
“It’s a coffin, all right,” John announced.
Kerry’s coffin?
“Keep digging,” Hunter commanded. “I’ll get a crowbar.”
Faster than he’d ever moved, Hunter did the hundred-yard dash to the cruiser in under twelve seconds, or so it seemed. He wrenched the crow bar from the cruiser’s trunk and flew back to John. He dropped to his knees and winced when his kneecap cracked on a rock. Hunter pried up the top.
And lifted the lid.
30
Empty.
The goddamn coffin was empty. Air whooshed out of Hunter’s lungs as he collapsed back. “If she’s not here, then where the fuck is she?” His voice cracked, and he didn’t bother swiping away the tears that cut a ridge down his cheek.
John grabbed Hunter’s arm in a tight grip. “She has to be here. We have to keep looking.”
Without either giving directions, the two of them raced into the woods at a forty-five degree angle. Less than a minute later, John called out. “Over here. There’s another grave.”
Hunter crashed through the underbrush to reach John. Tree limbs scraped his arms and bare chest. Bugs flew at him and a spider web lodged in his mouth, that he didn’t even bother to spit out.
When he saw the fresh dirt level with the ground, he knew all hope was lost. Another grave, another coffin. But this time, he knew the coffin wouldn’t be empty. Or would it?
What had possessed Steven to dig two holes? Digging was a bitch. Was this a joke? Or merely a game to drive him insane?
Steven had left a second shovel against a nearby tree. Hunter snagged it and tore through the dirt, while John churned at the mound with his hands.
A strong breeze whipped through the trees and blew the topsoil, almost as though God were trying to help in a small way.
“Kerry. We’re here, sweetheart. Hold on,” he yelled.
In case she could hear him, he wanted to assure her help was on the way. He refused to believe she was dead, though his mind screamed he was in denial.
John’s breaths turned shorter—too short, in fact. Hunter feared the older man wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. “Come on, come on,” Hunter urged, pushing himself just as hard.
“Oh, shit. Kerry’s has some hand shovels in her satchel,” John said with a hint of excitement.
“Wait. Bring the other shovel Dalton dropped near the car.”
“Yes.” The big man lumbered away, each step seeming to take more effort.
Hunter threw himself into uncovering the grave. Kerry couldn’t be dead, she just couldn’t be.
“I love you, Kerry,” he sobbed. Sweat poured down his face and over his back.
John returned with two hand shovels as well as the one Dalton had discarded. They must have looked like rabid dogs searching for a bone. Hunter was the first to hit wood.
“I’m there.”
He tossed down the shovel, grabbed the crowbar and cracked open the small end of the coffin, wanting to get air inside.
“We’re going to get you out, Kerry. I promise.” He continued to babble as he smashed through the casket. Bare feet glistened in the light. “Oh God. She’s in there.” His heart stopped. The cop in him knew she was dead, but his soul refused to give up hope.
Blood pounded in his ears as he cracked open the top. With one fell swoop, he lifted the lid and tossed it away. It bounced and crashed on the ground.
Kerry lay in the casket.
Naked.
Eyes closed.
Skin gray.
Duct tape clung to her mouth, hands, and feet. Dear God what had the man done? A primordial scream nearly bubbled out.
John leaned over the casket and dragged his two fingers over her throat. “There’s no bloating. She might be alive.”
Hunter held his breath, willing away all his possessions if only she’d be alive.
“There’s a real weak pulse,” John said. The relief in his voice pumped up Hunter.
“Call 9-1-1 again,” Hunter shouted as he straddled the grave and gathered her in his arms. Nothing gave him a higher high than holding her once more. Her warm body seared his skin. He planted kisses on her cold cheeks. “Kerry, can you hear me? Wake up, sweetheart.”
Hunter stepped away from the grave, knelt, and wrapped her in his arms, thankful this maniac had used a coffin instead of burying her in the cold earth. Someone had drilled holes in the side of the wooden casket. Why? To give her air? Or to let the worms eat at her faster?
It didn’t matter now. Hunter unpeeled the tape that covered her mouth, trying not to rip her skin. Removing the tape off her wrists would require him to set her down, and he wasn’t ready to let her go yet.
John stood, the phone pressed against his ear. He covered the mouthpiece. “I have scissors in a kit in my car,” John said. Hunter didn’t care if the man was going to Mars.
“Hey. Grab the blanket I used to prop up Phil’s head.” The damp air could give her a bad chill. Not only that, he didn’t want Kerry to wake up and find herself naked.
Kerry’s face slowly turned pink, and joy raced through him. He stroked her face, her arms, and her hair, reveling in the silkiness.
When John returned, he handed Hunter the rather wet blanket. At least it would cover her. John wiggled a small pair of scissors. “May I?”
All Hunter could do was nod. His throat dry, he couldn’t take his gaze off her as John cut away her bindings. Poor Kerry. He couldn’t imagine the horror and fear she’d experienced at the hands of Steven Dalton.
With much tenderness, Hunter kissed her lips. Her eyelids fluttered, but they didn’t open. Her breathing was rough and her skin clammy. Dear God, please make her whole.
John Ahern stepped back and dropped to his knees. A low groan escaped his lips. His hand clutched his arm.
“John? You alright?”
The ME’s eyes widened as sweat popped out on his forehead. His breaths came faster and faster.
“John?”
Without a word, John Ahern sank on the ground and passed out.
Hunter sat by Kerry’s hospital bed, never leaving her side, looking for any sign she’d awaken soon. An oxygen tube poked out of her nose, and the constant pulse of the air from the tube was slowly driving him crazy.
Why wouldn’t she open her pretty leafy green eyes and smile at him? One smile. That’s all he asked.
“Mr. Markham?”
Hunter swiveled around. A tall doctor in green scrubs approached, his face devoid of tension. “Yes?”
“I have an update on Dr. Ahern.”
Hunter straightened. “How is he?”
“He suffered a heart attack, but we’re monitoring him. He’s lucky you were there to call for help.”
His friend was alive, thank God. “Thank you. When can I see him?”
“We’re doing more tests. When we’re done, I’ll let you know.”
Relieved John had survived, Hunter returned his attention to Kerry. She hadn’t moved or fluttered her eyelids since her arrival. He’d asked her doctor about possible brain damage, but all the man would say was it was a wait-and-see game. People buried alive usually had serious after effects. No matter what happened to her, Hunter would remain with her—for better or for worse.
He was determined to stay until she awoke, until he heard her voice one more time. Too bad the adrenaline rush of finding her had depleted his resources. He craved sleep and food, but he wanted to be the first person Kerry saw when she came to.