Safe At Hawk's Landing

LUCAS PACED THE waiting room, anxious to talk to Charlotte Reacher.

Meanwhile, he phoned Tradd Hoover.

“The art teacher is still in surgery,” he told Tradd. “The studio where the attack happened looked like a war zone. Bullet holes everywhere. My brother, Sheriff Harrison Hawk, is supervising the crime-scene unit.”

“All four girls were foster kids?”

“That’s right.”

“That sucks,” Tradd said. “As if their lives haven’t already been hard enough.” Tradd made a clicking sound with his teeth. “In the other two instances, the kidnappers didn’t leave a witness behind. First abduction took place at a dance camp. Shot the teacher in the back before she even saw what was coming. More bullets were lodged in the floor near the ballet bar where the girls stretched. Five girls were taken, ages twelve to fourteen.”

Good God. Twelve years old? She was just a baby. Innocent. A girl with no idea what the men had in store for her.

“Second attack was outside a Waco high school. Men snuck up on the cheerleading squad as they were walking to their cars after practice. This time they lay in waiting, snatched them one by one. No casualties. Science teacher was leaving about that time and saw the last of the six girls tossed into the back of a black van. Tinted windows. No tag. Driver raced away just as another girl ran around the corner. She was in the bathroom changing or she would have been taken, too.”

“Did she see any of the men well enough to make an ID?”

“Afraid not. She was pretty shook up. Said all she saw was a man’s back and the gun he was holding to her friend’s head.”

“You think we’re dealing with the same men or factions of a larger trafficking ring?”

“Hard to say at this point. Unfortunately there weren’t any surveillance cameras at the dance camp. There were two in the high-school parking lot, but the assailants shot them out.”

Of course they did. “None at the art studio, either,” Lucas said. Although he’d advise Ms. Reacher to install a security system if she reopened the studio. “How are the families holding up?”

“About like you’d expect,” Tradd said. “They’ve seen enough TV and news stories to speculate on what’s happening. None of it’s pretty.”

No, it wasn’t. Most likely they were being drugged and held somewhere until they could ship them out of the country or to perspective buyers. They probably had clients waiting.

His stomach knotted. Too many depraved people in the world, and men who’d pay for sex.

The girls who didn’t go to a buyer would suffer an equally harsh or worse fate. They’d be put in brothels, forced to work as prostitutes. Treated inhumanely. Beaten. Raped. Sometimes drugged, chained in a room so they couldn’t escape.

“Email me the files, crime-scene photos, information on the victims so I can compare.” Not that he thought the victims or their families had anything to do with this. This read like a professional hit. The ring targeted random groups that were vulnerable, easily accessible and fit a certain type and age range.

Otherwise, they would have also taken Charlotte Reacher.

Instead, they’d left her for dead.

* * *

THE GIRLS WERE SCREAMING. They needed her. She had to help them. Stop the bad men...

Charlotte blinked and tried to open her eyes, but she was so sleepy she couldn’t force them open. A few minutes ago, she’d heard someone talking. The nurse, she said her name was Haley. They were moving her to a room.

She’d been shot. Had a head injury. Had undergone surgery.

She was lucky, Haley said. She was alive.

But what about Evie, Adrian and Agnes, and Mae Lynn?

Tears seeped from her aching eyes and trickled down her cheeks.

A warm hand touched hers. Slid over it and squeezed.

She tensed, then realized it felt good. Comforting.

And she was cold. So cold inside...she shivered.

“Charlotte, my name is Special Agent Lucas Hawk.”

A man’s voice. Gruff. Almost tender. Another squeeze of her hand and she realized the hand belonged to the man speaking.

“I know you’ve been through hell today and you’re exhausted, but I need to talk to you. Need to ask you some questions.”

She blinked, wanting to see his face, but her eyelids slid closed again. The medication must be weighing her down, drawing her back to the darkness. She wanted to stay there, to be numb and forget, to silence the screams.

“I promise you I won’t stay long, but you were shot by some men who came into your art studio. They forced the students in your class to go with them.”

Her lungs squeezed for air. She suddenly couldn’t breathe. She clawed at the bedding, gasping. A machine beeped. Footsteps clattered, then a woman’s stern voice said:

“Sir, you’re upsetting her. You have to leave.”

“I’m sorry,” the man said in a gruff tone. “I won’t stay long, but we need her help. The men who shot her kidnapped four teenagers. Time is of the essence. The kidnappers might be moving the girls out of the country as we speak.”

The woman mumbled something Charlotte couldn’t understand, but the agent’s words taunted her.

She had to do what she could to help find her students.

She moaned and reached for his hand. He took it and stroked her palm. The contact gave her hope, and she forced her eyes open.

But the room was dark. Completely dark.

“I need you to tell me anything you remember,” Special Agent Lucas Hawk said. “Even the smallest details might help—”

His words became garbled as panic seized Charlotte. She blinked furiously, but a cloudy haze of gray and black shrouded her vision. She couldn’t see his face.

Couldn’t see anything but an ominous black.

* * *

LUCAS STIFFENED. Something was wrong.

Charlotte gasped for a breath, her fingernails digging into his palm. “Help...”

He cradled her hand between both of his, tried to soothe her. “You’re safe now, Charlotte. You’re in the hospital and you’re going to be okay.” But those four teenagers weren’t.

Dear God, he hated to push her, but they had to act quickly. The men could be halfway across the state by now.