Safe At Hawk's Landing. Rita Herron

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      His brother was right. Lucas tightened his hands around the steering wheel and pressed the accelerator.

      Every second the girls were missing gave the kidnappers more time to get away.

      * * *

      AN HOUR LATER, Lucas parked in front of Expressions. Crime-scene tape had already been erected in front of the building and along the sidewalk outside, looking ominous against the soothing pale blue of the studio’s exterior.

      Harrison’s deputy, Mitchell Bronson, was working to keep the growing crowd from crossing the line, but hushed whispers and worried, shocked looks floated through the group.

      “I’m going to canvass the neighboring businesses and locals,” Deputy Bronson said. “Sheriff said for you to go on in.”

      Lucas visually swept the street signs and posts. “Surveillance cameras?”

      “Afraid not.”

      Damn, that would have helped. “Be sure to ask if anyone saw the getaway vehicle,” Lucas said.

      The deputy nodded and addressed the onlookers, holding his hands up to calm the crowd.

      Lucas paused in the doorway to analyze the scene. The room was decorated with color palettes and paintings most likely done by students. A brightly lit sign showcasing the name sparkled in deep purple and yellow letters, at odds with the violence that had happened here today.

      Worse, the room had been turned upside down in a scene that could only be described as chaotic. Tables, chairs, canvases and paint supplies were scattered across the room. Bullet holes marred the walls and canvases, as if more than one shooter had fired randomly across the space, hitting everything in sight.

      Paint tubes, bottles and containers had spilled, the paint running together, converging on the light wood floors in an ugly brown smear.

      Footprints in different sizes that must belong to the girls tracked the paint across the floor, indicating the victims had fought back, and that at least one of them had been dragged.

      A female’s cowboy boot lay in one corner, obviously lost during the struggle. Beads from a bracelet or necklace were scattered by a bin of paint smocks.

      Bloody fingerprints dotted the floor and wall.

      “Here’s what I think happened,” Harrison said. “According to the schedule posted in the teacher’s office, Charlotte was conducting a class. Four students.” Harrison gestured toward the door. “Looks like the kidnappers just walked in. No sign of forced entry. Door was probably unlocked.” He pointed toward the pool of blood on the floor. “Owner of the coffee shop/bookstore next door said Charlotte was giving, kind and dedicated to her students.” Harrison ran a hand through his hair, emotion thickening his voice. “Honey would agree to that. She liked what Charlotte was doing here so much that she renovated this space for her at cost.”

      Lucas clenched his hands into fists. “Have you told Honey yet?”

      Harrison shook his head. “No. I’m not looking forward to it, either.”

      Lucas patted his brother’s arm. “She’s strong. Tough. She can handle it.”

      “I know, but I...want to protect that woman from everything bad.”

      The love in Harrison’s voice twisted Lucas’s insides. The Hawk brothers had all been loners. He’d never expected Harrison to marry. Then Honey came back to town...

      Harrison gestured around the room. “Charlotte obviously tried to stop the men, but judging from the number of bullet holes, they were heavily armed and opened fire. While she was down, the men snatched the teenagers and kept firing to prevent Charlotte from following. She passed out on the floor in that pool of blood. My guess is they thought she was hit in the chest and would bleed to death.”

      Lucas’s stomach squeezed at the sight of the bloody fingerprints where the woman had crawled to the door. Even injured, she’d tried to save the girls.

      “Any specifics on the hostages?” Lucas asked.

      “Not yet. We’re working on compiling that information.”

      “What about Charlotte? Any family?”

      “No. She was alone. That’s what drew her to Honey and these adolescents.”

      Damn. Lucas didn’t know the woman, but he already admired her.

      He just hoped she survived and could help them. Otherwise, the four teenagers might be lost forever.

       Chapter Two

      Pain throbbed through Charlotte’s head and body. She tried to open her eyes, but a black void swirled around her and a heavy nothingness dragged her into its abyss.

      Machines beeped. Low voices murmured. Metal clanged.

      Where was she? What had happened?

      “Got the bullet,” a man said. “Need to stop the bleeding.”

      Charlotte searched her mind—she must be in surgery...but why?

      A burning sensation seeped through her, followed by more darkness and quiet. Then a loud popping sound. Screams. Footsteps pounding. Her paints and canvases crashing.

      Her studio, she was back there...the girls were painting, the music flowing, the door opened...

      Terror seized her. Strange men stormed in. Men wearing masks. They were dressed in black.

      And they had guns...

      More screams. She had to save the girls...

      The popping sound again. The bullet pierced her. Her head throbbed, colors bleeding together, fading.

      Quiet again. Blissful quiet. Except for the voices. Someone touching her. A gentle hand.

      “You’re going to make it, Ms. Reacher,” a woman said. “Just rest now.”

      Rest? The world twirled, nausea flooded her, then that slow burn again. She tried to move, but her limbs were heavy. Weighted. Something was attached to her arm. An IV.

      “The police want to talk to you, but they’ll have to wait. Sleep now.”

      Sleep? Rest? How could she? There was something she had to do. Something important.

      The screams echoed in her head again. Her students...they needed her.

      Terror and despair flooded her. Adrian, Agnes, Mae Lynn...sweet Evie...they were crying, sobbing, begging for help.

      * * *

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

      Meanwhile, he phoned Tradd Hoover.

      “The art teacher is still in surgery,” СКАЧАТЬ