Wanted By The Marshal. Ryshia Kennie

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      There was only one option: she had to get out of here, get away from them before the worst happened. She didn’t want to contemplate, again, what that might be. But the possibilities of worst were engraved in her tortured mind. Rape, as they’d promised, or worse—she took a deep, almost panicked breath—death.

      The taste of dust and disuse was in her mouth as she began to chew at the rope that bound her wrists. Minutes passed. It could have been hours. Time blended into itself and had no meaning. All she had was hope and she needed to cling to that. Desperate, she tried to pull her wrists apart. Something seemed to give but the rope didn’t break.

      Kiera rolled over and something sharp bit into her skin. She felt for it awkwardly, twisting her body to get more reach. Something pierced her finger and she bit back a cry of pain but continued her exploration and discovered a nail jutting about a half inch out of the wood. Excitement raced through her. Finally, a tool to free herself. She shimmied closer and began to rub the rope that was binding her wrists against it. Minutes passed and then, the rope snapped. The force of it had her falling backward, missing the nail that had freed her and hitting her head against the wall. She lay like that for seconds as she caught her breath. Then she began to shake her wrists, trying to return circulation to her numb hands. But as blood began to flow, the pain overwhelmed her. She cradled her hands and had to bite her lip to stop from crying out.

      Silence and darkness crowded around her. As she lay waiting for the pain to dissipate, a thin stream of light flicked across the room and then disappeared as quickly as it appeared. Her heart leaped. Was it possible that the light came from outside? Where else would it come from? Was it the headlights of a car? Was she near a street or was it just her captors turning a light on and off in another room? The light had appeared to move before it disappeared. Its very presence suggested a possibility. Her heart pounded at the first sign of hope before she struggled to her feet. She felt in the darkness a little over four feet above the floor where the light had seemed to come from. The wall felt different. The wood wasn’t as solid and seemed out of line with the rest of the wall. It was a subtle difference, but enough to hint that it might cover something. Her heart raced at what this might mean. She began to pick at the wood. She scratched and clawed with her fingernails and was surprised when a piece broke off easily as if it was not only thin but rotted. Determined, she dug harder. In places the wood was almost like butter while in others it was hard and resistant. Splinters dug into her skin, embedding under her nails. The pain made her eyes water. She didn’t stop. Her gut screamed one thing. This was her chance to live.

      The wood chipped away piece by piece, sliver by sliver. Now she didn’t think of the pain or of the warm trickle that ran down her fingers, and then down her wrists. Vaguely, she knew it was blood. She knew that she was bleeding. It didn’t matter. For she knew now, what she’d only guessed before, there was a window behind the wood covering.

      The possibility of freedom began to appear as she could see vague shapes, enough to figure that she was looking at an alley. Now half of the window was uncovered. It was enough. She ripped her already torn pants off at the knee and wrapped the material around her hand. Her body shook with stress, with anticipation. She took a deep breath and hauled her arm back. She drove her fist through the window with all the strength she had. The glass shattered. She could feel the slick warmth of blood as it ran down her arm. She forced her mind to think of only one thing—escape. With that thought, she yanked out two more pieces of glass, clearing the bottom half of the window enough so that she could get out.

      Freedom.

      Kiera sank to the floor and began untying the rope that bound her ankles. She looked up often, her heart pounding. She feared that her captors would burst in at any moment. They’d punish her for what she’d done—kill her even. It wasn’t a thought she could entertain. She couldn’t think of that. There was no time to speculate.

      Finally, she pulled the last knot free and stood up.

      There was a sense that time was slipping away. There were furtive noises on the other side of the wall, the one to the right of the window she’d just uncovered. She had to go now. And even though she wasn’t a big woman, she knew it would be a tight squeeze. Seconds later, one leg was outside; a breeze ran across her skin and she barely acknowledged that. The jagged edges of glass that she hadn’t been able to clear away ripped the places where her skin was bare. The pain only reminded her to keep going, that she wanted to live.

      The night air was heaven as it sent goose bumps across her exposed flesh. Her heart raced. Her captors could be anywhere. They could be behind her now.

      Kiera flipped over so that she was on her back and didn’t land on her head into the unknown darkness. But, with the majority of her body out, she lost her grip. She landed on a pile of plastic garbage bags that broke her fall. For seconds, she lay there, shocked, terrified and exhilarated all at once.

      Freedom at last.

      Something sharp bit into her side as she struggled to her feet and pain shot through her. Finally, she stood in the darkness shaken and disorientated. She took a breath and then another. And she told herself that if she ever got out of this, if she were truly free, she’d be setting up a safe-ride program for all the workers at the care home.

      A streetlight glimmered in the distance. She limped as fast as she could toward the light, and the possibility of freedom.

      Cheyenne, Wyoming

      One week later

      US MARSHAL TRAVIS JOHNSON knew that he should be looking forward to the low-key case he’d just been presented with, especially after his last assignment. It had been high-octane from beginning to end as they’d cornered a drug lord who had made it through two international borders and numerous state lines. But, the truth was, he loved action and he loved a challenge.

      “I’ve received notice that Kiera Connell was discharged from the hospital yesterday.” The look James Perez, the FBI lead on this case, gave him was grave.

      Travis nodded. He knew the case. He knew that the woman was the only survivor of a serial killer who had terrorized women from coast to coast for well over a year.

      “She’s safe but we’re afraid she might run if she feels otherwise. At this point, no need of twenty-four-seven protection, just a presence that gives her a sense of security. I want you to head the team that will protect her.” James shrugged with a half smile. “I wouldn’t dump this on you, but considering the high-profile status of this case, we need the best protecting her.”

      “No worries,” he said. He wasn’t surprised that James had considered the pressure this might put on him. James was one of the most considerate men he knew. They’d known each other for years, worked together many times, and had eventually become friends who shared many interests including a mutual love of baseball.

      “You read the file?”

      Travis nodded. He’d followed the case over the past year. The file had only sharpened the details.

      “Yeah, I did,” he said with a grimace. It didn’t matter how long he was in law enforcement, or how many cases he saw, the depths of mankind’s depravity could still surprise him. “There appears to be no connection between the witness and killer.”

      “There isn’t, at least that we know. I doubt that will change. From everything the witness said, she’s never seen him before.”

      “That seems to be the usual for this killer. Picks random women,” Travis said grimly. Eleven women had СКАЧАТЬ