Snatched Page 7

He was punch-drunk from exhaustion. And anxiety. And relief.

  He took Abigail Brannon’s slipper out of his pocket. He’d found some glue to fix the trim. He’d taken the other shoe out of evidence. He’d give them to Faith. He doubted Abigail Brannon would want to see him. She’d seen Will twice—in the bathroom and on the train. Both times she’d looked at him with longing in her eyes, begging to be rescued. Both times, Will had failed her.

  At least she’d be in her mother’s arms soon. Will would have to stop calling New Age believers freaks after this. He had visualized Abigail Brannon in her mother’s arms, and that was exactly what was about to happen.

  A wealthy Idaho farmer had donated the use of his private jet so that Rebecca Brannon could fly straight to Atlanta to meet her daughter. The charter pilot had been given special permission to divert to the E concourse so that the press couldn’t bother them.

  Will could only imagine what was going through the woman’s mind right now. The flight was over four hours long. That was a lot of time to think about the fact that Paul Riggins, the man she’d been dating, had sold her daughter to a ring of pedophiles. He would probably spend the next ten years in prison.

  Ten years.

  That seemed light to Will. None of these bastards ever got what they really deserved. It was the one instance where Will was one hundred percent in favor of the death penalty. He’d advocate bringing back a firing squad if it meant he’d be the one to take out Joe Jenner.

  The man was already working the angles. He’d hired one of the top lawyers in the state. He’d probably end up with five years. The rumors about what happened to pedophiles in prison were true, but still that was not enough to satisfy Will’s desire for the man to be punished.

  The doors slid open again. Amanda and Vanessa Livingston were shoulder to shoulder, talking in low voices. They’d worked together longer than Will had been alive. The women shared a bond in the way of soldiers who’ve been bloodied in the same battles.

  Vanessa held a police radio in her hand. It squawked as soon as the doors closed. She put her ear to the speaker, nodding as if the person on the other side could see her. Finally, she told Will, “The plane just landed. Faith’s on her way down with the girl. We’ve had some more enterprising reporters who booked flights so they can get into the terminal.”

  Amanda added, “Rumor has it they’ll be at the T concourse.”

  Vanessa grinned. “I wonder who told them that?” She winked at Will as she walked over to the ground crew.

  Amanda stayed with Will. They watched a small jet plane make the turn toward the gates. There was a large green logo on the side. Will couldn’t make out the words, but he guessed from the yellow stalk of corn in the middle that this was the wealthy Idaho farmer’s plane.

  Amanda said, “And people say the one percent don’t do their share.”

  Will wasn’t in the mood to joke. He wasn’t going to be able to breathe again until Abigail and Rebecca Brannon were together.

  The engine roared as the jet turned toward them, nose pointing at Will’s chest. The plane idled for a second, then inched forward, stopping a few yards away. The engine wound down. One of the ground crew rolled out a blue carpet. The door was twisted open. A set of stairs came out like a tongue.

  The pilot got off first, then an older man, probably a grandparent. He was leaning on a cane. The pilot held out a hand to help him down. Once the old man was on the tarmac, he turned around and held out his hand for the next passenger.

  Will recognized Rebecca Brannon from her news conference. She looked even more frail in person. Her eyes were almost black. Her nose had been broken, as had her ankle. She handed down her crutch. Both men had to help her hop down the stairs.

  Amanda told Will, “It’s a good outcome.”

  “It should’ve never happened in the first place.”

  “Take the win, Will. Cases like this, that doesn’t usually happen.”

  Vanessa had her radio to her ear again. She jogged ahead of the Brannons, handing Will her keycard. She told him, “Run to the top of the stairs to let Faith in. I don’t think the mother can make it up.”

  Will didn’t feel like the right person for the job, but he was too tired to argue. He went back into the building, taking a moment to get his bearings. The labyrinthine underbelly of the airport was more confusing than anything the public ever saw. Will found the metal stairs outside a propped-open fire door. He took them two at a time, his shoes thumping on the steel. At the top, he saw a closed door with a narrow window. Faith was looking down at him. There was a worried expression on her face.

  She stepped back so that Will could open the door.

  He stood on the top stair, unable to move. He’d been hoping that the girl was too exhausted to remember him. He’d been praying she was too focused on seeing her mom to stare at him with those same sad eyes he’d seen so many hours ago.

  But Abigail Brannon was none of those things. Her eyes were trained down at the floor. She was quiet. Too quiet.

  Will looked at Faith.

  She explained, “They gave her something to help calm her down.”

  Will knelt down on the top stair so that he could look at the girl. He told her, “Your mom’s downstairs waiting for you.”

  She didn’t move—didn’t appear to want to see her mother, or anyone else.

  Faith asked, “Sweetheart, don’t you want to see your mom?”

  Abigail’s small shoulder went up in a shrug. Her eyes were glazed over. Her face remained emotionless. She was dressed in a long T-shirt that fell past her knees. Faith had obviously bought it at the hospital gift shop. The creases were still in the material where it had been folded up in the package. A pair of blue hospital sandals were on her feet. The label was still attached. Her toes didn’t even show. They were meant for a small adult, not a little girl.

  Will took Abigail’s shoes out of his pocket. There was a tiny flash of recognition in the girl’s eyes. Wordlessly, she put her hand on Will’s shoulder, kicking off a sandal, lifting her bare foot. He slid on the Hello Kitty shoe. She changed hands, lifted the other foot. He had to use his finger to help her heel slide in. Too much glue had made the back stiff.

  He asked, “Ready?”

  She didn’t answer. Will finally made himself look her in the eye. He braced himself for that same sad expression, the one that cut straight through to his heart. Instead, he saw wonder.

  “I saw you,” she whispered. “I saw you from before.”

  Will felt a lump sticking in his throat. This time, he was the one who couldn’t speak. He could only manage a nod.

  “I saw you in the bathroom and I saw you on the train.”

  Will had to force himself to answer. “Yes,” he agreed. “You did.”

  Her eyes started to water. He thought that she was going to cry, but a smile slowly spread across her face. “I knew you would save me,” she told Will. “I saw you seeing me, and I knew that you would save me.”

  Will breathed out. He didn’t realize until that moment that he’d been holding his breath.

  “I knew it,” Abigail repeated. “I just knew.”

  She threw her arms around Will’s shoulders. He gently returned the hug. He could feel her bony elbows and wrists as he lifted Abigail up and carried her down the steps to her mother.

  For Gina

  KARIN SLAUGHTER is the New York Times and #1 internationally bestselling author of Fallen, Broken, Undone, Beyond Reach, Triptych, Faithless, Indelible, A Faint Cold Fear, Kisscut, and Blindsighted; she contributed to and edited Like a Charm. To date, her books have been translated into over thirty languages. She is a native of Atlanta, Georgia, where she currently lives and is working on her next novel.

  www.karinslaughter.com

  If you enjoyed Snatched, you won’t want to miss Criminal, the next exhilarating thriller by New York Times bestselling author Karin Slaughter, coming in hardcover and eBook in July 2012.

  AUGUST 15, 1974

  CHAPTER
ONE

  LUCY BENNETT

  “Good evening, sister.”

  Lucy spun around, half expecting to see Henry, though he had never greeted her that way. There was a man standing a few feet behind her. White. Tall. Covered in shadow. Lucy’s hand flew to her chest. Her heart pounded underneath her palm. She knew better than to let some john sneak up on her like that. She reached for her purse, the knife she kept inside, but too late remembered that she’d lost everything.

  “Are you all right?” the man asked. He was clean-cut, something Lucy hadn’t seen in a long while, except on a pig. His light brown hair was shaved into a buzz cut. Sideburns short. No shadow of a beard even this late at night. Military, she guessed. Lots of guys were coming home from Nam. In six months, this asshole would be just like all the other vets Lucy knew, wearing his dirty hair in a braid, beating down some woman and talking shit about the Man.

  Lucy tried to make her voice strong. “Sorry, handsome. I’m done for the night.” Her words echoed in the cavern formed by the tall buildings. She was aware that she was slurring, and straightened her shoulders so he wouldn’t think she was an easy target. “Closed for business.”

  “I’m not looking for business.” He took a step forward. He had a book in his hands. The Bible.

  “Shit,” she mumbled. These guys were everywhere. Mormons, Jehovah’s Witnesses, even some of the freaks from the local Catholic church. “Lookit, I don’t need saving.”

  “I hate to argue, sister, but you look like it.”

  “I’m not your sister. I have a brother, and you’re not him.” Lucy turned around and started walking. She couldn’t go back to Juice right now. Lucy didn’t think she could stand another beating. She would go to the hospital and make such a stink that they’d have to sedate her. That, at least, would get her through the night.

  “I bet he’s worried about you.”

  Lucy stopped.

  “Your brother?” the man asked. “I bet he’s worried about you. I know I’d be.”

  She clutched her hands together, but didn’t turn around. She kept walking. Footsteps followed her. Lucy didn’t quicken her pace. Couldn’t quicken her pace. The pain in her stomach was strong, a knife cutting through her viscera. The hospital was fine for one night, but there was tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. Lucy would have to find a way back into Juice’s good graces. Tonight had been slow. Even Kitty wasn’t bringing in much. Juice was all about cold, hard cash, and Lucy was betting this Jesus freak had at least ten bucks on him. Sure, Juice would still beat her, but the money would soften his blows.

  “I want to call him.” Lucy kept a careful pace. She could hear the man following, keeping his distance. “My brother. He’ll come get me. He said he would.” She was lying, but her voice was strong. “I don’t have any money. To call him, that is.”

  “If it’s money you want, I can give you that.”

  Lucy stopped again. Slowly, she turned around. The man was standing in a sliver of light that came from the lobby of a nearby office building. Lucy was too tall, five-ten with her shoes off. She was used to looking down at most people. This guy was well over six feet. The hands that held the Bible were huge. His shoulders were broad. Long legs, but not lean. Lucy was fast, especially when she was scared. The minute he took out his wallet, she would grab it and dash away.

  She asked, “You a marine or what?”

  “4-F.” He took a step toward her. “Medical disability.”

  He looked capable enough to Lucy. He probably had a daddy who bought him out of the draft, same as Lucy’s dad had with Henry. “Give me some money so I can call my brother.” She remembered, “Please.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Athens.”

  “Greece?”

  She sputtered a laugh. “Georgia. He’s in college. Law school. He’s about to get married. I wanna call him. Congratulate him.” She added, “Get him to pick me up and take me home. To my family. Where I belong.”

  The man took another step forward. The light picked out the features of his face, which were normal, even average. Blue eyes. Nice mouth. Sharp nose. Square jaw. “Why aren’t you in college?”

  Lucy felt a tingle at the back of her neck. She wasn’t sure how to describe it. Part of her was afraid of the man. Part of her was thinking she hadn’t talked to a guy like this in more years than she could remember. He wasn’t looking at her like she was a whore. He wasn’t proposing a transaction. There was nothing in his eyes that told her he was a threat. And yet, it was two in the morning and he was standing in the empty street of a city that pretty much closed its doors at six o’clock after all the white people went back to the suburbs.

  The truth was, neither one of them belonged here.

  “Sister.” He took another step closer. Lucy was shocked to see the concern in his eyes. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I let the Lord guide my hand.”

  Lucy had trouble answering. Years had passed since anyone had looked at her with anything close to compassion. “What makes you think I’m afraid?”

  “I think you’ve lived with fear for a long time, Lucy.”

  “You don’t know what I’ve—” She stopped. “How do you know my name?”

  He seemed confused. “You told me.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “You told me your name was Lucy. Just a few minutes ago.” He held up the Bible for emphasis. “I swear.”

  All the saliva in her mouth was gone. Her name was her secret. She never gave it away to strangers. “No, I didn’t.”

  “Lucy …” He was less than five feet away from her now. There was that same concerned look in his eyes, though he could easily take one more step and wrap both hands around her neck before she knew what was happening.

  But he didn’t. He just stood there holding his Bible to his chest. “Please, don’t be scared of me. You have no reason to be afraid.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “I want to help you. To save you.”

  “I don’t need saving. I need money.”

  “I told you I’d give you all the money you need.” He tucked the Bible under his arm and took out his wallet. She could see bills stacked neatly in the fold. Hundreds. He fanned them out in his hand. “I want to take care of you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

  Her voice shook. She eyed the money. There was at least five hundred there, possibly more. “I don’t know you.”

  “No, not yet.”

  Lucy’s foot stepped back, but she needed to go forward, needed to grab the cash and run. If the man sensed her plans, he didn’t show it. He stood there with the hundreds looking like postage stamps in his large hands, not moving, not speaking. All that cash. Five hundred dollars. She could rent a hotel room, keep herself off the street for months, maybe a year.

  Lucy felt her heart banging against her shattered rib. She was torn between snatching the dough and running for her life and just plain running from her life. The hair on the back of her neck stood at attention. Her hands were shaking. She felt heat radiating somewhere behind her. For a moment, Lucy assumed the sun was coming up over Peachtree Plaza, streaking down the street, warming her neck and shoulders. Was this some sign from above? Was this finally her moment of salvation?

  No. No salvation. Just money.

  She forced herself to take a step forward. Then another. “I want to know you,” she told the man, fear making the words slur on her tongue.

  He smiled. “That’s good, sister.”

  Lucy made herself return the smile. Made her shoulders curve so she looked younger, sweeter, innocent. And then she grabbed the wad of cash. She turned to run, but her body jerked back like a slingshot.

  “Don’t fight me.” His fingers were clamped around her wrist. Half her arm disappeared inside his hand. “You can’t escape.”

  Lucy stopped fighting. She didn’t have a choice. Pain was shooting up her neck. Her head was throbbing. Her shoulder crunched in the socket. Still, she kept the money gripped tightl
y in her hand. She could feel the stiff bills scraping against her palm.

  He said, “Sister, why do you crave a life of sin?”

  “I don’t know.” Lucy shook her head. She looked down at the ground. She sniffed back the blood that dripped from her nose. And then she felt his grip start to loosen.

  “Sister—”

  Lucy wrenched away her arm, her skin feeling torn, like a glove ripping off. She ran as fast and as hard as she could, feet slapping pavement, arms pumping. One block. Two. She opened her mouth, taking deep gulps of air that sent stabbing pains into her chest. Broken ribs. Busted nose. Shattered teeth. Money in her hand. Five hundred dollars. A hotel room. A bus ticket. Safety. All the H that she could handle. She was free. Goddamnit, she was finally free.

  Until her head flew back. Her scalp felt like the teeth of a zipper being wrenched apart as chunks of hair were snatched out at the root. Lucy’s forward momentum didn’t stop. She saw her legs shoot out in front of her, feet level to her chin, and then her back slammed down flat to the ground.

  “Don’t fight,” the man repeated, straddling her, his hands wrapping around her neck.

  Lucy clawed at his fingers. His grip was relentless. Blood poured from her torn scalp. It went into her eyes, her nose, her mouth.

  She couldn’t scream. She blindly reached out, trying to dig her fingernails into his eye sockets. She felt the side of his face, his rough skin, then her hands dropped because she couldn’t hold up her arms anymore. His breath quickened as her body spasmed. Warm urine ran down her leg. She could feel his excitement even as a sense of hopelessness took over. Who was Lucy fighting for? Who cared if Lucy Bennett lived or died? Maybe Henry would be sad when he heard the news, but her parents, her old friends, even Mrs. Henderson, would probably feel nothing but relief.

  Finally, the inevitable.

  Lucy’s tongue swelled in her mouth. Her vision blurred. It was useless. There was no air left for her lungs. No oxygen going to her brain. She felt herself start to give, her muscles releasing. The back of her head hit pavement. She stared up. The sky was impossibly black, pinholes of stars barely visible. The man stared down at her, the same concerned look in his eyes.