Life Flight Page 3

  Great. Just great. She swallowed hard. She didn’t relish going back out in the weather, but adding a killer into the mix really kind of bothered her.

  But Claire . . .

  She had to get back and let the others know help was on the way. “You don’t have a satellite phone, do you?”

  “No, sorry. I just have the landline for up here and a cell phone for when I go into town.”

  Penny nodded. “It was worth a shot. All right, thank you so much for not shooting me”—Mike would be happy about that at least—“but I’ve got to get back to the chopper.” She bit her lip. “I don’t suppose you’d let me take one of your cars.”

  “Take it where? There’s only one place to land on this mountain, and cars can’t get up there.”

  “Yeah, I noticed, but . . .” She’d walked at least two miles and the last mile had been paved road. “There’s an old truck in the drive. Could I take it partway?”

  Kacey hesitated, then rubbed her eyes. “The last and highest house on the road belongs to the Bensons.” She gave her the address. “Leave it on their curb and I’ll get my husband to go with me to pick it up tomorrow. He’s a fireman in the middle of a twenty-four-hour shift, but the truck will be fine until we can get it later.” She took the keys from a hook on the wall and handed them to Penny.

  “Thank you,” Penny said. “I can’t tell you how much that’s going to help.”

  Kacey frowned. “Be careful.”

  “You too. Lock up. And I’m sorry about the puddle in the basement. Lock that door too!”

  Penny slipped out of the house and ran to the pickup, battling the whipping wind and rain. She cranked the engine and headed up the mountain road as fast as she dared. If there was a serial killer on the loose, she had to warn the others.

  In contrast to his urge to hurry, Holt drove the Bucar at a snail’s pace up the winding road, fighting the wind that threatened to overturn them or send them off the road and over the side.

  Martin white-knuckled the door grip and kept his eyes closed. “This time we’re going to die, aren’t we?” he asked.

  “How did a wimp like you ever work up the gumption to apply to the Bureau, much less actually qualify to become an agent?” Holt asked, his tone mild.

  “Bad guys scare me. Storms terrify me. I can work with fear. Terror is another matter.”

  Holt chuckled. In the rearview mirror, he spotted Julianna’s grin. They both knew Marty was one of the finest agents in the organization and he’d trust the man with his life—had done so on many occasions. But Marty’s fear of storms was legendary stuff and he took a lot of ribbing because of it.

  “How far do you think that drop-off is?” Julianna asked.

  Holt shot Marty a sideways glance. “Not more than a hundred feet or so.”

  “I’m so going to get you for this.”

  Marty’s muttered threat pulled a tight smile from Holt. A gust of wind rocked them and he clutched the wheel, keeping them on the road, while Marty sucked in an audible breath.

  The radio crackled. “This is Dunn and Gresham. We’re at the location of the last reported sighting of Rabor. Nothing so far.”

  “We’re almost there,” Holt said. He gave their location, then turned to his partner. “All right, dude, I need you to open your eyes and see if you spot anything. We’re getting close. Look to the right. We know what’s on the left.” Twenty minutes ago, a homeowner had called in a possible intruder hiding in their toolshed. Their dog had gone crazy, darting out the doggy door before the owner could grab him, barking and snarling at the building. Someone had run from it, disappearing into the storm.

  But maybe he hadn’t gone far.

  Marty scowled and opened his eyes, a visible shudder running through him.

  “I actually think the wind is lessening,” Holt said.

  Marty snorted. “Right. That’s why you almost went off the road back there.”

  “I thought you weren’t watching.”

  “Didn’t have to watch to know what was happening.” He scanned the area. “Is that the house?”

  “121?” Julianna asked. “It’s hard to see through the rain, but according to the GPS, we’ve arrived.”

  “And in one piece, no less.” Marty’s relief was palpable. “Amazing.”

  “Shut up,” Holt said.

  His partner laughed. It sounded a bit strained, but at least it was a laugh. Holt parked on the curb and prepared himself to get saturated, in spite of the rain slicker and gloves. He hated the cold about as much as Marty hated storms.

  “So,” Julianna said without looking up from the iPad in her lap, “if I’m reading this right, Rabor started killing because his wife dumped a pot of hot tea on his head?”

  “Yeah. They had an argument about her role in the marriage. She took exception to his interpretation of what the Bible means about wives submitting to their husbands.”

  “And what was his interpretation?” Julianna asked.

  “That they’re basically slaves. He expected his wife to cater to his every demand, desire, whim, et cetera, and one day, she got tired of it. Told him off and dumped the pot of tea on his head.”

  “I would have done the same thing.”

  “Well, Rabor decided she should be punished. Said she just needed the proper training. When she didn’t go for it and tried to leave him, he killed her with an overdose of Oxy, sat her at their table, fixed a new pot of tea, and had a tea party with her every day until she started to decay. Wrapped her in plastic and buried her in the backyard.”

  “Then went to find another victim,” Marty said, “because he said his eyes were opened to his true purpose. He was to train single women before they were married.”

  “But he killed them, so what was the training for exactly?”

  “He never could answer that question,” Holt said. “What really got to me was that he buried his wife with the teapot and said it was so she could learn to serve tea for all eternity.”

  Julianna shuddered. “Did no one explain to him how eternity works?”

  “I sent the prison chaplain to talk to him,” Holt said.

  “Even after he tried to kill you?” Julianna’s eyes went wide. “You’re much more forgiving than I.”

  “At the time, forgiveness didn’t have anything to do with it. The man’s eternal destination did. The chaplain said the man wasn’t open to hearing anything.”

  “That’s tragic.”

  “Yeah.” Holt squinted through the blinding mess. “So, where are Dunn and Gresham? I thought they would have been in touch by now.”

  “Maybe they’re chasing the guy and we can just wait here where it’s warm and dry?” Marty’s hopeful tone drew a chuckle from Julianna.

  “They haven’t called for backup, so I doubt it,” she said. “Come on, you two babies, let’s find this guy before anyone else gets hurt.”

  Holt stepped out of the car and icy rain slashed him in the face. He raised a gloved hand to swipe it away, and his gaze landed on a body on the ground near the tree line. “Jules! Marty!”

  Forgetting about the weather, Holt dashed toward the fallen agent. His feet splashed in the ankle-deep water, and the cold bit his exposed skin, but all of that was in the background while his focus stayed on the man on the ground and the surrounding area. Knowing he could feel the bite of a bullet at any moment, he rushed on and dropped to his knees next to the agent. “Gus!” He shoved the Maglite between his teeth so he could work. He pressed his fingers to the man’s neck, searching for a pulse, and came across a bullet hole. It didn’t gush, so maybe it had missed the jugular. Otherwise . . .

  “Come on,” he whispered. “Don’t do this. Please, Gus.” Not again. He couldn’t lose another friend.

  Jules stopped. “I’ll look for Gresham.”

  “Jules, that’s not what you do. You can’t—”

  “I’m looking for Gresham. You guys keep Gus safe.”

  She rushed past him into the woods and Marty leaned over Gus.
“Is he alive?”

  A faint beat finally fluttered against Holt’s fingers. “Yeah, but his radio and gun are gone. Get me the first aid kit from the trunk and call for an ambulance. And let them know Rabor most likely has our radio and is listening in.” Holt pressed on the agent’s wound with one hand. “Jules! Where are you?”

  She stepped out of the woods and hurried back toward them, tears swimming in her eyes. “I found Gresham. He’s dead.”

  Holt ignored the punch of her words. He would grieve later.

  Marty appeared next to him and lowered himself to his knees with the first aid kit. Holt grabbed it while Marty held an oversized tarp over Gus’s upper torso and head. “I’m going to have to hold this or it’s going to fly away,” Marty said. “Can you work on him without my help?”

  “I’ll manage.”

  Now that the rain wasn’t hitting his face, he could finally get a better look at the wound. A former paramedic, he had some medical training he could only pray would be enough to save Gus’s life.

  CHAPTER

  THREE

  Penny parked the truck on the curb of the Bensons’ home as she’d been instructed and turned off the wipers. The heater stopped, too, and she grimaced. For the past mile, she’d managed to thaw out slightly and didn’t look forward to getting out of the cab, but the others were waiting for her to get back to them.

  An older gentleman stepped out of the house and waited on the porch. She ran to him and ducked under the roof. Rain sluiced off her poncho and a crack of thunder boomed around them. “Thank you,” she said, passing the keys to him.

  “It’s not a problem. Kacey explained everything.” He handed her a Styrofoam cup with a black lid. “Thought you could use some coffee. It’s black, but if you need some cream and sugar, I can get it.”

  Coffee. “God bless you, sir. Black is just fine.” She normally liked a good bit of sugar in hers, but for now, this was perfect—and warm. She sipped the hot brew and grimaced when it burned going down. But it was wonderful. “Thank you.”

  “You be careful. There’s a serial killer somewhere around here.” His green gaze narrowed on the wooded area behind her.

  “Yes, sir, I know.”

  “You got a satellite phone?”

  “No.” At his raised brow, she shook her head. “It’s a long story.”

  “Take mine. You need it more than I do. I have a landline and my wife has the backup sat phone.” He handed her the device. “I’d appreciate getting it back, though.”

  His generosity touched her. She slipped the phone into her pocket, shivered, and took another sip of the coffee. “Thank you again. I’ll see that the phone gets returned to you.”

  He nodded. “Now, when you get over to the woods, look for the trail. It leads up to a viewing area I built last year. I even put a little bathroom in it. Got a couch and a satellite television, too, though I doubt you’ll have time to enjoy those features.” A glimmer of amusement shone through the concern in his eyes. “A little man cave, you might call it. Anyway, once you pass that, the terrain gets a lot rougher, but you came down the mountain, so guess you know that.”

  “I came down a different route and made my way around to the houses I spotted from the air. You think I can get back to the chopper if I go up this way?”

  “The whole mountain is shaped like a tepee with a flat top. As long as you’re going up, you’ll get there.”

  Pretty much what she’d thought, but his confirmation was a relief. “Okay, thank you so much.”

  “Be careful, little lady. This is a dangerous place to be right now.”

  Penny gave him a forced smile, handed him the half-empty coffee cup, and waved goodbye. When she hit the edge of the woods, she stopped to pull out her emergency flashlight and dial Mike’s number on the satellite phone. While it rang, she found the trail and headed up.

  “Life Flight. This is Mike Bishop.”

  “You and I are going to have a serious chat when I next see you,” Penny said, “but I need to know if you have another chopper on the way.”

  “Where’d you get the phone?”

  “Long story, but at least I have one now. The other chopper?”

  “Yeah, Byron should be in the air in five. He said he was on the way shortly after I hung up with you.”

  That had been a good twenty minutes ago. “The hospital is just ten minutes away from where I landed,” she said. Penny honestly didn’t see how Byron would manage to get through this mess. She was one of the best pilots in the program and even she would balk at flying right now. Then again, there was Claire. “It’s bad out here, Mike. I’ve never seen it like this before.”

  The wind whipped her around and into a tree. She grunted and pain raced along her already sore shoulder.

  “How’s Claire?”

  She shoved the pack higher on her back and focused the light on the muddy path. “How am I supposed to know? It’s not like I can call and ask because there’s not a satellite phone on the chopper!” She knew she was yelling, partly because she needed him to hear her over the sound of the storm, partly out of sheer fear for those she’d left at the site, and partly out of frustration with the man.

  “Let me make something clear to you, Penny. She’d better not die, or this program is finished. You, and everyone else, will be out of a job—and no one will need a blasted sat phone!”

  “Well, there’s not much I can do about that at the moment. I’ve got to go before I lose my footing and break my neck.” A gust of wind swept icy water into her face and she sputtered and spit. And pushed on. “I’ll call when I know more.”

  When the ambulance finally arrived, Gus was still clinging to life. Holt had notified Gerald of Gresham’s death. The ME was on the way and local officers were protecting the scene. As much as he hated to leave Gus, their buddy was in capable hands. The best thing he and the others could do would be to find Gresham’s killer. He slipped back inside the Bucar, ignored the fact that he was cold and wet, and focused on the fury that burned in his chest.

  Julianna slammed the back door. “I want this guy,” she said, her voice soft, low. Tense.

  “Yeah. And the girlfriend.” Assuming it had been Rabor or Shondra, there was no sign of them now. “Let’s keep going up. I have a bad feeling things are going to get worse before they get better.”

  “You think they’re going to go for the chopper?” Julianna asked.

  So, it had crossed her mind too, and Marty was nodding.

  “Well, they’re not here and this place is on the way to the top of the mountain. He’s a former Air Force pilot, and if he has access to a radio or a phone, he has access to the news and knows the chopper is there. What would you do if you were in his shoes?”

  “Yeah, I agree. No more stopping until we’re there,” Marty said.

  Saving Gus’s life was worth the delay, but it had given Rabor that much more time to put distance between them. Please, God, don’t let Gus die. At least Holt had been there to help this time. He put the sedan in gear. “Hope you brought your hiking shoes. We’re about to run out of road.”

  Five minutes later, they were parked at the spot where the road ended, dressed in their slickers with FBI logos prominently displayed, gear on their backs, and pushing upward through the slashing rain. Other teams just like theirs were searching all around the mountain, and as soon as one of them spotted Rabor, he’d hear about it.

  Using his satellite phone, he called the command center. “We’re heading up the mountain. Expect to arrive at the chopper in about fifteen minutes. Any word from Penny or the crew?”

  “Just spoke to her supervisor, Mike Bishop. He said Penny had managed to land the bird with few injuries—really none. Just some bumps and bruises. The radio was damaged and she had to go out and find a phone to call him. She just checked in and is in possession of a satellite phone and was heading back to the chopper to let the others know help was on the way.” He gave the number to Holt, who tapped it into his phone.

&nb
sp; “And the patient?”

  “Penny didn’t have an update on her at the moment, but she was critical at the time they landed. Call Penny and find out how far she is from the chopper. We had another reported sighting of Rabor. Held up a delivery driver and stole the food.”

  “Who in their right mind is out in this mess delivering food?”

  “Hey, I’m just reporting what’s coming in.”

  The rage burned hotter. “Did he hurt the driver?” Holt was proud of the calm in his voice.

  “Knocked him out cold, but at least he’s alive. Driver said he never saw it coming. Kid is seventeen years old with a concussion. Do not let Rabor get away.”

  “That’s the plan. Any sign of the girlfriend?”

  “Negative. If they’re smart, they split up.” He paused. “Or she’s served her purpose and he killed her.”

  “Yeah. I’ll call Penny.” Holt hung up and dialed the sat phone’s number.

  “Hello?”

  Just in that one word, he could hear her exhaustion. Her voice triggered memories of a day not unlike this one when Penny had braved the odds and saved his life. “Penny, it’s Holt. I’m out here on the mountain looking for you and your chopper. Mike Bishop said you were on the way back to it.”

  “Boy, am I glad to hear your voice. Are you looking for that serial killer too?”

  “I am. Well, a lot of us are. But I want to find you before—”

  “Before he finds me or I find him? Seems like we’ve done this dance before. Serial killer on the loose, you chasing him, me in the picture. Not sure I want to be in close proximity to you anymore.”

  She’d just almost crash-landed a helicopter, marched partway down the side of a mountain in one of the worst storms in the state’s history, found help, and was heading back to the landing site—and she was cracking jokes. He’d liked her before, had been incredibly grateful for her brave and skilled actions that had saved his life, but now he might just have tumbled into love. “Yeah, I can understand that. We can discuss that later over pizza. Where are you?”