Chapter 11
“She’s not answering.” Jamming the phone into the pocket of his jacket, Jon strode from the room where a command center had been set up. Other law enforcement officers had been drawn in from the neighboring town, but with all their canvassing of the area, there was still no sign of Sullivan or whatever the hell he was calling himself.
And several calls to Kamilah had gone straight to voicemail. He did not want to think the worse, but his gut was telling him that something was very wrong.
“We have officers at every entry and exit point.” The sheriff spoke up as he went after Jon and almost had to run to catch up to him.
“In the meantime, I am not in touch with my girl. Thanks.” He had called for his horse. “Bull, with me. Bill, round up some of the others. We’re going hunting.”
Checking to see that his shotgun and nine-millimeter were secured in his saddle bag, he wheeled his horse around, causing the sheriff to jump back hastily as the animal pawed the air before taking off like a bullet.
He needed to get to Kamilah before it was too late. The air was thick with anticipation as Jon rode through the forest, his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel the tension radiating from Bull, who rode closely behind him, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of movement.
As they galloped through the dense trees, Jon's mind raced with a thousand possibilities. What if Sullivan had already harmed her? What if they were too late? He pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on the task at hand. He had to find her. He had to save her.
The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the forest floor. They rode in silence, the only sounds being the thundering of hooves and the rustling of leaves. Finally, Bull spoke up.
"Boss, we need to be careful. Sullivan is unpredictable, and we don't know what he's capable of."
Jon nodded - his jaw set in determination. "I know. But we have to find her. I won't let him get away with this."
As they approached a clearing, Jon pulled on the reins, bringing his horse to a stop. He dismounted, motioning for Bull to do the same. They moved forward cautiously, their weapons at the ready.
He felt the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he approached the cabin where Kamilah was staying. Vaulting over the fence, he raced towards the front door, only to find that it was locked. He was running towards the back when he almost collided with Bull.
“Back door is wide open.”
The fear crystallized inside his chest and propelled him forward. Cold dread settled over him as he raced towards the bedroom, hoping to God that she was deep into her writing and had somehow not heard the commotion. But the place was as silent as a tomb and felt just as daunting.
“Boss.” He turned to see Bull holding a piece of stationary in his hand.
Striding towards him, he grabbed a single piece of paper and scanned the handwritten message. His face whitened with strain, and he felt the weakness invading every part of his body. “That son of a bitch. I am going to kill him. If he hurts her….”
Jon's voice trembled with rage. He clenched the note tightly in his fist, crumpling it as his thoughts darkened. Bull placed a steadying hand on Jon's shoulder, grounding him for a moment.
"We will find her, Boss," Bull said firmly. "But we need to stay focused and smart about this. Letting anger cloud your judgment won't help the little lady."
Jon took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he tried to regain his composure. He knew Bull was right. He had to keep his wits about him if they were going to have any chance of rescuing her. With a nod, he shoved the note into his pocket and turned to face the cabin once more.
"We need to search the place thoroughly," Jon instructed. "Look for any clues that might tell us where Sullivan has taken her."
The two men moved methodically through the small cabin, examining every nook and cranny. Jon's frustration grew with every passing minute. By this time, the rest of the men were heard thundering outside.
“Let’s go.” He said tersely, running from the cabin.
“Stay far behind.” He ordered as he mounted his horse. “Sullivan has Kamilah. He left a ransom note, but no other instructions.” He felt his heart clutching with dread as he recalled the rest of the message.
The part where he said he was going to have fun with her first. He knew exactly what that meant. For the first time in a long while, he found himself praying earnestly. He had to find her, please God, let me find her.
*****
“I have been stockpiling supplies over the past week or so. A little here and there.” The place was musty with mildew sprinkled over the tattered curtains at the filthy windows.
A few broken furnishings were scattered in the living area and the saggy sofa, which had once been red, had turned a sad and dismal gray. The place reeked of things she did not even want to contemplate.
“Sorry, it’s not up to your usual high standards!” He smirked as he tied her securely to a chair, which was hard as a rock and very uncomfortable. “But it will do for now. Like I said, it’s pretty isolated and forgotten.
Your man or anyone else, would never think of it. I understand it used to belong to an old timer who died years ago, and they did not bother to do anything about it. He was some sort of hermit and a distant relative to the boss.”
Moving towards an igloo in the corner of the room, he flipped it open and tugged out a six pack.
“Want one?”
“No thanks. What now?”
Pulling up a chair across from her, he straddled it, tilting it back on two legs while he popped the cork on the bottle and took a swig. Smacking his lips, he grinned at her. “I am just going to sit here for a while and feast on your beauty before we get down to business.”
He studied her, shaking his head at the bruise on her cheek. “I am really sorry I hit you. But you were asking for it, mouthing off to me like that. If you had treated me right at the bonfire, I might think about giving you a chance.
But women like you don’t notice men like me.” He took a swing of beer, his lips curling. “Not when rich assholes like Jonathan McCarthy is around. How is he between the sheets? I hear he’s quite the ladies’ man. But that doesn’t bother you, does it? He has all this pile of money to make it all better.”
He pointed the bottle at her. “Before I happened along, I did my research. And decided that it was time for me to retire. I have been wandering around, working for shitholes who think you don’t have blood running through your veins, like theirs. I decided it was time to get my own.”
“By committing a felon.” She forced down the paralyzing fear and realized she was going to have to use her wits if she wanted to get out of this intact. “It never occurred to you to work for what you want.
Let me guess – crappy childhood. Father wasn’t there and mommy didn’t hug you, so you are blaming everyone else for your misery…” She flinched when he doused her with the rest of the beer in his bottle.
“Shut the hell up, bitch.” He reared up so suddenly that he sent the chair crashing backwards against the wall. She braced for another hit as he came forward menacingly. Fisting a hand into her shirt, he started to haul her up.
That was the opportunity she needed. Shoving back, she raised her knee and slammed it hard into his groin, sending him pitching back onto the floor. A keening sound echoed around the room as he grabbed his crotch, the pain paralyzing him.
The momentum sent her crashing on her side, and she frantically tried to undo the knot of the rope digging into her skin.
“You bitch! You goddamn bitch, I am going to kill you.”
“Come on! Come on!” She whispered fervently, renewing her effort to untie the knot.
The knot was stubborn, her fingers trembling with both fear and determination. Sullivan's groans of pain filled the musty air, a temporary reprieve from his threatening presence. She knew she had to act quickly; every moment counted. As the rope finally loosened, she felt a surge of hope.
She freed her hands and scrambled to her feet, casting a quick glance at Sullivan writhing on the floor. Fueled by adrenaline, she darted towards the door. Her heart pounded in her chest as she reached for the rusty doorknob, praying it wouldn't make too much noise.
As she pushed the door open, a sliver of moonlight cut through the darkness, illuminating her path to freedom. She stepped out into the cool night air, the forest around her eerily quiet. The urgency of her escape pressed upon her, and she broke into a sprint, not daring to look back.
Breathless and with branches scratching at her skin, she forged ahead, her mind focused on survival. She knew she couldn't stop, couldn't rest, until she found help.
Every rustle in the underbrush sent waves of terror through her, but she pressed on, driven by the hope that Jon and his men were out there, searching for her. She had to stay strong, for herself and for them.
She broke off a scream when she heard the footsteps thundering behind her and seemed to be bridging the distance. She had to get away. If he caught up to her, she knew without a doubt that all bets were off. He would kill her.
The stone was hidden beneath a mound of grass, and she did not see it until her foot was tangled. She fell heavily onto her stomach, the breath knocked out of her. Fear and pain had her screaming as he landed on top of her.
“You’re going to pay for what you did, bitch.” He whispered in her ear. “I had envisioned a nice warm mattress for this part of it, but here will do just fine.” His words served as a method of giving her renewed strength. If he expected her to be compliant, he was going to be sadly mistaken.
Waiting until he had flipped her over, she aimed for his face and tore at his flesh. His scream rent the air and for a minute, he did not react. She took that minute to try and knee him in the groin again, but this time he was ready for her.
Grabbing the front of her shirt, he ripped it all the way down and was reaching for her bra when she renewed her effort to fight him off.
Meanwhile, Jon and his men raced through the woods, their determination unwavering. The sound of hooves thundered in the night, a relentless pursuit to save Kamilah. Jon's thoughts were consumed with finding her, his prayers becoming a silent mantra as he led the charge through the dense forest. He couldn't afford to lose her.
The sudden scream rent the air and sent chills up and down his spine.
Jon's heart raced as he urged his horse forward, the scream propelling him with newfound urgency. "This way!" He shouted, signaling his men to follow. The trees blurred past him as he navigated the treacherous terrain, praying they were not too late.
Back in the clearing, Kamilah fought with every ounce of strength she had left. Her vision blurred by tears and pain; she refused to let her captor win. She managed to grab a nearby branch, swinging it with all her might, connecting with his head. He stumbled back, momentarily disoriented.
Seizing the opportunity, she scrambled to her feet and ran, pain and fear powering her steps. The forest seemed endless, her hope wavering with each passing second. But she couldn't stop now. Not when she was so close.
Jon's group burst into the clearing just as Kamilah broke through the trees on the other side. "There she is!" One of his men shouted. Jon's heart nearly stopped at the sight of her. But his relief was short lived.
He was concentrating on the woman in front of him and none of them noticed that Sullivan had staggered to his feet. Raising his arm, he fired a shot that had everyone frozen in place for a second.
“No!” Springing from his horse, Jon raced towards her, as she fell face down in the grass. Another shot rang out, but he did not notice or care about any of it. Not even when Bill shouted that they had the bastard.
“Baby.” His voice broke as he slid to his knee and turned her over carefully. His body went weak when he saw the blood oozing from her left shoulder. “No! No! No!” Ripping off his jacket, he pressed it against the wound to staunch the flow of blood.
“Boss?” He looked up as Bill approached cautiously.
“She has been shot!” he was unaware that tears were running down his cheeks. “Call the ambulance.”
*****
The wait seemed interminable. At one point, he could swear she was not breathing. Her pulse was so faint that it took several attempts for him to even find it. Then the EMTs were finally there and administering CPR.
Before long, the area was crawling with cops, securing the scene, and declaring Sullivan dead. None of that mattered to him, except the woman on the stretcher, who was not responding.
“I’m going with her.” He jumped into the ambulance and sat there staring at the still form. Her blood was still on his hands.
“What are her chances?” He asked hoarsely as they continued to examine her.
“The bullet is lodged in her shoulder.” The technician told him grimly. “And we’re trying to stop the bleeding. Here we are.” The ambulance screeched to a halt in front of the emergency door of the hospital.
Doctors rushed forward, having been alerted by the technicians and in short order, she was transferred from the vehicle.
“Jon, we’ve got her.” The hospital had been funded by the McCarthy’s for years and everyone knew them.
He simply nodded and trailed behind the team as they rushed her inside and headed straight for the operating theater.
He paced the sterile hallway, the scent of antiseptic and the hushed whispers of hospital staff doing little to calm his racing heart. Time seemed to stretch and warp, each minute an eternity. Jon's mind was a whirlwind of fear and guilt, replaying the moment over and over. How could he let this happen? He should have been more vigilant, more careful.
“Would you like some coffee?”
He had finally made his way into a private waiting room and was just sitting there, staring at his blood-stained hand. He really should wash it off, he thought dazedly. Looking up at the nurse standing just inside the room, he gave her a blank stare. “What?”
“Coffee?”
“No, thanks.” His voice was curtly dismissive and had her stepping out and closing the door behind her.
His phone rang just then, and he thought about not answering, but his mother would want to know what’s happening. He had left the scene without so much as a word to the officers and left everything to his men.
“Mother.”
“Any word?”
“No. She’s in surgery.”
His mother sighed heavily on the other end of the line. "She's strong, Jon. She'll pull through this."
He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. "I hope so, Mother. I really do."
“Would you like me to come there and wait with you?”
“No. There’s no point to that now.”
"Call me as soon as you hear anything, alright?"
"I will." He hung up and stared at the ceiling, willing the time to pass faster. The waiting was unbearable, every second filled with the gnawing worry that something might go wrong. He picked up a magazine, flipped through its pages without seeing anything, and tossed it aside.
Moments later, the door creaked open again, and another nurse stepped in, this one carrying a blanket. "You look like you could use this."
He accepted it with a nod. "Thank you."
Finally, after what felt like hours, a doctor emerged from the operating room. Jon rushed forward, searching the man's face for any hint of news.
"She's stable for now," the doctor said, his voice steady but weary. "We managed to remove the bullet and stop the bleeding. She's in the recovery room, but she'll need time to heal."
Relief washed over Jon, and his knees nearly buckled. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion.
"She'll need round-the-clock care for the next few days," the doctor continued. "But with time and rest, she should make a full recovery."
Jon nodded, barely hearing the rest of the doctor's words. All that mattered was that she was alive. He followed the doctor to the recovery room, where she lay pale and still on the bed, hooked up to monitors and IVs.
He sank into the chair beside her, taking her hand in his. "I'm here, baby," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "I'm not going anywhere."
The hours passed in a blur as he kept vigil by her side, refusing to leave even for a moment. He knew the road to recovery would be long, but as long as she was with him, he would face whatever came next.
The soft hum of the medical equipment became a soothing background noise, a gentle reminder that she was still here, still fighting. Jon's thoughts drifted back to the moment they had met, the laughter they had shared, and the dreams they had woven together. He knew that those dreams had been shaken but not shattered.
As the first light of dawn crept through the window, casting a warm glow over her pale face, Jon felt a renewed sense of hope.
The doctors and nurses came and went, speaking in hushed tones, but Jon's focus never wavered from the woman he loved. He knew that her strength, coupled with his unwavering support, would see them through this ordeal.
*****
She surfaced as if from a deep fog, wavering between consciousness and somewhere in between. At first she had no idea where she was and felt as if something was pressing down on her left shoulder. The pain came swiftly, the throbbing of her shoulder, forcing her eyes open.
Confusion clouded her thoughts as her senses gradually returned, the sterile scent of the hospital room mingling with the rhythmic beeping of the monitors. Blinking against the harsh overhead light, she tried to piece together the fragments of her memory.
The face of the doctor, his reassuring words, the panic, and fear that had gripped her before everything went dark.
Her gaze shifted, and she saw Jon sitting beside her bed, his head resting on the edge of the mattress, his hand still holding hers. The sight of him brought a wave of comfort and a weak smile tugged at her lips.
"Jon," she whispered, her voice hoarse and barely audible.
His head shot up, eyes widening in relief and joy as he saw her awake. "Hey," he said softly, leaning closer. "You're awake. How do you feel?"
"Like I've been hit by a truck," she replied with a faint chuckle, though the movement sent a jolt of pain through her shoulder. "But better now that you're here.”
“Where else would I be?” He wanted to gather her up against him and cradle her.
“I was shot.” She tried to move – to ease up on the pillows, but the pain was too much.
“Easy, baby.” He pressed her back down.
“The guy, the bastard who shot me…?”
“Is dead.” His voice was deadly, expression grim. “And it pisses me off that I was not the one to end him.” his expression turned anguished. “Baby, I am so sorry.”
Her hand gripped his. “I was so afraid and kept clinging to the hope that you would find me.”
“I was almost too late.” The very thought of it curdled his blood. He was back in the woods where he saw her lying down, with blood pouring from her wound. “If you had died…”
“No.” She shook her head. “No. He was going to rape me.”
He had to push away from the bed to compose himself. She did not need his anger right now. When he was alone, he would give vent, but right now, that was not what she needed.
“You’re in pain. Let me get the doctor.”
She nodded, her eyes drifting shut.