Chapter One #2
Body in a tight circle, she reached for his arm and then dug her fingernails into his wrist. The man hardly flinched, but she wasn’t expecting to break free from his grasp.
His hands were gloved, and the material from his hoodie kept her from reaching skin.
Or obtaining DNA evidence. At least the material fibers that were now underneath her fingernails could give investigators something to go on.
Ski Mask’s fingers were almost to the knife. Blakely tightened her grasp and then exploded, twisting around once again, scraping the side of her cheek on the pavement.
His grip broke. For a split second, she froze, unable to believe what had just happened. Reality smacked hard. She had to get the hell out of there. After popping up to her feet, she ran as fast as her legs would carry her while screaming one word over and over again…“Fire!”
If you wanted help, you had to yell fire instead.
People were afraid when they heard the word help.
They hid behind the miniblinds, praying whatever was outside couldn’t get them too.
They instantly reacted to the word fire.
They practically ran outside to make sure none of their belongings were in the path.
Help was useless when you needed it most. The reality of people’s survival instincts needing them to stay safe was coded into their DNA.
Half expecting to hear Ski Mask’s heavy breathing and footsteps coming up from behind, Blakely pushed her legs until her thighs burned.
All those Krav Maga lessons she’d taken over the years had just paid off.
The Israel Defense Forces self-defense method was created for dealing with real-life situations, like this.
She didn’t dare risk glancing backward. A second could give an opponent the advantage.
Porch lights came on one by one as dogs barked over her screams. From the corner of her eye, she saw a front door open.
Blakely cut a sharp left and made a beeline for the opened door, yelling the word repeatedly until she reached the front porch.
Mr. Bowman, a widower, stood there in his slacks and sweater with his forehead wrinkled in concern. His hands were balled into fists on his hips as he studied her. The fact he didn’t look behind her said Ski Mask didn’t follow her.
She expected to hear the squeal of tires as the perp stole her car, but that didn’t happen either.
“Call 911,” she managed to say through heaves to Mr. Bowman as she hopped onto his porch, skipping the stairs altogether. “Tell them Judge Adamson was attacked outside her home and her seven-year-old nephew is missing. I need help now.”
Without questioning, Mr. Bowman did as instructed, leaving his door open as he disappeared into his house.
Blakely turned around once she made it to his door and could slip inside, close the door and lock it behind her at a moment’s notice.
The yard was large and boxed in by hedges that replaced fencing.
With the porch light on, she would be able to see anyone coming before they could get to her.
And she couldn’t go inside without knowing what happened to Chase.
Heart pounding the inside of her ribcage, she struggled to breathe as she continued scanning the yard.
There was no sign of her nephew or the perp.
Was Chase hiding? Running? The thought of him alone in the dark, scared, was a knife through her chest. Her doors were always locked, so he couldn’t have gone inside her home.
Where did you run off to, buddy?
Sirens split the air before she caught her breath. Help was on the way, but no real relief came. With Chase missing, there was no way she could relax. She had to find her nephew before Ski Mask did, if he hadn’t already.
Don’t go there. Not even hypothetically. It will literally unhinge you.
Mr. Bowman came up behind her, cutting into her little pep talk.
“Do you have a weapon?” she asked the older gentleman. “Hunting rifle? I’d take anything.”
“I’m afraid not,” he said as he came up beside her. “The wife, rest her soul, wasn’t comfortable keeping one around since the grandkids.” He stood next to her. “Is that your car running?”
“Yes,” she answered, grabbing at her side in an attempt to soothe the ache. “It is.”
“I can walk over there with you, if you’d like,” Mr. Bowman offered. “Hold on a second.”
He disappeared and then returned a few moments later with a fireplace poker, a baseball bat and a flashlight.
He showed her the offerings. Mr. Bowman was a former runner who was in his early seventies.
His build was slight, but she’d seen him out in his yard helping the landscaping crew spread mulch in his wife’s flower beds—beds that he’d kept going since losing her last year.
The thirty-plus-pound bags were no joke to carry.
Mr. Bowman would have one in each hand. Meaning, he was strong as an ox.
She knew a few details of his life since he’d joined her at the food spread during last year’s holiday party.
“I’ll take the fireplace poker,” she said. “Thank you.”
He locked up behind them and pocketed his keys, and then she backtracked toward the car with Mr. Bowman a step behind.
Blakely needed to get to her phone. She had to call her sister immediately to inform her of the situation. If Ski Mask left her purse, which she doubted.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d said a prayer…elementary school? But that was exactly what she did as she neared her vehicle. She prayed her nephew would return to the scene unharmed too, figuring it couldn’t hurt.
Because kidnapping Chase was another reason Ski Mask might have taken off without pursuing her on foot.
An icy chill gripped her spine.
A marked SUV came roaring up, sirens blaring, along with a fleet vehicle from the Marshals Service. Would her nephew realize it was safe to come out of hiding? If that was the case, and she could only hope it was because the thought of Ski Mask taking Chase…
Blakely involuntarily shivered at the thought.
Chase, buddy, where are you?