Page 38 of Final Approach (Lake City Heroes #4)

TWENTY

Kristine rolled out of bed at the first hint of sunrise.

She’d spent all night tossing and turning about several things.

Her father, for one. So many thoughts and questions that the only way she could turn those off was to switch to wondering why Andrew hadn’t returned her texts and a call.

So, she called Nathan, who answered on the first ring.

“Hey,” he said. “Um, good morning.”

“Sorry if I woke you, but what’s up with Andrew? I’ve texted him five times, called once, and left a voice message, and am getting no response. Frankly, I’m a little worried.”

“Yeah. So, his parents’ store got broken into last night, and Cole and James were handling that while I stayed with other agents to keep an eye on Hank. I haven’t heard from him either. Fell asleep waiting for him to respond.”

She knew about the store. That was the whole reason she wanted to talk to him. Or at least a big part of it. The other part was she just wanted to hear from him. “That’s not like him.”

“No, it’s not, but he’s dealing with a lot right now. It might take him some time to respond.”

Kristine sighed. “Fine. I’ll give him a couple more hours in case he got to bed late, then I’m finding him to see if he needs help.”

“We can all do that.”

“Good. Thanks. Talk to you a little later.”

She hung up and considered calling her boss and begging to be put to work. On a flight to anywhere in spite of the suspension. But since that would just be a waste of time, she debated another idea. She wanted to know what her father was hiding. She texted him and asked him to call when he woke up.

Her phone buzzed with a text.

I’m not sleeping. I’m on a case in Charlotte. Be back later tonight.

You sure you feel up to that?

I’m fine. Talk later.

Kristine raised a brow at her screen and pursed her lips. All righty then. She considered plan B and decided she would go with that. And not feel one iota of guilt. Her father was hiding something, and she needed to know what it was.

She grabbed her keys and texted Nathan.

I’ve got to run a quick errand to Asheville. Text me if you hear from Andrew, please? And any movement at the safe house?

Will do and not yet.

Kristine hurried to her car, climbed in, and made the hour trip to Asheville without incident, even though her nerves were strung tight and she watched her mirrors. But she made it to her father’s house and let herself in using the well-hidden key.

She went straight to the drawer he’d shut so fast yesterday and opened it. Nothing. Well, of course not. She shut the drawer. Next stop, his office. She walked into the back bedroom and noted how neat he kept it. His camera was gone, but if he was on a case, he’d have it with him.

She sat at the desk and opened the first drawer. Bingo.

A lone piece of paper that looked like it had been handled quite a bit had been placed on top. A letter from her mother. Her heart stuttered at the realization.

She snapped a picture of it, then started reading.

Dear Greg,

The fight last night was the last straw. We can’t keep on this way. We’re a terrible example to the kids of what marriage should be—

She stopped and sucked in a trembling breath. No, she didn’t want to read this here. She couldn’t. She’d read it later in the privacy of her home, where she could cry or kick something if she needed to.

And besides, she was still worried about Andrew and wanted to touch base with him.

But first, she made her way to the attic and searched until she found the stack of boxes she was looking for.

So, he hadn’t thrown them out. A wave of anger swept over her.

She grabbed the first one and hauled it to her car, then went back for the others.

By the time she was done, she was sweaty and breathing hard.

The chilly air outside felt good and a sense of peace washed over her.

She had what was left of her mother’s things and could go through them at her leisure.

Which would be fast, because she couldn’t help but wonder if there was a clue somewhere in there about the person behind the hijacking that had killed her.

Despite her desire to read her mother’s letter, she drove straight to the bookstore and found the Rosses cleaning up. When Mr. Ross spotted her, he set his broom aside and came to greet her. “Kristine, good to see you. How are you?”

“That’s my question for you.” She looked past him to the woman who had to be Mrs. Ross. She was wearing an apron and putting books back on the shelf.

Mr. Ross introduced them and his wife smiled. “We’re okay. Thankful it’s just stuff that was damaged and nothing more than a bump on the head that will heal. Could have been a lot worse.”

“Yes. For sure. Is Andrew here?”

“No, we haven’t seen him this morning. I called him a couple of times and it went straight to voicemail.”

Now that was alarming. “Wait a minute, he’s not here?”

“No. I thought he might show up but figured he caught a case or something that he couldn’t get away from.”

“But he’d call. At least communicate that, right?”

“Well, yes, I would think so.”

Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong.

ANDREW’S HEAD POUNDED and his stomach churned. Nausea was never a welcome visitor. He lay still, praying for it to pass. Finally, after several deep breaths, he kept everything in place. Then he opened his eyes and the blurry room came into focus.

This was not his hotel room.

And his hands were double zip-tied in front of him.

Oh boy. Okay. Think , Ross , think. But his brain was a scrambled mess at the moment.

He focused on the zip ties. Breaking two would be a challenge, and to do that he was going to need more strength than he currently had.

He struggled to a sitting position and waited once more for the nausea to pass.

More deep breathing and finally everything settled.

Two facts. He was in a bedroom on a bed, and his hands were bound in front of him.

Why was he in a bedroom? And whose bedroom was it? And how long had he been out? And how was he going to get out of the zip ties?

A flicker of a memory danced across his mind and he frowned. He’d confronted Corey, gone out to his car, and...

And what? Had Corey done this?

No...

The spray in the face.

It was coming back to him.

The guy behind him had sprayed him with something that knocked him out.

And brought him here.

He lifted his bound wrists and rubbed a hand over his chin, then looked for his phone.

Gone, of course. His head ached something fierce and he tuned in to the raging thirst clawing at him.

The bathroom was across the room, and that meant he had to ignore the headache and other physical discomfort and make the effort to get off the mattress.

The thirst forced him to move. He swung his legs over the side and stood, weakness invading him, and he almost dropped back down to let the darkness dancing in front of his vision take him under again.

He hesitated, panting, searching for the strength to move, then stand.

His dry mouth and burning throat sent him stumbling to the sink.

He twisted the faucet and was relieved when water poured into the basin.

He tilted his head to drink until he was satisfied.

Feeling much better, he turned the water off and stood still for a moment, thinking.

He needed a weapon. He scoured the bathroom.

Nothing. Even the toilet seat and tank lids had been removed. There was no glass shower door to break. No shower curtain rod. He might be able to dismantle the sink parts and use one of the pipes, but that would take time he wasn’t sure he had.

So ... nothing. He stepped back into the bedroom.

There was a mattress but no boxspring. And no window to break and use the glass as a weapon—or a tool to cut the zip ties.

He frowned. This wasn’t an ordinary bedroom.

Someone had planned this pretty meticulously.

He looked up. There was a light, but it was built into the ceiling with some kind of protective cover over it.

Could he break it? Maybe. If he could reach it.

But even standing on the mattress, he wouldn’t be tall enough to even touch it.

There was one possibility. A built-in wooden desk with no drawers. He could probably bust up the desk, but that would make a lot of noise, and he’d rather not alert his captor to the fact that he was awake and moving. He walked to the bedroom door.

Somehow he didn’t think he was going out that way, but he tried the knob, shocked when it turned under his palm. He hesitated. He was able to move freely about the room. The door was unlocked. Which meant his captor wanted him to come out.

All righty then.

With an overabundance of caution, he pulled the door open and stepped into the hall, then followed it into a spacious kitchen. He tried the door and found it locked. And no way to unlock it from the inside. Oookay. Weird. There was a den off to the left, so he aimed his steps that way.

“’Bout time you woke up. Was starting to wonder if I gave you too much juice.”

Andrew stilled and focused on the man in the recliner aiming a gun at him. Dirty blond hair, narrowed green eyes. Some would probably say he was a handsome man. But the hate in his eyes was chilling. “Who are you and why have you brought me here?”

“You’ll figure it out in a minute when we go make a visit to the one person in my life who loved me.”

Loved. He narrowed his eyes. His captor looked familiar, but he couldn’t place him. Wait a minute. “You were watching me from the street outside my parents’ place.”

“Yes. It came in handy to know who they were and what they mean to you. You look like you’re a close-knit family.”

It made him sick that this man had spied on his parents, knew where they lived, knew what they looked like. Knew way too much. He hoped he hid his revulsion, because he had a feeling that would only please the man. “Helpful how?”