Page 157 of Secrets Beneath the Waves

Dante staredat the phone screen, his mind refusing to compute the three words Jules had sent—thats not him.Was that true? How was it possible that the police scouring the land around his family’s property could have closed in on a man who happened to be in the vicinity and who at least closely resembled the partial sketch Dante had drawn?

He had been a little disconcerted about the discrepancies that existed between their prisoner and the drawing he’d done, but the manwasCaucasian. He did have a long face and deep-set eyes, if more brown than amber. No scratch marks on his cheeks or arms, although he could have been an extremely fast healer.

Dante had comforted himself with the fact that Jules had been going from hernotes, not from a clear picture in her mind. Any exact details she had failed to add to her mental inventory would have been lost by the time she tried to describe the features to him. And, of course, without the description of a nose, they didn’t have a full picture to go by.

The phone buzzed again, and he lifted it quickly to scan her next text. Straightening abruptly, Dante yanked open a drawer and withdrew another sketch pad. He’d left the one with thepartial drawing at the cottage, although he had studied the picture enough it was burned into his mind. He recreated what he’d had with fast, smooth strokes before adding in the new details Jules had sent him.

Beneath the tip of his pencil, a face rapidly formed. Before he could add the final details, his phone vibrated against the wooden surface of the desk, and he snatched it up.

the uber driver

He frowned. The Uber driver? What did that mean? Was she taking an Uber somewhere? No doubt she would have headed either to Brie’s parents’ place to see her friends or the hospital to visit her mother as soon as she could, so she was likely on her way to one or the other. Dante frowned. Why wouldn’t she have taken her own car?

the uber driver

No. Could it be that the man they were searching for was, even now, taking Jules somewhere in his vehicle?

Although his fingers had grown numb, Dante managed to add the last details to the rendering before tossing his pencil on the desk and sprinting for the lab. He’d get the tech guys to run the sketch through facial recognition as well as trace Jules’ phone, see if they could get a bead on her location.

In minutes, both processes were underway. Dante paced the hallway outside the lab. Thoughts of where Jules could be, what she might be going through, were driving him nearly out of his mind. Finally, when he was about to lose it completely and go storming in, a tech opened the door and held out the phone Dante had given him. “Here. I’ve loaded the software so you can follow her route.”

Dante snatched it and glanced at the screen. “The dot isn’t moving.”

“No. According to the records, it hasn’t moved in twenty minutes.”

“Meaning they have arrived at wherever this guy is taking her?”

The tech didn’t quite meet his eyes. “That’s possible. Although, as I’m sure you know, it’s much more likely that at some point he took the phone from her and dumped it. Still wouldn’t hurt to check it out.”

Dante nodded. “I will.” He held up the device. “Thanks for this. You guys will text me if you get a hit on the facial recognition, right?”

“Of course.”

“Appreciate it.” Already striding away, Dante called the words back over his shoulder. Yeah, he did know that the most likely scenario was that the killer had taken Jules’ phone. He was far too smart to allow her to keep it, knowing how easy it would be to track.

Even so, Dante was heading to the spot. If Jules wasn’t there, maybe there would be some clue, however small, that would help him to find her.

Already he knew Jules well enough to know that she wouldn’t give up without a fight, so neither would he.

CHAPTER

NINETEEN

They droveanother twenty minutes before Jules’Uber driverwheeled the car onto a gravel driveway and maneuvered the SUV along it until they reached a dilapidated house with peeling gray paint that hadn’t been visible from the road.

He jerked the vehicle to a stop in front of the garage attached to the house and turned off the engine. Jules stared at the building. Whose place was this? Was anyone home? Would it be better or worse for her if someone was?

It was a moot point. When the guy exited the vehicle and came around to yank open the door, his pistol aimed at her chest, Jules climbed down. No sense trying to fight him now; she’d only get herself killed. She’d wait him out, take the first opportunity to either escape or attack him with something she found in the house.

At some point, he had removed his gloves, and he planted a hand between her shoulder blades to direct her toward the saggy front porch. Beneath the pressure of his bare fingers, her skin crawled. Once they’d ascended the three porch steps, the man reached past her to pull open the door and hold it until she had stepped into a musty-smelling kitchen.

Jules scanned the space, taking in as many details as she could, although she likely wouldn’t remember anything. Her thoughts were spinning too wildly and the man was prodding her too quickly across the room for her to make many notes. He herded her through a living room crowded with a couch, two armchairs, a coffee table, and a boxy television set in the corner with rabbit ears sitting on top.

In a short hallway, they passed a bathroom before he stopped and opened a door. His hand on her back again, he pushed her inside a small bedroom. After following her in, he came around in front of her, stuck the pistol into the back of his jeans, and pressed his bent arm across her collarbones to shove her against the wall.

Jules struggled to breathe as desperately as she had when thick, noxious smoke had filled her lungs. Was this it? No preamble? He was going straight for her throat? Not if she had anything to say about it. That dangerous heat flowed through her, and she harnessed the shot of courage and energy.

The man was too close for her to get in a good kick, but she lifted the heel of her sneaker to his knee and shoved backward. The man grunted as he slid his bent arm up to press against her neck. When he spoke, his breath was hot against her cheek. “Do you remember what happened to the last woman who fought me?”