Silenced (Alaskan Courage Book #4) (25 page)

“Go on.” Reef waved the flaming stick again. “Don’t make me shoot you.”

A lot of guys she knew would have been raring to bag a bear, but Reef was trying to scare it off, and it worked. After a few minutes of a standoff, the bear dropped back down on all fours and lumbered off.

Kirra stood and moved to Reef’s side as he threw the stick back in the fire.

“What if he comes back tonight?”

“I doubt he will. The rest of the food is tied up between the trees. There’ll be nothing left for him to eat.”

“Unless he decides we look good.”

“We’ll move our tents side by side. Rex will let us know if anything approaches. I’ll keep my gun with me, and I’ll use it if need be.”

She nodded, praying it wouldn’t be needed and praying for Kayden. As scared as Kirra had been as they faced the bear, she couldn’t imagine how frightened Kayden must be or what terror she might be enduring.

Please, Lord
, protect her in the midst of danger.

It was something only He could do. It defied logic, but she knew it was possible. She’d been there.

Kayden came to, a burnt taste in her mouth. She’d been electrocuted again. If that woman tried to poke her with that pole one more time, she’d break it over her head—even if she had to break her hands to get free of the cuffs.

Angela rolled out a sleeping bag on top of an air mattress on the table, with the lantern at her head.

Kayden followed the lantern light up to the ceiling, where water was dripping in.
Great.
That explained the constant damp feeling.

“I’m going to sleep,” Angela said. “If you wake me up with any of your shenanigans, I’ll jolt you yet again.”

“You do and you’ll regret it.”

Angela arched a brow. “Ah, so you’ve got some of your fight back. That’s good to see. Makes it all the more enjoyable knocking it back out of you.”

Jake drove along what may at one time have qualified as a road but certainly didn’t now.

From what he could tell from his regular study of the map and his GPS coordinates, the bunker lay five miles due east, on the edge of a bluff. According to Marshall, it also had a tower, and over the year some kids had made an extreme-sports snowboarding course out of the debris, even filmed a video—jumping down five stories from the tower and across the concrete ramps. It probably didn’t see much activity in the summer, so it could still be a potential option for Angela, though he doubted she’d choose something that had been visited so recently—the snow sometimes not melting this high up until mid-May.

He finally cleared the last rise, his headlights illuminating the tower, stopped his truck, and walked the last couple hundred yards. Gun in hand, he let the moon light his way. Using a flashlight across the clearing would make him a sitting duck.

He skirted the edge of the perimeter, eyeing each open “window” up along the tower. No signs of anyone present, at least not from this vantage point, but he needed to get closer.

He approached the building, keeping his back flush with the concrete. Except for the low hum of insects, silence surrounded him.

Debris littered the grounds—no doubt part of the snowboarding course when snow-packed.

Clicking on his flashlight, he entered the tower and cleared the first floor before moving on to the second, third, fourth, and finally the fifth and final level.

“What’s your problem, dude?” A teen shielded his eyes from Jake’s flashlight. A girl, no more than sixteen, sat beside him on a cruddy blanket.

“Are you the only ones here?”

“Yeah, that I know of. What’s your problem?”

“My problem”—Jake flashed his badge—“is that you’re trespassing. Now, I’m going to count to ten, and I want you out of here before I finish. One, two, three . . .”

The kid scrambled, grabbing the blanket and darting down the steps, leaving the girl to follow.

“And take her straight home—you hear?”

The boy was too busy running to respond.

Jake shook his head. Three bunkers, and still no Kayden.

He swung his flashlight across the windowsill and paused at the military action figurine glued to it, a wilted cypress flower tucked under its bent arm.

He leaned out the window, shining his flashlight at the kid darting across the grounds, the girl a dozen feet behind.

“Hey, kid. Freeze!”

Both kids stopped in their tracks. Illuminated by a dim circle of light, the boy turned, hands lifted.

“Is this action figure on the sill yours?”

“What am I, four?”

“So that’s a no?”

“Uh. Yeah.”

“Was it there when you arrived?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you seen it before?”

“It showed up a couple days ago.”

“Did you see who brought it?”

“Nah. Just saw it last time Jasmine and I were up there.”

“Thanks.”

“Can I go now?”

“Yeah. Go on. And I’m serious—take her home.”

The kid nodded and the two disappeared into the woods. Their vehicle was no doubt parked farther on down the pass.

Jake inspected the toy. It was army.

He pulled out the sat phone and dialed Marshall.

Reef settled into his sleeping bag, feeling awful for letting go of the search while his sister was out there, but Kirra was right. It was the smart thing to do, the best way to make sure they properly covered their grid, but he didn’t have to like it.

He shifted, his shotgun within hand’s reach.

Kirra had been adorable when the bear showed up—always putting on the brave, self-reliant front, it was nice to see a gentler side of her. He hoped she felt safe and protected knowing he was right next door.

He shook his head. Who would have thought he and Kirra Jacobs would be camping together under any circumstances and, even more surprisingly, that he’d have such a strong desire to protect her.

He could hear Rex’s rhythmic breathing through the tent
walls. With the light on in the other tent, he could see the husky’s shadow against the yellow fabric—and Kirra’s too.

She lay in her bag but wasn’t sleeping. It looked like she was reading.

He rolled over, resting his head on his hand, studying her silhouette, watching her flip pages.

Maybe all these years he had pegged her wrong.

Images of her ratting him out over and over again during his school years flashed through his mind. Okay, so maybe he’d pegged her
a little
wrong, about
some
things.

Kayden worked to slip her wrists from the handcuffs. They were tight, but her left wrist felt looser. Maybe if she crumpled her hand enough . . .

Angela shifted, and Kayden stilled. She waited until Angela settled down and tried again. If she could just get one hand free, maybe she could reach one of the metal scraps on the floor and work the other cuff open. She was suddenly very thankful that, much to Gage and Landon’s chagrin, Darcy had taught her how to pick locks.

She pressed her hand as small as she could make it and, positioning her back to the wall for leverage, pulled.

Pain burned through her as the metal grated along her chafed skin.

She bit back her cry, determined not to wake Angela.

If she could just grasp a piece of metal debris, one of the many nails lying just out of reach on the floor . . .

It came to her as she sat struggling. She’d seen it done on a crime show. She grimaced. Dislocating her thumb was the only way to break free.

Positioning her right thumb atop her left thumb’s ball-and-socket joint, she placed her right fingers into her palm and pressed as hard as she could with her right thumb. The socket popped and slid out of place, and her hand was free. She bit back the cry of pain threatening to rip loose. Fighting the dizziness swirling over her, she reached for one of the nails lying in the debris pile to her left, now able to reach them without the left cuff pinning her to the chain.

Grasping with her fingers—her thumb utterly useless and throbbing—she clasped hold of one and shuffled back to a sitting position. As she worked to free her other hand, she quickly realized it would be nearly impossible without a working thumb. So using the same method in reverse, she set it back in place, again swallowing the holler of pain. Her thumb was swollen and in excruciating pain, but at least now she had a modicum of function with it.

Working as quietly as possible, she popped the other cuff open.

Angela rolled over with a groggy mumble, and Kayden waited stock-still until she heard Angela’s rhythmic snoring resume. Then she rolled onto all fours and, careful not to put pressure on her thumb, crawled in the opposite direction of Angela, until she reached the pitch-dark doorway she’d seen her go through time and again.

The only light source was the lantern next to Angela’s head, and trying to retrieve it wasn’t worth the risk of waking her. So now she was headed blind into an unknown maze.

Using the doorframe for support, Kayden pulled herself to her feet, moved her hands ahead of her for guidance, and began feeling her way down the passage.

She had no idea which way was out, only the direction Angela came and went. Kayden prayed it would lead her outside, but then what? If she didn’t put some serious distance between her and Angela before Angela woke, she’d never outrun her with a broken leg.

She stumbled blindly down the corridor, praying for God’s protection, for His guidance.

Father,
I know the darkness is as light to you. Please
guide me through this. I can’t do this on
my own.

Feeling with her hands, her fingers brushed some cold metal. She scrambled to grasp a handle or knob, but found nothing other than solid wall. She hit one dead end after another.

She continued moving along the cold surface, feeling for a door, praying for a door. She bumped into something hard, and pain ricocheted up her legs, but she managed to remain standing. Too much leftover debris littered the building. If she moved too fast, the next collision might incapacitate her. But what choice did she have?

She prayed she wasn’t making too much noise, that Angela was far enough away that she couldn’t hear her clattering about.

The wall indented, and hope sprung in her chest as she quickly followed it down and found a handle. She lifted, but it remained stuck.

“Come on.” She tried again, using only her right hand, her left thumb swollen and throbbing.

She needed more leverage.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, she clasped her left hand on the handle as well, biting the inside of her cheek
to keep from crying out as she hefted it up. A horrible squeak sounded, echoing through the room.

She stilled, listening for any sound of movement on Angela’s part.

Hearing nothing, she proceeded forward, nearly tripping over the raised doorframe. Water sloshed around her feet, a horrific musty smell assailing her nostrils.

Please lead me out.

If water was dripping in, it made sense it was coming from somewhere outside. If she could find the entrance point, maybe she could find her way out. She followed the sound of dripping, sloshing unceremoniously through the murky water.

She fought the tears stinging her eyes. She
would
get out of this. This wasn’t going to be her end. Not before she had the chance to tell those she loved how she really felt—her family and, God help her, Jake too.

He deserved to know she loved him, deserved to know what an amazing man she believed him to be.

She’d always thought protecting her feelings and guarding her heart was best, but now the thought of dying without ever saying the words, without truly expressing her deep and abiding love for them all, left her feeling helpless.

Her casted foot caught on something and sent her flailing forward. She landed on the ground, her hands breaking her fall, her thumb breaking in the process. A cry of pain escaped her lips, but the water covering her head swallowed it.

She pushed to her knees, spitting out the disgusting sedentary liquid and gulped in air. She needed to find another light source, or she could end up walking in circles and harming herself more in the process. Getting to her feet, she sloshed
forward, shivering. Thankfulness soared through her as she found a second door. She lifted the handle, prying it open, and a light flashed on.

Angela? With a bat?

The wood flew at her face, and she heard a crack—