Blood Stained (16 page)

"Whatever floats your boat," Jenna said dismissively. But again the undercurrent of envy tinged with something else. Pain?

"Why did you volunteer for the SAFE team, Jenna?" Lucy had read Jenna's personnel file, knew her official answer, but she wanted the truth that would never make it into the files.

Jenna pretended to concentrate on the empty road. "Haven't these rednecks ever heard of street signs?"

"You mean like the one to the Twin Oak Trailer Park you just drove past?"

Jenna swore and hit the brakes, sending the Taurus into a controlled skid as she made a J-turn, sliding into the gravel drive of the park. "Couldn't see it for the snow. Which number?"

It was barely spitting flurries. "Forty-three."

"Have you seen Strohmeyer, I mean, since—" Jenna fumbled, obviously not liking her word choices. Lucy understood. Easier talking about Unsubs and crime scenes than real people with real names.

"Since Adam and I saved her? No." She tried to visit Rachel in the hospital after the docs finished stitching Lucy's own wound, but the girl had already left.

"The after-action report is pretty sketchy. She received medical care and a forensics eval but refused to sign the releases, so we never got access to any results. Never made a statement either. Refused."

"There's no body to compare the evidence to anyway."

"I guess. So, I thought she was Amish—"

"Mennonite."

"What's the diff?"

"They have cars and phones." Not that their connection to technology helped Rachel's family. Lucy remembered their initial interview when they realized their little girl hadn't just run off with an "English" boy. They'd held tight to each other, swallowing their emotions, leaving the station with a stiff gait, clutching hands and their Bibles.

The day after the rescue, she spotted two deputies escorting the Strohmeyers into the station. Coming back from trying to see their daughter. They looked more haunted than ever. Worse than if she had died. 

Jenna navigated through the twists and turns of the trailer park. "I'll circle the location first," she said, steering them around another curve. Procedure dictated scouting a residence, then parking a short distance away before approaching. 

"Should be up on the left."

Jenna turned the corner too fast, gravel spitting behind them and a dead end in front of them. Not exactly a stealth approach—not that Lucy was anticipating the need for one. Still, she watched the windows and mirrors as Jenna made a three point turn. Hands inching back curtains in the trailer opposite and the one beside Rachel's. Hands no doubt also connected to cell phones.

"Sorry about that," Jenna muttered. They had no choice but to park in front of Rachel's trailer. 

The good news was the only vehicle in the yard had a flat tire. The bad news was it was the last trailer on the street, backing on scrub bushes and a neglected meadow bordering the forest. Their car was the only cover and there were plenty of escape routes out the back.

Maybe the meth-head boyfriend was gone. That would make life easier for everyone.

Lucy checked her cell. One tiny bar, barely hanging on. "You got reception?"

She shook her head. Lucy handed Jenna her phone. "Call Bob. Ask him to send backup. If he can't, we'll come back later."

Before Jenna could complete the call, the door to the trailer slammed open. It bounced off the outside wall. A large man, shirtless, wearing saggy jeans below his hips, dragged a woman to the doorway. He held a pistol to her head. The woman—girl, really—was barely conscious. She slumped in his arms. Her shirt unbuttoned and hanging open, her hair stringy and matted. Rachel Strohmeyer.

"Come on in, five-oh," the man shouted. He swung the girl back and forth, using her shoulder to brace his gun arm. "Why the hell not? You're the least of my worries."

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Adam parked the pickup beneath the overhang behind Stolfultz's hay barn. It was snowing harder now. With the cows in the main milking barn, no one would spot the truck all the way out here. It took him three trips to haul all of the supplies to the cave.

He set everything up in the main room, laying the sleeping bags out around the rock he used as a bed. A tight fit, but slumber parties were like that. At least the only one he'd ever went to was. A bunch of boys bumping and crowded and giggling when they were meant to be sleeping. He was six then. With his mom in the hospital, Mrs. Leary made her son invite Adam to his birthday sleepover.

She hadn't realized she was inviting Adam to be a sheep in a den of wolves. She just thought he was a shy kid. A little strange. Too quiet for his own good. 

He stayed quiet that night. Silently suffering as the other boys threw all his clothes out the window, leaving him shivering in his underwear. They played games where the winner got to pick the next torture: shoving Adam's face in the toilet and flushing it, giving him an Indian rub, squirting soda up his nose, locking him in the cedar closet and ignoring his tears because he was afraid of the dark.

But the dark turned out to be his protector. Left in the closet for the night, he made a nest for himself of old coats that smelled of Christmas and slept. In the morning when Mrs. Leary found him curled up in now-dirty underwear, she yelled at the boys and apologized to Adam, making him French toast while the boys ate plain old cereal.

Tonight would be nothing like that slumber party. Adam stepped outside to fill the Coleman lanterns, lit one and brought it back into the cave so he could assess his arrangements in brighter light. Perfect. The boys would love it.

He checked on Sally in the pit, anxious to see her joy at the new art supplies he'd gotten her. She was curled up, sound asleep, sucking her thumb. He didn't have the heart to wake her. Besides, it was nearly time for school to let out and he needed to pick up the boys.

He left the light at the top of the pit so she wouldn't wake to darkness, grabbed his new knife, duct tape, and plastic baggie with the washcloth he soaked in chloroform, and went to collect his brothers.

Chapter 16

Rachel's head lolled to one side. Then she raised her lips to kiss the hostage taker's cheek. 

Being caught in the middle of a hostage negotiation with a suspected meth-user was bad enough: they tended towards the paranoid and unpredictable end of the crazy spectrum.

But a hostage situation where the hostage was too stoned to realize she was a hostage? Talk about a nightmare.

Lucy made a snap judgment call. Defuse the situation before things escalated. "Cover me."

"Where the hell you going?" Jenna asked, drawing her service weapon.

Lucy didn't answer. She left the car and stood with the engine block between her and the hostage taker's shaky aim. She raised her arms, palms up. No threat here. Just your ordinary Pittsburgh soccer mom.

"What's your name?" she called, feeling the weight of stares on her from all sides. As if the trailer park had sprung to life in a heartbeat. "How can I help you out of this mess?"

The hostage taker scratched at his beard with the barrel of his pistol. Unfortunately the weapon didn't discharge and he never gave Jenna a clear shot. The postal inspector qualified as expert on the range but had no real life experience. Lucy hoped she wouldn't get any here—at least not if Lucy did her job right.

"It's cold out here, Roy. Take me back inside, baby. Light me up again. I'm crashing hard," Rachel murmured, her eyes fluttering open. Rachel slumped in Roy's arms once more. "Why're we out here? What's going on?"

"What's going on?" Roy shouted as if Rachel were in the next county. Or as if this was somehow her fault. "Someone's stolen my boots, my truck, my jacket, and Leon's money. He's on his way here now to settle up and I ain't got squat to give him except your sorry ass."

Lucy wished Roy's conversation with Rachel involved more body language. He relaxed into a pose holding Rachel tight as a shield against his body, his weapon aimed at her head, finger on the trigger. Lucy glanced into the car at Jenna who gripped her Sig Sauer with both hands, steadying her aim on the open window ledge. It was a shot Lucy wouldn't trust to a trained sniper, not the way Roy kept moving his head up and down behind Rachel's, so she shook Jenna off.

"Sounds like hard times, Roy. My name's Lucy. Maybe I can help."

He jerked as if he'd forgotten she was there. "How the hell you gonna do that? Got three thousand dollars in your purse there, Lucy?"

Lucy didn't even have a purse. Much less three thousand cash. "I could invite you down to the sheriff's station. If you're safe and sound in custody, might give Leon time to cool off." The throbbing sound of a motorcycle missing its muffler rumbled through the snow-laden air. "You can even tell him we confiscated it. No one the wiser and you'd be clear."

Except for the attempted murder and assault charges he'd be facing. But no need to tell him that.

Roy seemed to consider her offer until Rachel began squirming in his arms. "Hit me again, baby. Please. I'll do anything you want." The girl didn't even bother opening her eyes as she shimmied her hips against Roy's pelvis and reached between his legs with her hand. 

The roar of the motorcycle grew louder and Lucy realized there was more than one of them. Shit. Hopefully Bob and his fellow deputies were on their way. Fast.

"What do you say, Roy?" she called out before Rachel could distract the man further. "Leave here safe in my custody or face Leon and his buddies on your own?"

"I'm good as dead either way," he said with a sigh. He lowered his gun and Lucy thought he was about to surrender when the first cycle spun through the gravel, rounding the corner, a second bike close behind.

The first rider, a bald man with biceps bigger than Lucy's thighs, quickly sized up the situation—tipped off by one of Roy's friendly neighbors, no doubt—and raised a Mac-10 semi-auto machine pistol. He aimed towards the trailer, rolling his wrist sideways like he'd seen too many gangsta movies.

"You pissant little snitch!" the biker hollered. 

Roy raised his gun at the bikers, who now numbered four, and bullets flew.

With Lucy in the crossfire.

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Jenna leaned out the window, weapon still in hand, not sure who to aim at, Roy or the bikers. Roy spun towards the trailer door. To give the man credit, he shoved Strohmeyer inside before reaching behind the door and pulling out a Remington pump action shotgun. From the fist-sized hole his first shot punched into the second biker, Jenna figured it was loaded with slugs.

Jenna gunned the engine, thinking the middle of a firefight was not the best place to be right here and now. "Lucy, get in!"

Too late. Lucy had already dove beneath the Taurus. 

Jenna took aim and dropped the first biker, but now the other two were firing at Roy, the trailer, and Jenna.

Bullets pinged against the Taurus. Roy took at least one round, stumbling as he pumped another shell into the Remington. Jenna juggled her weapon and the cell phone, calling for backup. Was assured it was on the way. "Faster, damn it!"

She fired two more shots but missed both times. Blamed it on the side view mirror she was using to aim with as she wormed her way beneath the window and as close to the front of the car as possible.

Another biker went down—not because he was hit but because Roy blew out the guy’s front tire to hell and back. That pissed the bikers off more than it scared them and they fired a fresh volley at Roy. 

The aim of their illegally modified Mac-10s wasn't very accurate and they only hit the trailer, shattering the kitchen window. There was a low roar, almost subliminal, like a cougar clearing its throat before it pounced. Roy glanced behind him, fear in his eyes.

"Sonofabitch—" His shout cut short by the fireball that blew the roof off the trailer. 

The Taurus rocked with the blast, the sound deafening. Jenna peered above the dash, hoping Lucy was okay. Roy dove and rolled. He lost his weapon in the process but miraculously avoiding any of the flying debris. 

The last two bikers weren't as lucky, both flattened by the front wall of the trailer. One scrambled to his feet with blood running down his leg, but his escape was blocked by a patrol car. Deputy Bob to the rescue. 

No more gunfire. Jenna hauled herself up and out of the car. She rushed to help Bob secure the bikers before they could recover.

Lucy rolled out from her cover and grabbed Roy, pulling him clear of the flames now dancing across the lawn. One of the propane tanks blew. It flew into the air and bounced off the Taurus' roof, leaving a dent that was going to be hard to explain when Jenna signed it back into the pool.

Not to mention the fact it was directly over where she'd been sitting just moments before. Adrenalin sang through her as she jerked a biker's arm back to cuff him. He cried out in pain, but she barely heard it through the ringing in her ears.

"Rachel," Roy sobbed, lunging back towards the trailer. It was way beyond too late for Strohlmeyer. Not with the blaze so hot it bubbled paint into ugly black blisters and the entire structure engulfed in the inferno.

"We're gonna need hazmat," Bob spoke into his radio, rallying reinforcements. "Whatcha cooking with, phosphorus or ammonium nitrate?" he asked Roy.

Roy's face twisted into something ugly as he stared at the fire, not fighting Lucy as she marched him past Jenna and his biker friends. "I'm not saying shit without my lawyer."

Bob shrugged as if he'd expected as much. "Oh, and call the coroner. Tell him he's got a crispy critter, so be prepared for a bit of a mess."

Roy turned green at the words, bent double, his wrists cuffed behind his back, and vomited into the rhododendrons on the side of the road. Jenna dodged the splash back just in time.

She surveyed the scene with the biker prone and cuffed at her feet. So much for the quiet of country living. Laughter bubbled through her but she choked it back and forced her focus back on her prisoners.

Helluva lot more fun than chasing down a kid sending anonymous letters.