Serial Games (Virginia Justice Book One) (23 page)

“What is it?”

“You see that bit of brush up ahead?” He pointed directly in front of them.

Maggie’s gaze eyed the ridge, and then traveled downward. Large root systems shot out of the soft dirt and ended near a strange heap. “Yes. Beneath that slope.”

“Right. It looks out of place, doesn’t it?”

Maggie leaned closer. The branches and leaves were at different angles from the surrounding foliage. Yet, the covering looked fresh, the branches recently pulled to form a hideaway. “You’re right.”

Maggie’s fingers tightened on her weapon. All this time, Burrows was right here, a mile or so away from his property. Why didn’t the dogs sniff him out? This spread of forest was one of the first places the Marshals’ unit searched when they arrived in Culpeper.

“Cover me.”

Maggie raised her weapon; she kept her eyes swiveling around the area, ready to counter any attack. Brandon carefully removed the brush and behind it was something Maggie didn’t expect.

A steel door.

It wasn’t uncommon for certain areas of Virginia to have caves. Tourists from all around the country visited the beautiful state to tour Virginia’s underground caves and the fascinating rock formations found in them. But here in Culpeper, it was uncommon. Maggie considered the possibility of the door leading to an old war bunker. Either way, Brandon reached for the handle. It pulled easily and the door opened.

Maggie hurried up the slight incline as Brandon pulled out a flashlight and stepped inside, descending a short stack of stares. “Brandon?” She heard him groan and put an arm up to his face.

The stench was overpowering. Maggie sheathed her weapon and covered her nose and mouth with one arm while she shined the flashlight with the other. Maggie knew the smell: the unmistakable odors of rotting flesh. Her light washed over light-colored hair and cheekbones starting to show due to the loss of skin. There were obvious signs of injuries to the women, but their lifeless eyes confirmed none of their souls still lingered on this earth.

An involuntary surge came from within her belly. Her lungs burned for air and her stomach churned. If she didn’t leave the bunker, she would lose her breakfast all over the victims’ remains. Brandon had already moved toward the opening with speed and she followed. When they both reached the outside, they fell to their knees and coughed and sucked in air. Maggie heard Brandon heave, and then she followed suit. Brandon moved to her side. He put his hands on her shoulders as the last of her coughs died down.

“Maggie? Talk to me. Are you okay?” His voice came out in ragged breaths.

Maggie nodded and wiped her mouth on her jacket sleeve. She put a hand to her stomach, hoping to keep whatever was left of her breakfast in her digestive tract. She filled her lungs with fresh air, although the smell from the bunker seeped out.

“Well, we found them,” Brandon said between deep breaths.

“Thank God.” The victims’ families came to Maggie’s mind. A few had accepted the disappearances and that they would never be found. At least, not found alive. Others still held out hope perhaps their captor would be merciful and let them return home. Finally, they would have closure. Sadness wracked Maggie’s body. Their hopes would be dashed. They had been home all this time. Now their bodies would soon be laid to rest.

“You think if he were hiding the bodies, the door would be more secure,” Maggie thought out loud.

“We need to move,” Brandon suggested.

If they found where Burrows had stashed the bodies of his victims, then Burrows wouldn’t be far away. Brandon stood and moved to close the door to the bunker when an unmistakable crack shot through the air. Brandon fell back.

“Brandon!”

He didn’t move; his arms and legs sprawled out on the ground. She crawled toward him but a searing pain shot through her upper left shoulder. “Brandon—” She slumped forward; she still struggled to reach his stilled body. Maggie blinked. Black spots obscured her vision.

A presence neared, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She recognized that presence from her dreams. The darkness chasing her time and time again leaned in so close she could feel its hot breath on her ear.

“Now, I have you.”

She fell forward and succumbed to the darkness.

Brandon groaned. Someone pulled at his body. He squinted his eyes against the loud cacophony of voices that yelled and dogs that barked. His head drummed, and the left side of his shoulder throbbed with pain. He reached a hand to touch it, and warm liquid wet his fingers.

He’d been shot.

That realization brought him back to the present. How long had he been out? Where exactly was he? Who did the voices belong to?

“Maggie.” He forced his eyes open and tried to sit up, but hands pushed him back down.

“Hold on, Brandon.”

Bernie. Brandon winced at the pain of pressure from the gauze Bernie placed against his wound. “Bernie, I’ve been shot.”

Bernie’s sad eyes assessed him before he focused on the wound. “That’s an understatement.”

Brandon heard the concern in his voice. He allowed Bernie to continue attending his wound. Brandon’s eyes searched the faces of the agents around him. If he had been shot, what about Maggie? No face or form matched hers.

“Where’s Maggie?”
If anything happened to her
…

Silence followed his question. Why didn’t Bernie respond? The pain in his shoulder took second place to his rising irritation.

“Bernie, where is Maggie?” He emphasized each word.

“Brandon, you need to focus on recalling what happened. Every detail is critical.” Bernie’s clip, emotionally detached voice grated Brandon’s nerves.

Critical? His bullet wound didn’t matter to him. He was alive, and as far as he could tell, he would recover. He sat up on his right elbow. His eyes finally focused on his surroundings. He was still in the forest, exactly where he had fallen. Agents swarmed the area, some with dogs fervently sniffing the ground, and others guarding the area. Brandon heard a couple of agents on their cell phones; one talked to the local sheriff’s office and another spoke to the coroner.
The coroner
. Brandon looked to the ground where he last remembered seeing Maggie.

She was gone.

Ice flowed through his veins and a terrifying chill came over him. Did she get shot? Did any of the other agents assist her? Or worse yet, did she go after Burrows on her own?

“Maggie?” He hoped perhaps she was nearby and he hadn’t observed her yet. Brandon closed his eyes to recreate the last event before the shot.

Both he and Maggie exited the tunnel connected to Burrows’s second basement. Not far from the tunnel, they discovered the metal bunker that contained the nine women Burrows killed. The stench of death and decay hit both of them hard, and they relieved themselves outside the bunker. Maggie had a tougher time regaining her composure. They were just about to telephone in their location when a sharp sting pierced his shoulder. Then he woke up surrounded by his colleagues.

Brandon heard Bernie confirm the arrival of the paramedics in five minutes. Was Maggie in need of medical attention?
I have to find her
.

He rolled over onto his knees and noticed a patch of blood on the ground a yard away from his feet. His heart stopped. “Bernie, get off the phone and tell me what happened now!” Brandon gritted. The yelling increased the pain in his shoulder.

Bernie snapped his phone shut. His mouth dipped downward, his eyes grave.

Lord, Lord, Lord, please no
…

“There’s evidence of her being wounded, if this is her blood.” He pointed down to the spot. Brandon fixated on the rusty color now mixed with dirt.

“By the time we arrived, you were the only one here. We have the dogs out searching for her.”

“This was never about any other women,” he muttered to himself. “It was only about one woman.”

“What are you saying?”

The profiler who discovered him and got him sentenced to the electric chair: Special Agent Margaret Weston. The notes, the album, the lack of victims…all of it was an elaborate setup for Burrows to get his revenge on Maggie. He wouldn’t have just shot her. Brandon’s gaze swerved to the bunker. Burrows tortured his victims. “I know where she is.”

Bernie squatted and laid a hand on Brandon’s shoulder. “Brandon, you need to rest. You’ve lost quite a bit of blood.”

“No, I can find her.” Brandon struggled to get up. When he tried to stand upright, what little blood he had rushed to his head. Bernie caught him on the way down.

“No, you
can’t
. You need a doctor. Now a couple of agents are coming up with a stretcher and we’ll take you down to the paramedics. But for right now,” Bernie eased him to the ground, “sit tight. It looks like the bullet passed right through your shoulder but you could have other internal damage. Try not to move.”

Oh, he was going to move. He was going to get to Maggie while he still breathed. “Who’s at the Burrows residence?” He pulled himself to his feet. He squeezed his eyes shut to the pain and exhaled as it subsided.

“We heard the gunshots and almost everyone came running. I don’t think anyone was in the tunnel at the time you were shot. Once you gave us the coordinates, we immediately headed in your direction. There should be at least one agent posted outside the residence.”

“He’ll be there.” Brandon clutched his shoulder and tried to focus his vision.

“At the residence? Highly unlikely.”

Another agent called Bernie away and Brandon took his chance. He dodged away from the group, headed in the direction of the tunnel. His head spun, but he pushed his feet to go faster.

God, I know I haven’t spoken to you in years. I’ve already lost one woman; I can’t lose another. Please, please allow me to reach her. I beg You
…

He continued to make his way down the side of the hilly terrain. The startled voices of his colleagues in the distance urged him forward. If he could get the drop on Burrows, Maggie would have a chance at surviving. If not, Burrows had the upper hand with Maggie as a hostage. The closest negotiator was in DC, yet Brandon couldn’t see Burrows agreeing to any deal that involved releasing Maggie.
A deal
. Maggie wouldn’t want any deals made with Burrows over her, but in truth, Brandon would make a deal with almost anyone to save her life.

Brandon slid onto the ground near the tunnel and leaned in. His eyes peered into the darkness. He quieted his breathing to hear any sounds that resembled Maggie. When he neither saw nor heard anything, he felt for his gun, still sheathed, and pulled it. He jumped down into the hole, and nearly succumbed to his body’s desire to lose consciousness. Brandon inhaled deeply, prayed for strength, and then sprinted down the tunnel.

****

Maggie stirred. The sharp pain in her shoulder caused her to moan. Her tongue tasted something thick, the texture harsh. She couldn’t close her mouth, the edges pulled back by a cloth wrapped tightly around her head. A cough erupted from her and she tasted blood. She breathed in, but the gag blocked the air that would cool her hot, dry throat. Maggie opened her eyes and immediately squinted. A bright light shined down on her. Her pupils burned, and the pain in her eyes made focusing on anything difficult. She attempted to raise a hand to shield her eyes but her arm didn’t respond. She tried again.

Nothing.

Her other hand refused to react to her mental commands. Something obstructed it. She dipped her head to look at her hands. When her pupils adjusted to the light, she moaned. Something strapped her wrists down. She peered at the brown objects, racking her brain for their name.

Leather straps.

Simple leather straps. They reminded her of straps used in a clinical psych ward at a hospital.
Wait. Clinical psych ward? Oh, no
. She forced her eyes wide and she panned them around the room. A workbench, a pegboard for hanging tools, and the bookcase with a busted out back. The bookcase she and Brandon moved to discover the secret passage underneath the Burrows residence. The wooden door leading to the tunnel was shut.

The basement.

The second basement.

Panic set in. Maggie struggled to move her legs. Leather straps held fast to her legs right above her ankles. She couldn’t escape without assistance. She shifted her weight and heard the squeak of leather underneath her. She knew the color of the chair she sat in. Hunter green.

Maggie’s eyes burned with tears she desperately blinked back. She looked at the wooden door again. Was Brandon on the other side?

Brandon
.

She remembered now. Right after they exited the bunker, a shot rang out and Brandon’s body lay sprawled on the earth. He didn’t respond when she screamed his name. Was he still alive?

The pain in her shoulder. She remembered how it spread across her collarbone to her upper arm, like a hot poker plunged right through her back and out the front of her chest. Maggie turned her stiff neck to look down at her left shoulder. Her jacket had been removed. Her torn shirt exposed skin and a white gauze with a bright red spot in the center. Burrows shot her. He shot Brandon, and then he shot her.

Had he been there all along? Watching the two of them at the old bunker like he had at the house? It was the only conclusion that made sense. How did he know they were coming?
That tree branch snap
… The sound she heard before both she and Brandon raced up the hilly woods. Burrows led them there on purpose. He was in the woods the whole time.

No. It can’t be that simple
. Yes, Burrows possessed above-average intelligence, and yes, he did elude law enforcement authorities for a decade, but hiding out in the woods for the past couple of days? Woods the US Marshals thoroughly searched? There had to be another explanation. How long did Burrows have to prepare for this?
Happy Gilbert. Happy must have provided Burrows with the supplies he needed for this scheme
.

Why didn’t he kill her along with Brandon? “Brandon,” she whispered over the gag. Tears overflowed onto her cheeks. He couldn’t be dead. That gunshot would have rung out for a good mile, which meant the marshals at the house would’ve heard it and come running. Depending on how long she’d been unconscious, they might have already treated Brandon and would be on their way back to rescue her.