Dead in Her Tracks (Rogue Winter #2)(23)

Her phone rang. Bruce. She pulled onto the shoulder of the road to answer.

“Can you pick up my prescription for me? It’s ready and I can’t track down Mom.”

“Bruce, it’s after five. The pharmacy will be closed.”

“I’m out of pills, Stevie. Donald said he’d keep it open a few extra minutes if I could send Mom over, but I can’t reach her.”

Stevie sighed. “You shouldn’t have waited until your medication was gone. Why didn’t you follow up on it sooner?”

“Oh wait. Apparently I did reach Mom on the phone.” Sarcasm dripped from Bruce’s voice.

“Very funny. I’ll swing by, but if he’s already closed you’re out of luck.”

“Thanks, Sis.”

Stevie grumbled the whole drive back to town. They all babied Bruce instead of making him take responsibility for himself. Her mom did it the most, which explained why he still lived in her house.

She stopped in front of the pharmacy and breathed a sigh of relief that a light was still on inside. She dashed up the steps and in the door. “Donald?”

The pharmacist appeared in the doorway to a back room, wiping his hands on a towel. “Hey, Stevie, did Bruce send you? I was expecting Patsy.”

“He couldn’t locate her.”

Donald grinned. “Well, I guess this is my lucky day.”



Zane stepped inside his dark cabin, frowning as he flipped on a light switch. At his feet Magic squirmed and leaped, barking a greeting, thrilled to see him but clearly needing to go outside. He held the door open for the small dog. “Hurry up,” he told her. Magic vanished into the dark of the yard.

“Stevie?”

Silence greeted him.

He waited for the dog to come back and then closed the door. He checked his small garage, where Stevie parked her vehicle. Empty.

No messages or texts on his phone. He sent her a text, waited thirty seconds, and then called her number. The call went immediately to voice mail.

“Call me,” he requested. He sent another text saying the same thing.

He went to the fridge and stared at the contents, his stomach rolling. He was starving, but looking at the food made him queasy.

This isn’t right.

He called Patsy’s home and Bruce answered. “Have you heard from Stevie?” Zane asked.

“No. I talked to her a few hours ago, and she was going to pick up a prescription for me, but she never dropped it off. I’ve tried calling her a few times.”

Stevie hadn’t told Zane she was running that errand. “When did you talk to her?”

“It was just after five,” Bruce said. “Donald said he’d hold the pharmacy open if I could get someone down there right away to pick up my meds. Mom wasn’t home, so I asked Stevie. She gave me some shit about it, but I thought she was going to do it.”

“Did you call the pharmacy to see if she picked it up?”

“I did. It’s closed. I just got their machine.”

Zane ended the call. His mind spinning, he did a quick search for Charlene Stand’s number and called.

Charlene said Stevie had unlocked her front door and left hours ago.

Magic rubbed against his legs, expecting the head scratch and tummy rub she usually received when he got home from work. He squatted next to the dog and went through the motions as his mind spun.

You’re overthinking this. She’s probably at Carly’s house.

He looked at his screen, about to dial Stevie’s sister. Instead he opened an app to locate Stevie’s phone.

It couldn’t find her.

Dread filled his lungs. Her phone had to be completely powered down not to show on the app. He knew she never powered down her phone nor let the battery run out.

He called Carly. She hadn’t heard from her sister.

He called Patsy’s number again and talked with Stevie’s mother.

“You’re worried,” Patsy stated.

“I’m getting there,” Zane admitted. “This isn’t like her.”

“I agree.”

There was a long silence on the phone between them. “Umm . . . Patsy?” Zane held his breath, hoping Stevie’s mother would give him some direction.

“I can’t feel her,” she said faintly. “I don’t understand. There’s nothing . . .”

Now he was worried.



Her head hurt like a bitch.

Stevie blinked and struggled to focus on her surroundings. Walls made of stacked concrete blocks filled her vision. She jerked her arms and tried to sit up. She couldn’t move; her hands were secured above her head. She kicked her legs and chains rattled. Looking down, she realized her legs were shackled to a bed. She craned her neck and saw her hands were secured with the same type of chains.

Dear Lord.

Panic rushed through her limbs and she fought the chains, thrashing, kicking, and yanking with all her strength.

Nothing happened.

Panting, she scoured the room. She was secured in a large area with a low ceiling and no windows. Instinctively she felt she was being held in a basement, where the earth pressed against the walls. She shouted and her voice echoed through the room, bouncing off the rectangles of concrete that lined every wall. Soundproof.

How . . . ?

Donald.