Buried (Bone Secrets, #3)(75)

She paused her kicking and concentrated on her breathing again. She was getting a raw spot on her hip from the leg movements and the rough carpet. Her hip hurt, her hands were numb, and she was lying in a pool of sweat. The temperature in the trunk was a hairline from unbearable. Kicking was simply making it worse.

But she was still above ground.

The tattooed man’s other victims were not. That poor old baker. And what about Chris? And Brian? Were they okay?

If he grabbed me, I suspect it’s because he can’t find Chris.

She prayed to God that was true.

When the phone in her room at the bed-and-breakfast had rung, she’d expected it to be Chuck. Instead, a man had whispered.

“Jamie? Are you okay?”

Jamie had sat up on the bed, phone pressed to her ear, because the voice was so faint. Chris?

“Chris? Is that you?”

“Shhh. I can’t talk here.” His whisper came from far away.

“Are you okay? Is Brian okay? You need to get to the police, Chris. Someone is trying to find you—”

“Shhh, I know. Look, I need you to take the boy for a few days. Can I leave him with you?”

Jamie’s heart leaped. Brian! “Yes, of course. But you really should—”

“I’ll meet you behind the bed-and-breakfast in two minutes. Back by the fence gate. He’ll be safe with you.” He disconnected.

Jamie slid her feet into her flip-flops and dashed out the door.

She hadn’t thought about the obvious question of how Chris had known she was at the little hotel.

In the trunk, Jamie shook her head in the dark. How had she been so foolish? But she’d wanted to see the boy so bad. She’d pulled the B-movie heroine bit. The too-stupid-to-live move. She might as well have gone alone, down into the dark basement, to see if the killer was in there.

Instead, she’d left the room without telling Michael. Or anyone.

At the gate, it’d been quiet. Chuck had a small seating area outside with tables and umbrellas that Jamie had eyed wistfully earlier that day. It was simply too hot to sit outside. The backyard of the house was surrounded by a tall hedge, providing a sense of privacy to the large yard. At the far end, someone had removed a section of hedge and installed a wood gate. As far as Jamie could see from her room’s window, the gate led to an alley that ran behind the row of houses. A one-truck-width alley where people kept their garbage cans.

She had darted out the rear door of the house and jogged the length of the yard to the gate. She’d pushed it open, stepped into the alley, and looked both ways. To her left was a sedan, facing her and blocking the alley, its engine running. She couldn’t see anyone in the driver’s seat. She took two steps in its direction.

That was all she remembered. Looking back, someone must have been to the right of the gate outside the hedge. When she pushed open the gate, she’d hidden him from her view. With the way her head was currently pounding and the painful spot behind her right ear, she had a good idea why she didn’t remember what had happened.

And she knew it wasn’t Chris who’d hit her over the head.

She was in Mr. Tattoo’s trunk. She had no doubt.

The big question was why had he grabbed her?

She didn’t know where Chris was. How would grabbing her help him find Chris?

The sheriff’s description of the tortured baker entered her mind.

Jamie moaned, hiding her wet face in the carpet. No. He can’t do that to me.

Detective Callahan had described some of the Polaroids. Those children…

Chris’s nightmares…What had been done to him?

Was she next? As he fished for information she didn’t have? Chris had always said it was best that she knew nothing.

Now she wasn’t so sure.

She tried to take a slow, deep breath through her nose, and failed. The air felt heavier than it had two minutes ago. She exhaled abruptly, trying to clear her nostrils. Moisture was clogging her nose. Her heart pounded over the sounds of the car. Calm down. She inhaled slowly again, struggling to get air. It wasn’t enough. Lights twinkled around the edge of her vision.

Oh shit.

Not enough oxygen. Sweat dripped from her back and chest as the sounds of the road started to fade in her ears.



Gerald didn’t know where he was going. He’d tried calling his boss with no luck. And that had been over an hour ago. He’d tried four times.

His boss had never missed his calls before, and that was making Gerald’s acid reflux act up. His chest and the center of his back were on fire.

What was going on?

He twisted his hands around the steering wheel. An overwhelming sense of being up shit creek without a paddle was sinking into his brain.

Had his boss let him go?

He picked up his phone and called again. Nothing. He flung the phone on the passenger seat.

Maybe the mess in Eastern Oregon was making his boss uncomfortable. Had he already found out about the baker and teen boy? Had he decided Gerald was expendable?

Was he being left to sink or swim?

Gerald had always known this day was a possibility. And he was not goddamned expendable. If his boss was trying to distance himself from Gerald, he was in for a big surprise. Gerald had recordings. Video recordings and voice recordings of almost every phone call he’d ever had with the man that discussed Chris Jacobs or Daniel Brody. Recordings that would crush him. And destroy everything the man treasured. If his boss was letting him sink, he wasn’t sinking alone.