Buried (Bone Secrets, #3)(88)

The car rocked slightly in time to two thumps.

He slowly slid out of the SUV, leaving his door open, took three steps to the sedan, and peered through the windows into the darkness of the backseat. The car was empty. No one in the backseat.

Someone’s in the trunk.

Instant sweat moistened Chris’s armpits and upper lip. “Fuck,” he whispered. He stared hard at the trunk. The car was a newer American sedan.

He waited for more thumps.

All quiet.

He moved behind the sedan and bent over the trunk, listening hard.

Nothing.

Had he imagined the noise? No. He’d definitely heard something and had seen the car vibrate with the sound. He held out a hand four inches above the trunk, as if he could hear better through his palm. Still quiet.

He straightened. Now what?

He looked at Michael’s SUV and couldn’t see through the privacy glass to Brian in the backseat. His passenger side door hung open, waiting for anyone to hop in the vehicle. He strode back to the SUV and cupped his hands around his eyes against the glass to see his son.

Brian was sleeping. Head sideways, mouth ajar.

Chris commanded his heart rate to slow.

Thumping shook the car behind him. Chris whirled around and saw the movement. He walked to the back of the car and pounded on the trunk. “Hey! Someone in there?”

Frenzied thumping answered him.

And faint screams?

“Jesus Christ!” Chris ran his hands along the back edge of the trunk, his fingers frantically feeling for the release mechanism. He pushed and tugged at each little piece of metal until he felt the trunk give a popping sensation. The lid smoothly eased open, and Chris stared into his sister’s wild eyes.



The bright lights blinded Jamie. She dug her face into the carpet at the pain in her eyes. It hadn’t been too dark in the trunk since he’d opened the access hole, but now little knives stabbed at her eyes. A shadow hovered over her.

“Jamie?” It spoke and strong hands covered her, tugging at her bindings, feeling the tape on her mouth. “Oh my God!”

Chris? She squinted up at the form as it morphed into her brother. He got his fingernails under the tape over her mouth and tugged. Every minor hair ripped out from around her mouth, along with the outer skin cells of her lips. She cried as the tape came off.

“God damn it,” Chris said. “How in the hell…?” He felt her bindings at her wrists and ankles. “I need something to cut these. Hang on.” He darted away.

Jamie panted in the clean air and blinked away her tears. She breathed deep and rested her head. “Chris,” she croaked.

“Hang on.” He didn’t sound too far away.

He reappeared with a Leatherman-type tool. He fumbled with it, searching for a blade. “How in the hell did you get in there? Is this the Ghost’s car? You’re okay, right?” He hammered her with questions, not waiting for an answer. He found a blade that satisfied him and went to work on the binding around her wrists.

Jamie licked at her lips and winced at the pain. Her wrists suddenly released, and shocks of agony shot up her arms and back down to her hands. Burning took over the numbness in her fingers. She moaned.

“You okay?” Chris paused his sawing at her ankle bindings, his gaze frantic on her face.

She nodded and tried to clear her throat.

“I’m okay,” she croaked.

“How’d you get in here? Who—”

“Tattoo,” she croaked again.

Chris halted. “Did he drive you here?”

Jamie nodded. Rage and fear fought for dominance on Chris’s face. He attacked her bindings again.

“Where—” She broke off into a coughing fit.

“We’re in the parking garage of the governor’s mansion. Fuck! That means the tattooed Ghost is upstairs. With Michael!”

“What?” Jamie’s mind froze. Michael? Here?

“Do you know who he is?” Chris asked fiercely, sawing at her bindings.

“The tattooed guy? He took the kids.”

Chris nodded, concentrating on his work. “And he just killed my best friend back in Demming. He wants me.”

“I know. I know about the baker. I’m sorry, Chris. You think Michael—” Her mind leaped ahead. “Where’s Brian?”

“Right here,” answered a young voice.

Both Jamie and Chris started at the new voice. The boy peeked into the trunk from the side.

“Brian, get back in the truck.”

“But Dad, why—”

“Get back in the truck.”

The face vanished, and Jamie’s heart dropped. Her nephew.

“We’ve got to get out of here. I’ve got to get him out of here.”

Jamie felt her ankles release. “Brian? But where’s Michael?”

Chris bent to help her out of the trunk. He hooked his arms around her shoulders and knees and hoisted her easily. He set her on her feet, and her legs shook. She hung on to him.

“Where’s Michael?” she asked again.

“Upstairs.”

“But you think the tattoo—what the hell is his name?”

“Gary Hinkes. But I call him the Ghostman.”

“You think he’s upstairs? With Michael? Does Michael know?”