Stone Cold Heart (Tracers #13)(50)

Grace whimpered, and the sound snapped her back to reality.

No warm beach. No thirst-quenching water. Just cold, empty darkness and the terror that never would end. Her stomach clenched as she pictured him looming over her.

He’d been back twice with a flashlight that made her blink and cower. He’d shoved her face into the dirt and raped her viciously. The first time, she’d struggled and fought him, only to feel his hands clamp around her neck, which introduced her to a whole new level of pain and panic. Turned out the survival instinct was strong. Her body wanted to breathe even more than her mind wanted to dissolve into blackness, letting the despair and the pain and the loneliness swallow her whole.

Miles above her, a high-pitched squeak, like fingernails on a chalkboard. And she remembered she wasn’t alone. The bats were stirring. Soon the air around her would shift and churn as they left for their nightly hunt. It was her only hint of time passing.

Grace didn’t trust herself to remember, so she’d peeled off the tip of a fingernail each time it happened. Six fingernails gone. Six days—although she had a sinking feeling she’d miscounted. Her mind felt fuzzy. Unreliable. The only thing she truly knew for certain was fear and pain.

The sharp claws in her stomach started digging again.

Maybe he’ll be back soon.

She hated herself for thinking it.

She hated him for planting the poisonous seed in her mind.

If he did come back, she’d gouge out his eyes this time. She’d smash his face and take every morsel of food he had with him. She’d take his flashlight and bash his head in and knock his teeth out with it. She’d be ferocious. Wild. Savage.

If only she could get her wrists free, or her ankles. Or muster the energy to lift her head off the ground, or scream, or even talk.

A sob caught in her swollen throat, and she started to cry. Tears and snot leaked out, wasting her precious fluids, but she couldn’t stop. The fear was back. She felt herself sliding deeper into the void, letting go of everything, all of it, even hope.

No, she told herself. She couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t give up. No, no, no.





CHAPTER 15


Talia pulled into Orr’s Nursery and parked beside a sign advertising two-for-one bags of potting soil. She and Nolan were in an unmarked unit and had spent the entire afternoon working their way down the list of white Chevy Tahoes registered in Allen County.

“You been here before?” Nolan asked.

“Bought a rosebush here once.”

“Thought you lived in an apartment?”

“It was for my mom.” Talia cut the engine and surveyed the tables in front filled with daisies and marigolds.

“There’s the vehicle,” Nolan said, nodding at a row of cars beside the corrugated-metal building. A dusty white SUV with a bent rear bumper sat at the very end. The vehicle belonged to Chad Lindell, thirty-six. Lindell had done a year in lockup following an aggravated assault. Lindell had been one of the first names on their list, but his vehicle hadn’t been at home, and Talia had had to track down his workplace through his parole officer.

Talia looked at Nolan, who had taken the lead on all the previous stops. “I’m ready to switch. Mind if I do the talking this time?”

“He’s all yours,” Nolan said. “I’m not even here.”

“What are you going to do?”

He smiled. “What do you think? Look for clues.”

“What, like maybe he left a bloody murder weapon on the front seat?”

“Hey, you never know.” Nolan pushed open his door. “You got this?”

“Absolutely.”

They split up, Talia heading for the nursery entrance as Nolan strolled across the lot to casually check out the Tahoe. He wasn’t exactly subtle, though. Even with his gun concealed under his leather jacket, Nolan looked like a cop. And any ex-con would spot their unmarked police unit a mile away.

A row of green wagons was parked at the nursery’s entrance. Talia walked past them and was greeted by a smiling blond woman wearing a green apron.

“Help you this evening?”

“Chad Lindell. Where can I find him?”

The woman turned and pointed across the rows of shrubs in five-gallon containers. “At the side entrance there with that delivery guy.”

“Thanks.”

“Sure thing.”

Talia took her time approaching the two men, who stood beside a tall stack of mulch bags. Chad also wore a green apron, and Talia recognized his shaved head from his booking photo. The man was short but stocky and probably outweighed Talia by a hundred pounds.

Chad signed something on a clipboard, then handed it back to the delivery guy, who nodded and walked off.

“Mr. Lindell?”

Chad turned around, instantly suspicious. His gaze went straight to Talia’s badge.

“What do you want?”

“Detective Vazquez, Springville PD. I’d like to have a quick word.”

He darted a look over her shoulder. “I’m working here.”

“This won’t take long.”

He folded his arms over his chest.

“Would you prefer to talk at the station house?”

“No.”

“All right. Sir, is that your vehicle out front there? The white Chevrolet Tahoe?”