Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 108849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
“There you go.” She gave one more push.
The truck silently coasted off the cliff.
She ran to the edge and looked down into the darkness. A loud bang echoed up and then several glorious crashes beat against the wind. Ooh, it must’ve gone end over end over end. Finally, the truck hit the bottom and an explosion rippled up.
The fire rose high in the sky.
“Wow.” Pretty impressive. Smiling, she turned and broke into a run, heading back to the cabin. It took her about fifteen minutes through the trees. She arrived as the rain began falling in earnest, noting that the drops were already extinguishing the campfire. Shrugging, she reached for the discarded can and quickly squirted more accelerant on the papers. Might as well make sure they burned. Oh, she didn’t mind if anybody found his journals as long as they couldn’t read them.
She tossed the phones from the downed officers against the rocks surrounding the fire.
Reclaiming her weapon, she surveyed the area and then returned to the borrowed car. Time was ticking, ticking, ticking. She slid inside, ignited the engine, and turned around just as a more punishing rain began to fall and the wind whipped up in a frenzy.
Mother nature was on her fucking side. For certain.
She took back roads and made it to Mr. O’Casey’s farm, where she shut off the lights and quietly drove the car beneath his carport. The old guy went to bed at eight every night and rose with the sun. She’d filched a copy of his car keys a year ago, just in case, and once in a while, she borrowed his Cadillac.
He never noticed.
She put all of her possessions in the backpack and made sure the car was exactly as he’d left it before quietly shutting the door and then turning to run.
The distance from the carport to her backyard was only a mile and a half through forest land, so she could easily make it in time to snuggle down in her bed.
Around her, the storm still raged.
Chapter 31
Swirling blue-and-red lights lit up the tumultuous spring storm as Huck rolled to a stop in front of a now-quashed campfire. Laurel jumped out, her gun at her waist, and ducked beneath the crime scene tape, looking around wildly. Fish and Wildlife Officer Monty Buckley strode toward her.
“Where’s the phone?” she asked.
Monty pointed to one of two phones partially resting against the stone ring around the campfire. “It’s there, left on. We were able to trace it easily. A gun, a CZ, is resting against that tree over there.” The wind burst against them, throwing branches around as if having a tantrum.
Laurel ducked and held a hand out to protect her head. Why would Jason leave a weapon outside in the rain? “Have we found anything?”
“No,” Monty said. “Jason Abbott has been living here, from what I can tell from the cabin, but I don’t see a vehicle. We have people out scouting for it.”
None of this tracked. Why would Jason call her to say he couldn’t go on? Why hang up but leave the phone on? The man was smart enough to know that the GPS would immediately be traced.
“This isn’t good,” Huck said.
Monty sighed. “Should you be here?”
Huck shrugged. “So far, there isn’t any true connection between Jason Abbott and the three murdered blondes, so right now, yeah. I’m off the drowning cases but not Abbott.”
That was quite the ambitious extrapolation. Yet, Laurel wanted Huck there. He was the only one she trusted who was still around, although she was becoming accustomed to working with Monty. “We’ll find Abbott,” she said.
Monty nodded. “We traced the call as soon as you contacted your techs. It took us about twenty-five minutes to get out here. We hurried, but we didn’t find anybody else on the road. There have been no sightings of Abbott yet.”
“How many back roads are there from this area?” Laurel asked.
Huck sighed. “A lot. There are many mountain roads, and even trails that a vehicle could have gone down.”
“So he may have left the state?” Her head pounded. Why would he call and then disappear? Or had he gone after somebody new?
“Why would he call you?” Huck asked.
“I don’t know. It’s part of his game.” She wandered over to the scraped-clean campfire. He had burned his journals. She would’ve bet almost anything he wouldn’t have done that, but Abigail would. She would’ve wanted this more than anything. “Did you secure any salvageable pages?”
“No,” Monty said. “We gathered all of the ashes, but they were burned pretty good and then got wet in the rain.”
Jason would hate for his memories to be burned. Laurel ducked as a pinecone burst through the air. “We need somebody at Abigail’s place—now.”
Huck jolted. “You think?”
“Absolutely. We have to see if she’s home.” Had Jason taken her? What kind of hold did Abigail still have on the serial killer?