Eighth Grave After Dark

I couldn’t take my eyes off them. They sat leaning in to each other. While Amber stared blankly into the camera, clearly in shock, Cookie looked up at her abductor, her brows scrunched in fear for her daughter’s life. Her shoulder was in front of Amber as though she were trying to protect her. And then I saw why. The assailant, at least one of them, had a gun. I could barely see it in the upper right corner of the image. And it was pointed straight at Amber’s head.

I covered my mouth with a hand to suppress an astonished sob as another text slipped underneath the picture.

I’m sure we have your attention. Calmly walk out the door, get in your car, and go to the abandoned gas station at the bottom of the mountain, just before the turn off in San Ysidro. If anyone follows you, if you alert anyone to the situation, they are dead. You have ten minutes.

I dragged on my dirty clothes and burst through the door. Speed-walking as normally as possible, I pressed my mouth together hard and forced a smile when I saw Garrett come out of the kitchen.

He slowly made his way to the stairs, pausing to ask, “You okay?”

My keys to Misery, my cherry red Jeep Wrangler, were hanging on a hook by the front door. I hadn’t driven her in eight months, but Garrett made a point to take her to work about twice a month to keep things running smooth. Swallowing hard, I nodded and walked back to the kitchen, waiting for him to ascend the stairs. The minute he was out of sight, I rushed forward, grabbed the keys off the hook, and flew out the front door.

The sun hung low on the horizon as I ran for Misery. I hopped in and started her on one try. Backing out of the drive while trying to seem nonchalant was excruciating, but I didn’t want to alarm anyone, so I took my time. Hopefully, if anyone looked out, they’d think I was just moving my car to a different location. Dying inside. The fear coursing through me was so powerful, I thought I would be sick. Clearly, I was not suppressing my emotions, and yet Reyes was nowhere to be found. He must have been angrier with me than I thought, but even at his angriest, he would never leave me hanging. I couldn’t imagine why he wasn’t materializing beside me, but I was both relieved and concerned.

I raced down the mountain, taking the 25 mph curves at 75.

A motorcycle appeared out of nowhere, the driver waving me to pull over. I ignored him and pressed the gas pedal until it would go no farther.

He pulled ahead of me, missing an oncoming car by inches, and waved again. I stared straight ahead. Was he one of the abductors? Two more motorcycles appeared in my rearview, speeding up behind me. I considered slamming on my brakes to take them out, but I didn’t want to lose the time. It took more than ten minutes to get down the mountain from where we were. I didn’t have a second to spare.

Just as the last curve came into view, the gas station only minutes from there, the motorcycle swerved in front of me. My reflexes took over. I jerked Misery to the right and didn’t have enough space to fix the overcorrection. I went headfirst into a shallow ravine, bouncing over the bumpy drop until crashing to a stop at the bottom. I flew forward, my seat belt biting into my shoulder as my head hit the steering wheel.

Then someone was knocking on the window, jerking on the door handle. I tried to restart Misery, to no avail.

“Charley, damn it!”

I finally turned and saw Donovan. Biker Donovan. My Donovan. It didn’t make sense. Why would he be here? I looked back at the other two, and sure enough, his sidekicks, Eric and Michael, were also with him. They had lived beside the abandoned asylum Rocket grew up in. Artemis, my guardian Rottweiler, had originally been Donovan’s. He’d led a rough life—most bikers did—but he had a heart of gold. If not for that whole bank-robbing gig, he would still have been in my life in one form or another.

“Move!” he shouted through my window a split second before he drove a leather-clad elbow through it. He reached in, unlocked the door, and dragged me out of Misery kicking and screaming. Eric, the one I’d always referred to as the Greek prince, was right there, helping him.

“What are you doing?” I yelled, pushing them off me once I’d gained my footing. “I have to go! They have Cookie and Amber!”

Donovan held his palms toward me, gesturing for me to calm down. “Who has them?”

My phone rang before I could come back with a biting reply. I pulled it out of my pocket, my hands shaking uncontrollably. It was from Cookie’s number.

“Cookie!” I screamed, pressing a palm against Misery for support. “What happened? What do they want?”

“Charley, what are you talking about? What’s wrong? Is Beep okay? Oh my God, did something happen to Beep?”

“No, what? Where are you? You’ve been abducted. You and Amber.”

“What?” Cookie screeched. She dropped the phone, and I heard footsteps, a frantic voice, then more footsteps. “Charley, damn it,” she said when she picked up the phone again, panting. “If this is a joke—”

“Cook, you haven’t been abducted? You’re— You’re okay?”

“Of course we’re okay.”

“Amber’s okay?”

“She’s right here. We were just about to head out there. I was calling to see if you needed anything before we left Albuquerque.”

I fell to my knees in relief. “Why did you pose for that picture?” I screamed at her. “What kind of sadist are you?”

“Charley, you’re scaring me.”

“Join the club. That was a horrible picture. And you had red eye in it.”