Page 2 of Preying Game

Chapter 2

Jonah Ranger swiped a lock of dark hair out of his eyes and bent to inspect a ding in the teal blue paint of the1955 Chevy he was restoring. Dad would have loved this car, he thought with a pang. But his father had been dead for ten years, leaving Jonah with a house that was too big for one guy and a collection of classic cars. Jonah had sold a couple of real beauties to finance his college education. After graduating and getting a job with the Baltimore city PD, he’d been on the detective fast track. But he’d hated some of the department policies. And he jumped at a job offer from Frank Decorah.

Decorah Security looked for agents with special talents, and Jonah had fit nicely into the program. There was an added bonus in working for the company. Frank had told him about a defunct auto repair shop in Beltsville, Maryland, near the agency offices, where he could store his cars and work on them. Plus selling the family home had provided more than enough money to buy it. He’d cleaned the trash out of the garage and the rooms above the shop, then turned the second floor into a cozy apartment.

Downstairs, he’d added the 1955 hardtop to his collection a couple of days ago. Even the paint color was a special order on the vintage sedan that he’d bought from a collector in Georgia.

But the exact shade of blue was a lot less worrisome than the parts he needed for the 265-cubic-inch overhead valve V8 engine.

The radio was another problem. He’d thought it was working when he bought the car, but since bringing it home, he was getting a limited number of stations—with a lot of static. Every time he turned the dial, he thought he was tuning in what sounded like an old-time drama program.

Or was it? Through the static, he’d heard a woman pleading for help. He’d strained to make out what she was saying, but filtering her words from the background noises had been almost impossible.

Still, when she spoke, he felt a tingle along his nerve endings.

Tonight he was determined to pull in what she was saying.

He slipped into the driver’s seat, closed the door, and grabbed the steering wheel with one hand, wishing the car had a modern headrest so he could lean back. Tension coursed through him as he fiddled with the station selector.

Once again, he was greeted with the familiar crackling sound—and then her voice. Only this time she was a lot clearer. Was it the atmospheric conditions—or what?

Can anyone hear me?If you can hear me, please answer. My name is Alice Davenport, and I need your help. A man is holding me captive in some kind of underground bunker. I don’t know exactly where I am now.

Jonah sat bolt upright. “What?”

The woman who said her name was Alice continued to talk. Only now he knew that he wasn’t just hearing the words over the radio. He was hearing them in his head. That was the talent Frank Decorah had seen in him and cultivated. Jonah could reach out and talk to someone—mind to mind. Not over long distances, but far enough so that he’d helped the Decorah team find kidnap victims.

But this was different. Somehow he didn’t think that Alice was nearby.

I was in western Maryland, she was saying, working as a counselor at a girls’ camp for the summer. I went off on a wilderness trek by myself, and he took me captive. He says nobody is looking for me, because they think I’m dead. But I’m not dead. This is me—Alice Davenport. He told me to call him Hayward. I don’t know if that’s his first or his last name, but I know he’s going to kill me.

I have to get away, and I need your help.

“Alice?” He shouted her name into the empty interior of the car.

He was met with silence—and then her voice came to him again, sounding shocked.

You heard me?

This time, he didn’t pick her up over the radio at all. The words were purely in his head—a mental transmission.

Yes.

Thank God. But how?I mean, am I just kidding myself? The first surge of elation evaporated from her voice, and she sounded like she hadn’t really believed she could contact anyone.

His reassurance was instant. I’m real. My name is Jonah Ranger. Where are you?

I don’t know.

In western Maryland?

I don’t think so.

Why not?

I sort of woke up in the car while he was driving me here. I think it was a long ride. But I don’t know in what direction.

He clamped down on his frustration and tried another line of questioning.

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