Page 46 of Bringing Chelsea Home

“Wh-what is this?” Knees trembling, Elaine starred at the woman holding the gun who looked vaguely familiar. “You’re not Elizabeth Burke.”

“Shut up!” the woman snapped. “Do as you’re told but do it slow or I’ll blow your head off.”

“Shut up, Tina,” her companion ordered.

“Tina?” Elaine ground her feet against the stall’s floor. “Tina Paxton from the clinic?”

“Get moving,” the man ordered, and still holding the gun, Tina scrambled out.

“Don’t anyone move!” she screamed as Elaine’s captor dragged her into the church. “I’ll kill anyone who gets close!”

Clutching the gun with both hands, she began firing in every direction. People screamed, ducking behind pews or falling to the floor. Patrick pulled out his weapon, but Tina fired in his direction, and he dove for the floor.

“Patrick!” Elaine screamed but her captor had dragged her to a small hall just behind the confessional stall and then pushed her through an open door of a blue Mini-Cooper Clubman Station Wagon. Tina had barely jumped in before the driver hit the gas and they took off, bouncing against the curb, sending a hubcap flying off. Her captor released Elaine long enough to produce some zip ties from his pocket and bind her wrists behind her.

“We did it, we did it, we did it!” Tina sang from the seat facing Elaine. Someone had customized the car’s interior so that the back seats faced each other. “You gonna go down, Ms. Smarty Pants Prescott!”

A rage colder than her fear shot through Elaine. “You’re Tina from the Wellness Clinic,” she repeated. “You work at the front desk.”

“I work for Big Daddy now and we’re gonna make you pay for all the trouble you’ve caused,” Tina sneered. She peered through the car’s dark interior and pointed at Elaine’s locket. “I like that,” she declared. “Give it to me, Randy.”

“Say my name again, and I’ll shoot you where you sit,” the man warned. His cold, precise diction was more frightening than if he’d shouted. He pulled the locket over Elaine’s head and tossed it at Tina. “Now, keep your mouth shut.”

“Mine now,” Tina sang, swinging it back and forth like a hypnotist’s tool.

“Shut up, Tina,” the man warned again. “If you want to keep working for Big Daddy, you need to keep your mouth shut.”

Pouting, Tina sat back, but put on the locket, stroking the surface, and singing softly to herself.

And then, in the distance, Elaine heard the unmistakable sound of emergency sirens wailing.

CHAPTER22

Griff inwardly seethed ashe typed in his response in the chatroom,Loves Little Girlswebsite. He’d hacked into it months ago, using the identity of Charlie, a man who preferred girls between eleven and thirteen years old, “when they’ve got that attitude you can spank into shape.” Writing comments and response like that nearly made him sick, but so far, no one had caught on to what he was doing. Yesterday he’d picked up a trail of two Knoxville men who’d joined the group in the past six months. Just a little more “tunneling” as he liked to call it, and he’d know who–

Two blank-face images, like the ones used by people who don’t want their pictures used on social media, popped up. Both identified as male, stating they preferred young girls and listed their “handles” or on-screen names. The first simply called himself, “Big Guy” and listed his hobbies as painting and gardening.

“Yeah, you’re a real sweetheart,” Griff muttered, moving to the next posted identity. The man, whose hobbies included photography and jogging, listed his handle as “Ape Man” and had posted a photo of a large, snarling primate that would send Satan right back to Hell. Ape Man…Oh my God.

The name. What was it that Anne Hamilton had guessed about the names of the pedophiles involved in snatching her niece and friends. Names. Scrambled names. Anagrams. Fake names….

“Holy crap,” he muttered, forwarding the photo to another website. “Holy crap.”

The photo was identified as that of a large Gibbons, a fierce primate that lived in the dwindling rain forests of places like Thailand, Laos and Malaysia. Gibbons. Monty Gibbons, Elaine’s boss. The pencil slid from Griff’s fingers, hitting the keyboard before falling to the carpeted floor.

“Damn!” He snatched his phone and hit Elaine’s number. It went straight to voicemail, and he heard her message.

“Elaine, I don’t know where the hell you and Patrick are,” he shouted. “But you need to get back herenow.I don’t care if you have Elizabeth Burke with you or not. Now, do you hear me?”

But then the wailing screams of what could only be dozens and dozens of emergency vehicles heading downtown rattled the windows. A phone alert from an emergency broadcast service added its alarm and he hit the button.

“There has been a shooting at St. Nicholas’ Catholic Church in downtown Knoxville,” the atonal voice reported. “Witnesses say a woman jumped from the confessional and began firing into the worshipers while a man dragged another woman from the church-”

“By all the devils in hell!” Griff surged to his feet as the door to the suite pushed open and Patrick stumbled in, jacket in hand, as blood seeped through his shirt, his face a mask of anguish and fury.

“Griff,” he gasped. “The bastards grabbed Elaine. They were hiding in the confessional.”

“Elizabeth Burke is a part of this?” Disbelief tore through Griff’s heart. “Are you f’ing serious?”

---