Page 67 of Hunted

Darren didn’t turn to face her. Very softly he said, “I’m real sorry about this, Miz Stoltz.”

Then her door was yanked open from the outside, letting in a blast of cold, wind-driven rain. The interior lights came on, and they were enough to illuminate the pink eyes and white hair of the man she’d thought she’d only see again in nightmares.

She screamed and kicked him while scrambling backward across the seat. He leaned in, absorbing her kicks like they were nothing. He grabbed her shoulders, his fingers sinking deep, and dragged her out into the frigid, icy rain that pelted her face like shrapnel. He crushed her against his chest, pinning her arms to her sides. She twisted and kicked, but he was oblivious.

“Come on, I don’t have all day. The syringe is in my back pocket. Take it and inject her so we can move on with things.”

His shrill words terrified her, and she fought harder. Darren’s steps slapped the wet ground as he came around the car.

“No, you can’t?—”

And then the fine, sharp tip of a needle pierced the flesh of her buttocks. The rain grew louder and louder until it enveloped her. And soon she couldn’t do anything more than listen. Her body was weak, and seemed to have stopped obeying commands.

White picked her up, draped her over his shoulder, and she felt the cold rain soaking her back but couldn’t move to avoid it.

He opened the car door, tossed her across the back seat. “You,” he said to someone beyond her sight, “Drive the car inside before it’s seen. Secure her but be careful. She’s clever. Bear in mind, I might need her later. Mr. Wade and I have some business to conduct in the office.”

She heard whoever it was get in, heard and felt the car door close, and then the vehicle was moving.

“I’m sorry, Monroe,” Michael Waters said to Stryker. He was apologizing for the six extra civilians he’d brought with him.

Waters’ wife Kira stood beside him on the side of a deserted stretch of road. She wore tall black boots and leather, and she was armed to the teeth. She was also agitated and twitchy.

“Don’t apologize,” she said. “We’re her family, and we can help. Besides, none of us are exactly civilians.”

“Look, I specifically said—” Stryker began.

“He’s going to kill her,” Romano said. “Who the hell cares who’s here and who’s not? He’s going to fucking kill her if we don’t find her in time!”

Kira slammed her palm to his chest, just when he’d been about to turn away in frustration, and when he blinked down at her, there was something familiar about her face, the curve of her cheeks, the shape of her nose.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Connor Romano.”

“I figured,” she said. “Lexia Stoltz is my half-sister. And that piece of shit White is not going to kill her.”

And then he realized these people were the relatives Stryker had mentioned. “She doesn’t know she has a sister.”

“She has four of them,” Kira said with a loving look at the three other women standing around in the rain, two blondes and a brunette who shared Lexi’s coloring, stood nearby.

Stryker looked frustrated and walked away, back to the gathering of agents and state police who’d gathered at this deserted crossroads. Darren’s phone had pinged a cell tower nearby. One of the cops had found it in the ditch at a four corners where he’d apparently tossed it.

Romano wished the icy rain could shake the sick feeling from the pit of his stomach. But it didn’t. It couldn’t. Nothing could. Lexi was still alive, or had been when Darren had run a red light and the traffic-cam had snapped a picture. She’d been sitting in the passenger seat. That should’ve given him a hint of relief. But it didn’t. She was alive, but in the hands of brutal killers because of him. He would get her back or die trying.

Aloud, he only cleared his throat and went over to Stryker. “Where the hell is that chopper you asked for?”

Stryker answered, but Romano was almost beyond hearing. He had no idea where Darren had taken Lexi. But he was afraid she’d be turned over to White along with the formula in short order. Unless he could get to her first.

One of the women in the group, gasped. Kira Waters went over to her, and they spoke quietly. She had a head full of wavy caramel and honey blonde hair, and at the moment her hands were buried in it, as if she had a headache.

In a minute, Kira came to him, took his arm, and led him a little bit away from the others. “She’s being held in a large building. It’s pre-fab metal, light blue with white doors. The windows are mostly busted out. It’s cold.”

“How the hell do you know all that?” he asked.

Kira looked at the blonde she’d just spoken to. “Joey saw it. Just … trust me. Go with it.”

“There’s a map in the car,” Mike Waters said, and Kira scrambled into their rental, leaving the door open as she dug through the glove box then unfolded a map over the dashboard. “Stryker said the cell signal stopped moving—” he glanced at his watch. “Seventeen minutes ago. Given the heavy rain, let’s estimate a radius of about?—”

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