Trapped Read online

  According to Luther Marks’ records, he’d been arrested several times for domestic battery and assault. Even more interesting was the phone call to the police department of his last known address. Not in Ohio, but in his native West Virginia. According to the officer, Nate had spoken with, Luther Marks had been questioned in the disappearance of two women. No charges were ever filed in those cases since the bodies hadn’t been found. The words had chilled Nate. Not wanting to waste valuable time, he hadn’t taken the time to investigate all of Luther’s past. He had more than enough proof, even if it wasn’t enough for a judge to give him a warrant. Nate had a feeling there’d be other missing women in the other places Luther had lived. But that would have to wait until later.

  Right now, Nate’s only concern was Ange Matthews. He prayed it wasn’t too late. Ange had been missing more than a week—more than enough time for…well more than enough time.

  Luther had moved to Ohio and started his limo service. He hadn’t had any serious run-ins with the law since living here. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t breaking the law now.

  On yet another trip past, Nate stared down the long lane. If he drove down it, surely Luther would hear him coming. And if he heard Nate that would give him time to do any number of things. If Nate sneaked back and knocked on the door, the man would wonder how he’d gotten there in the first place.

  Either way could endanger Ange Matthews—if she was in the house.

  Nate stared through the trees at the rundown farm house. A stranded motorist would have to pick Luther’s house if he was looking for a phone. Time for some role playing. He pulled off the road, thankful he’d driven his personal car. He stepped out of the vehicle, took off his suit jacket, walked to the trunk, and opened it. He pulled out his spare tire and leaned it against the car so it could be seen from the house. Taking the jack and the lug wrench out of its spot, Nate knelt down and pretended to jack up the car. Then he acted as if he was trying to remove the lug nuts. Not that he had any intention of doing that. He stood up and kicked the car tire as he debated whether to call the county sheriff’s office. But what could he tell them that could even warrant backup? He had no real evidence, only a suspicion.

  His only backup would have to be his gun.

  He walked back to the driver’s side of his car, untucking his shirt, and then slid the gun into the waistband of his pants. He didn’t want a confrontation unless it was absolutely necessary. But Nate wanted the protection, just in case. And he uttered a quick prayer for God’s protection, too. At the last minute, he called Leslie.

  She picked up on the first ring. “Where are you?”

  After explaining, he gave her the address. “There’s no evidence to call in a warrant. But I thought someone should know where I was before I actually go to the house to talk to him.”

  “I don’t like it, Nate.” All the nonchalance of not believing there was even a case had vanished. Two missing women could do that. “I think you should wait until we get more evidence and can get a warrant.”

  And Ange Matthews could be dead by that time.

  “I’ll be fine. I’ll call you as soon as I leave the house.”

  “No—”

  “Yes. You said it was my case, so I’m doing what I think is best. For Ange Matthews. And besides if you were here, you’d do the same thing. I know it.”

  “Fine.” Resignation rang in her voice. “Call me as soon as you leave there.”

  “Got it.” After disconnecting, he opened the back of his phone and slid out the battery. Then he placed the battery in his pocket and the phone under his seat. His gaze fell on the small police-issued laptop. Leaning back in the car, he slid that under the passenger side, accepting the possibility that Luther might actually came out to help him.

  As he walked down the lane, he eyed the house. In the dusk of the day, the large farm house looked even more foreboding—almost evil. After another quick prayer, he moved toward it. With every step he took, the sky darkened a bit more. A storm was coming. His breath turned ragged—from nerves and not from exertion. Pride was not one of his faults any longer. But he had plenty of other ones to worry about. He scanned the property in the dim light. There was a shed and a detached garage on the property. Further back sat a huge old barn.

  Ange could be in any of those buildings, fighting for her life.

  But there was no way to check it out at this point. The best he could do was talk with Luther and hope the man said something—anything−that would give Nate a chance at a warrant. Forcing his breathing to slow, he kept walking. It wouldn’t do for Luther to see him nervous.

  ~*~

  “Can I get cleaned up before I cook? I’m just so dirty.” She gestured at the ragged t-shirt she wore.

  They stood in Luther’s kitchen.

  It was cleaner than she’d expected. She fought the urge to look for a weapon of some sort. Instead, Ange kept her gaze on Luther, hoping he would relax. The gun frightened her, but if she saw a chance to get away, she would take it.

  “I suppose.” He escorted her upstairs to the bathroom and watched her every move.

  When she finished, he grabbed her arm and walked her to the bedroom.

  Her heart sank as she stared at the bed, but she would do what she had to do to survive. Anything to stay alive. Anything to get him to trust her so she had a chance of escaping.

  He motioned with the gun for her to walk into the room. Once there, he let go of her arm, walked over to a dresser, and tossed her a clean T-shirt.

  “Thanks.” She said as she pulled the oversized shirt over her head. It was hard not to notice how thin she’d become in the past week and a half. She forced a smile. “OK, now I’m ready to cook. What’s your favorite food?”

  His eyes glittered with suspicion as he held up the gun. “Remember, there won’t be any warnings. If you do anything I don’t like, anything at all, it’s over.” He waved the gun around the room. “Got it?”

  “I understand. I’ll be good. I just want to cook something for you.” She prayed that he might even let her eat a bite or two. By her calculations, she’d not eaten for the past two days. “What do you want me to cook?”

  “I’ll leave that up to you. Surprise me.” He grabbed hold of her arm as they walked down the stairs.

  She wanted to bolt to the front door, but she’d be shot in the back if she tried.

  “I’ve got a couple of pork chops in the fridge.”

  Pork chops. Her mouth watered. “Got any vegetables? And rice. I do a mean stir-fry.” Not exactly true, but she’d watched her cook do it several times. She thought she could manage it.

  It wasn’t likely there’d be any chance to escape tonight. This was about getting him to trust her—and not to kill her. If he trusted her, he might start giving her more freedom. More freedom would mean more opportunities. The escaping would come later. She hoped.

  “I should have guessed a rich girl like you would want to cook up something fancy.” He twisted her arm to emphasize his point. “But I probably have a few. You can look in the fridge.”

  “If you prefer, I can just fry them. Whatever you—”

  “Yeah, right. I’m sure—”

  Someone knocked on the front door.

  He froze mid-step.

  Then he squeezed her arm so tight it brought tears to her eyes. She couldn’t believe it. Someone was actually at the door. Someone who could help her?

  “If you don’t want to die right this moment, you’d better not make a sound.” His arm snaked around her neck. His whisper was more like a serpent’s hiss than a human voice. “Understand?”

  “I understand.” Her gaze focused on the door. Who was standing on the other side? Had God actually sent someone to help her? Had He answered her prayer?

  With his nails still digging in to her flesh, he dragged her down the last few steps as he called, “Be there in a minute.” He pressed the gun against her side as he held her close to him. The smell of fear rose from him.

 
Rather than being comforted that he was afraid, it terrified her. His fear could lead to her death. And for whoever was outside.

  He didn’t open the door but yelled out, “What do you want?”

  “I got a flat tire. And my lug nuts won’t come off. And wouldn’t you know my cell phone’s dead. Talk about bad luck. Anyway, I need to call road service to come out to help.”

  Luther’s gaze never left her face as the man talked.

  If only she had the courage to scream. Tell him to run, to call the police, but terror prevented her from doing anything. Not just for her, but for the stranger at the door.

  If Luther pulled the trigger, would it kill her? It might be worth the risk. He had no intention of letting her live when he was done playing his games anyway. Maybe she should take the chance.

  Luther was thinking about shooting her right that moment, if his glittering eyes and evil expression were any indication. If she even made a move or yelled for help, he’d kill her. And then he’d probably shoot the poor man on the other side of the door who’d picked the wrong house. It was one thing to risk her own life, but someone else’s? She wouldn’t do that. She forced her muscles to relax, hoping Luther would do the same.

  “No need to do that.” Luther suddenly yelled. “I’ll get my tools and come out. It will just take me a minute to get them. I’ll meet you at your car.”

  “Great. Thanks so much. Think I can get a drink of water? It was a long walk down that lane.”

  “I’ve got a bottle somewhere. I’ll bring it out to you.”

  “I could really use it right now.”

  “Look, mister, you want me to help you or not?”

  Ange wanted the man to go away before he got them both killed.

  “No problem. Just bring it out when you come.” His voice told her he was clueless as to the drama he was creating inside the house. Or how close he was to dying—or her dying.

  “Be there in a minute.” Even as Luther was saying the words, he started dragging her back toward the kitchen and the basement. “You better stay shut up if you know what’s good for you. Got it?”

  Tears filled her eyes as she looked back toward the door and windows. All covered. There was no way that man could see her. She’d had her chance to escape but hadn’t found the courage to yell at the man to get help. But it wasn’t too late. She could still yell. But if she did that, she’d be putting his life in danger, too.

  If she had to die, she’d rather die knowing she’d not caused another person’s death.

  As they passed the refrigerator she looked at it longingly. Pork chops. There’d certainly be no food tonight. Luther would probably come back and kill her after he dealt with the man at the door. He’d probably kill him, too.

  “Good girl. You’re very lucky you didn’t yell. I would have shot you dead.” He glared at her. “I know you wanted to.”

  She shook her head. “I…just…want to cook dinner. That’s all.”

  Luther opened the door to the basement and shoved her in. She fell on the landing.

  “I’m locking the door, and you won’t be able to get out. If you try, I’ll kill you. So you just get down those steps and in that bed and wait for—”

  Glass shattered in the living room, and then a loud thump sounded.

  “Police!”

  God had answered Ange’s prayers. Hope stabbed through her so fast it made her breathless.

  Luther’s face paled and then turned bright red. He swirled away from her and ran toward the living room with the gun aimed toward the open doorway.

  “He’s got a gun,” she screamed even as she moved toward the kitchen drawers to get a weapon.

  “Get out of here!” the man yelled from the living room. “Go. Run.”

  The kitchen door was right there, the way to freedom. But she couldn’t just leave that man alone with Luther. Maybe he’d yelled, “police” because he’d seen something through the windows that made him realize she needed his help. If he was the police, he probably had a weapon. If not, they’d both be in trouble. It wouldn’t be right to just run away and leave him alone.

  Gunshots exploded in the next room.

  No time to search for a knife. Her gaze fell on the stove. A frying pan. That would have to do. More gun shots rang out as she charged into the room with the frying pan held up high. With all the force she could muster, she raised the frying pan and whacked Luther in the back of the head.

  He moaned and crumpled to the floor.

  The floor was littered with glass. The blind hung halfway down. Apparently, the man had jumped through the window. Her would-be rescuer was on the floor with a gun in his hand. His shirt was covered in blood.

  “You’re shot!” she screamed at him as adrenaline pouring through her system.

  He managed to stand. “I’m O—” His hand reached toward her as he swayed, and then he collapsed on the floor in front of her.

  Horrified, she bent down and began shaking him. “Get up. Get up.”

  Luther grabbed her hair. “You should have run like he told you to, Ange. Now both of you are going to die.”

  She couldn’t let Luther take her back to the basement. She reached out for the man, her fingers wrapped around his arm. As Luther pulled her hair, she slid away. Her hand scraped down the man’s arm to his fingers. Her gaze fell on his gun. Her fingers curled around the weapon as Luther dragged at her.

  She turned and squeezed the trigger, but nothing happened.

  Luther still had her hair clutched in his hand. He lifted her up to him. “Too bad the gun was out of bullets. You’ll pay for that.” He slapped her.

  Bright silvery stars clouded her vision as he grabbed for the gun, but she tossed it away.

  He punched her in the face. More stars.

  She moaned.

  A moment later, he punched her in the stomach. When he loosened his grasp on her hair, she crumpled to the floor. She gasped for air, unable to take a breath.

  Luther walked toward the other man, his gun aimed at the stranger, who was still unconscious.

  She couldn’t let the man die. Ignoring the pain, she moved to her knees, and then stood. It took every ounce of willpower to remain upright. “I’m outa here,” she yelled and hobbled toward the kitchen, expecting a bullet in her back.

  Luther cursed.

  The bullet missed her as it smashed into the wall beside her.

  She ran to the kitchen door and began to unbolt it. Had to get out. Before he killed her.

  “Stop! One more move, and I’ll shoot you.”

  At least he hadn’t shot that man. She held up her hands in surrender and turned toward him. “Don’t hurt me. Please. I’ll do anything you want, Luther. Don’t kill me.”

  Luther’s pants leg was dark with blood. Maybe he would bleed to death before he had time to kill her. She had to delay the inevitable as long as she could.

  “I’ve had enough. I warned you.” He advanced toward her. “Now it’s time for you to die.” The wound didn’t seem to be slowing him down.

  She cowered against the door. “Please don’t. I’ll do anything you want. Let’s go play your games.”

  His hands went around her throat. “Forget about shooting you. I want to enjoy this.” He squeezed tighter. His eyes shined with hatred.

  She couldn’t breathe. She flailed her arms, hitting at him.

  He was too strong.

  Her lungs longed for air. Stars clouded her vision and the darkness slipped closer.

  “Let go of her, or I’ll shoot. Now.”

  Luther twisted her into a neck hold and spun her in front of him. A tap of cold steel pressed against her temple as he put the gun to her head. She sucked in blessed air, too grateful for the lungful to think of the drama around her.

  “You don’t have any bullets.”

  “I reloaded.” The man pointed the gun at Luther. “I said let go of her. Now.” He advanced toward them.

  “I don’t care if that’s true. It’s not going to happen.” Lu
ther snarled as he tightened his arm around her neck. “Don’t take another step, or I’ll shoot her. Then it’ll be your turn. Either way you both die. And I live.”

  The man stopped walking. His gaze met hers as if to say ‘sorry.’

  “You put that gun down on the floor. Nice and easy and then kick it toward me. Or I’ll kill her. Now. I know I have more bullets. Want to take that risk?” Luther’s growl grated.

  Her would-be rescuer seemed to run through the possibilities. But his hesitation would get him killed. She wasn’t worth it. Tears streamed down her face. “Just kill him. Don’t worry about me. He plans to kill us anyway.”

  Luther clicked the hammer on his gun, still pressed against her head.

  “Don’t shoot her.” The man held his hands up in surrender. “I’m putting the gun down.”

  “No. No. Shoot him.”

  He placed the gun on the floor.

  Now they would both die.

  The gun moved from her head.

  “Good choice,” Luther said. “Are you really a cop?”

  The man shook his head. “I saw you dragging her through the room. I couldn’t just walk away. I thought I could help.”

  Could he really see through those blinds?

  “Don’t you lie to me, boy. What about your gun?”

  “I keep it in the car for protection. I brought it with me because I didn’t know who lived in this house. For all I knew it could be some crazy guy. Guess I was right about that.”

  The answer seemed to satisfy Luther. “OK. Both of you in the basement. I’ll deal with the two of you later. I’ve got to get your car off the road before it attracts attention. Where’s your keys?”

  “In my pocket.”

  “Throw ’em to me, and your cell phone.”

  The man put a hand in his pocket and tossed the keys in their direction. “Don’t have a cell phone. Remember that’s why I’m here. I told you it was dead.”

  “Don’t make me ask again. You already told me you had one.”

  “But it’s dead. I left it in the car. Under the driver’s seat.”