Kay Hooper - Hunting Fear

Books by Kay Hooper

A Bantam Book / August 2004

Published by Bantam Dell,

a division of

Random House, Inc.

New York, New York

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are
the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance
to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2004 by Kay Hooper

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Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

Hooper, Kay.

Hunting fear / Kay Hooper.

p. cm.

eISBN: 0-553-90056-0

I. Title.

PS3558.O587 H86 2004

813/.54 22 2004047613

Five years ago

Sssshhhh.

Half consciously, she made the sound out loud. Sssshhhh. But it was a breath of sound. Less than that.

She had to be quiet.

He might hear.

He might get angry at her.

He might change his mind.

She kept herself very still and tried to make herself very small. Dont draw his attention. Dont give him any reason to change his mind.

Shed been lucky so far. Lucky or smart. Because hed said so, hed said she was a good girl and so he wouldnt hurt her. All she had to do was take the medicine and sleep for a while, and then be still and silent for a little bit when she woke up.

Count to five hundred when you wake up, hed said. Count slowly. And when she was done

and when youre done, Ill be gone. You can move then. You can take off the blindfold. But not until then, you understand? If you move or make a sound before then, Ill know. And Ill have to hurt you.

It seemed to take forever to count to five hundred, but finally she got there. Hesitated. And counted to six hundred just to be safe. Because she was a good girl.

Hed had her lie down so that her hands were underneath her bottom, her own weight holding them flat and immobile. So he didnt have to tie them, hed said. She could put her hands underneath her like a good girl or he could tie her up.

He had a gun.

She thought her hands were probably asleep by now, because she felt the medicine had made her sleep a long time. But she was still afraid to try moving, afraid he was somewhere nearby, watching.

Areare you there? she whispered.

Nothing. Just the sound of her own breathing.

She shivered, not for the first time. It was chilly, a little damp. The air she breathed was stale. And in the tiniest corner of her mind, way back in the dark where a terrified little girl crouched, was an idea she didnt even want to think about.

No. Not that.

It wasnt that.

Cautiously, very slowly, she began working her right hand from underneath her. It had gone to sleep, the pins and needles sharp, the sensation as creepy as it always was. She kept her hand alongside her hip and flexed the fingers slowly as the blood returned to them. It made her want to cry or giggle. She worked her left hand free and flexed it as well.

Refusing to admit why she did it, she slid her hands to the tops of her thighs, then up her body, not reaching out, not reaching up naturally. She slid them up herself until she touched the blindfold covering her eyes.

She heard her breath catch in a little sob.

No. It wasnt that.

Because she was a good girl.

She pushed the cloth up her forehead, keeping her eyes closed. She drew a deep breath, trying not to think about how much more stale and thick the air seemed to be.

Finally, she opened her eyes.

Blackness. A dark so total it had weight, substance.

She blinked, turned her head back and forth, but saw nothing more. Just... black.

In the tiniest corner of her mind, that little girl whimpered.

Slowly, fraction of an inch by fraction of an inch, she pushed her hands outward. Her arms were still bent at the elbows when her hands touched something solid. It felt like... wood. She pushed against it. Hard. Harder.

It didnt give at all.

She tried not to panic, but by the time her hands had explored the box in which she lay, the scream was crawling around in the back of her throat. And when the little girl crouching in the tiniest corner of her mind whispered the truth, the scream escaped.

Hes buried you alive.

And nobody knows where you are.

Im telling you its no goddamned use. Lieutenant Pete Edgerton had an unusually smooth and gentle voice for a violent-crimes detective, but it was harsh now. And filled with reluctant certainty. Shes gone.

Show me a body.

Luke

Until you can show me a body, I am not giving up on that girl. Lucas Jordans voice was quiet, as it always was, but the intensity lurked, as it always did. And when he turned and left the conference room, it was with the quick, springy step of a man in excellent physical shape who possessed enough energy for at least two other men.

Maybe three.

With a sigh, Edgerton turned to the other detectives scattered about the room and shrugged. The family hired him, and they have the mayors backing, so we dont have the authority to call him off.

I doubt anybody could call him off, Judy Blake said, her tone half admiring and half wondering. He wont stop looking until he finds Meredith Gilbert. Dead or alive.

Another detective, surveying the stack of files in front of him, shook his head wearily. Well, whether hes as gifted as they say or not, hes independent and he can concentrate on one case at a time for as long as it takes. We dont have that luxury.

Edgerton nodded. Weve already spent more time than we can affordand a hell of a lot more manpoweron a single missing-persons case with squat for leads and absolutely no evidence that she was abducted against her will.

Her familys sure she was, Judy reminded him. And Luke is sure.

I know. Im sure myself, or at least as sure as I can be with a gut feeling. Edgerton shrugged again. But weve got cases backed up and Ive got my orders. The Meredith Gilbert investigation is officially a cold-case file.

Is that the federal conclusion as well? Judy asked, brows lifting as she turned her gaze to a tall, dark man who leaned negligently against a filing cabinet in a position that enabled him to watch everyone in the room.

Special Agent Noah Bishop shook his head once. The official federal conclusion is that theres been no federal crime. No evidence of kidnappingor anything else that would involve the Bureau. And we werent asked to officially participate in the investigation. His voice was cool, like his pale gray sentry eyes. He wore a half smile, but the vivid scar twisting down his left cheek made the expression more dangerous than pleasant.

Then what are you doing here? the same weary detective asked mildly.

Hes interested in Jordan, Theo Woods said. Thats it, isnt it, Bishop? You came to see the so-called psychics little dog-and-pony show. The detective was hostile, and it showed, though it was difficult to tell which he despised moresupposed psychics or federal agents.

Matter-of-fact, the agent replied, I came because there was the possibility of a kidnapping.