Lost Souls, J. Bishop [100 books to read in a lifetime .TXT] 📗

spotted a four-door red sedan parked off to the side of the house, but saw no movement. “Shay and Bradley are unstable at best. You call the cavalry, and they come in guns blazing, they’ll likely get Mikey and Mason killed.”

“You want to do this alone? Is that what you’re saying? Are you crazy? We’ll end up dead along with Mason and Mikey.”

“Chin up, Miss Vain. We have surprise on our side. Are you armed?”

She reached over and popped open the glove compartment. “I am.” She pulled out a small revolver. “Are you?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“Then what the hell do you plan to use? Being a smart-ass will only get you so far.”

He lowered the binoculars. “On the contrary, I find my wit frequently works better than a weapon.”

“Not with my brother, it didn’t.”

He raised a brow at her and went back to looking.

“I still think calling for help is our best shot at this.”

“Hold on,” he said, seeing movement. The front door opened and a man walked out. He was burly and broad-shouldered. “It’s Bradley.”

Bradley stomped down the front steps and over to the car. After reaching the driver’s side door, he stopped. Trick saw a woman leave the house and stop at the edge of the porch. She yelled something at Bradley, who yelled back. The two were definitely on edge. The woman pointed toward the old barn and threw out a hand. She wore jeans and a large t-shirt, her disheveled hair blew in the wind, and her long bangs hung in her face. Trick sucked in a breath, and gripped the binoculars, studying the woman. “I’ll be damned.”

“What?” asked Valerie, leaning up. “What is it?”

Trick watched her a second longer, confirming his suspicions. “That’s not Shay.”

“What do you mean it’s not Shay? Who is it?”

“It’s Lydia. She’s alive.” He watched Lydia return to the house and Bradley got in the car, started it, and backed up. Trick started to tell Valerie to get down, but instead of heading toward the driveway, Bradley drove the car down the narrow trail and into the woods.

**

Mikey moaned, and her head flared. Hearing muffled sounds and jostled by the bumpy movements beneath her, she slowly became aware of her surroundings. Opening her eyes, she blinked, trying to clear her vision, but it was dark and difficult to see. Lying in a small, enclosed space, she shifted. Her side hurt and her mouth was so dry she could barely swallow. Her mind sharpening, she raised her arm, touched the back of her head and felt the wet warmth of blood. A memory flashed in her brain.

Bradley had pulled a gun on her. He’d yelled at her to get out of her car, and she had, asking him to relax and not hurt her, and trying to get him to tell her what he was doing. He wouldn’t talk though and told her to get in his car. Mikey had no intention of getting in his vehicle, though, and had tried to think of how to escape.

He’d yelled at her again, and she’d turned, ready to make a run for it, when something hard had hit the back of her head, and she’d crumpled.

Moaning again, she tried to get her bearings. Touching hard surfaces above and around her, she determined she was in the trunk of a car. The noises and the bumpy movement were coming from the crunch of tires rolling over dirt and gravel. Her side ached and feeling around, she touched a small tire, probably the spare, beneath her. Exhaust fumes made her cough, and she prayed she wouldn’t die from carbon monoxide poisoning.

Trying not to panic, she told herself to think. It was the only way out of this. She searched the rest of the trunk, hoping to find a tire iron or something that could be used as a weapon but had no luck. Coughing again, she wiped her burning eyes and thought of Mason. Was he okay? Instinctively, she knew he wasn’t. If they’d come after her, they’d have come after him, too.

The car slowed and came to a stop. The fear welled up, and Mikey stifled a sob, sending out a silent prayer for help.

**

Trick put the binoculars in the seat. “You ready?”

“Ready? What are we going to do? You have a plan?”

“I do.” He closed his eyes and envisioned in his mind their next steps. A series of actions played out, and he opened his eyes.

“Trick. I really think we need help.”

“You’re right.” He grabbed his phone, searched for a number and dialed.

“What are you doing?”

“Calling for help.”

She grunted and put her head back. “I think you’re going to kill me before they do.”

“Have faith, Miss Vain.” Trick listened to the ringing until someone picked up. “Yes,” he said. “I need to speak to either Detective Daniels or Remalla. It’s urgent. Tell them Trick Monroe is calling. I’ll hold but the longer I wait, the sooner someone will die.”

He heard a gruff “hold on” and seconds later, Detective Daniels answered. “Trick? What’s wrong?” Trick gave him the fastest possible answer and explained the situation, telling them he was with Valerie Vain and not to shoot her, and then gave him the address.

“We’re on our way,” said Daniels. “You two should wait for us.”

“My partner’s in there, and probably Mikey, too, Detective. Time is short if not already up.”

There was a pause. “Be careful.”

“I will.” He hung up. “Cavalry’s coming.” He popped the door open. “Let’s go, Miss Vain.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Valerie closed her car door quietly, and holding her weapon, jogged around the front of the vehicle to meet Trick. They ran into the trees, just off the side of the driveway. Getting closer to the house, Trick squatted and Valerie did the same beside him. “How do you want to do this?” she whispered.

Trick studied the property for a second. “You take the barn. I’ll take the house.”

Valerie surveyed the area. “Barn? You mean that shack over there? Why don’t we both go to the