Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
His blue eyes widened. “The wind is talking. About spinning tires and the missing girl.”
Laurel breathed deep. “Bullshit.” She rarely uttered profanity. Her brain wasn’t using all its power as she hadn’t slept. “I know the news got ahold of this.” She’d seen Rachel at the school and had stayed away from her.
Kohnex grasped her arm. “It’s the wind. I heard it with the cars near the church. Whispering that she’s lost. Why don’t you come to the Spring Worship Day with me tomorrow at the church? The wind will whisper to you at that holy place.” He stood nearly six foot seven, his body fit and slender. “Let me help you.”
Laurel jerked free. The man wanted to write a book about being psychic, and he’d told her so. “You’re trespassing. Leave or I’ll have you arrested.” She pushed through the door to the Fish and Wildlife offices, where the bustle of agents and officers desperately trying to find a missing teenager sounded like a busy city at lunchtime.
Where could Viv be?
Chapter 33
Tim Kohnex muttered all the way home as he drove away from Genesis Valley toward the unincorporated area. “She thinks she knows everything. That woman’s brain is too big for her own good.”
Buster, his border collie, let out a soft whuff from the back seat as if in agreement. Or boredom. Probably both. The wind was gusting again, tugging at the side mirrors of his rusted truck as he passed the glorious Genesis Valley Community Church. What a beacon of hope and goodness. Why wouldn’t Laurel Snow believe him? He should be preparing for the worship day, but no, he had to be out here doing her job.
“She won’t listen. I told her I heard them. Heard tires on gravel, late last night. I told her I could feel the girl was still alive.”
The dog stared out the window, tongue lolling, unconcerned.
Tim gritted his teeth. “Fine. She doesn’t believe me, fine. I’ll follow the damn wind myself.”
He turned right where the mountain road split, letting the tires crunch over the loose gravel. Higher ground. That’s where he’d heard them. And if the wind had a direction, this was it. It always whispered down the mountainside before dark, like breath curling through a keyhole.
As the road narrowed, he slowed, his gaze flicking between the trees and the steep drop to the right. No headlights shone behind him. No sign of Laurel Snow or her army of feds. Good. They’d just talk him out of following the wind’s directions.
Another gust hit the windshield, and Tim felt the pull—stronger this time. Not metaphorical. Not spiritual. Physical.
He pulled off onto the gravel shoulder, brakes squeaking, and let the truck idle as Buster pushed up between the seats and gave a sharp bark.
“I know, boy. You feel it, too.”
They both jumped out.
The wind tugged at his flannel, and the smell of damp moss and pine needles thickened as they walked toward a trailhead—no signage, just an indentation in the brush like something had passed through often. Deer maybe. Or trucks.
Tim followed the path, winding upward through thick trees. It wasn’t long before he saw something that didn’t belong.
Stone. Concrete.
The building was half-hidden by the slope, built directly into the cliffside. It was nicer than it should’ve been, with steel-reinforced windows and polished wood siding. The facility was tucked behind rock and pine like someone had gone out of their way to bury it.
“I had no clue this was here,” Tim whispered.
Buster didn’t bark and just stared.
There was no driveway, no path down from the road. Whoever used this place had to be getting in another way.
A hundred feet away sat a low outbuilding. Utility shed? Generator shack? It had the right kind of loneliness about it. Tim crouched as he approached, boots soft in the moss, hand lightly resting on the handle of the small knife he always kept at his belt.
The windows were grimy, thick with dust and dead flies. He had to cup his hands against the glass to see. And there she was. The pretty blond girl.
Tied to a chair. Pale. Blood on her temple. Eyes wide and wild—until they locked on his.
Tim’s heart slammed into his ribs. “I knew you were here,” he breathed.
She shook her head quickly, frantically, as Buster gave a sharp bark and darted around the shed to the side door. It was unlocked.
Of course it was unlocked.
Tim pushed it open.
The girl gasped as the light shifted inside. Her eyes filled instantly with tears, but she didn’t sob. She didn’t scream. Her voice came out cracked and dry. “Please.”
Buster reached her first, levering up to put his paws on her legs.
Tim stepped inside, crouching to untie her. “It’s okay now. We’ve got you.” But he never finished releasing the knot.
Something whistled through the air behind him.
Viv’s face twisted in a silent scream, but the sound was drowned by the wet crack that followed.