Page 87 of Protect My Heart

She let out an audible breath. “He’s not here. What is this about?”

“We have some questions regarding Warden Finden and Patrick O’Roarke,” Jim said.

“It was so sad about Patty’s passing. He and Davis were old Army buddies.” She gestured them to the kitchen table. She walked to the counter and held up a coffee mug.

They both declined and she joined them at the table.

“I can’t say I’m surprised at Richard’s arrest though.” She leaned in and dropped her voice to a whisper. “That man always gave me the creeps. Davis wouldn’t invite him to our picnics or New Year’s Eve parties.”

“Ma’am, could you tell me when Mr. Sampson will be back?” CJ asked.

“Oh, not for a few days. He called me this afternoon, said he was heading up north to get some ice fishing in.” She picked up her phone then set it back down. “Shoot, I’d call him for you but we don’t have reception at the lake.”

Jim locked eyes with CJ. Suspicious timing. “Where is up north, exactly?”

“To our cabin by Brainerd. I never like to go in the winter, but Davis loves the solitude. I don’t think he’ll catch many fish though.”

Jim cocked his head. “Why do you say that, Mrs. Sampson?”

“He forgot his ice auger.”

Jim kept his gaze on the woman across the table. She had no clue. “Would you mind giving us the address?”

“Not at all.” She scribbled it on a napkin and handed it across the table.

Pulling out his phone, he fired off a quick text to Jordan asking him to watch Tigger for the night. He’d thank him later. Right now, it looked like CJ and Jim were heading up north. He hoped he wasn’t too late.

Liz’s senses kicked in as she ascended from the fog. Her eyelids struggled to open. Peeling off her Spanx at the end of a hot, Floridian, July day was easier. When the veil of sleep lifted, she blinked to remove the last of her dream, but the sight she faced was worse.

No dream, a nightmare.

She vaguely remembered glass breaking and the piercing pain in her temple. The ache in the left side of her jaw assured her it hadn’t been a dream.

Her body convulsed as frigid air settled around her. Numbness gave way to bone-chilling cold. Her shoulders rounded as she closed in on herself, but something restricted her movement. Her hands were bound. She blinked. The haze of her vision cleared. She made out the cement walls through the dim of the room.

Was it dusk or dawn? The sun shone low through the one dirty window high on the wall.

Her nose crinkled at the smell of mold.

Old wooden crates and yard sale items filled the perimeter. The decades old clutter reminded her of her parents’ basement.

Looking down, she assessed her restraints. Zip ties bound her feet and hands. The duct tape over her mouth flexed as she puffed in and out.

Her head rolled back and her eyes closed. If this kept up, she should get some frequent kidnapper miles. Maybe the next time they could take her someplace warm and sunny, with palm trees. Better yet, with a cabana boy to bring her a margarita.

A dry laugh escaped, and morphed into a sob. Her nose stung, and her body convulsed as tears rolled, one big fat drop after another, down her cheeks. How could this happen? Warden Finden was behind bars. So, she thought. She hadn’t checked before she left the house. She’d been in too big of a rush to get to Jim.

Stupid. After all the years of dealing with the justice system, she knew better.

With three large gulps, she blinked several times and cleared her vision. She snorted and dropped her head to her shirt, trying to wipe her face. Her pity party was over. She couldn’t rely on Jim to save her this time. She needed to find a way out.

Use your senses, Liz.

She focused on the sounds around her. A furnace clicked on. The smell of a campfire filled her nose. The rafters creaked. Someone was here.

She rocked the chair. Maybe the aged wood would crack and splinter if she tipped the chair over. She leaned to the side to get the most momentum when a light cut through the dim.

The clomp of boots on wooden stairs echoed as it grew louder. Closer.