Gone Missing (Kate Burkholder 4)

neck. I glance toward the door. “Is there anyone else down here?”
    The two girls exchange looks. “Leah,” Bonnie says.
    Leah Stuckey. I recall the name from that first briefing with Sheriff Goddard. Sixteen years old. From Hope Falls, Ohio. Missing one year. Her parents were recently killed in a buggy accident.
    “They took her,” Sadie adds. “Two days ago.”
    I think of the body a few yards outside the door and I wonder if it’s Leah’s. “Where did they take her?”
    “We don’t know,” Sadie replies.
    “They hated Leah,” Bonnie tells me. “They were mean to her because she was mouthy and cussed a lot. They tried to make her read the Bible, like for twenty-four hours straight.” She chokes out a sound that’s part laugh, part sob. “Leah told them to get fucked.” She closes her eyes tightly, as if trying to ward off the memory. “They used a cattle prod on her.”
    “They took her once, and when they brought her back, she got really sick. You know, bleeding . . .” Sadie bites her lip. “Down there.”
    “I think she’s dead,” Bonnie whispers. “They’re going to kill us, too.”
    “No, they’re not,” I say firmly. “I’m going to get you out of here. But I need for you to stay calm and be quiet.”
    Sadie nods. The other girl jerks her head, but she doesn’t look convinced. I hope they can hold it together long enough for me to figure out how to handle this.
    I look at the band around Sadie’s wrist. “Is there a key?”
    “The old man keeps it in his pocket.”
    I glance around the chamber, looking for something with which to break the chain. “Help me find something to break that chain,” I say. “A rock or a brick.”
    The two girls look around. A single bare bulb dangles from the ceiling and doesn’t reveal much. I see an empty water bottle, a crumbled paper towel. A book lies facedown on a small table. I cross to it, read the embossed words on the spine Es Nei Teshtament. The New Testament.
    “There’s nothing here,” Bonnie says.
    “Shoot it off.” Sadie motions toward my sidearm and raises her wrist.
    I don’t reply; I know she doesn’t want to hear my answer. The chain is too heavy to sever with a bullet. The cuff is too close to her wrist. Not only would it require multiple firings and risk a ricochet but I’d probably run out of ammunition before the job was done, and then I’d have no weapon at all.
    I pull out my phone. A lone bar appears on the display. I hit 911 anyway and get another Failed message. I try Tomasetti’s number and get the same result.
    Clipping my phone to my belt, I look at the two girls. They’re standing a few feet apart—as close to me as their chains will allow—staring at me as if I’m their last breath of air. “I have to go for help,” I tell them.
    “ What? ” Bonnie looks at me as if I’m a traitor. “You can’t leave us!”
    “No! ” Sadie chokes. “Don’t go! You can’t!”
    “There’s a deputy out there,” I tell them. “Just stay calm and I’ll get you out of here.”
    The girl lying on the floor bellows an animalistic cry that echoes off the walls. Sadie whirls toward her. “Shut up!” she hisses.
    “What if they come for us while you’re gone?” Bonnie whispers.
    “They’re not home,” I say firmly. “I checked.”
    “Don’t leave us down here!” she cries.
    “They’ll kill us,” Sadie says.
    I cross to her, set my hands on her shoulders, and give her a shake. “Everything’s going to be okay. But I need for you to be strong. Do you understand?”
    Sadie jerks her head.
    “Good girl.” I turn my attention to Bonnie.
    Her face crumples. Sagging against the chain, she begins to sob. “I can’t believe you’re leaving us. Please don’t. Please! ”
    Reaching out, I set my hand on her shoulder and squeeze. “I’ll be back,” I say firmly. “I promise.”
    As I turn my back on them and start toward the door, I pray it’s a promise I can keep.

 
CHAPTER 21
     
    Their cries follow me through the door and into the corridor. Then I’m moving at a jog, heading toward the hatch from which I entered. I’m looking for daylight, anxious to get the hell out of this godforsaken tunnel and get those girls to safety.
    The beam of my flashlight carves a murky path through the darkness. I’m kicking up dust, and in the periphery of my vision, it hovers like mist. I can hear myself breathing hard, a mix of adrenaline and physical exertion. I catch a glimpse of a small wooden