Wanted By The Marshal

Chapter One

Cheyenne, WyomingLate spring

Kiera Connell grabbed her bag and headed with a smile to the exit of the Prairie Seniors’ Care Home. Few things made her happier than her work here. In fact, she often came in for extra hours beyond those they paid. She supposed it was because of her own lack of family that made being here so special, made her feel so included. She’d lost her mother when she was a toddler and the aunt who had raised her had died seven years ago. The seniors and the other caregivers were, to her, like family. Today, she’d filled in on an earlier shift before working her scheduled evening shift. It was late, and her car was in for repairs. It was a nice night and only a twenty-minute walk home. She planned not to waste any time getting out the door.

Her hand was on the knob when a quavering voice stopped her.

“Kiera? Do you have a minute?”

She turned around without hesitation. “Sure, Ann,” she said. She guessed that the elderly woman had hurried down the hall after her as fast as her walker would take her. Kiera must have been caught up in her own thoughts, for she hadn’t heard the shuffle of Ann’s feet as she had struggled to follow.

“What’s up?”

“I wondered if you could pick up a magazine for me tomorrow.”

“I will,” Kiera said as she put a reassuring hand on her arm. She’d promised she’d run the errand for her only an hour ago. She’d also promised an hour before that. But Ann, like many of the other residents, had dementia. “I’ll get one with racy pictures.”

Ann smiled. “You’re a tease,” she replied. “But thank you.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Kiera promised. “Now get some sleep.”

After watching Ann turn slowly around and make her way painfully down the hallway, she headed for the exit. But she glanced back and saw Ann take a wrong turn to get to her room. It was a simple setup, a small facility, but for someone with memory loss, nothing was simple.

Kiera dropped her bag and hurried down the hall. She could leave Ann to find her way to her room on her own. She knew that she would eventually get there. For one corridor only met another and circled back to the starting point. She could wait and let the plan of the hallways take Ann the long route back to where she wanted to go. But she couldn’t do that. It wasn’t in her nature. She slowed her step as she walked beside the woman. She chatted to Ann about her day, her plans for tomorrow and the promised magazine. It was a conversation she’d had three other times since supper. Once, when she’d brought Ann’s medication. Once, when she made sure that she was ready for bed and again when she checked on her later in the evening. She’d completed the same ritual for half a dozen other people as well, but Ann was one of her favorites. While some of the work was repetitive, it was the people that made this job one of the best she’d ever had. As a nurse-practitioner, it was her that the staff turned to when health issues cropped up. She loved the challenge of keeping this community of seniors healthy. She loved it every bit as much as she loved being part of their support structure.

“Kiera,” her supervisor, Beth, called as she left Ann in her room and headed back down the corridor. “What are you still doing here?”

“I was delayed.”

“Ann again?” Beth shook her head and smiled. There was no danger of Ann overhearing their almost maternal hovering; she’d disappeared into her room. And, like many of the residents, she was hearing impaired. “I could have given her a hand.”

“I know,” Kiera replied. “But I was here so...” The words trailed off as she shrugged. She looked at her watch. It was almost midnight.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take a cab home?” Beth asked. “It’s late.”

“I’ll be fine. It’s a warm night and a short walk.”

“Be careful,” Beth warned with a wave.

She gave a wave back and headed out the door. It was a beautiful late spring night. She was walking down well-lit streets in an area of the city where she’d always felt safe. The air seemed to caress her skin. She walked by one of the city’s eight-foot-tall, artist-painted, decorative cowboy boots. A streetlight splashed light on the gold-and-brass spur and revealed a cloud-studded, bright blue Wyoming sky above a mountain range. The beautiful scene was painted on the body of the boot. The boots were all unique and were displayed randomly throughout the city. They were one of the many things that made Cheyenne special to her. Tonight, this one marked the halfway point, ten minutes from home.

She began to hum a little tune. And, as she walked by a local coffee shop, she noticed a man sitting slouched on an outside bench. It wasn’t unusual to see the occasional homeless person in the area, especially during the warmer weather. She thought nothing of it and instead considered jogging the rest of the way home.

“Miss.”

The soft male voice came out of nowhere and startled her. But there was no threat in the voice, only a kind of lost hopelessness. She’d heard that tone before. The streetlight pushed the shadows away as another man in a ragged T-shirt and baggy jeans rose from the sidewalk where he’d been sitting cross-legged with cup and a sign asking for help.

He approached her slowly, with a slight limp.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a soft voice. “Could you spare some change?”

“Of course,” she said and reached into her pocket and pulled out some coins. She dropped them into the cup. He looked thin and grubby. She guessed he might be in his late twenties but not much older. It wasn’t a sight that she was unfamiliar with. Occasionally, she volunteered at a nearby soup kitchen. There, she often saw people like him who were homeless or just down on their luck. She sometimes wondered what had brought them to such a desperate state. Whatever the reasons, she couldn’t turn down someone in need.

“Have a coffee on me.”

He nodded. But it was as if his interest was elsewhere. She turned in the direction that seemed to have caught his attention. And as she turned, she saw the hooded figure approaching. They were alone; the man on the bench had disappeared as if sensing trouble. There was no time to run. There was no time to scream. It was over before she knew that it had happened.

When she opened her eyes again, her arms and shoulders ached. The breeze that had lifted her hair earlier, and which she’d taken joy in walking in, was gone. She was no longer on the street but in what seemed to be a house. Everything was dimly lit, and she could see the shadowy shape of the room: large, empty and rather rank smelling. Her wrists and ankles were tied with rope that was so tight it cut into her skin.

Escape.

And yet, as much as she knew that she needed to get away, she couldn’t. Even without the ropes that restrained her, her body was weak and didn’t seem to want to respond. Her head spun. She guessed that she might have a concussion. The smell of must and disuse closed around her. Her heart pounded so hard that her chest hurt.

Stay calm, she told herself as she took deep breaths. That’s the only way you’re going to figure a way out of this. But her head reeled, and she passed out. When she came to, everything was dark. She lay still, trying to figure out where she was, who had done this to her and what they wanted. She had to clear her mind. She had to still her fear so that she could think straight. She was focusing like she’d never done before. Hours of yoga, of meditation, were being used in a way she had never thought possible. As soon as she cleared her mind, she realized that, again, she wasn’t alone. She could smell rank body odor. She cringed and waited for what might come next.

“I’m going to enjoy every minute with you.”

The voice came out of nowhere, sliding through the darkness like a stream of venom.

Kiera thought she might throw up. She held back a shudder.

She knew that voice. It was the homeless man who had asked her for money. That seemed both forever and only minutes ago. Time was lost to her. Her head spun as he whispered a long litany of sexual pleasures he would demand from her. She could smell something rancid on his breath that made her stomach twist and bile rise in her throat. His finger ran along her arm and she held back a shudder. Instinct told her that fear would entice him. Show no fear was second only to escape.

“And then,” he said, drawing his words out as if he were about to offer her a unique treasure. “When I am through with you, you will die.”

She’d never been more terrified. He didn’t need ropes or restraints of any sort—she couldn’t have moved if she’d wanted to. It was as if she were part of a TV program. It was as if everything that happened was part of that program, part of that fantasy. She’d wake up soon and it would all be over. A silent shiver crawled through her. This was real life. A nightmare.

“Not until I have my turn.”

Kiera didn’t know who or what they were, or if the voice was male or female. She only knew that the second voice made her skin crawl.

They moved away from her. Now their voices were low, too low to hear. She passed out again after that. When she awoke, she sensed that she was alone. Time passed. It was broken only by changes in her consciousness. There were moments that she fought with her restraints. There were moments where she drifted back into unconsciousness. In the moments she was conscious, she lived in a state of panic where she feared she would die.

The next time consciousness returned she was aware of a painful ache in her hands. The pain came from lack of circulation, for not only were her wrists tied, but she’d been partially lying on her hands. She shifted, taking the weight of her body off her hands. Something smelled different, a scent that was heavier, like pine and mold strung together. And there was the sense that she’d been moved. She pushed her hands against what felt like a wooden wall and moved them up as high as she could reach. Then, she rolled away from the wall and pain shot through her legs as her fingers touched another wall. Wherever she was, she was in a place much different from the cavernous room she’d first been in. She guessed the size by feel, determining that she had about a foot of space in either direction. As she rolled over again, she could feel wood against her lower back and against her legs. It felt like it was touching her skin, but she’d been wearing pants and a tunic. The only bare skin was her arms, at least that was the way it had been. Kiera felt with her fingers along her leg and felt skin rather than cloth. Further exploration told her that there were large tears in her pants and in her tunic.

Her clothes were torn but still there. She felt in the darkness as surprise ran through her. Considering what had happened, what she’d heard, this wasn’t what she’d anticipated. Something had changed, and she didn’t know what. She remembered the threats. She knew where this was going. They were frightening her, dragging things out. It was clear in the things they’d said. They wanted her terrified and they’d accomplished that. That they wanted to rape her wasn’t in doubt. Their words only confirmed that, but for some reason that hadn’t happened. Not yet. She didn’t know why but for now she’d been lucky. But she sensed that time was running out.

There was only one option: she had to get out of here, get away from them before the worst happened. She didn’t want to contemplate, again, what that might be. But the possibilities of worst were engraved in her tortured mind. Rape, as they’d promised, or worse—she took a deep, almost panicked breath—death.

The taste of dust and disuse was in her mouth as she began to chew at the rope that bound her wrists. Minutes passed. It could have been hours. Time blended into itself and had no meaning. All she had was hope and she needed to cling to that. Desperate, she tried to pull her wrists apart. Something seemed to give but the rope didn’t break.

Kiera rolled over and something sharp bit into her skin. She felt for it awkwardly, twisting her body to get more reach. Something pierced her finger and she bit back a cry of pain but continued her exploration and discovered a nail jutting about a half inch out of the wood. Excitement raced through her. Finally, a tool to free herself. She shimmied closer and began to rub the rope that was binding her wrists against it. Minutes passed and then, the rope snapped. The force of it had her falling backward, missing the nail that had freed her and hitting her head against the wall. She lay like that for seconds as she caught her breath. Then she began to shake her wrists, trying to return circulation to her numb hands. But as blood began to flow, the pain overwhelmed her. She cradled her hands and had to bite her lip to stop from crying out.

Silence and darkness crowded around her. As she lay waiting for the pain to dissipate, a thin stream of light flicked across the room and then disappeared as quickly as it appeared. Her heart leaped. Was it possible that the light came from outside? Where else would it come from? Was it the headlights of a car? Was she near a street or was it just her captors turning a light on and off in another room? The light had appeared to move before it disappeared. Its very presence suggested a possibility. Her heart pounded at the first sign of hope before she struggled to her feet. She felt in the darkness a little over four feet above the floor where the light had seemed to come from. The wall felt different. The wood wasn’t as solid and seemed out of line with the rest of the wall. It was a subtle difference, but enough to hint that it might cover something. Her heart raced at what this might mean. She began to pick at the wood. She scratched and clawed with her fingernails and was surprised when a piece broke off easily as if it was not only thin but rotted. Determined, she dug harder. In places the wood was almost like butter while in others it was hard and resistant. Splinters dug into her skin, embedding under her nails. The pain made her eyes water. She didn’t stop. Her gut screamed one thing. This was her chance to live.

The wood chipped away piece by piece, sliver by sliver. Now she didn’t think of the pain or of the warm trickle that ran down her fingers, and then down her wrists. Vaguely, she knew it was blood. She knew that she was bleeding. It didn’t matter. For she knew now, what she’d only guessed before, there was a window behind the wood covering.

The possibility of freedom began to appear as she could see vague shapes, enough to figure that she was looking at an alley. Now half of the window was uncovered. It was enough. She ripped her already torn pants off at the knee and wrapped the material around her hand. Her body shook with stress, with anticipation. She took a deep breath and hauled her arm back. She drove her fist through the window with all the strength she had. The glass shattered. She could feel the slick warmth of blood as it ran down her arm. She forced her mind to think of only one thing—escape. With that thought, she yanked out two more pieces of glass, clearing the bottom half of the window enough so that she could get out.

Freedom.

Kiera sank to the floor and began untying the rope that bound her ankles. She looked up often, her heart pounding. She feared that her captors would burst in at any moment. They’d punish her for what she’d done—kill her even. It wasn’t a thought she could entertain. She couldn’t think of that. There was no time to speculate.

Finally, she pulled the last knot free and stood up.

There was a sense that time was slipping away. There were furtive noises on the other side of the wall, the one to the right of the window she’d just uncovered. She had to go now. And even though she wasn’t a big woman, she knew it would be a tight squeeze. Seconds later, one leg was outside; a breeze ran across her skin and she barely acknowledged that. The jagged edges of glass that she hadn’t been able to clear away ripped the places where her skin was bare. The pain only reminded her to keep going, that she wanted to live.

The night air was heaven as it sent goose bumps across her exposed flesh. Her heart raced. Her captors could be anywhere. They could be behind her now.

Kiera flipped over so that she was on her back and didn’t land on her head into the unknown darkness. But, with the majority of her body out, she lost her grip. She landed on a pile of plastic garbage bags that broke her fall. For seconds, she lay there, shocked, terrified and exhilarated all at once.

Freedom at last.

Something sharp bit into her side as she struggled to her feet and pain shot through her. Finally, she stood in the darkness shaken and disorientated. She took a breath and then another. And she told herself that if she ever got out of this, if she were truly free, she’d be setting up a safe-ride program for all the workers at the care home.

A streetlight glimmered in the distance. She limped as fast as she could toward the light, and the possibility of freedom.

Cheyenne, Wyoming

One week later

US MARSHAL TRAVIS JOHNSON knew that he should be looking forward to the low-key case he’d just been presented with, especially after his last assignment. It had been high-octane from beginning to end as they’d cornered a drug lord who had made it through two international borders and numerous state lines. But, the truth was, he loved action and he loved a challenge.

“I’ve received notice that Kiera Connell was discharged from the hospital yesterday.” The look James Perez, the FBI lead on this case, gave him was grave.