Page 66 of Serial Love

Not understanding what he was talking about, she croaked, “Mr. Taylor?” Her tongue felt large in her mouth, but she was desperate. “Let me go. We can get help.”

“You don’t know,” he bit out, his face contorting in pain. “I don’t need help. They did. Good girls on the outside, but really sluts. Just sluts.” His eyes lifted to the wall of photographs, darting over them, searching. His breathing slowed as he perused his handiwork, finding comfort in his wall.

“I need to get you ready,” he added as he moved toward her, a cloth in his hand, the familiar sickly odor emanating.

Nooooo,her mind screamed, and she could not be sure if her mouth said the word at the same time. A flash of Jack’s face flew through her thoughts.Find me. Please find me,as she steeled herself.

23

While Jack was gone out of the command center on his way to Mountville, Luke, Monty, and Blaise immediately went to work collating the data gathered.

“Find their property,” Monty shouted, as Luke responded, “On it.”

Within a minute, Luke displayed three properties that Stanley Taylor Jefferson owned. Monty called it into the FBI who was on route to the main residence, where the family was, in the suburbs of Richmond. They would be there shortly.

“Got two others besides his mom’s place,” Luke called out. “One is property he owns about halfway between here and Richmond. No house but could be outbuildings. Chad, get a visual. The other is a piece of land on the far side of Richmond.”

Within a minute, Chad brought up satellite images of the property. Monty immediately sent the information to the FBI, cursing that they had no idea which one Stan would use.

Blaise turned around, catching the eyes of the others while listening to the radio earpiece. “Roger that,” he called out, then lifted his eyes to Luke. “Jack is on his way back. The cabin’s empty. No sign of Taylor or Bethany. And a shattered glass of bones was on the floor.”

“Fuckin’ hell!” Luke shouted out in frustration.

Within ten minutes Jack, Bart, and Blaise charged back into the command center.

“Give me everything you’ve got,” Jack growled, panting, his expression ravaged.

Monty started to report but was interrupted as Luke jerked around, pinning Jack with his gaze. “We’ve got her,” he said, drawing all eyes to him. “Ann’s tracker bracelet. It’s at the closest property that Stan owns. He’s taken her there.”

“She’s wearing the bracelet?” Bart asked, disbelieving her location could be identified so easily.

“Jesus,” Jack said. “She started putting it in her pocket each day. She said it gave her comfort and I sure as shit forgot about it.” Pivoting quickly, he barked out, “Suit up. We’re going in.”

The men grabbed their tactical equipment and headed back out of the door. Filling four SUVs they spun gravel behind them once more, this time knowing exactly where they were going and what they were going to do when they got there.

Please God, don’t let it be too late.

As Stan moved closer to Bethany, she cowered against the wall, the fear making her limbs quiver and her stomach lurch. He seemed distracted as he continued to mutter, “I’m not ready. This isn’t the right time.” He gazed at her, saying, “I heard Roscoe tell you there was a noise. I didn’t know what to do. I thought it was a good hiding place. I couldn’t keep my trophies at my house. But when we would come visit you, it was easy to add to my collection. No one would think to look there. But you did.”

She stared, not knowing what to say to his explanation…not even sure if he expected a response.

Rubbing his hand over his forehead, he grimaced as though in pain. “But you were such a good girl, taking care of your grandmother.” He shook his head back and forth several times, continuing to mutter. “You have to go away now that you found out. But…it’s not right.” He paced the floor before stopping right in front of the wall of photographs.

He turned slowly, his eyes boring into hers. “You slept with that man. You’re just a slut like the rest of them.” Nodding now, he seemed to have come to a conclusion. “Yes, yes. I have to take care of you too.”

Fear overrode her numbness and she struggled to get away, only managing to snap her wrist held in captivity. The pain sliced through her arm, causing the nausea to fill her mouth once again.

As he bent toward her, the offensive cloth in his hand, he added, “You can’t stop what has to happen. I’ll make it work.”

Her mind finally coming unglued, she reactedimmediately, taking the only move she knew how to make—she rolled her face away from him on her back while bringing her feet up and kicked him in the groin as hard as she could.

Howling, he went down on the floor, dropping the chloroformed rag and grabbing his crotch with both hands. Tears streaming out of his tightly closed eyes, he was unable to speak. Rising to a kneeling position, she wanted to search his pockets for the key to the metal lock but realized his hands were in the way.

In a panic, she grabbed the cloth with one hand and twisted her face away to keep the odor from affecting her. Slapping the wet fabric over his face, his cries stilled, and his body stopped writhing on the floor. She stuck her good hand into his pants pocket and found a keyring.

Trying several of them, she discovered the correct one and, with her hands shaking with fright and adrenaline, she opened the metal cuff. She could not tell if her wrist was broken, but she used her good hand to push herself up. Holding on to the wall as she hauled herself upward, she then stumbled toward the door, pulling it open. The monstrous smells of the death room fell behind her as she made her way outside, gulping the fresh air deep into her lungs as she pitched forward onto her knees on the gravel drive.

The sun was slicing through the tree foliage, and she could see his car parked to the left. Staggering to his vehicle, she discovered the car keys were not in her hand. Too afraid to go back inside to search for them,she attempted to run, although the lingering effects of the chloroform made her unsteady on her legs.

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