There was too much rain and darkness.
As if on cue, the rain lightened up, and she glimpsed the entrance. She hit the brakes but overshot the turn and had to back up a bit.
She pulled into the small parking lot, driving past a dark SUV facing toward the entrance. Since that was the only vehicle in the lot, she could only assume Carly was in there with her captors.
“Circle around and pull up behind them, but not too close. Stay a safe distance away,” Jonathan instructed.
“Safe distance?” she repeated.
“Yeah.”
She spun the truck around in the far corner of the lot, then drove toward them until Jonathan told her to stop a couple of car lengths from the SUV.
Jonathan swung open his door and reluctantly slid out of the truck with the duffel bag in his right hand and weapon in his left. Being right-handed, he should probably have the gun in his right hand.
He stayed behind the open door as if using it as a shield and extended his arm, showing the bag to the people in the SUV. The driver and passenger doors of the SUV opened. Emma sucked in a breath. Two men slid out of the vehicle. They looked like the men from the boat. The man on the passenger side of the SUV opened the rear door on his side, and a third man exited the vehicle with Carly in his grip. It was too dark and too far to clearly make out her expression, but Emma was sure it had to be fear, as it was for her.
“Here’s your bag. Now give us the girl,” Jonathan yelled.
“Drop the bag.”
“Not until you release her.”
The man holding Carly pulled her tighter to his side and instantaneously lifted his other arm and fired off a shot. The passenger door window shattered. Jonathan tossed the bag back into the truck and fired back. Carly crumbled to the ground. The Colombian next to Carly took a few steps toward them and fired off another round. Jonathan fired. The man fell. Another shot sounded. Jonathan fell.
Emma hit the accelerator, practically pushing it through the floorboard. Bullets pinged off the truck. She hunkered down, but didn’t let up. The truck bounced as if she’d run over something—someone. Oh God.
* * *
Cap’s cell phone blared. He rolled over and snatched it off the nightstand. The time was six o’clock. Chief Mertz’s face flashed on the screen.
“Hello.”
“Chief here.”
“Yeah.”
“Sheriff’s Department got a call from some fishermen who heard gunfire at Lasalle Park. They said they saw a truck and an SUV fleeing the scene.”
“Okay,” Cap replied.
Gunfire was unusual in the parks, but why was the chief waking him up with this news, and why was he invested in this since it was the county’s jurisdiction?
Chief Mertz continued, “Curiosity got the best of me when Sergeant Anderson called to tell me about the radio chatter. I took a run out there. There are two dead Colombians, and a deceased woman meeting Carly Stimpson’s description. And you will not believe this.”
Cap sat up.
“What?”
“Jonathan Milbourne has been transported to the hospital with a serious gunshot wound.”
Cap sprang off the bed.
“He’s not dead?”
“Not yet.”
“Are you sure?”
