Two distinct sets of footsteps could be heard. Running.
Had Whitney escaped? Was that why they’d just gotten the alert of her location, because she’d gotten herself out of the jammer’s zone?
“I smell them. Two of them,” Dragon said from beside him. “It’s him, Terry Richards. I recognize the scent from the store. Definitely her too.”
“We should split up,” Steel announced. “Blade and Dragon will have the best chances of pinning them down, it’s too hard for Lion to see much with all the containers stacked up like this. Thunder and Voodoo with Blade, Lion and I will go with Dragon.”
There was no need to discuss it, this time Blade didn't intend to argue with his team leader. The sound of Whitney’s ragged breathing echoed loudly in his ears, and he could tell from the way it hitched that she was crying while she ran.
Following the sound, Blade took off, Thunder and Voodoo on his heels. This whole place was like one giant maze. Stacks of shipping containers rose up to the sky at every turn, and it made trying to find the right path to take to get to Whitney almost impossible.
Not that he was giving up. Blade would go to the ends of the earth for Whitney Daley, burn the entire planet to the ground if that was what it took to save her life.
“We’re getting close,” he told the others as he stopped to get his bearings. Whitney was just up ahead, but he had to make sure he chose the right direction, otherwise, they’d find themselves blocked again by these damn shipping containers. “This way.”
Neither Voodoo nor Thunder argued, and the three of them dodged around a corner, then another.
“Found where he was keeping her,” Steel’s voice came through to him from wherever the others were. “Open shipping container, her sweater is in here, and her bra.” There was a pause, and then Steel sighed, his voice tight when he spoke again. “Dragon says it smells like sex in here.”
Rage more powerful than anything he’d experienced before clouded his vision, attached itself to every drop of blood pumping through his body, and when Blade turned the next corner, he spotted her.
Whitney, on top of a stack of three containers, and she wasn't alone.
Terry Richards was running right at her.
January 17th
12:50 A.M.
Running wasn't going to work indefinitely.
There had been barely a head start, she’d made it around a corner when she heard the door to the shipping container flung open hard enough that it slammed into the side of it, if the bang echoing through the quiet night was anything to go by.
Whitney hadn't been sure where the shipping container was, because she’d never gotten a good look outside the door the couple of times it had been opened, and she hadn't been sure if she was being held at a shipping yard at a dock somewhere, or if the shipping container had been set up someplace else.
As soon as she’d stepped through its door, she got her answer. They were at a dock, and there were stacks of othershipping containers everywhere. It was like being trapped in a maze. She was trying to find her way out, find her way to a road, an office with a phone, something, anything that could get her to safety.
So far, all she’d found were more shipping containers.
And more, and more, and more.
They were everywhere, and it was starting to feel like she was never going to find her way out of them.
Didn't help that she had to keep darting in different directions to try to evade the man after her.
Terry Richards was bigger and stronger and faster, but she was smaller, and she used that to be able to squeeze herself into small spaces to hide.
Twice now Terry had gone right past her, close enough for her to see, close enough that if he just turned his head, he’d be able to see her too.
Thankfully, he never did. He thought he was going to use the things he had over her to his advantage, but big and strong didn't always win, Whitney was starting to realize that.
Still, she also knew her luck couldn’t last indefinitely.
Sooner or later, he was going to turn his head at the wrong moment—or right moment for him—and spot her.
What she needed was a proper plan. One that didn't just involve running in circles, crossing her fingers, and hoping for the best. That wasn't going to save her life, and that’s what she was playing for. Terry might want her back because he was obsessed with her, but she wanted to live. For the first time ever, a chance at a real life, at autonomy, at happiness, at independence, at love, was within her grasp and she wasn't giving it up.
Not for Terry Richards, and not for Dr. Gardner.
