Chapter Twenty-seven
Eric
They were going a hundred and thirty kilometers an hour with their lights and siren on and some fucker tried to pass them. Eric took a hard look at the licence plate. If he remembered, he’d run it later and hunt that asshole down. But for now, he was watching for signage for Christmas tree farms.
They’d made up time but Forrester hadn’t called for twelve minutes.
A psychopath with a knife could do a lot in twelve minutes.
The closest RCMP patrol said they were fifteen minutes away, and that had been at the same time. Bree’s abductor had found a place that was exactly in the middle of nowhere.
He and Adam kept their eyes peeled for a beige Cadillac going in either direction. They didn’t see it. All there was out here was a shitload of nothing.
Eric passed the speedway
“There!” Adam said, pointed at a Christmas tree sign on the left-hand side of the highway.
“I see it.” Eric cut across three lanes of traffic to make the turn. A dirt road bisected two fields, leading to a tree line in the direction of the river. Adam grabbed the oh-shit bar and held on without a word. He should have slowed down on the winter-rough gravel road but he didn’t touch the brakes.
“Oh, fuck,” Adam yelled.
A pair of legs stuck out of the ditch, the rest of the body lay out of sight in the weeds and reeds. The black boots weren’t Bree’s style, but she may have picked up a pair in the time they’d been apart. His two nights at her place hadn’t given Eric enough time to have a good look around. He’d been more concerned with getting her out of her clothes rather than checking out what she had in her closet.
Eric stood on the brakes and the car skidded to a stop on the gravel. Adam was out the door first. “It’s not her. It’s a biker,” he shouted.
“Forrester?” Eric asked. He’d be fine if it were anybody but Forrester. It may be cold-hearted and against everything Bree would want, but Eric would happily take a dead civilian at the moment. He’d take anything over losing an enemy like Forrester right now.
Eric’s gut burned. Bree should have been able to count on him to take care of her, and he wasn’t even in the picture at the moment. The biker was Bree’s only hope. If Forrester was the body in the ditch, it would explain why he hadn’t answered his phone. It also meant things had hit rock bottom. They’d have no clue where to start looking for her.
“No. Hammer Wilson.”
“Is he dead?”
“No, but he’s not conscious. His bike is in the ditch too.”
An RCMP cruiser slowed on the highway as they approached the turn-off. Adam waved them in. “Keep going. Find Bree. I’ll stay here with him and send them on,” Adam said.
Eric didn’t like leaving a man down, or leaving Adam on his own. But his partner was armed, and Bree wasn’t.
The road only went another half a kilometer through the trees before he came into a clearing. Forrester and Bree were on the ground, both stained red.
“He’s gone. Five minutes head start, maybe,” Forrester yelled. “Fucker stuck her good. She’s lost a lot of blood. I can’t keep her awake. Take her, and I’ll find him.”
“It’s not blood lost. Blood loss. I think it’s a concussion,” Bree corrected.
Because arguing about why she was unconscious was more important than the fact that she kept passing out. Eric was going to have a strong chat with her about priorities, once she could stay awake long enough to participate.
It would take too long for an ambulance to find them and drive all the way back to the city. Bree’s eyes were closed; her breathing was deep to the point of laboured. “Bree, open your eyes.”
“Hi. You missed the party.”
She smiled when she said it. He knew she didn’t mean it to be a shot at him, but it felt like it. Yet again, he wasn’t there when she needed him. “Eric, I think I need a doctor. I’m bleeding all over myself.”
He could see that. He smelled it too. The coppery scent of blood clashed with the scent of the spruce trees that circled the clearing. “Let’s get you into the car.” Calmly. He didn’t want to panic her and get her heart beating faster, spilling more bright red life into the dirt.
“I’ll help you move her but then I have to go,” Forrester told him.
They lifted Bree to her feet and half-carried her to the backseat. “Forget it. He’s gone. We didn’t see a beige Caddy between here and Winnipeg. The RCMP were on 75 heading north from Ste. Agathe when they got the call. They didn’t report seeing him either.”
