Appalachian Abduction

Chapter Two

Charlotte suppressed a wince as she collapsed into the seat across from his desk at the Lavender Mountain Sheriff’s Office. She glanced at his nameplate. Officer James Tedder. The name had a familiar ring.

“Driver’s license, please,” he said matter-of-factly, firing up the computer on his battered wooden desk. He examined her gun and wrote down the serial number before opening his desk drawer and locking it away.

“License. Right.” She made a show of rummaging through her backpack. “Shoot,” she mumbled. “It’s not here. Must have left it at the cabin. Sorry.”

He quirked a brow. “How convenient. Tell me your name.”

The officer was bound to get her real name from the truck’s license plate numbers. No use lying. “Charlotte Helms.”

He picked up his cell phone, and she saw a photo of the rental tag as he typed. But there was no need to panic just because he had her name. He’d run a standard background check and see she had no priors. No reason for him to look further and check out her employment record. A little fast talking on her part to avoid trespassing charges, and her cover would remain uncompromised.

“The truck’s a rental,” she volunteered. “Thought it would be easier to keep my ex-boyfriend off the trail that way.” She trembled her lips and let her eyes fill with tears. This wouldn’t be her first performance for getting out of a jam. And acting was so much easier when she actually felt like crying from pain. “You were right. I’m running from someone.”

“How did you wind up in my cabin?”

Bad spot of luck there. It’d looked perfect when she’d scouted the area earlier—practically deserted but sturdy, and the location so close to Falling Rock. She’d figured it would be less conspicuous to camp there than to rent a room at a local motel. The tourist season was long over and she didn’t want to attract attention.

“It...seemed safe,” she hedged. “I was afraid if I stayed at a motel he’d track me down. I don’t have much cash on me, only credit cards.” She added a hitch to her voice. “I left in a bit of a hurry.”

He paused a heartbeat, drumming his fingers on the desk. “How did he hurt you?”

His face and voice were neutral and she couldn’t tell if he was buying her story or not. Charlotte thought fast.

“It wasn’t my ex-boyfriend. I’d gone for a walk,” she lied. “Got a little stir crazy holed up in the cabin. I must have ended up on someone’s property because a shot came out of nowhere. Might have been an irate land owner. Or...maybe it was a hunter mistaking me for a deer? I didn’t stick around to find out. In my hurry, I stumbled and took a hard fall.”

“Exactly where were you when this incident occurred?”

“About a mile or two south of the cabin? I can’t say. I was focused on getting the hell out of there.”

A ding sounded on the computer and he turned to the screen. “Truck was rented from Atlanta,” he read. “Two days ago. The contract states you’ve rented it for two weeks.”

“That’s right.” Charlotte swiped at her eyes and sniffed. “I apologize for staying at your cabin. I’ll be glad to pay for a new door and any other damages incurred.”

He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “A crime’s been committed here.”

“Please don’t arrest me for trespassing. I’ve never been in trouble with the law.” Then she remembered. “And, um, sorry for that other incident, too.”

“You drew a gun on me,” he stated flatly, a muscle flexing in his jaw.

“I thought you were my ex.”

“Again, I identified myself before entering the cabin. Fleeing an officer is a crime.”

“But I didn’t see you,” she argued. “I couldn’t be sure who you really were.”

“And then there’s the matter of someone taking potshots at you. I’m going to need more details on that.”

She waved a hand in the air dismissively. “Why? I’m fine. I won’t be pressing charges even if you find the one who fired. I just want to move on. I decided during that long walk today that I want to stay with my parents in South Carolina for a bit. Get my life together and put distance between me and my ex.”

“Move on all you like, but I still have the problem of a rogue shooter in the woods. We’re going back there and you’re going to show me where you were when this happened.”

“But...my leg.”

“You claim the injury’s not serious enough for medical attention.”

Her temper rose. “But I can’t walk a mile and go scouting around the wilderness.”

“I have a four-wheeler. You won’t have to walk.”

“I see.” She cleared her throat and pressed a hand to her head injury. “Could we do this tomorrow?”

His blank expression never wavered. “You have a permit to carry a weapon?”

Charlotte blinked at the sudden change of topic. The damn gun. Once he ran the serial numbers he’d have her employment history. And then her cover was blown.

“Of course I have a permit.”

If only she could be sure he was a clean cop. It would be amazing to have assistance in saving Jenny. And he acted sincere with his direct manner. His face was rugged while at the same time maintaining a certain boyish charm. She couldn’t deny that she found him appealing and his forthright air inexplicably tugged at her to confide everything. But this was a small town, one that Jenny Ashbury’s kidnappers had chosen for a reason. And that reason might very well be that local law enforcement had been paid to turn a blind eye on the abductor’s comings and goings.

She couldn’t take that chance with Jenny’s life.

A middle-aged lady with dark hair and bifocals stuck her head in the door. “Harlan needs to speak with you ASAP.”

Officer Tedder frowned. “Can’t it wait?”

“Nope.”

Charlotte’s paranoia radar activated. Harlan Sampson was the county sheriff. Was there any way he knew who she was and why she was here? Was that why he wanted to speak with Officer Tedder?

“Be right back,” he said.

Alone, Charlotte leaned over the desk and peeked at the computer screen. Her not-so-flattering driver’s license photo was on display. Feeling restless, she stood and strolled to the open window, wincing at the burst of pain.

Downtown Lavender Mountain was picturesque with its gift shops and cafés. From here she could see the local coffee shop and a gourmet cheese store. Despite the off season, a few people were out and about.

Leave. Just leave. Now.

Charlotte bit her lip, debating the wisdom of her inner voice. It’s not like Officer Tedder had arrested her, right? And he didn’t issue an order to stay when he left. If she could keep out of sight for a couple of hours and then hitch a ride back to her truck, maybe he’d give up on questioning her.

Yeah...but then what? Stay the next town over? It wouldn’t be as convenient, but she could rent a different vehicle, find an inconspicuous place to park it near Falling Rock, and then continue on as before. All it took was one photograph of any of the lost girls by a window, one slip-up by the kidnappers transporting their captives, or one girl to escape their cabin and make a run for it. Then she’d have the needed proof to obtain a search warrant and rescue Jenny.

It was worth the risk. Hell, she’d already damaged her career by coming to Lavender Mountain anyway. So what if a local cop got angry with her and eventually charged her with trespassing? That was the least of her worries.

With a longing glance at the locked drawer housing her gun, Charlotte scooped up her backpack. She’d get another weapon. If nothing else, she was resourceful and a risk-taker. With that, and a whole lot of luck, she’d bring down that human trafficking ring.

* * *

SOMETHING ABOUT HER story didn’t jibe. James hurried back to his office. More than anyone, he realized these mountains were as dangerous a place as any city. He need look no further than his own family for confirmation of that sad fact. But hunters shooting at a woman didn’t sound right. Hunters around these parts knew you shot by sight, not sound. Was it an irate property owner? It was possible they’d fired a warning shot or two in the air. People ’round these parts didn’t take kindly to trespassers on their land.

And what was she so afraid of? If Charlotte Helms could afford to rent a truck, she could afford a motel. No reason an ex from Atlanta would ever think to look in this area.

Time for answers.

Squaring his shoulders, he stepped back into his office. His empty office. No, surely she didn’t run again. She wouldn’t, would she?

“Sammy,” he bellowed, scurrying down the hall.

“What’s up?” Samuel Armstrong asked, not looking up from his computer.

“Did you see a woman leave the building a minute ago? A redhead limping on her right leg?”

“Nah,” he drawled with a wry grin. “Saw y’all come in, though. You manage to lose her?”

“Maybe.” James hurried over to Zelda’s cubicle. “Did you see that woman in my office leave?”

Zelda laid down her pencil and crossword puzzle book. “No, my back’s been to the door. Want me to check the ladies’ room?”

“Please.”

She rose from her chair with a sigh. He followed Harlan’s secretary to the lobby restroom. But he guessed Zelda’s answer before she emerged half a minute later.

“She’s gone.”

Aggravating woman. “Thanks,” he mumbled, hurrying back to his office for his jacket. He pulled it on as he rushed out of the lobby. He’d spoken with Harlan about five minutes, tops. Charlotte couldn’t have gone far with an injured leg and no vehicle. He glanced up and down the road, but no flash of red was in sight. James crossed the street and entered the coffee shop. This was as good a place to start as any.

Myrtle waved as he entered. “What’ll it be, Jim Bob? Your regular with two sugars and one cream?”

His campaign to have people address him as James instead of his boyhood nickname was not a success. “No, I’m looking for a woman. A petite redhead. Seen her?”

“You have very particular tastes,” Myrtle said with a wink. “Didn’t know you were partial to redheads and leather.”

He was so not in the mood for jokes. “Sheriff’s business. Has she been here or not?”

“Touchy today, huh? Nope, haven’t seen your mysterious lady.”

“Call me if you do.”

He exited the shop and tried half a dozen others. No one had seen Charlotte. He stood in the middle of town square, hands on hips. Every minute that went by increased the likelihood that she’d succeeded in giving him the slip. Think. Where would he go if he were in her shoes? Probably slink around the alleys and slip into a shop’s back door if someone approached. He hustled behind the coffee shop and scanned the alley lined with garbage bins. Down at the far end, he spotted Charlotte rounding a corner, red hair flaming like a beacon.

I’ve got you now, he thought with grim satisfaction. He hurried to the end of the backstreet in time to see her slip into the Dixie Diner.

Now he’d get answers.

Inside the diner, the aroma of fried chicken, biscuits and gravy made his mouth water. Chasing Charlotte was hard work and it was past lunchtime. He scanned the tables filled with families.

No Charlotte.

He proceeded to the back exit and stuck his head out to check the alleyway.

Still no Charlotte.

Only one place left unchecked. He rapped on the ladies’ room door once and then entered.

Lucille Bozeman, an elderly member of the local Red Hat Society, shrieked and clutched her pearls. “James Robert Tedder,” she said breathlessly, “what on earth do you think you are doing?”

At least she’d used his full name instead of Jim Bob. Normally, he found her and the other members of the Red Hats a hoot—amusing older ladies with their red hats, purple attire and carefree spirit. But not today. Heat traveled up the nape of his neck. “Sorry, Mrs. Bozeman. I’m looking for a woman.”

“You’ve come to the right place, but this is hardly appropriate behavior. I’ll speak to Harlan Sampson about this. How dare you...”

But he tuned her out and bent over. No feet were visible under the stalls, but one door was closed. He knocked on it.

“Come on out, ma’am.”

A long sigh, and then a dry voice answered. “You going to order me to put my hands up or you’ll shoot?”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” he answered in kind. “Unless you try to flee from an officer of the law again.”

Charlotte emerged with a wry smile and leaned against the wall, arms folded. “Sorry. You never arrested me so I’d assumed I was free to leave earlier.”

Despite her flippant attitude, James noted that her face had paled and her eyes were slightly glazed. “Right. So that’s why you ran and tried to give me the slip.” He nodded at the bump on her head. “You might be concussed. Change your mind about going to the hospital to have that looked at?”

“Not at all. I’m fine.”

“Are you in some kind of trouble, young lady?” Lucille walked over, the brim of her outlandish purple hat brushing against his shoulders. Her gaze swept Charlotte from head to toe. “You appear a mite peaked.”

Charlotte’s smile was tight. “Just a few superficial wounds.”

“Jim Bob, you should take her to see Miss Glory. She’s a sight better helping folks than any doctor.”

Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea—and the healer’s shop was only two doors down.

He addressed Charlotte. “What do you say? No forms to fill out or insurance cards to process.”

“All I need is over-the-counter pain medication. If you could point me in the direction of the local pharmacy?” She pushed past them both and made for the bathroom door.

James took her arm. “You’re coming with me. Stop being so stubborn. It’s obvious you’re hurt. Miss Glory can fix you right up.”

He caught a glimpse of Lucille gaping at them in the bathroom mirror. News of this bathroom encounter would be all over town in an hour.

“Thanks for the suggestion, Mrs. Bozeman.” He leaned into Charlotte, whispering in her ear, “If you don’t want your business common knowledge, let’s continue this outside.”

He stayed near her as they walked through the diner. Charlotte briefly glanced at every face in the crowd, as if taking their measure. She opened the door and stumbled, pitching forward a half step. The full weight of her body leaned against him. She smelled like some kind of flower—a rose, perhaps. It was as though a touch of spring had breathed life into a dreary November day.

Charlotte stiffened and drew back. A prickly rose, this one—beautiful but full of thorns. James clenched his jaw. Didn’t matter how she looked or smelled or felt. This woman was a whole host of complications he didn’t need or want. He’d get her medical attention, find out why she came to Lavender Mountain and then escort her to her truck and wish her well.

“If you’re on the run as you claim, the last thing you want is an infection to set in that injury. Miss Glory really can help you.”

“If I agree, will you give me a ride to my truck afterward and let me go?”

“You’re in no position to negotiate. You trespassed on my property and pointed a gun at me, as well. I believe I’m holding the trump card.”

“Okay, okay,” she muttered.

She hobbled beside him until they reached the store.

Miss Glory’s shop, The Root Worker, was dark. Glory claimed the light deteriorated the herbs strung along the rafters. The placed smelled like chamomile and always reminded him of the time he and his sisters, Darla and Lilah, had all come down with the flu at the same time. Their mother had infused the small cabin with a medicinal tonic provided by Miss Glory.

“What brings you here today, Jim Bob?” Glory asked, grinding herbs with a mortar and pestle. She swiped at the gray fringe of hair on her forehead. Her deeply lined face focused on Charlotte. “And who’s your friend?”

James quickly made introductions. “She’s here because of a lump on her head, a twisted knee and cut skin on her right thigh. She refuses to see a doctor, so I thought I’d bring her to you.”

Glory didn’t even blink an eye. No telling how many strange stories she’d heard over the years.

“I’ve already cleaned it out and bandaged it,” Charlotte said. “Don’t see the need for anything else.”

“How bad do your injuries hurt?” Glory asked gently.

“I wouldn’t turn down some aspirin.”

“Hope you’re not so stubborn that you ignore any signs of a concussion or infection. You start runnin’ a fever or see red streaks flame out from the flesh, you get to a doctor quick, ya hear?”

Surprisingly, Charlotte nodded her head slightly. “I will.”

“You seein’ double or got the collywobbles in yer tummy?”

“None of that.”

Every moment he spent in her company, his doubts about her story grew. He remembered her steady aim and fierce eyes as she aimed a gun dead center on his chest. This wasn’t a woman who ran away from danger. She’d confront it head-on.

“Tell you what I’m gonna do, darlin’. I’m sending you home with a gallon of my sassafras tea. You drink a big ole glass of it at least three times a day. That sassafras is my special tonic that’ll clear up any nasty germs brewing in yer body.”

Miss Glory went behind the counter and rummaged a few moments, returning with a couple of items.

“A little poultice to draw out infection,” she said, pressing it into Charlotte’s palm. “And a few capsules filled with feverfew, devil’s claw and a couple other goodies. Much better than an ole aspirin.”

Charlotte shook her head. “I don’t—”

“Now don’t you fight me on this, child. I see the pain in them eyes of yers. You’ll need a sharp mind to be of any use to anyone and you can’t have that without rest. Take it before you go to bed at night.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte murmured, stuffing the poultice and pain packet in her backpack.

“Jim Bob, grab a gallon jug of sassafras tea on yer way out. It’s in the cooler by the door.” Glory rested an arthritic-weathered hand on Charlotte’s shoulder. “I see danger surrounding you, child. They’s people wish you would go away from here and never come back.”

James was used to Miss Glory’s eerie predictions. He wasn’t sure he believed in all that hocus-pocus, but people around here claimed she had the sight. Couldn’t hurt to pick her brain. “What do you know?” he asked sharply.

“Me?” She threw up her hands and cackled. “I’m just an old woman who’s been around too many years to remember, and can sense people’s energy.”

He was reading too much into the old lady’s ramblings. Wouldn’t have even bothered coming to her shop, but Lilah swore that Miss Glory was the only one who helped her get through a difficult pregnancy and then again helped with her colicky baby.

Charlotte backed away to the door, suspicion hardening her classical features. “Who am I in danger from?” she asked sharply.

“That’s not for me to say. But I suspect you know the answer to your own question.”

Charlotte nodded and continued edging to the door.

He wasn’t going to let her run again. James plopped down a couple twenties on the counter. “Will that cover everything?”

Miss Glory nodded and leaned in, her breath a whisper against his ear. “Watch after her. She needs help whether she likes it or not.”

James shook his head. “I’m no one’s protector,” he grumbled. He had his own demons to fight. His tour of duty overseas had left him unwilling to get involved in others’ problems, beyond what was required as an officer. Lilah often fussed that he’d become too withdrawn. But whatever—all he wanted was to perform his duties and be left alone.

Charlotte gasped suddenly and flung herself against the side wall, away from the shop door. A couple of mason jars filled with herbs crashed to the floor. The scent of something earthy, like loam in a newly plowed field, wafted upward.

“What is it?” Instinctively, his right hand went to his sidearm and he surveyed the scene outside. On Main Street, a sleek black sedan accelerated and turned out of sight from the town square.

“Are they gone?” Charlotte asked past stiff lips.

“Whoever was in that vehicle? Yes. What’s this all about?”

Charlotte lifted her chin and carefully picked her way through the strewn herbs and glass shards. “Sorry, Miss Glory. I’ll pay, of course. Where’s your broom? I’ll sweep up the mess.”

Glory shooed her off, then bent over and whispered something in Charlotte’s ear before addressing them both. “I’ll take care of this. You go on, now, and do what you have to do.”

Charlotte rummaged through the backpack and dug out a wad of bills. She lifted a hand at the sight of Glory’s open mouth. “Take it. I insist. And thanks for your help.”

James grabbed a jug of tea and followed Charlotte outside. He took her arm. “What really brings you to Lavender Mountain?”

Chapter Three

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re stubborn as hell?” Charlotte grumbled. She climbed into James’s truck, slowly swinging her injured leg into the cab, and then eased back onto the leather seat with a sigh. She wouldn’t admit it for a month’s salary, but running from his office had been a mistake. Her first instinct, born from years of busting street gangs and drug rings, was to flee until she’d formed a plan and was ready to strike.

James got in beside her and slammed his door shut. “Start talking.”

“You’re taking me back to my truck, right? I’ll be out of your hair soon enough.”

“That wasn’t the deal. What’s your game?”

She opened her mouth, and he started the engine. “Don’t lie,” he said. “You’re not running from some ex.”

She had no choice. Once he ran the gun paperwork, he’d know. “I’m an undercover cop. Atlanta PD Special Crimes Unit.”