Blink of an Eye (Kendra Michaels #8) - Roy Johansen Page 0,81
shit,” Kendra said. “We didn’t bargain for this.” She threw off her poncho and ran for the stairwell. “Let’s go.”
* * *
Jessie felt herself being twisted by the cold, roiling water as it carried her into the darkness. At first she wasn’t even aware of her direction, but after a few moments she got her bearings.
She hadn’t even touched bottom when she jumped from the bridge. Was it fifteen feet deep? Eighteen?
THWAPP! Something struck her head and shoulders, then disappeared. Was that an old bicycle?
She felt the gym bag tugging at her wrist, and she pulled it close. She spun crazily for another few seconds before righting herself.
What in the hell was the plan?
Stay alive, they’d said. Right…
She hurtled toward the pillars of another bridge. She extended her legs and kicked off from a concrete pillar, tumbling almost head over heels through the water.
The current was moving faster here. Shit.
She lifted her chin to keep her nose and mouth above the churning water. She was helped, she realized, by a thin buoyancy vest sewn into the lining of the jacket.
Again, small favors.
She dove to avoid a spinning fiberglass car bumper but surfaced just in time to be struck in the left eye by something else. A boot, she realized. What was next, a tire? An old lawn mower?
She was getting the hell beat out of her.
The second bridge had already receded into darkness behind her. She figured she’d already traveled a mile, maybe more.
After a few more painful collisions and a potentially fatal near-miss with another bridge pillar, she was suddenly aware that her jacket was glowing a vibrant purple hue.
Just above the waterline to her right, an ultraviolet light was aimed in her direction.
“There she is!” a voice called out.
She suddenly stopped cold, as if someone had just pulled the emergency brake.
What in the hell?
She’d slammed into an expanse of netting pulled across the channel’s right side.
Another man’s voice. “We’ve got her!”
Not an accident.
Not a rescue.
Part of the plan.
Her neck twisted as the net curled around her and pulled her toward the slanted concrete embankment.
A man in a ski mask leaned over her. “She’s alive.”
“Barely, you son of a bitch,” she muttered.
She felt a twinge in her arm. Suddenly she couldn’t move. Had to be a sedative…
Another man in a ski mask extricated her from the netting while the first unlocked the handcuffs and picked up the gym bag.
Dee…You’ve got what you want, she tried to tell them. Give us Dee.
But she couldn’t form the words.
Her eyes closed.
Darkness.
* * *
Kendra and Lynch joined the scores of cops and FBI agents running down the cement upper banks of the Los Angeles River. Everyone aimed their flashlights downward, but murky water swallowed the beams whole.
“I can’t see her. Where in the hell is she?” Kendra yelled to Lynch.
“The water’s moving fast,” Lynch said. “Faster than we are. She went into the river over fifteen minutes ago, so she could be in Compton by now.”
Kendra pointed to two shafts of light up ahead. “Helicopters.”
Lynch nodded. “One of them is stopped. I think they’ve spotted something.”
Kendra put on an extra burst of speed. “Hurry!”
In less than five minutes they reached the place where the helicopter was lighting up the channel. Kelland was already there.
“Oh, my God,” Kendra said under her breath.
She’d just seen the large, tangled netting at the water’s edge, now being inspected by Kelland and two of his agents.
“They used that to catch her here,” Lynch yelled over the helicopter’s rotor, which was almost deafening as it echoed in the concrete channel. “They planned this all out. Just like they’ve planned everything else.”
“Okay, so they grabbed the ransom. But where is Jessie?”
Lynch shook his head. “I don’t know, Kendra.”
Kendra nodded as she absorbed the awful realization. “Then either she drowned.” She swallowed. “Or they took her.”
“That’s what it looks like.”
“Jessie swims like a fish. I won’t believe she drowned. But I can’t see why in hell they’d have any reason to take her, either.”
Kelland had heard her. He looked up from the netting and shook his head. Then he pointed to the concrete embankment next to him.
There, just inches from the water, was Jessie’s motorcycle helmet.
CHAPTER
11
Shelby Tool and Machine Company
Lancaster, California
Five Hours Later
James Dorset leaned impatiently back behind the wheel of his pickup truck, trying to ignore the awful smell coming off his skin and hair. He hadn’t been able to shower since pulling Jessie Mercado out of the Los Angeles River the night before, and the smell was only getting