Against the Edge (The Raines of Wind Can - By Kat Martin Page 0,115

van parked on the south side of the street just down the block from the bus stop. It was there about half an hour before the bus was due to arrive. She couldn’t see who was driving, and she didn’t notice if the van was there when the bus actually drove up.”

“We need to interview the employees in her office,” Jake said, “find out if one of them tipped Santos that Claire would be home alone.”

“We’ve already pushed them pretty hard,” Castillo said. “On the surface it looks as if they didn’t know anything about Claire’s troubles or have anything to do with Santos.”

“Maybe not,” Trace drawled, “but if Santos wanted the information bad enough, he could afford to pay whatever it cost to get it.”

“What do you think is on that drive?” Alex asked.

Castillo shook his head. “Whatever it is, it’s important.”

“What about Santos?” Ben pressed. “You have any idea where we can find him?”

“We’ve been looking since Sullivan was murdered. So far no sign of him. Odds are he’s gone underground.”

Ben’s jaw hardened. He couldn’t stand to wait any longer. “I need to get going. I’ve got people I need to see, guys who might know where Santos is holding Claire.” Informants, guys he paid for information. He needed to round them up, put them to work. He needed information and he needed it fast.

“I’ve got calls to make myself,” Jake said.

“We all do,” said Trace, “We’ve all got people who might know something.”

“Let’s meet back at the office at twenty-one hundred,” Ben said, “unless someone comes up with something before then.” Eight p.m. It sounded like an eternity.

The men dispersed back to their cars. Ben climbed into his Denali and fired up the engine. He was on track now. Single-minded. Completely focused.

He was going to find Claire and Sam. And he was going to kill Diego Santos.

* * *

Claire had been riding in the cramped position for hours. Her shoulder ached, her back throbbed. Her wrists were scraped raw from the plastic bindings, and her hands felt bloodless and numb. It was at least a six-hour drive from Houston to Egansville, farther on to Bushytail Bayou.

Even worse, Claire had a bad feeling the men weren’t taking her back to the compound. Ben believed they had fled to a secondary location, a place they went to in case of an emergency. It would be deeper in the swamp or in another place altogether.

A shiver rolled through her. She hadn’t eaten anything since the yogurt she’d had for lunch and she was beginning to feel light-headed. She had tried to gauge which direction the van was traveling, thought they were heading northeast, but she couldn’t be sure. She really needed to use the bathroom, but with the tape over her mouth, there was no way to communicate her wishes.

Finally the van pulled into a service station in the middle of nowhere and Troy slid open the door. Reaching inside, he ripped the tape off her mouth. He did the same to Sam.

“I figured you’d need to use the can. Duke will walk you over, bring you back and then take Sam. If you try to scream or make any trouble, I’ll take the boy and leave. You’ll never see the kid again.”

She weighed her options. She could scream or try to escape, but Hutchins was armed and she didn’t think he would hesitate to shoot her. He certainly hadn’t thought twice about shooting Ben.

She looked up at him. He was taller than Troy, about the same height as Ben and solidly muscled, thin-faced and hard-edged, with shaggy black hair and a beard that needed trimming. He was maybe mid-thirties, the same as Troy.

Hutchins looked around the gas station. No cars in sight. The attendant was inside the run-down building. The bathrooms were in the back.

He cut the plastic bindings on her wrists and jerked her forward. “Let’s go.” Claire stumbled and would have fallen if he hadn’t been holding on to her. Hutchins hauled her upright and dragged her toward the women’s bathroom behind the white stucco building, opened the door and shoved her inside.

“Make it fast.”

She hurried, looking around while she was inside for some way to leave a note. But her purse was still in Houston, and the bathroom was empty except for a roll of toilet paper and the dirty paper towels on the floor.

With a calming breath, she walked back outside, rubbing her wrists to try to get the circulation going. Once they reached the