Left to Kill (Adele Sharp #4) - Blake Pierce Page 0,64

be lost in the woods.

“You have your flashlight?” she said.

John grunted between gasps for air. In an irritated voice at the distraction, he said, “Grabbed it from the car.”

“Good.” She exhaled deeply, but steadily. “Western quadrant, yeah?”

John, though, didn’t seem to have the air now to talk. And instead veered off to the right just a bit, and then moved around a trail of scattered leaves where it was clear search parties had already wandered. They moved west, the two of them heading through the forest at a steady pace.

Adele hadn’t had her morning jog in a while, and now, as the blood began pumping, she allowed her thoughts to wander. One of the reasons she liked running so much was the opportunity it afforded her to think without distraction. There was something about a physical task which forced the mind to focus. It almost seemed to put it on a single rail, when normally her mind would threaten to veer off in any direction it could.

As she jogged along next to John, she desperately thought of the clues. She thought of what they had discovered. She thought of Amanda Johnson. The way the young woman had stared wide-eyed, straining in the nurse’s hands.

She’d said every month they would get a chance to go outside. Broken plants meant broken bones. Number seven… So much of it didn’t make sense.

They.

She’d said they.

There was more than one killer. A certainty.

Twenty-six bodies in the last ten years. Found in different states of decay. Most of them half clad, most of them without shoes. Most of them with terrible injuries. Some of the ones in better condition had also displayed rope burns across their wrists and ligature marks.

Adele thought about it. Not just twenty-six names. Two hundred missing. In the last decade, the number of people who had disappeared in the area had gone unnoticed. Forgotten. Turned into a sort of urban legend, a spooky story.

But for the very real families who had lost loved ones, not just a story. A ghoulish reality.

Adele picked up the pace subconsciously, now hurrying through the trees and starting to leave John behind. Not to be outdone, she heard her partner put on an extra burst as well, gasping raggedly behind her, but with equal determination, making up for his lack of endurance with sheer willpower.

They jogged through the night, beneath the falling sky.

A while later, John finally broke silence. “Adele!” he said, sharply. It seemed to take everything in him to utter those words. But he flicked a hand, his flashlight now out, as night had fully inserted itself across the skies.

Through the trees, Adele spotted movement. A light. Another flashlight.

Adele’s eyebrow shot up and her feet pattered to a halt on the man-made trail. She stared, eyes peering in the dark, then her voice probed out. “Dad?” Adele called. “Sergeant Sharp!”

The flickering light through the tree trunks paused. Then turned off.

“It’s me, Adele,” she called.

The light turned back on.

She redirected, leading the charge, with John gasping behind her. The two of them reached a gap in the trees and came across a small creek meandering through the forest. There, to Adele’s relief, the Sergeant was standing next to the same straight-backed, clean-cut man Adele had talked to that morning.

The two of them had vests on and whistles dangling from their necks. They both wore matching glares as they stared at Adele, and then their eyes flicked to John. The two older men watched as the tall French agent doubled over, hands now on his knees, gasping at the ground.

In between gasps, he cursed, but then found he had to gasp even more for talking, and remained silent, one hand braced against the nearest trunk.

Adele had to hand it to him. John was strong, quick. But he was a sprinter. Meant for rapid action in short bursts. On longer runs, though, if not for sheer willpower, he wouldn’t have kept up.

The Sergeant was frowning at his daughter. A flicker of surprise was quickly fading to worry lines. Her father had never been the sort to let anyone know they’d caught him by surprise—not even by his own daughter beneath moonlight in the woods. “What is it?” the Sergeant said simply. No Hello. No What are you doing here? Just, What is it?

“Are you all right?” she said, returning his stare.

The Sergeant glanced at his friend then back to Adele. “We’re searching. Had a couple more hours.”

“Okay,” Adele said. She swallowed. “Great, look—no easy way to say this: