Her Last Goodbye (Morgan Dane Book 2)(68)

“What about his voice?” the sheriff asked. “Was it familiar in any way?”

“I don’t think so.”

“No accent?”

“No.”

“What about the place you were held?” the sheriff asked.

“It was an old shipping container in the woods.” Chelsea described the inside of the container then detailed how she’d gotten out through a rust hole in the ceiling. “There was a cabin or small house about a hundred feet away.”

As she talked, her voice grew weaker, her pauses for breath longer. She was physically and emotionally depleted, but she wanted to give the sheriff as much information as she could. “He chased me.” The last three words quivered. “But I just ran. I ran as fast as I could. When I had to stop and catch my breath, I didn’t hear him behind me anymore. I rolled in the dirt. The dress was such a bright yellow. I was afraid he’d see the fabric.”

Probably why he’d chosen such a bright color, she realized with a cold knot in her belly. Maybe a sedative wasn’t a bad idea.

She sipped more water. “The trees are so bare and gray this time of year. After that, I just kept moving. I don’t know how far I went, but I knew that if I stopped, I’d stiffen up. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get going again.”

“Smart,” the sheriff said.

“Plus, it was getting colder, and all I had was that blanket.” Chelsea’s hands—and the rest of her body—shook violently.

The sheriff wrote notes. “Did you see a vehicle?”

“No.” Chelsea pictured the cabin and container in the clearing. “There should have been, though. He must have had transportation.”

“What time did you escape?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Chelsea said.

“Do have any idea how far you ran?” the sheriff pressed.

She shook her head. The night had been a blur of pain and exhaustion and terror. “I don’t know.”

Tim took his wife’s hand again. “Chelsea runs almost every day. She’s very fit.”

The ability to outrun her captor had no doubt saved her life.

Frustrated, the sheriff tapped a pen on his notepad. “How far do you usually run?”

Chelsea rested her head back against the pillows, spent.

Tim jumped in. “Anywhere from five to fifteen miles, and she’s fast too.”

Sheriff King exhaled hard. “And you didn’t follow a trail or stream?”

“I just ran. It was dark. Eventually, I had to walk, but everything looked the same in the woods.” Chelsea’s words and memories blended together, the pitch of her voice rising as exhaustion weighted her.

“Did you hear anything while you were in the container or while you were running away?” the sheriff asked. “Any little detail might help us locate him.”

“No. I don’t know.” Chelsea blinked. Tears spilled from her eyes, and her voice cracked in frustration. “I don’t remember.”

“Was there a road or could the container be seen from above?” the sheriff asked.

Chelsea pictured it in her mind. “I didn’t see a road, and there were tree branches overhead, so I don’t know. Maybe? I’m sorry. It was dark and I was more interested in getting away than remembering every detail.”

The doctor came into the room and frowned at the sheriff. “That’s enough. After she rests, she might be able to recall more information. But you’ve clearly pushed her far enough for now.”

The doctor held a syringe in her hand. “I know you didn’t want a sedative earlier, but you haven’t slept and you really need to. I think the rest will help.”

Since the emotions scurrying in Chelsea’s mind were overwhelming, she agreed. “All right.” She turned to Tim. “If you’ll stay?”

“I’ll be here when you wake up.” He stroked her forehead.

The doctor injected clear liquid into the IV.

Within seconds, the tension in Chelsea’s body eased. Her fingers relaxed in Tim’s hand and the room blurred. She barely noticed as the sheriff ducked out of the room.

The doctor’s voice floated to Chelsea. “As I mentioned earlier, I’m also going to order a psychiatric evaluation. There are techniques that might help her remember details, but right now, she’s been through enough.”

The sheriff’s voice followed, “I’ll put a deputy outside your wife’s door for tonight. We’ll reassess the situation tomorrow.”

Chelsea shivered. Her kidnapper had held her for almost a week. He’d tortured her.

He might not give her up so easily.





Chapter Twenty-Eight