Stolen Daughters by Carolyn Arnold (top novels TXT) 📗

was the hint of a smile on his lips. His grip weakened, and his body sagged and fell to the side of Amanda.

She let go of the knife and lay there, struggling to catch her breath. She considered giving in to the darkness when there was another scream.

She had more than herself to think about. She scrambled to her feet and returned to the door, covered her hand with her shirt, and twisted the handle. It was locked. She choked on smoke, and a violent coughing fit erupted from her lungs. She lifted her shirt to cover her mouth and turned to search for something to bust the knob. She thought of the knife. It had felt large in her hands.

She made her way back to it and realized it was probably the Bowie knife he’d used on Fox. She returned to the door, pierced the blade into the door jamb, and wormed the door latch from its hole. She blinked away tears from the smoke as she opened the door.

Inside, there was no sign of Logan, but there was a teenage girl with red hair. No longer screaming, she was curled into a ball on the floor. Amanda was too late and considered resigning to death herself. The burning in her lungs was surreal. But when the girl coughed weakly, Amanda was compelled to action.

She helped the girl to her feet, even though Amanda could barely stand herself. She had to get them down the stairs and out the door as fast as possible.

Stay strong for a few more minutes, she coached herself.

She hooked the girl’s arm over her shoulder, and they staggered toward the stairs and started going down. She could feel the heat of the fire kissing her skin, and the stalls at the side where she’d entered the barn were completely engulfed in flames.

She passed the woman and glanced at her motionless body. Her gaze landed on a vine tattoo crawling up the woman’s neck. Was she the one who had lured Ashley and Crystal to Dumfries? What was she doing here?

The observation and thoughts were made in milliseconds as Amanda and the girl rushed by. Amanda got them out the side door and into the night air. She took them a safe distance away and collapsed. She could feel the cold rain beating down like ice pellets on her hot flesh.

Amanda closed her eyes, and she had two final thoughts before her world turned to black. Where the hell is Logan? And who is that woman?

Fifty-Nine

When Amanda came to, she was lying on a stretcher in the back of a medic’s vehicle. An oxygen mask was in place over on her face, though breathing still felt like an effort.

“There she is,” the medic said, smiling.

“I feel like—” Her head swooned, and she tugged at the mask.

“No, please leave that on.” The medic fought her, and for a second, she didn’t have enough strength to argue. Then she saw Logan’s face in her mind.

“Where’s Logan? Did we find him?”

“I…” The medic’s brow screwed up like he was confused. She bolted upright to a seated position, and her head felt like she’d drunk a few martinis—from what she remembered when she did drink. She tore the mask off and coughed. “And the girl…” Images were coming back to her in pieces.

“The girl should be fine. She’s been taken to the hospital.”

The medic’s response barely sank in, and she flung her legs over the side of the gurney.

“I’d advise that you stay—”

“There was a man…being held hostage.” She realized she was talking in fragments but couldn’t help herself. Her lungs were burning, and she was having a hard time catching her breath. But she slid to the floor until her feet found purchase and stood. Her head spun, but she had to move… Logan. She stepped out of the vehicle and saw that she was still at the Ross property.

The sky was dark, but the rain had stopped, and the fire was out. Smoke clung stubbornly in a low-lying haze. The place was teeming with emergency responders. The lights from their vehicles gave the entire area a glow.

She got off the bumper and stumbled across the driveway. She spotted Trent among the throng. At least he’d stayed outside like she’d told him to; he looked fine. She took a step toward him, but Malone cut her off before she could reach him.

“It’s best you don’t talk to him.” His voice was gruff, but his eyes were soft, like he wasn’t sure if he should be mad or relieved. “There’s going to be shit to pay for this, Detective.”

She bristled at the formal address. She glanced again at Trent, but he had turned away. She said, “I saved a girl. That has to count for something.” She coughed again and gripped her chest.

“Might not be enough, and you could use a doctor.” Malone looked at her firmly.

“Did we find Logan?” The question cut from her throat, and when Malone shook his head, her knees buckled.

He helped hold her up and nudged his head toward the medic’s van. “You really need to take care of yourself, Amanda.”

He was certainly torn between which hat to wear—the professional or the personal.

“Logan has to be here somewhere,” she pleaded.

“He doesn’t have to be, but people are searching.”

“Let me. Please. If I could just…” Her voice disappeared to nothing, and she reached inside her pocket and pulled out the bagged photo and removed it to get a better look. “He’s against a wood-paneled wall.”

“Amanda, please, just leave it to the rest of us to find him.”

But she couldn’t just let it go. She returned her focus to the photo, following it around the edges, and she saw something. “Look.” She pointed and showed the photo to Malone. “The ceiling looks like packed dirt, and there are beams.” She met his gaze, and they both spoke at the same time.

“It’s a storm cellar.”

“Spread out,” Malone bellowed to anyone within hearing range. “We’re looking for a