After the car was a safe distance down the beach, Jon led Leah back up to the bluff and, seeing no cars or cops in sight, they snuck into the back of the house.
“I want to pull out a file my mom’s been keeping,” he told Leah after he locked the doors. “You go ahead and check on Ralph. If he’s awake, urge him to eat some more. It might make him sleepy.”
“What kind of file?” she asked as they stood in the dark hallway.
“I just remembered something my mom told me recently. She’d been saving articles related to what she believes might be a human-trafficking ring in the Northwest. Particularly around here.”
“Human trafficking—seriously—in Cape Perpetua?”
“I know, it sounds a little far-fetched. Especially considering most people think Cape Perpetua is one of the safest beach towns on the Oregon Coast. My dad thinks my mom’s being overly dramatic. But I’m beginning to wonder.”
“Interesting.”
“So I’ll be digging around for a while. You stay down there with the door locked. Don’t open it unless you know it’s me.”
“Right.” Her voice sounded small and shaky.
“We’re going to be okay,” he told her.
“How do you know that?” she asked in a doubtful tone.
“Because I believe it.” He reached over to place a hand on her shoulder, suppressing the urge to pull her toward him in a comforting hug. “We can outsmart them, Leah. I know we can.”
“Well, you must be a whole lot smarter than me.” She made an attempt at a laugh, but it actually sounded pretty sad.
“Go check on Ralph,” he told her. “And lock the door.”
He waited to hear the sound of the lock clicking into place, then, staying low, he crept out to the kitchen to retrieve a flashlight from the junk drawer. He also pocketed some extra batteries and even got the small battery-powered radio that his mom kept tuned to a local station just in case of tsunami warnings, and set it by the door to the basement. Then, with the flashlight in hand, he crept into the small room next to his parents’ bedroom. They used this space as their study. Although they both claimed that work was outlawed at the beach cabin, one or the other was usually caught going over a legal case from time to time. It was like a family joke and a natural consequence of two attorneys in one marriage.
One wall of the study was filled with a bookcase, and a large corner desk was situated by the window. The right side was used by his dad, and the left was his mom’s. Both of them kept old-fashioned file cabinets—a habit that Jon used to make fun of but something he was thankful for now as he used the flashlight to peruse through his mom’s cabinet. It didn’t take long before he found a manila file folder marked Human Trafficking in bold black ink. Tucking it under his arm, he was about to go down to the basement when he saw headlights moving down the road again. Would they never give up?
He crouched beneath the desk, remembering the glass window he’d smashed and hoping that he’d get the chance to make it up to the homeowners—that he’d live long enough to apologize and explain. But why hadn’t that house kept the police busy for longer? Wouldn’t they have searched it, turned it upside down? Or did it simply allow them to remove one possible cabin from their list of suspects? Perhaps he should’ve left more clues around, or chosen a larger house with more spaces to search through—although that would probably trigger a security alarm. But that might be a good thing if it sent additional cops out here. What was the chance that all the Cape Perpetua cops were crooked? They couldn’t be—could they?
When the room became pitch-dark again, Jon quietly crept out and down the hallway. He was tempted to pull the drapes in the front room, but worried that might be a tip-off. Then he remembered the upstairs bedroom that he’d been using to paint in. Hadn’t he pulled the shades down in there this afternoon when the sun got too hot? He tiptoed up the narrow staircase and was somewhat relieved to see that this room really was sealed off from the light. Not that they’d want to hide out up there, but it would be a change of pace from the dank basement.
Perhaps he could even offer Leah the twin bed to get some sleep tonight—while he kept watch downstairs to be sure she was safe. Before he left, he picked up his sketch pad and a packet of charcoal pencils. It wasn’t as if he thought he was going to sketch anything while they were stuck in the basement trying to make an escape plan—but if things were different, if they were out of danger, he would love to do a sketch of Leah. She had the kind of face that lent itself to art. High forehead, straight nose, gorgeous cheekbones, ocean-colored eyes, full lips... He would like to paint her. If things were different. If they could somehow escape this thing alive.
As he tapped on the basement door, quietly identifying himself when he heard her on the stairs, he wondered what time it was. Although it felt as if it had been hours, maybe even days, since the shocking confrontation in the parking lot, he suspected it was probably not even nine o’clock yet. It would be a long night. He wondered how long it would take to rebuild that carburetor—or if it were even possible. But maybe it was worth a try.
“Here.” He handed Leah the file folder, the radio and his sketch supplies when she opened the door. “I’m going to go get something. Lock the door.” Before heading for the garage, Jon remembered how they’d left the bathroom. With its window covered in towels and signs of blood in the bathtub, it would be a dead giveaway in the event Krantz came into the house. So Jon went in and did a fast cleanup, trying to make it look normal, and finally removing the towels from the window and shoving them into the hamper.
He did a quick check of the kitchen, too, then, satisfied there were no traces of occupation, he crept out to the garage. With no signs of car lights outside, he knew this was his best chance to gather up the carburetor pieces and tools and take them down to the basement. If nothing else, a mechanical chore might keep his mind busy during the long night.
The garage felt more exposed than the rest of the house. Besides the windows in the garage door, the side door had a window in it and there was another window that faced toward the back. All were uncovered because his dad believed the sunlight was a good defense against the moisture and mildew so prevalent on the beach. But it made the garage feel a bit like a fishbowl. Jon tried to keep his flashlight hooded and pointed downward as he hurried to pile the carburetor pieces and necessary tools into a five-gallon bucket. He set a kerosene camp lantern on top.
He was just turning off the small flashlight when he heard the sound of a car engine—and once again, lights were moving around outside the house. Silhouettes of pine trees made sinister-looking shadowy images on the interior wall of the garage—moving back and forth with a persistence that sent a shiver of fear down his spine. Had someone seen signs of his flashlight just now? Jon reached for a nearby tire iron as he cowered against the garage door. As he waited for someone to come crashing through the side door, he thought he was ready to use it.
Crouching down with the tire iron in hand, he suddenly remembered his karate training as a kid—was it possible that he could put it to use now? Or was that just a young boy’s delusion playing through his head? He remembered the Bruce Lee movies he watched with his dad. He was doubtful he could pull off those moves now. For the first time in his relatively peace-loving life, he wished he owned a gun. With his heart in his throat, he waited...and eventually the car moved on. But it had barely headed down the road when the second car came along—and it was followed by a third! Those guys were relentless. Three cars pursuing two innocent people. It was ridiculous. And disturbing. Was it possible that the entire Cape Perpetua Police Department was corrupt? Or had Krantz lied about what had happened? Were he and Leah considered fugitives?
Feeling more hopeless than ever, Jon crept back through the darkened house with his heavy bucket in hand. The wound in his leg was burning like fire, and every muscle in his body was starting to throb along with it. As badly as they needed to get out of here, he did not think he would be able to make it on foot. Besides, it would be too dangerous. For all he knew, there could be more than three cop cars cruising around right now. What if they brought in search dogs?
He tapped quietly on the basement door, hoping that Ralph was still asleep and not inclined to bark. Leah let him in and, not wanting to alarm her, he didn’t mention that the searchers were still crawling all over the place—or that there were more. Instead, he told her his plan to work on the carburetor.
“If I can get it repaired and back into the car in the early hours of the morning, we might have a chance.” Although he knew he couldn’t risk having lights on in there.
“Maybe the police shifts will be changing,” she suggested hopefully. “Like around eight or so.”
“Good thinking. So maybe we’ll get a little break when they’re not around. If the car is able to run, we’ll just blast out of here and I’ll drive at top speed all the way into town.”
“Yes,” she said eagerly. “If we make it to where people can see us, maybe go into a restaurant or grocery store—I think we’d be safe. The police wouldn’t dare shoot at us in public, would they?”
“I don’t think so.” But even as he said this, he wasn’t sure. Maybe the rest of the police thought they were dangerous criminals. Something about Krantz and the way those cars were persistently searching made him wonder what Krantz had told the force. Still, it seemed pointless to worry her any more than necessary.
He lit the kerosene lantern and laid out the carburetor pieces on top of a couple of cardboard boxes that he set up like a workbench. And as he started to clean the pieces and put them back together, he felt a false sense of security. Oh, he knew it was completely delusional, but as he listened to Ralph making quiet snuffling snores and the radio softly playing oldies, he felt himself relaxing. He glanced over to where Leah was reading something by candlelight...and for a blissful moment, he could almost imagine that nothing was wrong.
Except that this carburetor was looking even more shot than he’d imagined. Too many worn-out pieces—and some that seemed to be gone. He needed a better plan.
“Listen to this!” Leah turned up the radio a bit.
“Local police are on the lookout for a pair of dangerous criminals tonight. Last seen in the north jetty beach area, a man and woman are suspected of being part of a drug-smuggling ring. During a routine stop, they assaulted and injured an officer, then got away on foot. The woman has been identified as twenty-four-year-old Leah Hampton. She is five foot eight, average weight, with blond hair and blue eyes, last seen wearing a blue tank top and black shorts. The unidentified man may be a transient. About six feet tall with shaggy brown hair and dressed in ragged clothing. Both are considered extremely dangerous. Anyone with information about this couple should contact the Cape Perpetua Police Department immediately. And the police warn citizens, do not engage with this couple. They are very dangerous.”
Jon held up a wrench. “Yes, very dangerous. Right.”
“Krantz is obviously trying to scare everyone away from us—in case we find someone we can ask for help.”
“Plus it gives him a good excuse to shoot us if he wants.”
“And I honestly think this has something do with it.” She held up the folder. “In fact I’m sure it has everything to do with it.”
“What have you found out?” He looked up from the mess of mechanical parts in frustration.
Leah picked up a piece of newsprint, waving it in the air. “I heard about this girl going missing last fall. But everyone in town made it sound like she was a runaway—like she’d been having problems at home. But this is a piece that her mother wrote for the local paper. It’s a plea for help—but it looks like they printed it in the letters-to-the-editor section and I’m guessing it got lost there. Kind of like the girl.” Leah started to read from the clipping.
“I am Abigail Fowler’s mother, and I am writing this letter to defend my daughter, who disappeared on November 19. In most ways Abigail is a typical teenage girl. She’s had her ups and downs and occasionally disagrees with her parents. What sixteen-year-old doesn’t? But Abigail was not unhappy at home! That report was completely false, and I want everyone to know it. Abigail is a good girl. And she was an honors student. She was applying at colleges all over the country. She is a quiet girl who kept to herself and didn’t have a lot of friends. She had just finished cross-country and was looking forward to track season in the spring. Abigail had no reason to run away from home. None whatsoever. And no matter how many times I told the police this, they seemed to be convinced that I was lying. They assumed that because our marriage was having some problems, we were about to get a divorce and that she was distressed over this. That is a complete lie. Abigail had no reason to run away. I don’t know why everyone wanted to believe that she did. I feel certain that my daughter was kidnapped. And if the police were doing their job they would be trying to find her instead of telling everyone that she’s a troubled runaway. She is not! Please, help us find Abigail!
“Karen Fowler”
Jon laid down the wrench and went over to look at the file folder. “So I assume my mother thinks this Abigail girl is part of the human-trafficking problem? That she’s been kidnapped by traffickers?”
“That seems to be the insinuation.” She set the clipping down.
“What else did you find in there?”
“The other girl who went missing in early February actually did sound like she was a little on the wild side. Even her parents said as much. But there are parts of her story that suggest she didn’t run away.”
“Such as?” He sat down on the sagging sofa.
She picked up a photocopy of another article, scanning it. “Misha Campbell was only fifteen when she disappeared. Again, it’s suggested that she’s a runaway. And this time it’s a little more believable. Except that this article mentions that Misha left her purse behind. It was found in a park near the beach. A place where Misha was reputed to have spent time with friends when they skipped school together. According to some of her friends, Misha was known for marijuana use.”
“Well, if Misha was smoking and skipping school, it might be believable she could run away from home.”
“Maybe, but to leave her purse behind? A purse that not only had a little bit of money in it, but her cell phone, as well? I don’t think so.”
“Good point.”
“What teen girl would willingly leave her cell phone behind?”
“Yeah...suspicious.”
“Your mom thought it was suspicious, too.”
“What else is in that file?” He picked it up, flipping through the papers.
“Just various articles from other newspapers in the Northwest. A few things she printed from the internet. And then there’s this.” She held up a dark-looking photograph that was printed on a piece of paper.
“What is it?” He peered at the smudgy photo. “Looks like a warehouse to me.”
“See this.” She pointed to handwriting at the bottom of the page. “‘One-point-seven miles north of jetty.’”
“Huh?” He took the paper from her, studying it closely. “It looks like an ordinary warehouse.”
“But look at that.” She pointed to what appeared to be a portable outhouse off to one side.
“A porta-potty? So?”
“I don’t know. It just seemed curious.”
“Look at this.” He pointed to a black shiny circle up high on a corner of the plain brown building. “That kind of looks like a fish-eye window—you know, the kind with a security camera in it, so that it can see around corners.”
“Why would a warehouse need that? And what would a warehouse like that be doing 1.7 miles north of the jetty?” Leah asked. “There is nothing down there. No houses, no industrial area, I don’t think there’s even a road in that section. Besides ATV use, and I’m not even sure about that, I think that part of the dunes is a protected area.”
He scratched his head. “If there was a road down there, it would be pretty remote. We might be able to use it to get away.”
“You mean you’ll be able to drive your car?” She looked hopeful.
“Not likely.” He shook his head. “For starters, I think the carburetor’s shot. But if there is a road down on that end of the beach, I’m guessing we’d need to use my dad’s ATV. Assuming that it runs, and that we could access the road from the beach. Those are a couple of big unknowns.”
“I’ve run to the jetty and back a lot of times,” Leah told him. “But I’ve never seen a road or any kind of development along there. It seems pretty desolate. Just brush and trees and dunes.” She laid down the file folder. “In fact, I’ve often questioned the wisdom of running that lonely stretch by myself.”
“For good reason.” Jon frowned down at the photo. “This warehouse looks like it’s surrounded by trees. I doubt it’s even visible from the beach.”
“I wonder how your mom found it.”
“Well, she does like exploring. She takes wildflower walks, and collects mushrooms and picks huckleberries. She might’ve come across it accidentally.”
“But the fact that it’s in this file...” Leah picked up the folder. “Does she think it’s related to these missing girls?”
“And her human-trafficking theory?” He frowned.
“Maybe it’s not just a theory.” Leah flipped through the papers in the file. “There’s a lot of information here, Jon. Articles that seem to suggest that not only is human trafficking going on, but that it’s rather common along the I-5 corridor—and along the Pacific Coastline.”
“Wouldn’t it be crazy if Krantz was involved in it?” Jon tried to make his words sound light, but his overwhelming feeling was that they were in way over their heads.
“I wish you could call your mom and ask her about the warehouse.”
He rolled his eyes. “If we could call my mom, I’d ask her to send the FBI to come rescue us—ASAP.”
“Yeah...duh.” She made a weak smile. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think your mom sounds interesting.”
He nodded. “She is. You’d like her.” He was thinking his mom would probably like Leah, too. Even though he could see she was pretty discouraged right now. “So tell me more about yourself, Leah. You’re in nursing school, right?”
“At the community college. I’ll graduate with my RN degree in June.” She frowned. “I mean I hope I will. And I work at The Willows part time.”
“The nursing home?”
“Yeah. And assisted living.”
“Do you like working there?”
“It’s kind of like killing two birds with one stone.”
“How’s that?” He studied her closely as she leaned back in the wicker rocker, a faraway look in her eyes. He wondered if he’d ever get the chance to paint her, imagining the highlights he’d use to give her hair that glow—like honey in the sunlight.
“My mom’s a resident at The Willows.”
“Oh? What’s wrong?”
“She’s got early-onset Alzheimer’s,” she said quietly. “She was in assisted care at first, but she was moved to the nursing home last fall.”
“I’m sorry.”
She nodded sadly. “Yeah. Me, too. But at least I get to see her when I go to work.” She glanced at her watch. “Although it doesn’t seem like I’ll make it to my shift tomorrow. I’m supposed to be there by eight on Saturday mornings. But it’s not like I can call in or anything...” Her voice trailed off.
“It’s not morning yet.” He considered slipping back outside, attempting to get some connectivity to call the FBI. But remembering the three cars he’d seen cruising the road while he was hunched down in the garage...and the discouraging dispatcher he’d reached during his last phone call attempt, he knew it wasn’t worth the risk. Plus, his car was going to be useless, and they needed a better plan. A foolproof plan—if that were even possible.
“I want to be brave,” she said softly, “but this feels so hopeless. Like we’re trapped and will never—”
Just then a loud noise coming from upstairs made them both freeze. “Sounds like someone’s breaking into the house,” Jon whispered as he reached for the metal baseball bat, glancing over to where Ralph was still asleep.
Leah’s blue eyes were wide with fear as Jon picked up the chef’s knife. He placed his forefinger over his lips and handed her the tire iron he’d brought down with him the last time. “I’ll go by the door,” he mouthed to her. “Stay here.” He pointed to the candle. “Blow it out when I reach the top.”
She just nodded.
Trying to be silent, he crept up the wooden stairs. Just as he positioned himself behind where the door would swing open—if it was soundly kicked—the candlelight from down below was extinguished. With the knife in his back pocket, he grasped the metal bat and waited. If the door came open, it would happen quickly. He just hoped he’d have the speed and presence of mind to whack the intruder over the head—before it was too late. Not that he wanted to kill anyone, even if it was Krantz. But he did want to stop him dead in his tracks.
Jon tilted his ear toward the door, listening to the sound of scuffling feet as well as the security alarm, which had gone off. This was followed by the sound of gruff male voices, signifying it wasn’t just Krantz. Bracing himself for whatever was coming, Jon prayed a quick silent prayer—begging God to protect them—especially Leah. And, with his heart pounding in his ears, he waited.