Her Silent Cry

Fifty-Three

The ambulance had been on stand-by in case anyone was injured during the operation. Within five minutes, it was behind the bleachers where Josie and Gretchen had entered. The paramedics went to work on Amy. Josie listened to the chatter on the comms. Oaks’s agents were moving into the woods.

“Stay with her,” Josie told Gretchen. “I’m going out there.”

Josie sprinted out the back and moved in behind two FBI agents dressed in tactical gear headed toward the Stacks. They ran in a column, crouched down, guns at the ready even though a shot hadn’t been fired in several minutes. Just inside the forested area, where the Stacks began, the agents in front of Josie converged on another agent sprawled on the ground. As Josie got closer, she was relieved to see he was still alive.

“He pushed me,” the agent said, his face twisted in pain. “I think my leg is broken.”

As his colleagues called for paramedics, Josie moved along the vertical rock face, looking for the shortcut she’d used as a teenager—it was a break in the stone, a dirt-filled crease with enough of an angle that you could grab onto the tree roots protruding from either side of it and climb quickly to the top of the ridge. Once she found it, Josie holstered her weapon, fitted her body into the crevice, grabbed onto the nearest tree root and clambered up to the top within seconds. She looked around before running in a low crouch toward the other FBI agent who had been stationed in the woods. He lay curled on his side, both hands clutching at his leg.

Josie knelt over him and checked his pulse, which was strong. “What happened?” she asked.

“He shot me, that’s what happened,” the agent said. “In the leg. He came out of nowhere behind us. Pushed Morgan right off the ridge, I shot at him and he shot back. Hit me. Jesus. I need to get to a hospital.”

Josie saw the blood spilling out from around his fingers as he held the side of his thigh. “I need help up here,” she screamed. “We have a gunshot wound.”

She pressed her hands over the top of his to keep pressure on his wound. “Did you see him?” she asked, hoping to keep him talking and alert until help made it onto the ridge.

“Yeah. About six foot. Brown hair. Caucasian. Young, maybe mid to late twenties. I think there was someone with him though. I thought I saw someone behind him. He ran back into the woods.”

“Probably the woman,” Josie said. “Hey, look at me. Just hold on, okay?”

He nodded but his face was pale, and the energy seemed to leave him with each breath. “I need help up here,” she screamed again over the side of the ridge.

A moment later, she heard the heavy tread of boots crashing through the forest floor and she was relieved to see two more agents and two paramedics with a spine board. She watched as they loaded the injured agent on it and started making their way back down off the ridge, the long way around. The agents stayed behind, and Josie motioned away from the ridge, deeper into the forest, where the land inclined. “That way,” she said. “We should spread out. The woman is with him.”

They nodded at her and fanned out, walking carefully through the forest, their weapons drawn. Josie stayed south, creeping along, keeping close to the trees. In her mind, she mapped out the area ahead. When they were teenagers, Josie and her late husband Ray had run through these woods many times after hanging out at the Stacks. When the police raided the area, they’d flee deeper, following paths only they knew about. Sometimes they’d hide in particular places they knew and other times, they’d make it up and over the top of the hill, scrambling down the other side to the abandoned mill. From there, they’d walk home. She found one of the narrow paths she remembered and followed it up, the incline getting steeper and more difficult to walk the higher she went. She stayed on course, though, because she remembered a cave that used to sit on this side of the mountain. It wasn’t deep or all that small. It was just big enough to take shelter in from the rain.

A branch snapped nearby, and she froze. Back pressed against a tree, she held her gun at the ready, listening. The intermittent chatter on the comms burst and buzzed in her ear. She reached up and tore at the earbud, pulling it out and letting it hang along her collar. Again, she listened. She thought she heard footsteps ahead. She tried to move with them, gaining on whoever was out there without them hearing her in pursuit. On her right, the cave came into view. A foot protruded from the mouth of the cave.

Josie crept closer, heart pounding, blood rushing in her ears. She pressed her back against the outer part of the cave’s entrance, listening. She heard nothing. No footsteps, no rustling, no breathing or any kind of movement. She peeked around the cave entrance. The foot hadn’t moved. Swiftly, Josie turned into the cave, sweeping the barrel of the gun back and forth. The foot belonged to a woman, who lay in a puddle of blood and soil. She was young and pale with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. As Josie got closer, she saw that the woman had been shot in the head. There was an entry wound to the right temple with stippling below the bullet hole, indicating a close-range shot. Whoever had killed her had held the gun to her skin and pulled the trigger. The splatter on the cave wall to the left of her head was still wet and dripping.

Josie thought about the shots that they’d heard when Amy was leaving the money in the center of the field. There had been two shots fired before Amy was hit, which had to have been the FBI agent shooting at the kidnapper and the kidnapper firing back. Then the kidnapper had shot Amy. It had been several minutes before the last shot rang out. Had the kidnapper killed his own accomplice? Why? What was his plan? Keeping all the money for himself? That didn’t make sense as there was no indication that he had even taken the money. She had only half been paying attention to the chatter in her ear, but she knew the team at Lover’s Cave had seen no activity of any kind since Colin left the money inside the cave.

It would seem that the only thing the kidnapper had hoped to accomplish was to kill Amy.

Had this woman tried to stop him? Had she wanted her portion of the money? Whatever the dynamic had been, she had ended up dead. Josie took out her cell phone and called Oaks, keeping her voice low. “I found the female accomplice. She’s dead.” She gave the location as best she could and hung up. Moving to the other side of the cave entrance, she listened again. She thought she heard the crunch of leaves, but she couldn’t be sure.

She maneuvered out of the cave, staying close to its outer wall and searched the trees and brush, but she didn’t see anyone. She took the path again, moving from tree to tree, trying to make herself small. The climb became more difficult. Her lungs burned. The ground beneath her feet angled upward steeper and steeper. Finally, she came to a small clearing and she knew she was close to the top of the mountain. There were several large rocks, and a ring of small stones circling a heap of ash. Beer cans littered the area. Local kids came all the way out here for privacy.

From the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of movement on her left. She took a shooter’s stance and aimed in that direction. She saw the man’s shaggy brown hair, dark green shirt and mud-covered blue jeans as he emerged from behind a wide tree trunk, a rifle sling across his chest. The barrel of the gun poked up from behind his left shoulder. “Freeze,” she called. “Police. Get your hands up.”

He turned toward her. Her mind registered the pistol in his hand. They both shot at the same time. Josie felt the impact of his bullet in her stomach, driving her off her feet, back through the air, and then she tumbled down the hill below.