Buried: A Bone Secrets Novel Part 7

"Where is he? I know that reporter is looking for him. Everybody wants a piece of Chris Jacobs right now. The famous survivor." He spit the last sentence. "Does he really not remember where he was and what happened to him? I bet he remembers my cigarettes."

Jamie frantically shook her head. "Nothing...he doesn't..."

Oh my G.o.d. He's the one. He's the one who hurt Chris. He killed all those children.

"I don't believe that. And all this publicity is bound to stir up some old memories. I bet he won't be sleeping very good once he hears about all those little discoveries at the farm. Now. Be a good sister and tell me where he is."

"I don't know! I really don't know! I call a number and leave a message...he gets back to me eventually. I called yesterday, but I haven't heard back. But Michael..." Jamie clamped her mouth shut.

He burned my brother. All those children...

She felt her skin tear as the gun dug into her cheekbone.

Chris's nightmares...the screaming...he's the one...

"Michael? The reporter? He found something? He knows where to find that skinny b.a.s.t.a.r.d?"

Jamie shook her head, trying to pull away from the tip of the gun. "He doesn't know."

"Why don't I believe you?" He yanked on the arm behind her back, and her vision blurred.

"I don't know...I don't know what you want!"

"I want your brother!" He gave a hard shove, and Jamie's face slammed into the wood floor.

Every self-defense article she'd ever read scrambled in her brain. One rule stuck out: Fight back and scream!

She rolled over and lashed out with her legs and feet, kicking him in the shins and knees.

She screamed. Every ounce of energy went into her screams and her legs.

Years of running powered her legs, and he stumbled backward in surprise. The gun slipped from his hand, and she scrambled for it. He dove forward, grabbed it, and backhanded her across the face with the gun. The metal tore her lips.

She screamed more. He was on her level now, and she kept kicking and kicking. Arms, legs, gut, a.s.s. She connected everywhere. He scrambled backward, crablike, slamming the gun against the floor each time his hand moved.

Keep kicking! Keep kicking! Jamie pushed forward, scooting on her b.u.t.t, using the most powerful part of her body to hammer him with her feet. He grabbed a cupboard door and heaved himself off the floor. He whirled around the corner, out of the kitchen, and ran.

Jamie clambered to her hands and knees and shot up after him. Catching her balance on the doorframe, she saw a glimpse of his shirt as he dashed out her front door.

She grasped the kitchen doorframe with both hands as she stared down her hallway and out into the bright sunshine. Jamie slowly slid down the frame and sat on the floor.

He's gone. He's the one...the children...Chris...

She couldn't breathe, and her heart wouldn't stop thrashing inside her chest. Her arms shook. She crossed them on her chest, squeezing tight. They didn't stop.

She needed to call 911. Now.

The phone on her counter seemed a mile away.

Oh my G.o.d, he almost killed me...

She blinked, seeing the cupboards start to shimmy and warp. Her stomach heaved.

Oh c.r.a.p.

She grabbed a bowl from the mess on the floor and vomited.

Michael threw another pair of shorts in his bag.

"f.u.c.k." What was wrong with him? He'd planned to be on the road an hour ago, and he wasn't even packed. His internal alarm clock had failed for the first time in his life, and he had a good idea of why.

He'd been awake half the night thinking about Jamie Jacobs. And spent the other half dreaming about her. It wasn't until after he'd stepped out of the shower that he realized he was running late.

He'd been disappointed last night when she'd refused to go to with him. He'd wanted her to help deal with Chris when he found him. He wanted her there to smooth his way. And he ached to get to know her better. He scowled into his bathroom drawer, digging for a new razor. Jamie was different. She didn't feel like a temporary female distraction. His entire focus was on this woman and how to spend more time with her.

He hadn't known something was missing from his life until it punched him in the gut.

Jesus Christ. He sounded like a religious convert.

He shoved his feet into leather flip-flops and headed for the front door, his carry-on slung over his shoulder. He checked his pockets. Keys, wallet, phone. Good to go.

His front door slammed behind him, and the heat of the morning slapped his face. It was in the high eighties already, and it was only seven o'clock. How hot would Eastern Oregon be? The east side of the state's weather was more extreme than the west. Either hotter or colder. He jogged to the black SUV parked in front of his garage, feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket. He ignored it, planning to return the call once he was on his way.

He was on a search for answers about Daniel. All his life he'd wanted to know what'd happened to his brother, and he was getting close. He could feel it.

Once out of his neighborhood, he shoved the phone in the holder on his dash and glanced at the screen. No name, just a number. His heart pounded. Jamie's number. He'd never dialed it, but her cell, home, and work numbers were all filed in his memory from his research.

"Return call," he requested.

Did she change her mind about the trip?

Nearly missing a stop sign, he hit his brakes and commanded his heart to slow.

"Michael?" Her panicked voice filled his vehicle, and his chest tightened.

"Jamie. What's wrong?"

Sputtering breaths filled the line.

"d.a.m.n it, Jamie, what happened?" He grabbed his phone, turned off the speaker, and pressed it to his ear. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine...well...yes, I'm fine-"

"You don't sound fine,"

"Um...someone broke into my house-"

"Get out. Get out of the house right now." His grip could have crushed the phone.

"No...it's okay. The police are here and I'm fine."

Michael blew out a breath. Thank G.o.d. "Let me talk to one of them." It was going to take an hour to get the story out of Jamie. He put the phone back on speaker and pulled a U-turn. f.u.c.k the airport. He headed toward Jamie's.

"This is Officer Byers."

"Byers. Is she really okay? What the h.e.l.l happened over there?"

"She's gonna be okay. She's a little banged up. The EMTs bandaged her face. She's lucky, considering he was armed."

"He had a gun?" Michael hit his brakes.

"The guy dug into her cheek with it. She fought him off."

"What?" Michael ground his molars together.

"She fought him off. Who knows what else he would have done."

"Ah f.u.c.k. You find him?"

"Not yet. She got a good look at him. We'll get him."

"Let me talk to her again, please." Michael exhaled a breath that lasted a full five seconds. She could have died.

"Michael?" Her voice was steadier.

"Hey, princess. I'm on my way. I'll be there in ten minutes."

"I'm not sure why I called you. You don't have-"

"I'm coming. Don't argue." Nothing would stop him.

"Okay," she whispered.

"And we're gonna have a little talk about fighting with men who have guns."

She gave a choking laugh that ended in sobs.

"Sit tight, I'm coming."

"Don't hang up, okay?" she rasped.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Two police cruisers were parked in front of Jamie's house when Michael pulled up. Jamie and three uniforms stood outside on her walkway, talking in a tight circle. She had on snug black running shorts that left nothing to the imagination and made him catch his breath. Holy c.r.a.p. Did she actually wear those in public? Anger blew away his shock as he realized the backs of her upper thighs were bandaged.

All four turned as he slammed his door and jogged across the street. Jamie's arms were tightly folded across her chest like a protective shield, her face pale under her tan.

Her face. Michael wanted to strangle her intruder. She had a large white bandage on the right side of her face, and her lips were swollen and starting to scab.

He strode straight to her and pulled her against his chest in a bear hug, not caring if she thought he was being too forward. After what she'd been through, she had to need a human touch. She stiffened for a second and then blew out a deep breath and relaxed as he rubbed his hands across her back. Her Lycra tank was smooth to his touch, but not nearly as smooth as the silkiness of her skin. She kept her arms across her chest but carefully leaned her forehead against his cheek. She shuddered.

"I'm okay."

He rubbed her back for a few seconds longer and then stepped back, keeping a firm grip on her shoulders and looking her in the eye. "What happened?"

One of the uniforms coughed, and Michael glared his way. "Is the house clear?"

"Yes, we cleared it. Ms. Jacobs hasn't gone back in to see if anything is missing yet." The cop raised an eyebrow at Jamie, and Michael wanted to kick him for pressuring her. His name tag read "Byers."

"I'm ready now," she said. She reached up and took one of Michael's hands off her shoulders, gripping it. "Will you go with me?"

Like anyone could stop him.

She started toward her front door, and Michael glanced at the cops just in time to see their gazes drop to her a.s.s. "Christ," he muttered, and their gazes immediately bounced up. Protectiveness washed over him, and he bit back a growl.

Jamie stepped through the doorway and slowly walked down the hall. Michael felt a tremor in her hand as she turned into the kitchen. "Should I be walking in here?" she asked. "Am I going to ruin evidence?"

"Just don't move anything till they get some pictures," Michael said. "It's not a murder scene."

It looked like a tornado had ripped through the room. His gaze focused on three big zigzagging brown smears on the floor. "Is that his blood or yours?"

Jamie blinked at the smears. "Mine. I think that one is from my face." She pointed. "And the others must have happened when I was kicking him from the floor. I cut the backs of my legs on broken gla.s.s. I didn't even feel it." She touched the bandage on her right thigh, a bewildered look on her face. "The EMTs spotted the blood."

"Is anything missing?" Byers patiently asked.

Jamie surveyed the room. "I don't think so. Nothing of value in here. Unless he likes Mauviel."

Simultaneously, Michael snorted and Byers asked, "Likes what?"

"Cookware." Michael pointed at the shiny copper pans strewn on the floor. "Spendy."

Byers raised a brow at him.

"My mother likes it," Michael explained.

A five-minute walk-though of the house turned up nothing missing. But someone had been thorough. Every drawer was pulled out and overturned. Closets emptied. Byers's partner silently snapped digital shots. Jamie discovered her jewelry intact and her electronics untouched. The tenseness left Jamie's shoulders, but she paced the kitchen, unable to relax. Nervous energy bleeding out her pores.

"They dug through everything," Michael said. "How long were you gone?"

"About twenty minutes. I usually run for an hour, but my leg was bugging me."

"You run every day?"

"Most days."

"Same time of day?"

"Always at seven."