Sorry for the delay in updating - there have not been enough hours in the day lately!
Chapter 7
Rays of morning light were peeping through the cracks of the boxcar walls when Lindsay opened her eyes. Danny had been awake first, and as she stirred, he shifted his head to look down at her.
"Good morning, Sunshine," he said. Despite the words' teasing intent, his voice was tender.
She felt groggy and confused, and it took a moment for her situation to register, for her to realize why she wasn't in her own soft bed. Amazingly, she had slept through the night without waking, something that almost never occurred. Was it possible that the security of being in Danny's arms had chased away the nightmares?
"Where are we?" she muttered, rubbing her eyes.
Danny shrugged, a movement that caused the hairs on his arm to brush the back of her neck. "I don't know, I didn't pack the GPS. I think a little mystery is romantic, don't you?"
Getting lost in the mountains. The body on the tracks. The open boxcar door. Cory Abrams. The series of recollections pummeled her mind like a hailstorm. She was stunned into silence for a moment.
"Your leg twitches in your sleep, you know," Danny continued. "It's kind of cute. And you talk."
"I do not talk in my sleep," Lindsay huffed.
"You do."
"Oh yeah? What did I say?" she demanded.
Danny smirked, his eyes twinkling playfully. "Now wouldn't you like to know!"
Lindsay laughed, but then was suddenly aware of the filthy straw beneath her, and the fact that she had been wearing the same clothes for over a day. "I want a shower," she sighed wistfully.
"Good luck," he snorted. "I want a cheeseburger."
"Hot chocolate… with whipped cream," she countered.
"Coffee."
"My soft bed, with a down comforter."
"Your bed."
Lindsay laughed and poked his arm. "Danny!"
"Sorry. Okay, uh… pizza."
"A warm sweatshirt."
"French fries."
"Pie."
"Baseball game on the tube."
"Chinese food."
They both groaned in unison at the lack of probability of their desires happening any time soon. Not feeling particularly motivated to rise, Lindsay squirmed closer against Danny's chest, burying her face into the crook of his neck. It was her favorite spot, if in fact she could lay claim to any part of his body. His shoulder was solidly muscular, and his skin smelled so good. Normally she would be aghast at allowing herself so much physical contact because of the inevitable temptation that would arise with it, but the situation they were in had depleted her sense of pride and stubborn resistance. The adrenaline of the first day had been depleted, making it harder to think logically.
"Mmmgrrmph," she muttered. This felt so good. "Can we stay this way for a little while longer, just like this?" she pleaded shyly.
Danny chuckled. "Fine by me. It's not like we have anywhere else to go."
She fiddled with the zipper on his jacket thoughtfully. "What are we going to do, Danny?" she asked, her voice quavering. She looked at him, trying to read his expression. His face had grown stubbly with the lack of a shave.
"We don't really have a choice," he pointed out. "We're riding in a speeding train that we can't stop." She felt his thumb moving slightly over her shoulder, a subtle yet involuntary caress. "We'll get out of here. I promise."
She sighed, glad for his company but not sure how to voice it. "I'll buy you that cheeseburger, when this is all over with."
"It's a date, Montana. Count me in."
--
Countless miles behind them in the crime lab, the mood was more somber, less hopeful. Mac had summoned the team for a brainstorming session about Lindsay and Danny's possible whereabouts. Four long faces sat around the conference table, gripping coffee mugs and ink pens.
"We finally have an ID on the guy seen fleeing the train station yesterday morning," Flack announced. "The name is Cory Abrams, 21, a native of New Hampshire. Chances are, he's our killer, and he knows something about what happened to Danny and Lindsay."
"We'll find him," Stella said firmly. "And once we do, he will tell us where they are. I've got a gut feeling he's involved. I'll get some answers out of him."
"We've got the arrest warrant, and we put out an APB with the highway patrols and law enforcement in every county between here and Concord," Flack offered. "It's just a matter of time."
Mac rubbed his temples, wincing. The stress was beginning to wear on him – he was in charge of running the entire department, while two of his brightest young detectives were lost and probably in danger. "How about motive?" he asked Flack. "Any idea why he would have wanted to kill Mr. Parsons?"
"Parsons was in the repossession business. Abrams apparently had a 2005 Pontiac Sunfire that was seized for default of payment, by the victim's firm, about six weeks ago. He caused a big fuss when Parsons tried to take the car, they had to call in the cops."
Mac nodded. "So he was holding a grudge, a serious one."
Flack raised a finger. "The icing on the cake is: Abrams lives with his mother, who was prescribed clonazepam by her doctor."
"The drug found in our vic's system," Hawkes realized aloud.
"We've got the motive, the witnesses, proof that he bought the chains and locks, and now the drug link," Stella said. "Until we find Danny and Lindsay, and any evidence they collected from the crime scene.. that should be enough to hold Abrams."
"If we could just find him," Mac added.
"But I still don't see the connection to Danny and Lindsay," Hawkes interjected. "Could it be kidnapping?"
Stella spoke up. "If they were kidnapped, we would have heard something by now. There would have been some sort of contact, like a ransom demand or a request for clemency." Eliminating the kidnapping theory left a much more morbid possibility on the table, but no one wanted to speak the words.
"Until we nail down Abrams, there isn't much we can do," Mac sighed. "I'm sending over Danny and Lindsay's lab coats, for the…" his voice faltered, "for the search dogs."
--
"Come on, Bruno, do your stuff. Tell me where she is, boy."
Doug Gillian was urging on his search-and-rescue trained Bloodhound, pressing a plastic wrapped lab coat under the dog's nose. He opened it just enough for Bruno to get the scent, and hopefully pick up a trail. They were one of two K-9 teams searching the train station area. It was a warm afternoon with no breeze; ideal for man trailing.
Bruno did his usual pacing, nose the ground, trying to determine this particular scent from the many others. When his tail went up, and he pulled hard on his lead, Gillian knew they were on to something.
"Let's go, buddy!" he urged the canine. Bruno led him about thirty yards down the railroad tracks, then up the bank directly to the tracks themselves. He stopped and looked up at his owner, deep brown eyes explaining that he had lost the scent, but still expected a treat. As Gillian fumbled in his pocket for a piece of beef jerky, another team joined them.
Melinda Evans and her own Bloodhound, Tessa, had followed Danny's scent to this exact spot.
Gillian frowned thoughtfully. "It's like they walked up to the tracks, and then just disappeared."
Melinda snapped her fingers. "That's it – what the dogs are trying to tell us. The reason they lost the scent is because these people boarded the train!"