the lot.
Dale leaned close to her. “So what now?”
They would end up getting the same footage as the other station when the police chief made his statement. Since Zachery Beck had stolen her thunder by getting the eyewitness report, she had to find an angle no one else had.
She peered at the faces in the crowd. Sometimes the arsonist showed up to watch the reaction to his work. A large man in a pulled-down baseball hat toward the back of the crowd raised and lowered his head. He’d looked at her only for an instant, but she thought she’d caught a flash of some emotion.
She edged toward him.
The man took a step back, turned and walked away. The darkness behind the warehouse enveloped him. Had she caught a look of guilt on his face, or was she just so desperate for a story angle, she was jumping to conclusions? Maybe he was involved, or it could be that the guy knew something but was afraid to talk. She couldn’t call herself a real reporter if she didn’t pursue a lead, even a tentative one. She glanced around for Dale, who was filming the firemen working. No time to catch his attention.
Feeling a mixture of fear and excitement, she slipped away from the crowd toward the darkness where the man in the baseball hat had disappeared.
* * *
Zachery glanced around. Where had Elizabeth gone? He’d seen her doing her broadcast only a moment ago. She was a good reporter. Way better on camera than he’d ever been. He might be good at finding the stories, but she was great at delivering them.
He watched her every night. Not that he would tell her that, though. He kind of enjoyed their friendly professional jousting. He couldn’t believe he’d let it slip he knew about her beauty queen days. It wasn’t on the official profile the TV station posted on their website—he’d had to go digging for the information. Wanting to find out more about her was only partially motivated by the know-your-competition rule he’d learned in journalism school. He found her intriguing. She treated every news story like she had a personal stake in it.
He pulled away from the crowd of police officers. The firemen had nearly gotten the blaze under control.
“Don’t forget about hoops on Friday,” one of the firemen shouted at his back.
“Yeah, sure.” Who would have thought that playing basketball with the first responders would give him an in? They answered his phone calls and gave him inside info even when they were on the way to an emergency.
“See you then, Beck,” said one of the other men.
He was still having trouble getting used to responding to a last name that wasn’t his. He didn’t enjoy the deception, but it was the only way he could go back to living a normal life.
Over a year ago, he’d been reporting on the fighting in Syria when he was taken hostage by terrorists. Once he was released and back in the States, a lot of media attention had been directed his way. He wanted to cover the stories, not be the story. So he left Baltimore and came to Montana. Now he reported small-town news in a part of the world where it was easy enough to hide who he’d been. He didn’t care where he lived as long as he could write and not have people asking him personal questions.
Zachery glanced back toward the crowd. His story was already wrapped up and posted by the time the other reporters were showing up. The only one who’d come close to being able to keep up with him was Elizabeth. Yet another thing he admired about her. But though he thought she was pretty and smart, he couldn’t see their relationship getting beyond fun, professional competitiveness. Something about her demeanor suggested she was all about work. She had an aloofness to her he couldn’t decipher.
What did it matter? After all the terror of his hostage experience, and then the ugly furor of the media frenzy, he needed time to put himself back together before he even thought of trying for some romance in his life.
He loved his job, and working to beat the pretty redhead to a story made him a better reporter. It was good for both of them, iron sharpening iron. Another news truck pulled into the lot, and Elizabeth’s cameraman turned his attention to filming the police chief while he made his public statement.
Zach watched as a man in a hat disappeared around the corner of the building. A moment later, Elizabeth followed him.
A shiver, which had nothing to do with the night chill, ran over Zach’s skin. Chalk it up to having spent so much time in war zones; his instincts for knowing when bad things were about to happen were finely honed. It wasn’t a cognitive thing. His gut told him when danger was close. Right now, he didn’t like the way his stomach clenched when Elizabeth disappeared around the corner of that building.
He shoved his phone in his pocket and dashed toward the shadowed darkness where Elizabeth had gone.
The illumination from the streetlights didn’t reach to the back of the warehouse. Elizabeth’s eyes probed the dark corners, trying to spot the man in the hat. Running wasn’t always an indication of guilt, but her journalist curiosity wouldn’t rest until she was sure the man was just an innocent bystander.
Her foot hit something hard and metal, sending a sharp pain up her leg. She stopped for a moment, pulled out her phone and switched on the flashlight at the end. The place looked like some sort of automobile graveyard. Piles of tires, bent metal and rusted-out cars populated the field.
She aimed the flashlight into the shadows. No sign or sound of the man anywhere. She would have seen him if he’d headed toward the well-lit street a hundred yards away, so he had to be here somewhere.
“Hey, I want to talk to you.” The waver in her voice gave away her fear. She stepped farther from the warehouse, shining the light all around. The sounds of the firefighters faded. Her pulse drummed in her ears.
What was she doing out here anyway? She couldn’t waste any more time. She turned to head back to civilization when the creak of metal caught her attention. Her heart pounded against her rib cage.
“Hey,” she said, edging toward where the noise had come from. “I just want to talk to you. Did you see something to do with the fire?”
Gravel crunched beneath her feet. Lifting her arm, she aimed the light at the shell of a car.
A hand went over her mouth. The smell of gasoline and dirt filled her nostrils.
Adrenaline shot through her body. She fought to twist free of her captor as memories of the assault she’d lived through in college bombarded her. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t see.
His arms were like iron around her waist as he pulled her through the field. She couldn’t scream. She couldn’t get away. She feared she might faint. How could this be happening again?
She dragged her feet.
“Stop it.” His breath was like hot lava on her skin. He pressed his mouth close to her ear. “I have a gun. Come with me or die.”
Oh, please, dear God, no.
She took in a breath as she struggled to clear her head and get beyond the terror. Not only was her life in danger, her mind was drowning in the violent memories from ten years ago. But fighting back
