ROCKY MOUNTAIN RESCUE Read Online Free PDF Page B

left, shards stinging the side of his face. The man tossed the boy into the backseat of the car and dived in after him and they took off, tires squealing.
    Patrick fired, aiming for the vehicle’s tires, but the car raced away too fast. Breathing hard, blood running down his face, he stared after the kidnappers, trying to make out the license plate number or any identifying marks on the car. But the plate had been obscured with mud, and the car was like a hundred other sedans in the city.
    Heart pounding, he raced to Stacy’s room. “Stacy?” he called when he reached the open doorway.
    The silence that greeted him turned his blood to ice. He groped for the light switch and light illuminated chaos. The covers lay in a tangle, half off the bed, and a chair and a lamp were overturned.
    “Stacy!” he called again. “It’s me, Patrick Thompson. Are you all right?”
    A whimper drew him to the bathroom. Weapon at the ready, he advanced toward the room. The overhead light glowed harsh on white tile and porcelain. He leaned into the doorway and found Stacy in the shower, fully clothed but slumped against the tile, blood running from a gash above her left eye. She moaned as he knelt beside her. “Stacy, can you hear me?”
    She opened her eyes and stared at him, her expression blank. He knew the moment memory of all that had happened returned. Her eyes filled with tears and she struggled to stand. “Carlo! They’ve got Carlo!” she gasped, her voice ragged with terror and pain.
    Patrick urged her back into a sitting position. “Tell me exactly what happened,” he said.
    “You have to go after them!” She gripped his arm, fingers digging painfully into his skin. “You have to get Carlo.”
    He gently pried her hand off his arm and cradled it in his own. Her fingers were ice-cold. “They drove away in a car,” he said. “I promise I’ll do everything I can to track them down, but I need your help. The more you can tell me, the more I’ll have to use in my search.”
    The devastation in her eyes touched him. Gone was the cold, uncooperative woman he’d interviewed at the police station. Now she was a mother grieving for her child. She slipped her hand from his grasp and touched the cut on her head. “He hit me with the butt of his pistol.”
    Patrick found a washcloth and wet it from the tap, then pressed it against the gash. “Who was he? Did you recognize him?”
    “No. I’m sure I never saw him before in my life. But he knew who I was. He called me Mrs. Giardino, and called Carlo by name, too.”
    “And you’re sure you didn’t know him?”
    “Nothing about him was familiar, but it was dark and I was asleep when they burst in. Everything happened so fast.” She slid her hand under his and took the washcloth. “What are you doing here? When did you get here?”
    “I followed you here last night. I’m in the room next door.”
    “You were spying on me.” Her eyes flashed with accusation—but that was better than the despair that had filled them seconds earlier.
    “You ran away,” he said. “I wanted to see where you were going. Who you talked to.”
    “How did you know where to find me? I didn’t see anyone I knew....”
    “Your phone gives off a tracking signal even when it’s off.” He sat back on his heels and studied her for signs she might be going into shock. But color was returning to her cheeks and she seemed more alert. “I’m surprised Sam Giardino let you have a standard phone like that.”
    “The men used throwaway phones, mostly, but they didn’t care about the women. We weren’t important enough for anyone to be concerned about where we were.”
    He took out his own phone. “I’ll call the local police. They can put out an AMBER Alert. We might be able to stop them before they get very far.”
    “No!” She clutched at his arm again. “No police. He said if the police came after them they’d kill Carlo.”
    “If the police get to them quickly enough they won’t have