The Hunt

CHAPTER 20

Before Miranda could leave the hospital, she had to see JoBeth Anderson. She had no trouble talking her way past the guard. Sometimes being Nick’s ex-girlfriend had its advantages.

JoBeth was a survivor. She wasn’t Rebecca or any of the dead girls. She was alive. More than anything, Miranda wanted her to know that she was strong and had to fight. Fight to take down the bastard who’d kidnapped her friend.

There could be clues to the Butcher’s identity locked in her head. Her unconscious head.

JoBeth lay on a gently reclined hospital bed with a white blanket pulled almost to her neck. Machines beeped softly as her heart beat in her chest. Other devices monitored her breathing. Her brain activity. Her life.

She was alive and breathing on her own, an IV in her arm hydrating her. Miranda remembered too well spending a week in the same hospital. She couldn’t wait to leave then; she didn’t want to be here now.

“Wake up,” she whispered. If they were to have a real chance of saving Ashley, JoBeth had to regain consciousness soon.

A large section of her head was covered with a thick white bandage, stark against her limp red hair. Her pale skin seemed almost translucent and Miranda wondered how much of it was from the attack and how much was her natural pallor.

“JoBeth,” Miranda said, her voice thick with unshed tears. She sat in the chair next to the girl and swallowed. She didn’t want JoBeth to perceive, through the coma, her own fear and worry. She wanted the girl to take her strength.

“Jo,” she said, her voice stronger. “My name is Miranda Moore. I don’t think we’ve met before.”

What to say? She’d never faced a living victim before. Well, that wasn’t completely true. She’d counseled rape victims, eased the fear of those lost then found, dealt with hysterical parents and worried children.

But never a victim of the Butcher. Except when she looked into the mirror.

She could do this. She had to. If anything in JoBeth’s mind could lead them to the man who’d hurt her, Miranda had to find some way to get it out. To save Ashley.

“You survived, JoBeth. You are alive. I’ve heard that people in comas can hear what’s going on around them. Focus on me, JoBeth. Focus. If you want to save Ashley’s life, focus on my words.”

Was that the right approach? Should she even tell her Ashley was in danger? What if that made things worse? What if the guilt killed her?

I survived. Sharon died.

Miranda squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath.

“I don’t know why he didn’t take you, too,” Miranda said, looking at the unconscious girl. “But you’re the lucky one. You’re the survivor. You made it this far, and you’re going to make it back to us. You have to. For Ashley. Because somewhere in that sleeping mind of yours is the key to the identity of the man who kidnapped her.”

She hadn’t forgiven herself for not remembering more about her days in captivity. For not being able to identify her attacker. The man who killed Sharon. She could hear his voice, the few times he actually spoke.

Bitch.

How do you like this?

Stay.

Run. You have two minutes.

She’d repeated those words to the investigators. To the FBI profiler. To the shrink she was forced to see. The cruel words spoken in a dull, even monotone didn’t mean anything to her. Oh, the profiler made noise that her attacker had been sexually abused by a woman as a child and was “punishing” his tormentor, but what good did that do in the investigation? Miranda didn’t know. Certainly if they had a suspect it might help. But the police had nothing. The FBI had nothing.

She’d been no help.

But maybe JoBeth would be.

Miranda sucked in a ragged breath. “JoBeth, I was the one who got away,” she whispered. “The Bozeman Butcher. I escaped. But my best friend died. Her name was Sharon and I loved her. Like a sister. I shared everything with her. I never thought-well, I never thought anything bad would happen to us. But the Butcher took us.”

Why had the Butcher not taken JoBeth? Miranda didn’t know, and Qui

“Jo, you need to come out of this daze you’re in. I know you’re in pain. I know it’ll hurt. But if you don’t wake up soon, the Butcher will kill Ashley.” Miranda swallowed. “None of this is your fault. Know that. But you need to wake up and help us. Help the police find whoever took Ashley. Before he hurts her. Before he hunts her.”

Nothing. No movement, nothing to tell Miranda that JoBeth had heard a word she’d said. Miranda squeezed her hand, rested her forehead on the bed, and took a deep breath.

She had a job to do. A woman to find. Before it was too late.

After a moment, she stood, stronger and with purpose. She touched JoBeth’s shoulder and said, “You get better, Jo. Promise me, get well. I’ll be back to talk to you. Maybe tonight, but definitely tomorrow morning, okay?”

She didn’t expect an answer. She didn’t get one.

Qui

Nick turned and went back into the building while the reporters hurled questions at his retreating back.

Qui

“What happened?” he asked as he poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot on Nick’s sideboard.

Nick grunted. “Hell if I know, but there’s someone from CNN calling up the public relations officer wanting an interview, and that guy from America’s Most Wanted wants to come out this weekend to film a segment on the Butcher.”

“It couldn’t hurt. Those shows get a lot of attention.” Though by the time the show aired in seven to ten days, Ashley would be dead.

Nick stared at him. “Have you seen the paper this morning?”

“No.”

Nick tossed him the front section.

The headline screamed: Butcher Strikes Again .

“How’d he get it in?”

“Stopped the presses? I don’t know. Most of the story could have been written before Ashley van Auden disappeared, though. Only the first and last paragraphs are related to her.” Nick paused, drummed his fingers on his desk. “Did you talk to Banks?”

Qui

“What did you tell him?”

“Nothing important.” Qui

“Read on.”

Qui

Banks also blasted the Sheriff’s Department and Nick in particular: One anonymous source close to the investigation said, “The Sheriff’s Department has mishandled this case from the begi