Want You (A Rylie Wolf FBI Suspense Thriller—Book Four)

PROLOGUE Lottie Jones was having a really hard night. The second she’d caught her boyfriend, George—now her ex-boyfriend—in their bed with another hussy from his favorite watering hole, the Rusty Nail, she’d walked out, fully intending to never look back. Rotten bastard. That had been the second time in as many months that he’d cheated, and she was determined to make sure there wasn’t a third. Fool me once… Now, as she walked along the shoulder of Interstate 86, all of her belongings—at least, she thought it was all of them, but she’d been in too much of a rush, tripping through their bedroom in the dark—in a backpack slung over her shoulder, she decided this was for the best. George was holding her back. She’d wanted him to take her east. Begged him, especially when she heard of all the opportunities in Indiana for good waitresses. That was what her friend Millie had told her when she’d called Lottie from Indianapolis. There were opportunities everywhere, it seemed—a labor shortage. Now, she had the chance to make some serious money and get a better place than that old, broken-down trailer. So what if she didn’t have the car? The money? A place to stay? Anything was better than being with that two-timer. She’d sleep in a tree to get away from him. As she walked, her phone lit up with a text. Funny, she hadn’t expected there’d be reception out here in the middle of nowhere. Baby, come home. She snorted. Right. It was after two in the morning, and she was exhausted after a long shift at the Waffle House. But she’d walk over hot coals to get away from that jerk. She was that determined now. Baby, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. Yeah. That’s what he’d said the last time. She opened up her phone, deleted the messages, blocked him, and scrubbed his number and picture from her phone, feeling powerful for the first time. She regretted the fact that even though she’d deleted his number, she still had it committed to memory. But she guessed it served her right, for wasting five years of her life with him. That’s a useless bit of information to have. Because I’m never calling or texting him again, she thought, turning her phone off. It was almost dead, and she needed to save the battery for important things. Just in case. Headlights shone behind her, painting a long, thin shadow of her form on the gravel shoulder ahead. Not many people out at this hour of night, and even fewer willing to pick up a hitchhiker on this road, nicknamed the Highway Thru Hell. It was desolate, for sure, so barren and impossibly large, with only the occasional run-down, one-horse town. People who lived in this area of the world, at best, wanted to be left alone, and at worst, harbored some deep-seated resentment of others. Left to fester long enough, that turned into rage, and sometimes violence. Lottie didn’t care much about the rumors of murders and kidnappings along this road—as far as she was concerned, the Highway Thru Hell led right to George’s doorstep. Anything was better than that. She spun, squinting in the bright, square headlights coming near, and jogged backwards in her cowboy boots and short skirt, sticking her thumb out. The vehicle, a family SUV, whizzed by without stopping. “Screw you, can’t help a girl in need, huh?” she snarled, shaking a fist at the red taillights as they sped away from her. California plates, of course. Losers. A few steps later, a sign appeared on the side of the road. BEARMOUTH REST AREA 5 MILES. She groaned. She’d already been walking for what felt like ages. Five miles? Would she even make it? And what would be there when she got there? Bearmouth wasn’t exactly a thriving center of industry. She’d likely find nothing more than crappy coffee and a hard bench to spend the night on. Hooray. Her forty-year-old bones ached at the thought. For the first time, she felt a pang of regret. Maybe I should’ve given him another chance. No. No, this was right. She needed to stick to her guns. Someone would come along eventually. She had a few dollars in her purse, from that evening’s tips. Maybe someone would drive her all the way out to the next motel. Or even just let her sleep in the passenger seat. She had to keep going, had to get as far away from George as she could, until the option of turning around wasn’t possible. It was just as she’d resolved to do so that the headlights of another car appeared behind her. She spun, and, as before, extended her arm, holding her thumb out so it wouldn’t be missed. It was a small car, a sportscar, headlights low to the ground. At first, she thought it’d just speed right past her. But before it did, it suddenly slowed, then the brake lights went on, and it pulled to the shoulder up ahead. She pumped her fist in celebration and ran to catch up to the car. She wasn’t one to know the models and makes, but it was an old-model car, blue. Nice. She imagined the person who drove it must collect them. The passenger-side window was half-down, and she ducked to peer inside. “Hey, baby. You goin’ somewhere?” a gravelly voice said. The cabin was dark, but it didn’t take much to tell that this man was an utter creep. His face was cloaked in shadow, so all she could see were two thick hands gripping the steering wheel. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she knew they were leering at her. “Uh…” she stammered. Better than nothing. She could at least get a ride to the next stop. “Yes, I was looking for a ride up to the next exit.” “That all?” She put a hand on the metal door handle. “Well… we’ll see. How far are you going?” He chuckled, low. “I’m goin’ all the way. I think you should come, too.” Her stomach turned. s*x jokes already. She straightened and looked down the road, just as another car went past. During her years working at the diner, she’d learned to spot a creep. And this one was Grade A. All sorts of red flags were going up. He reached over to open the door for her. “Come on in, baby. Keep me company. It’s getting cold out there. You need someone to keep you warm?” She stepped back. “On second thought, I think I’ll just keep walking.” “I scared you away, huh?” He laughed. He found this funny? Bastard. Just like George, always laughing at the wrong things. “Yeah, you did.” She waved at him. “Thanks, but no thanks.” He simply shrugged, straightened behind the wheel, shifted into drive, and took off. She stood there, watching his taillights disappear around a bend, and sighed. If he’d really been one of those kidnappers or murderers, he probably wouldn’t have given up so easily. And now here she was, completely out of luck. Lottie turned and searched down the stretch of road, desperately willing another car to come by. Her cowboy boots were well broken in—she’d had them since high school—but it didn’t help. Her feet ached more than ever. And now, even worse, she had to pee. She hadn’t thought about that particular problem until just now. Scanning the area, she sighed. She couldn’t just drop trousers on the shoulder. With her luck, that would be when a whole slew of cars came down the highway, catching her in the act. So Lottie went to the very edge of the road and peered into the darkness, over a low fence. It seemed fairly level there. A field. Hopefully there’d be no bears or bison or wolves to bother her. She could just go a few yards out, crouch in the grass, and get it over with. A minute, tops. Taking a deep breath, she straddled the fence. It was quite a bit steeper than she’d thought, and the soles of her boots were worn flat, so she stumbled and slid down a sharp embankment as she made her way in the darkness on the other side. The moonlight illuminated the tall grass, which slapped at her bare knees. After a few feet, she stopped, pulled her underwear down, crouched, and relieved herself. When she was done, she pulled up her panties and started back toward the road, noticing a more level path in the moonlight. She took that one instead. But as she neared the road, she saw something glowing in the moonlight. It looked like the shining mane of a white horse, lying motionless on its side. As she neared it, though, she saw other features. Human features. A n***d leg. An arm. A face. It was a girl, lying on her back, her blonde hair splayed out around her, legs and arms unnaturally posed. She’d been dumped there, and she was undoubtedly dead. Lottie let out a little scream, her knees buckling as she hurried to make the rest of the trip back to the road. And then Lottie did the only thing she could think to do. She turned on her phone and called that bastard, George.