Killing Hour - Lisa Gardner [72]
They made their way back to the front door, where the blue sky already stretched bright and hot beyond the glass. “That wasn’t so good,” Mac said, pausing before the entranceway. He seemed to be bracing himself for leaving the cool comfort of air-conditioning behind and bursting once more into the heat.
“We have a start,” Kimberly said firmly. “All signs point to the Shenandoah National Park.”
“Yes, all eighty thousand acres. You’re right, we should find this girl in no time at all.” He shook his head in disgust. “We need choppers. Hell, we need search-and-rescue, the National Guard, and about half a dozen dogs. This poor woman . . .”
“I know,” Kimberly said quietly.
“It doesn’t seem fair, does it? A kidnap victim deserves all the help in the world. And instead . . .”
“She’s only going to get us.”
He nodded and the lines of frustration etched into his dark face almost made her reach out her hand. She wondered who that sort of unsolicited contact would shock more—her or him?
“We need supplies,” Mac said. “Then we’d better hit the road. It’s a long drive to Shenandoah, particularly when we don’t know where we’re going yet.”
“We’re going to find her,” Kimberly said.
“We need more information. Damn, why didn’t I just take that rock?”
“Because that would’ve been crossing the line. The leaf had already been mishandled by the ME. The rock, on the other hand . . .”
“Has been properly bagged and tagged and even now is wasting away in some crime lab,” Mac finished bitterly.
“We’re going to find her,” Kimberly said again.
He finally stilled in front of the glass door. His blue eyes were still dark, fired by frustration. For just a moment, however, the look on his face softened. “Earnest Kimberly,” he whispered.
“Yes.”
“I hope you’re right.” He glanced at his watch. “Ten A.M.,” he said softly, then abruptly pushed through the heavy door. “And boy, is it getting hot.”
Tina woke up slowly, becoming aware of two things at once: a deep, wracking thirst that had left her tongue swollen and cottony in her mouth and the incessant sound of buzzing around her head.
She opened her eyes, but couldn’t see a thing through the thick tangle of blond hair, now glued uncomfortably to her sweat-slicked face. She roughly pushed back the long strands, only to encounter a fuzzy black haze. And then, abruptly, she knew what that buzzing was.
Tina leapt to her feet, already waving her arms frantically while a scream built in her throat. Mosquitoes. She was covered, head to toe, with hundreds of swarming, buzzing, biting mosquitoes.
Malaria, she thought instantly. The West Nile Virus. Hell, the bubonic plague, as far as she was concerned. She had never seen so many bugs, fluttering in her hair, sinking their hungry mouths into her skin. Oh God, oh God, oh God.
Her feet landed in mud, her three-inch-high platform sandals immediately sinking into the watery marsh. She had a faint sensation of cool relief as the mud hit her toes, then she made the mistake of looking down and this time she did scream. Right there, slithering by her ankle in the muck, went a long black snake.
Tina scrambled quickly back onto the rock that had apparently been her perch. The mosquitoes swarmed hungrily. And now she could see other hunters as well. Yellow flies, gnats, buzzing creatures of all sorts and sizes. They swarmed her head and shoulders, seeking the unprotected skin of her throat, the corners of her mouth, and the whites of her eyes. Fresh welts rose on her ears, her eyelids, her cheeks. Her legs were covered in red marks, some still oozing fresh blood as more mosquitoes were drawn to the scent. She started clapping her hands. Then she slapped them against her entire body.
“Die, die, die,” she gasped. And they did. She felt plump, overfed bodies explode between her fingers, staining her palms with her own blood as she took out dozens. Then hundreds more insects swooped in to take their place,