Zeb Carter ran on the Via de Las Olas, a curving road in the Pacific Palisades in Los Angeles. To his left was the Pacific Ocean, jet black at one am in the morning. To his right were residential neighborhoods, mostly upmarket homes with large gates, security systems and in some cases, private guards. Nestled between the Santa Monica Mountains and the ocean, neighboring Malibu and Topanga, it offered spectacular views, hiking trails and some of the finest restaurants in the city. Bwana had insisted they stay there.
‘I’m still growing,’ he had rumbled as he rubbed his belly. The mountains and the remoteness from Central Los Angeles had appealed to Zeb and when the others agreed, Meghan had gone ahead and booked them into a boutique hotel.
They had come to the city to lend their support to Cutter Grogan, their friend, who wasn’t part of the Agency, but was family. He’s out there, Zeb glanced behind him in the darkness as if he could see beyond the mountains to the city where his friend was tracking down a killer who had murdered his friends.
Cutter didn’t know they were in town. He was a loner and preferred to act on his own. We too needed a break. Our last mission was exhausting. Zeb slowed down as he reached the wooden fence planted in the middle of the road where it deteriorated and turned into a dirt track. He looked quizzically at a fancy car that was parked all by itself. I guess those vehicles are safe on the road in such a neighborhood.
He carried on running, feet moving easily on the uneven ground which was illuminated dimly by the distant street lighting and the faint glow of the city.
He was one with the night, breathing easily, the beast quiet and resting within him, as he enjoyed the solitude. He ran past a curve in the track and towards a bluff that had a thick cluster of trees and bushes.
He could hear the waves crashing down below. At the bottom of the steep cliff was the highway. Over one hundred and forty miles of road that hugged the state’s coastline from Monterey in the north to Morro Bay in the south, a drive that made humans feel insignificant and inconsequential in the presence of nature. He had taken only a few steps forward toward the cliff’s edge, when he heard it.
A scuffle.
He whirled and crouched, his hand reaching automatically for his shoulder-holstered Glock beneath his half-zipped jacket. No one approaching him. He listened again and heard only relentless ocean.
He shrugged.
He turned again and then froze when he heard it again. This time, accompanied by a feminine voice.
It’s coming from there, he peered at a thicket of bushes. He went to the undergrowth, rolling his feet automatically to distribute his weight so that twigs and dry leaves didn’t crackle beneath him.
‘No! Please.’
There was no mistaking the words.
‘HEY!’ He called out as he broke into a sprint. ‘WHO’S THERE?’
Something moved in the bushes and before he could get out of the way, a figure broke out and slammed into him hard. He went down, wrapped his fist around a Tee, dimly glimpsed a man’s face, saw the punch coming and ducked just in time. The stranger cursed and heaved himself up, kicked him in the ribs and fled.
‘STOP!’ Zeb yelled and made to give chase when a whimper sounded from the bushes. He moved forward cautiously, parted the branches with his left hand, his right near his jacket for an easy draw.
A sob. He sucked his breath sharply when he saw her. A woman sprawled on the ground, her black dress rucked up to her waist, one arm around her eyes.
‘Ma’am,’ he asked softly. ‘How badly are you hurt?’
An engine roared in the distance and the thicket was lit up momentarily by twin beams of light before the vehicle turned and sped away. That must be that car. There was no time to think about the escaping man, however. He brought out his cell phone and turned on its flashlight. Played it over the woman’s face. His lips tightened and the beast stirred when he spotted the bruises on her face and arms. Her eyes! They were dull, vacant, as if she were drugged.
‘Ma’am,’ he spoke to her, not knowing if she could comprehend. ‘I’m calling the cops.’
She moaned and shifted on the ground. ‘Brad, don’t. Please.’
Zeb stilled when he heard the name. ‘Was that him?’ he asked urgently. ‘Brad?’
She didn’t reply. Continued to look into the distance with those glazed eyes.
‘We’ll find him, ma’am,’ he pulled down the dress around her legs and dialed 911.
‘I’m reporting a rape.’
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