Midnight Abduction

by Nichole Severn

  “Please don’t be dead,” a small voice said.

  Every cell in her body stilled, only the sound of a low humming audible over her uneven heartbeat. Ana struggled to open her eyes, met with only more darkness. Not a hospital. Tugging at her wrists, she battled gravity and a headache to pull her head off the floor of wherever she’d ended up. The floor underneath her was cold, but she wasn’t alone. She could barely make out the shape of a small outline resting across her midsection. Her head fell back to the floor. The weight on her chest wasn’t from an elephant. “I’m not dead. Are you?”

  “No.” The boy’s voice shook. “But I’m cold and my tummy hurts. And I want to go home.”

  “My name is Ana.” Relief coursed through her. He was alive. She’d found him. She pulled at the zip ties securing her wrists and ankles. Where the hell were they? Flashes of memory ignited in the front of her mind. The explosion had knocked her face-first onto the floor. There’d been water pounding down on her back, but over that, she’d heard footsteps. Then he’d been standing over her. The man who’d shoved her through the window at the safe house. Her head throbbed. He must’ve taken her from Claire Winston’s basement somehow and brought her here. Wherever here was. Barely making out a row of shelving beside her as her vision adjusted, she swallowed the chemical burn at the back of her throat. Industrial cleaner? “Your daddy sent me to find you, Owen.”

  A combination of excitement and hope bled into his voice. “You know my dad?”

  “Yeah.” She nodded but wasn’t sure he could even see the motion. “We’re friends. He’s been worried this entire time you’ve been gone, so he called me and asked me to help find you. I’m here to take you home.”

  Pain arced through her as the six-year-old tablet enthusiast with a pension for stealing cookies in the middle of the night pressed his hands into her side to sit up. “How are you going to do that with your hands and feet tied?”

  “That’s a good question.” No windows. A slight hint of humidity in the air, like a basement. Bare cement bit into her elbows as she shifted enough to sit up against the metal shelving. There had to be something—anything—she could use to break these ties and figure out where their kidnapper had brought them. In an instant Owen had curled back into her side. If her hands had been restrained in front, she would’ve captured him inside the circle of her arms. But the best she could do was set her cheek against the top of his head. The odor of gasoline and dirt in his hair chased back the smell. “I don’t know yet, but I’m sure we can figure something out. As long as we’re together, we’ll be okay. I promise.”

  Short hair bristled against her Kevlar vest, and she imagined he was nodding, but the tremors rolling through him said he didn’t have much time. The boy was alive, but she had no idea what kind of circumstances he’d been held, if he’d been given food and water, been able to sleep. Setting her head back against the metal shelves, she stared up at the blackness above them. First things first, she had to get out of these ties, but she needed his help. She thought back to what Benning had told her about his son. “Okay, Owen, I need you to stay awake as long as you can, okay? Because we’re going to play a game.”

  “What game?” he asked.

  She had to keep him talking, keep him moving, before the cold set in too deep, and he stopped fighting. “How about a treasure hunt? Do you like those?” He nodded against her vest again. “Great. First piece of treasure we need to find is my flashlight. Do you see where it’s attached on my vest?”

  In less than two breaths, he detached the flashlight and hit the power button. Bright light punctured through the blackness surrounding them, and for the first time, she was able to see him clearly. Dark smudges across his features highlighted crystal-clear blue eyes. Just like his father’s. “I found it.”

  With one look this sweet boy had reminded her how tightly closed in on herself she’d become over the years—since Samantha Perry’s body had been found—and how very exhausting it was to keep going. Cut off from everyone around her. There, but never committed. She’d been living, surviving by giving her body the basic needs that would keep it going, ensuring everyone she’d been assigned to find got their happily-ever-after, but that wasn’t a life. Benning was right. She deserved more. She wanted more. She wanted...something for herself. Benning had tapped into the things she’d tried burying and exposed them for the world to see, and there’d been a sort of freedom in that. He’d broken her open and shown her what could be. What they could be. Together. If she only had the courage to give up her shot at redemption. But how long—how many lives—would it take to achieve it? How long did she expect to play hero without knowing an exact number of victims she would have to bring home to their families while she put off the chance of having a life of her own?

  Ana studied Benning’s son in the castoff from the flashlight’s beam. There was a hole in the sleeve of his pajama shirt and not much color in his face, but otherwise he seemed unharmed, and that was what mattered. Tears burned in her eyes as pride transformed his features from hopeless to excitement. “Great work. You’re really good at this game.”

  “What’s next?” The tremors tensing his small muscles hadn’t abated, even with him tucked into her side. Her breath materialized on the air. He’d been taken from his home—from Benning—in the middle of the night in his pajamas. No coat. No socks. Nothing to keep his body from dropping into hypothermia while he’d been held. They had to get out of here. Now. Before his organs started shutting down.

  “Okay. Now we need to find something that can cut through these ties on my hands and feet. Shine the light over here.” She pressed her heels into the floor to sit higher and twisted her head around to search the shelves. The flashlight beam wavered over the shelves filled with cleaning supplies, rolls of toilet paper, cleaning rags and paper towels for steel bathroom dispensers. No tools. Nothing that could cut through plastic. “I don’t see anything, but that doesn’t mean we’ve failed. Here, move over here. I don’t want to accidentally hit you.”

  He did as asked, bringing the light back to her as she rocked forward onto her knees and stood. Increasing the tension between her wrists, she bent forward slightly, then slammed her wrists against her lower back. Plastic cut into her skin, and she bit back a groan and tried again. Taking a deep breath, she kept her gaze on Owen’s. If she couldn’t get out of here, they were both going to die. Ana closed her eyes and slammed her wrists down one more time. Her arms shot out to the sides as the zip tie fell away.

  “Whoa!” Owen’s eyes widened in delight. “How did you do that?”

  “My three older brothers made sure I knew how to escape any kind of situation when I was younger.” Her stomach clenched as she thought back to the countless hours they’d spent in their family basement practicing escape tactics, and the reason why, but all of it had paid off. In this moment. Dropping into a fast squat, she smiled as the ties around her ankles snapped and she handed the plastic to Owen. “After we get you home, I’ll teach you.”

  “Cool.” He took the zip ties, then handed her the flashlight. “I’m going to tie up my sister and see how long it takes her to get out. She’s always hiding my stuff in our fort.”

  “Yeah. I’ve been on the receiving end of that. Here, put these on.” She pulled off her windbreaker, followed by the Kevlar vest, and unlaced her shoes to get to her socks. If it hadn’t been for Olivia’s interception of Harold Wood’s skull, they never would’ve connected Owen’s kidnapping to Claire Winston. Although, it would’ve been nice to have known she’d taken it in the first place. Ana handed over her socks and helped Owen with the oversize windbreaker. Strapping her vest back into place, she ignored the slight chill on the air and tunneling deep into her bones. She’d give him everything she was wearing to ensure his body temperature came back up, but the best thing she could do for both of them right now was get the hell out of here. Ana used the flashlight to search the rest of the room. Shelv
es stocked with cleaning supplies, a few mops, brooms, a single drain in the center of the floor and a rolling bucket. It was a janitor’s closet. But where? She tested the doorknob. Locked. But had she expected any differently? A large vent rained dust down from overhead as the air kicked on. “Here, hold the flashlight and point it toward this vent.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because I’m getting you out of here.” Dragging the mop bucket from the corner, she centered it beneath the vent. She balanced on the cheap plastic, the bottom of the bucket threatening to cave in from her weight, and she stretched slowly toward the ceiling. Swiping her fingers along the edges, she found the single screw in each corner but couldn’t get any of them to turn. Disbelief pierced through the small amount of hope that’d surfaced. The vent had been welded shut, and unless she found something to carve out the sealed edge, they were trapped. For as long as their kidnapper wanted.

  The door swung open.

  Ana jumped from the bucket, maneuvering herself in front of Owen as the man in the ski mask centered himself underneath the door frame. Her heart pounded loud behind her ears, every breath still strangled from the pressure of her cracked rib. “You.”

  “I was getting worried I’d packed too much explosive into the device under Harold Wood’s remains.” Pulling his gloves from his hands, the man in the mask widened his stance, as though expecting a challenge. “Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t want anyone to find him in Claire’s basement or the skull behind that wall, Agent Ramirez, but I’m coming to realize it’s going to take more than a window and a bomb to shake you from this case. But you’ve always been that way, haven’t you? Like a pit bull with a bone. You just couldn’t let it go, and well, neither could I. Now, here we are.”

  She pushed Owen behind her, ready to fight the bastard for however long it took to give the boy a chance to run. “What do you want?”

  “The same thing I’ve wanted from the beginning.” Their abductor reached for the mask covering his head and pulled the fabric free, and shock coursed through her as recognition flared. He closed the door behind him, closing off their only chance of escape. “To finish what I started.”

  * * *

  THE FOOTPRINTS VANISHED once Benning reached the road. The SOB who’d taken his son could’ve gone anywhere, could’ve had a car waiting, or been working with Claire Winston this entire time. One person to recover the skull, one to keep watch on Owen. Hell. He clutched the camera he’d taken from the tractor shed and spun around to search for a sign of where the bastard might’ve gone. The signal on a device like this couldn’t have reached far. It wasn’t powerful enough. The kidnapper would’ve had to remain within a few blocks, maybe a mile, in order to access the surveillance feed. Damn it. That still left a lot of options. Too many. “Come on.”

  There had to be something he could use, but the spatters of blood had ended at the edge of the pavement. Right along with the trail. Agent Duran had said the body in the hole in Claire Winston’s basement had belonged to Samantha Perry’s killer. Could she have been involved from the start? In an effort to find Samantha some semblance of justice, had it been Claire’s plan to leverage Benning’s son, in return for the evidence she’d committed murder? He searched every loose piece of gravel under his boots, every tire tread imprinted in slush along the side of the road. Nothing. Ana and Owen were gone.

  Branches swayed behind him on a strong gust of wind. He was a building inspector. Tracking killers and missing persons? This wasn’t his world. He hadn’t been trained for this, and that inexperience would keep him from finding two of the most important people in his life, but he couldn’t give up. Not when Ana had finally come back into his life, when everything had started falling into place and they were so close to finding his son.

  His stomach soured. He’d asked her to give up the only chance she had of forgiving herself for the sake of the twins, but faced with the possibility of losing her, of losing Owen, he knew he hadn’t been thinking of anyone but himself. He’d asked her to sacrifice a significant part of her life in order to protect himself from getting hurt again. Damn it. He’d been an idiot. Ana wasn’t just an agent. Helping those who couldn’t help themselves made her into the woman he’d fallen in love with. Now she was gone. They had a real chance to make this work between them and the twins, but that wasn’t going to happen if he couldn’t get to her to tell her the truth. Guns, blood, fear... This was her world, but he’d become part of it the second he’d removed Harold Wood’s skull from that construction site. He’d fallen in love with a dangerous woman determined to go to the ends of the earth to ensure he and his kids made it out alive, and he couldn’t leave her out there alone. Benning curled his fingers around the camera in his palm. He was the one who’d put Owen and Olivia in danger in the first place and brought Ana into the investigation. He’d started this. He was sure as hell going to finish it. “Think, damn it.”

  All of this tied back to that case from seven years ago, and while he hadn’t been involved, there’d been enough in the news and from conversations between him and Ana for him to fill in a timeline. Harold Wood had been a model employee at Sevier County High School where both Samantha Perry and Claire Winston attended. Samantha had been well liked, a favorite of her teachers, a fast learner and dedicated to achieving valedictorian during her senior year. The perfect target. According to her best friend, Samantha could become friends with anyone, made sure to smile at the kids who sat alone at lunch, as well as the janitor who kept to himself most of the time. Harold Wood. Claire’s statement after Samantha had gone missing had gone public after the girl’s body had been found in that alley in Knoxville. Benning studied the spot where the footprints ended. What had she said? He closed his eyes. The girls had been halfway home in Claire’s car when Samantha realized she’d forgotten a textbook she needed in order to study for a test the next day. Claire had driven them back and waited in the parking lot, but after more than thirty minutes, she went in to look for her friend. And never found her.

  Goose bumps rose along his arms as another gust shuddered through the trees. He opened his eyes. The school. That was where all of this started that day seven years ago, and that was where it would end. He was sure of it. This entire investigation had linked back to Samantha Perry’s disappearance, and the school would be within signal range to stream the footage from the camera in his hand. Whoever was behind this—whoever’d taken his son—would be there.

  He jogged east down the long, winding road in the direction of the high school despite the pain arcing through his shoulder. He wouldn’t give up on Ana. Not a chance in hell. Because when it came right down to it, she wouldn’t give up on him or his family. She hadn’t shared her secrets with anyone. Not her team. Not her boss. Only him. She’d punished herself for failing to bring down a killer—had walked out on him because of it—but he would spend the rest of his life trying to help her work through that pain to lighten her burden. As long as it took. She’d dedicated her life to taking care of so many others, always putting everyone else’s needs ahead of her own, and it hadn’t been fair of him to ask her to give that up. This was his chance to take care of her, to make it right. He didn’t know what the future held for them—if they had one at all—but he’d sure as hell give it everything he had. Whether that meant him and the kids driving to Knoxville to see her or her coming to visit between cases, it didn’t matter. As long as they were together.

  Because he loved her.

  The past didn’t matter. He wanted her present, her future. Anything she would give him, Owen, Olivia and he would take. She’d been missing from his life for too long, had taken a piece of his soul with her when she’d run, and he had a chance to get it all back. He’d already lost her once. He wasn’t going to let it happen again. “I’m coming, baby.”

  His muscles protested as he pushed himself harder. The large white dome over the main building had been buried beneath several inches of snow, the ground
s pure white. There were still a few cars in the main parking lot, and too many footprints for him to isolate the ones he’d followed from that tractor shed. Despite the personal nightmare tearing apart his family’s life, students were still living out their lives by trying to survive math class. However, after more than one hundred school shootings across the country in the past year alone, security measures wouldn’t allow anyone in the building without checking in with the office first. And police would’ve already been on location if the bastard had been dragging Owen behind him. So the man in the ski mask had to have gotten inside another way. Jogging along the east side of the structure, Benning kept his back to the light reddish-brown bricks. School had ended a few hours ago, most of the students and teachers off campus, but there was still a chance any one of them could be put in danger. He should’ve informed the rest of the Tactical Crime Division, only there hadn’t been time. He was on his own.

  Benning tested the door trying to blend in with the same color paint as the bricks around it at the back of the building. He’d gone to school here over twenty years ago but couldn’t exactly remember what was on the other side of the barrier. The knob turned in his hand easily. Unlocked. His stomach clenched. This was it. They had to be here. He threw the heavy metal door out wide and rushed inside. In a single breath, the door slammed closed behind him on automatic hinges and cast him into darkness. His exhales echoed in the small space as he raised his hands out in front of him. No voices. No footsteps. Nothing but stale, humid air slipping through his fingers.

  Sweat built along his spine despite the temperatures growing more frigid as he took the stairs one by one. The sound of his boots on cement broke through the groan of piping and electrical humming. The basement. Pushing his hair back behind his ears, he narrowed his gaze ahead as the stairs ended. His blood pumped hard at the base of his head as he pushed one foot in front of the other, slowly working down the long corridor stretched out in front of him. Every cell in his body vibrated with awareness. Every sound, every smell, every blink of the old fluorescent lighting at the other end of the hall. Cracks mapped out dendritic patterns across the cement, up the cinderblock walls and along the edge where the wall met the ceiling. A constant dripping ate away at his senses as he closed in on the end of the corridor.