by RJ Blain
“Looking for something, kitten?”
“Baby oil,” I improvised, lifting the tiny bottle, which I had already put to good use. “Not a lot here. Not a lot of powder, either. No thermometer.” I bit my lip, wondering what else I could add to my list. “She’ll need shampoo, a little brush, a comb, and a light blanket. She’ll smother if she stays in this onesie all the time.”
“Get back in the car.”
I packed everything back into the bag, shoved it to the side, and got back in, holding Annabelle so I could feed her. When done, I cradled her against my shoulder with a towel under her so I could burp her. Compared to the babies my parents had coming in and out of their house, Annabelle was a dream. Once she was burped, she dropped right to sleep, and I envied her.
When—if—she grew up, she wouldn’t have any memories of the day gunmen stole her from her mother and siblings. Her mother would remember, Chloe would remember, but Annabelle wouldn’t understand the terror. At most, it’d be a hazy recollection, more like a dream than reality. If she was anything like me, Annabelle wouldn’t recall anything before the age of four or five.
It’d be a mercy.
I made myself as comfortable as I could with a gun pointed at my head, watched the road signs, and tried to guess where we were going. West was the most I could deduce. My captors hadn’t said a word about directions, roads, or anything of use since we had merged onto I-70 outside of Baltimore.
I settled into a waiting pattern, forcing myself to relax and let my body rest when I wasn’t taking care of Annabelle. If a chance presented itself, I would be ready.
Chapter Three
I hated smart kidnappers. I especially hated kidnappers who understood the limitations of the human body, particularly mine. They pushed me to the edge of my endurance, and when I was too damned exhausted to do more than keep my eyes open, they finally stopped for a much-needed break at a large travel center somewhere deep in either West Virginia or Kentucky. I wasn’t sure which way was up anymore, let alone which highway we were on.
Dehydration had my throat burning for water. My steps were unsteady. All three of my kidnappers removed their ski masks, which guaranteed I wouldn’t be leaving their custody alive. I knew what they looked like.
“This is how this is going to work, kitten. You’re going to go into the ladies’ room. I’ll be waiting for you. No funny business. I’ll have the baby here. You don’t want her hurt, do you?”
I shook my head.
“Good, kitten. You go wash your face, smile like a good girl, and come right back out. If anyone asks who you’re with, just say your Uncle Phil is waiting for you. Behave. You’ll get a nice hot meal into you, and everything will go nice and easy. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Move it. No detours, and don’t even think about asking to borrow a phone. I’ll pop you in the head so fast you won’t know what hit you before you’re dead.”
“I got it, I got it,” I hissed.
My annoyance made ‘Uncle Phil’ grin. True to his word, he stalked me all the way to the bathroom, which was empty of any possible help. I took my time, leaning against the bathroom sink with my forehead against the mirror. All I wanted was to sleep, but fear and anxiety crawled under my skin.
If I slept, would they get rid of me when I had no chance of defending myself? Groaning, I grudgingly took my captor’s advice to wash my face. My pale complexion had turned stark white, and no amount of scrubbing brought any color back to my face, not even a hint of red.
My eyes, at least, remained clear.
Stifling a yawn, I staggered out of the bathroom. Phil waited, Annabelle sleeping quietly in his arms. Handing her over, he grunted and tilted his head in the direction of the food court. His two accomplices met us halfway there, carrying several large paper bags.
They found a booth tucked in a corner, crammed me against the wall, and fed me tasteless burgers and fries until I couldn’t force another bite. When I stared at the leftovers without seeing them, I was aware of the men moving.
“The kitten ready to go?” the driver asked.
Something about his question reminded me I had a job to do. I needed to profile him so I could remember his face if I did somehow survive. I stared at him, careful to keep my expression blank and uncomprehending.
All things considered, it was pretty easy to let exhaustion keep me looking as numb as I felt.
The man had dark eyes, dark hair, tanned complexion. High cheek bones. Probable Hispanic background with a healthy mix of American Caucasian. Once I had him categorized, I did the same to the other man, who was probably a relative.
Phil chuckled. “She’ll do. Let’s get back on the road before someone notices us.”
Once I slid out of the booth, I was given Annabelle, who remained sound asleep despite having been moved around so much. I followed after Phil and was flanked by his two accomplices.
Every other stop, usually to change and feed the baby, I had sat in the back on the passenger’s side of the car. Before I could climb in with Annabelle, Phil took her out of my arms. I tensed, my eyes widening.
“You know how to drive, kitten?”
“I do,” I whispered.
“Good. You’re driving.”
I gaped at him. What sort of idiot made the hostage drive? Being the driver opened a world of possibilities for me, assuming they didn’t shoot me the instant I deviated from their plan. What sort of idiot made the exhausted hostage drive? “Are you nuts?”
Laughter answered me. The car keys were thrust into my hand. “It’s only until we cross the Kentucky border, kitten. If they have a road block, you’re going to talk us through it. Got it? After that, you can get some sleep.”
I hung my head, sighed, and admitted defeat. “Yes, sir.”
The SUV wasn’t much different from the ones the FBI used. I swallowed a yawn, started the car, and gripped the wheel so hard my knuckles whitened. “Where am I going?”
“Westbound. I’ll tell you when we need to turn if necessary. Keep it between the lines and try not to fall asleep behind the wheel. No car seat, you know. Wouldn’t want to hurt the baby, right?”
“Right.” I put the car in reverse, backed out of the spot, and navigated through the travel center maze to the onramp for the highway. I kept my speed just below the speed limit, activating the cruise control so I could keep my foot hovering over the brake.
Phil grunted, which I took to be approval because I couldn’t handle the thought of him being angry at my driving skills. “Parents are probably missing you by now, kitten.”
I wondered about that; had the FBI notified them? It was likely. They were my emergency contacts. “Probably.”
“Tell me about them.”
I was too tired to feel much satisfaction at the man’s questioning. I had to remind myself to form the relationship. The more he knew about me, the less likely it was he’d pull the trigger. A moment of hesitation could save my life.
If I became more than just a victim, I had a chance to get out alive.
If I survived, I might be able to save Annabelle, too.
“Sure. Pop’s an accountant. Ma’s a fashion designer. They live in Vermont. Used to live in Georgia. I moved to Baltimore for school.”
“School?”
“College.” FBI training counted. It was a lot tougher than any college I had been to, and I had several degrees chosen specifically to up my chances to join CARD. It had worked, too. “Graduated early.”
“Good for you. What are you studying?”
Doubting criminal law would impress the criminal very much, I fell back on a pleasure minor I had taken to keep me busy. “English Lit.”
“Not a very useful degree there, kitten. You should consider taking it as a minor.”
What sort of kidnapper made college recommendations to their victim? Puzzled, I forced my attention to the road. “Sure. It’s not set in stone yet, anyway.”
“Not until after your second year, rig
ht?”
“Yeah. First two years are to fill up the electives and other required courses.” I had spent seven years in college and university to build my resume so I could join the FBI at twenty-three, which was the youngest I could apply. The first two years I had spent doing just that, filling up on every single required course I could. “I’ve heard it before. English Lit’s a dead end career, but it’s a gatekeeper, too.”
“Sure is, kitten. You can find a lot of work if you pick a good major to go on top of an English minor—even a lit one. A business degree with writing skills could take you pretty far. There’s lots of room for a smart woman who can handle a legal document.”
“You’re weird,” I muttered, shaking my head. Any other day, I would have been in the fast lane, blowing by the turtle in an SUV, but I was too tired to risk it. It took too much of my focus to keep the car between the lines. Night driving was tiring enough, and I was at my limit.
“Why do you think that, kitten?”
“Aren’t you going to rape me, kill me, and toss my body in a gully somewhere?” All three men burst into laughter. I scowled, clenching my teeth. “What’s so funny?”
“I’m a man of my word. You cooperate, you go home, safe, sound, and untouched. I wasn’t paid to kill or rape you. Wasn’t paid to kill the baby, either. I will if I have to, but I’d rather not have to. Get me?”
I squeezed the wheel tighter. During my career with the FBI, I’d seen a lot of violent crimes; it was mandatory before acceptance into CARD. “Okay.”
“Good. We’re ten minutes from the Kentucky border. If there’s a stop, you convince them we’re family. Got it?”
“I don’t have my license with me.”
“Figure something out then.”
I winced. The likelihood of there being a checkpoint into Kentucky was slim to none. I hadn’t seen a single sign of pursuit. My kidnappers hadn’t used the radio. They hadn’t even made a single phone call. Even if the plate number, make, and model of the vehicle had been broadcasted in an Amber Alert, it was unlikely anyone would find us.
Thanks to the heavy crowds at the Federal Hill Jazz and Blues Festival, our pictures were probably in circulation. If there was a checkpoint, the cat would be out of the bag. I could work the conversation in my favor without tipping my kidnappers off.
If the officer was an FBI agent, I’d be golden. There would be a solid chance of rescue or escape.
Luck wasn’t with me. A sign welcomed us to Kentucky, and the blockade I had been foolish enough to hope for wasn’t there. I kept driving, biting my lip until it hurt to keep myself awake.
“Pull over,” Phil ordered.
I obeyed, putting the SUV in park. I slumped over the wheel, resting my forehead against the leather.
“Don’t you worry yourself a bit, kitten. Everything will be just fine for you.” Phil paused and sounded far too cheerful when he added, “If you keep behaving, that is.”
“I got it,” I mumbled under my breath, unbuckled my seat belt, and opened the door. I had no recollection of them adding a car seat behind the driver’s side. I ended up sitting between Annabelle and Phil with a good view of the center console so I could watch the minutes tick by one by one.
I was astounded to learn it was possible to reach Denver, Colorado from Baltimore, Maryland within twenty-four hours by car. Instead of heading into the city, Phil drove into the mountains to a remote cabin. I hadn’t learned the names of the other two men. Their care with their words impressed me.
It was as if they actually meant to keep me alive and were protecting me by refusing to give me any information of real substance.
Annabelle grew fussier and fussier with each hour, and I didn’t blame her. I’d be fussy, too. Car seats couldn’t be comfortable for the number of hours she had spent in one. I did my best to soothe her, but I was so tired I could barely see straight.
I carried her into the cabin, halting as I took in the rustic decor. A baby crib with monitor waited by the couch along with a traditional baby carrier and enough packs of diapers and bulk containers of formula to last through a siege.
I was both horrified and reassured by the preparations. No one who intended to kill an infant would spend so much time or money on caring for one.
However, the amount of supplies warned me they were in for the long haul if necessary. Someone had spent a small fortune preparing for Annabelle’s kidnapping. What I didn’t understand was why. Chloe and her mother hadn’t looked rich; kickboxing gloves weren’t too expensive, and as far as sports went, the investment to participate was minimal, nonexistent if using loaned gear.
What did they have that the kidnappers wanted?
Targeting Annabelle made sense; Chloe or one of the younger kids would be harder to keep hidden. An infant wasn’t hard to hide. Taking me was a factor I didn’t understand either.
“Go on in, kitten. Why don’t you feed the baby and get her ready for bed? Everything you need should be there.”
At least Phil wasn’t waving his gun in my face. The weapon was holstered at his side in easy reach. I carried Annabelle to the couch and went to work. I needed to wait until the three men were no longer on their guard. If I could get a gun away from them, escape was possible. If I could disable them, I’d be able to take Annabelle and make a run for it.
“What’s going to happen now?” I whispered while I changed Annabelle’s diaper and took my time wiping her down to make sure she didn’t have a rash.
“We wait. When we get what we want, you and the baby will be left where you can be found. You go home, and that’s it.”
“And if you don’t get what you want?”
Phil’s silence was all I needed to know. If negotiations for ransom failed, the FBI would find my body along with Annabelle’s. My gut told me there’d be no paid ransom.
What could Annabelle’s parents have that a well-organized group of professional kidnappers would want? Mercenaries. I settled the baby in the crib, covered her with a lightweight blanket, and sat on the couch.
“You don’t seem surprised.”
“I watch television. I kinda have a few guesses on what will happen.”
“Good. I won’t have to explain it to you, then. Out of my hands, kitten. Behave yourself. It’s the only chance you have.”
He was probably right, but I had little to lose and a lot to gain, and I wasn’t about to quit before I even had a chance to get started. The first thing I needed was sleep. Once I was fresh, I’d start looking for weaknesses in the trio’s patterns. Once I established the break in their habit, I’d turn it to my advantage.
Unless there had been witnesses, the FBI would be challenged to locate us. The SUV’s tinted windows would have kept the curious onlookers from catching a look at me, and they had been careful about all our stops. I couldn’t count on CARD to locate us.
I yawned, watching my three captors move through the cabin, checking everything over. The first thing they did was slice through the phone cord. Ten minutes of work, and I’d have a functioning phone again. If they were truly smart, they’d damage the jack. I could fix a phone cord. Peeling back the wires and twisting the right wires together would give me a connection long enough to call the police.
Faking disappointment, I kept watching them. They gathered the knives and took them to the SUV.
I really hated smart kidnappers, especially the ones who made errors I couldn’t capitalize on—at least yet.
Once they did a top to bottom search of the cabin, Phil made himself comfortable on the armchair while the other two men vanished into the bedrooms down the hall. “Looks like it’s you and me, kitten. Get some sleep. You didn’t get a whole lot in the car, did you?”
There was a blanket draped over the back of the couch, and I snatched it, wrapping up in it. If I wanted to escape, I needed to be fresh. I needed sleep.
I needed to wait.
Hating myself for my inability to act, I curled up on the couch, lying on my side so I could react if Annabel
le needed me. It didn’t take long for my exhaustion to pull me under.
Chapter Four
Like a well-oiled machine, Phil and his associates rotated guard duty. There was always someone alert watching me and Annabelle. While the cabin had a television, Phil removed the batteries from the remote as a clear indication he didn't want me watching anything. He also removed my ability to determine time. Minutes, hours, and days melted into one another, the monotony only broken by the few times I managed to fall asleep and the rotation of my guards.
My kidnappers had cut themselves off from everyone, including their conspirators. The world went on without us. Our isolation prevented me from knowing what information had been released about the kidnapping.
In a way, the arrangement worked to my advantage. As long as the television remained off, there was no chance of them discovering I was an FBI agent unless someone told them. While they had cell phones, no one was contacting them.
It was smart. By avoiding phone communications, the FBI couldn’t track them. Without a name or number to work with, cell towers couldn’t be used to pinpoint their location.
I really, really hated smart kidnappers.
Without any other options, I waited, taking care of Annabelle and playing with her. The thought such a happy, easy to care for baby might become yet another statistic infuriated me.
That I’d become one, too, didn’t help matters any. My parents had adopted me a year after their baby had been kidnapped. I’d been abandoned, left with a tiny golden locket with my first name etched on the back.
Ma had viewed it as the universe paying them back for fostering so many kids. I was Karma, and the rules of karma were simple enough. All the good given out would pay itself back. I was supposed to be the good karma paid back for the little boy they had lost.
A CARD team had given my parents closure, finding their baby’s body long after his death. I’d been six when they had come to the door. The team of four had all showed up. Watching four men break down and cry for the child they hadn’t been able to save had stayed with me all the way through high school.
