Once Taken

by Blake Pierce

  “Hello, there, little lady.”

  Riley turned to face the leering man. She could feel anger rising in her gut.

  “Sorry about that little tiff we had back there,” he said. “What do you say we kiss and make up? Then we’ll just see what happens next.”

  Riley stepped backward, but another arm reached around her neck from behind. The man’s friend had been waiting out here too.

  “Don’t make a fuss and you won’t get hurt too much,” the man behind her said.

  Riley’s rage erupted through her whole body. It was sheer, mindless fury—fury against killers, kidnappers, and guys like these who thought they could take whatever they wanted.

  She jabbed her elbow hard into solar plexus of the man behind her, and her knee went straight to the other guy’s crotch. Both men buckled over in pain. She pulled out her Glock and waved it at them. But she didn’t want to shoot them. She wanted to beat them both to a bloody pulp, just like she had with Peterson when she’d escaped his clutches.

  She whipped the pistol across the face of the man who’d first accosted her. Then she whirled around and smashed the heel of her hand into the other guy’s face. She felt and heard the bridge of his nose breaking.

  After that, everything came automatically to her, a deeply satisfying sequence of kicks and punches, turns and slices. When she stopped, both men were lying on the sidewalk, groaning in pain.

  Riley, unable to stop her flood of rage, her desire for revenge, bent over and lowered her Glock to the head of the first man. She pulled back the pin with a satisfying click.

  The man looked up, eyes wide with terror, and suddenly peed his pants.

  “Please,” he whimpered. “Don’t kill me.”

  He was pathetic.

  Riley knew it was illegal, what she was doing, aiming a gun at an unarmed civilian; she knew it was immoral, too, despite what he had done. She was going too far.

  Yet she couldn’t stop herself. As she knelt there, she felt her hand trembling with rage, and for a moment felt she might really kill him. She tried to stop herself, but it was an epic battle within. There had been too many demons—and too few outlets.

  Finally, Riley put her Glock back in its holster, feeling her fury draining away. Should she arrest these guys? No, it would take too much time and she had more important things to do.

  “If I ever see your face again,” she whispered, “I will kill you.”

  She stood and the men scurried to their feet and limped away, never once, in their terror, looking back.

  Chapter 19

  Riley was crouched in the dark again. She could smell the mold and mildew of the crawlspace, feel the dirt underneath her. But this time she was ready. She was gripping the Remington tightly. It was loaded and the safety was off.

  “Show yourself, you son of a bitch,” she growled.

  It was so dark that she couldn’t see anything, not even her weapon. But the second she saw the light of that flame, she meant to blast away at Peterson.

  But then she heard the familiar low chuckle.

  “You don’t think I’m going to make it that easy, do you?”

  She swiftly pointed the gun in the direction of the voice. But suddenly the sound came from a different direction.

  “I’m hard to see without my torch, eh?”

  She pointed the gun in the new direction, but now the voice came from directly behind her.

  “Give it up,” he said. “I’m getting better and better at this.”

  The voice was to her right now.

  “And I’m having a great time.”

  Now it moved to her left.

  “You’ll never get to her on time.”

  She raised the gun and fired it.

  Riley awoke to the sound of Bill’s voice.

  “Here’s something to eat.”

  She opened her eyes, shuddering from her nightmare. She found herself lying down in the back of the SUV. Bill was sitting in the car door with a paper bag and two cups of steaming hot coffee.

  Riley remembered now—the long futile search, asking questions that led nowhere, and the fight outside the bar. She’d come back to the SUV to lie down. She’d meant only to take a short nap.

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  “About four,” Bill said.

  Riley sat up and saw that the SUV was now in a small parking lot.

  “Why did you let me sleep?”

  Bill fished around for the contents of the bag.

  “There was no one left to talk to—at least no one sober. Anyhow, you looked like you’d had enough activity for one night. I slept a little too. When I woke up, I drove to this little convenience store I checked on last night. It’s always open.”

  He handed her a paper cup of coffee and a wrapped sandwich.

  “Thanks,” Riley said, grateful that he wasn’t asking her any questions. She didn’t want to talk about her temptation to have a drink, nor about how she’d pulverized those two guys. She unwrapped the sandwich. It was egg and sausage and she bit into it eagerly. She was very hungry.

  “I’ve got some good news,” Bill said. “The cashier at the diner changed since I first went by there. The new guy told me that he’s seen Peterson. He thinks he works in a neighborhood grocery store near here.”

  Riley took a final gulp of coffee.

  “What are we waiting for?”

  Riley went into the store to use the restroom. When she came out, she and Bill walked the few blocks to the little grocery store. It looked like a family-owned business. Lights were on inside, but Riley’s heart sank to see that the store wouldn’t be open until nine. Then she looked through the wired-mesh glass panel in the door and spotted movement inside. Someone was bending over a box, pulling things out.

  Riley knocked hard on the door. A small, dark-skinned woman stood up and glared at her, then continued putting merchandise on a shelf. It was probably the owner, stocking shelves during the store’s off-hours. Riley banged on the door again, holding her badge up to the window. The woman came to the door and peered through it at the ID.

  “FBI,” Riley yelled. “Open up.”

  The woman unlocked the door, peered at Bill and Riley for a moment, and finally let them inside.

  “What can I do for you?” she asked in an Asian accent, locking the door behind them.

  “I’m Special Agent Riley Paige, and this is my partner, Special Agent Bill Jeffreys. We’re looking for a murder suspect.”

  Bill showed her the flyer.

  “Have you seen this man?” he asked.

  “Why it looks like …” she began, peering at the pictures. She looked up at Riley. “I think it might be a man who worked here until a couple of weeks ago. But why are you looking for him?”

  Riley said, “He’s wanted for kidnapping and murder.”

  The woman looked shocked. “He was always perfectly pleasant around here,” she said, smiling as if remembering something. “He could be quite charming.”

  Bill warned her, “This man is very dangerous. Don’t ever let him near you again.”

  The woman got more serious. She pointed to the mug shot. “But this wasn’t his name. It was Bruce. Let me see …”

  She led Bill and Riley over to the counter and brought up some information on her computer. “Yes, it was Bruce Staunton.”

  The woman looked at Riley and Bill anxiously.

  “And you say he is a murder suspect?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Riley said. “We need for you to tell us anything that might lead us to him. Do you have an address for him?”

  The woman looked again at the computer screen.

  “Yes, but it’s out of date. He used to live near here. He said he’d just moved, and he wanted to work closer to home. That’s why he quit.”

  Riley stifled a groan of disappointment.

  “Did he leave any kind of forwarding address?” she asked.

  “Or where he might be working next?” Bill asked.

  “No, but he
said it was in the Northeast. He said he planned to be close to the river.”

  Riley knew that Washington, D.C., was divided into four geographical quadrants. They were now in the Northwest, so the Northeast district the woman was talking about would be straight east from here. But it was a big area.

  “What river?” Bill asked.

  “The Anacostia. I’ve never been there but I know it’s in that district.”

  The woman brought up a map on her computer.

  “There,” she said, pointing to where she thought the suspect might be. “From what he said, I’d say that’s where he was probably going. Somewhere around there, in the Northeast and on the other side of the river.”

  Riley thanked the woman, who unlocked the door and let them outside.

  “I might be wrong,” the woman said. “It might not be the man in your picture.”

  “It was him, all right,” Bill said. “Don’t let him in if he returns here. Call the cops.”

  She shook her head and closed the door again.

  Riley was already walking back to where they’d parked the car. Bill caught up with her and said, “I’m going to run that name just in case anything comes up.”

  When they reached the SUV, Riley got into the driver’s seat while Bill spent a few moments connecting to BAU. Soon he looked up at Riley with a surprised expression.

  “A man named Bruce Staunton recently changed his mailing address,” Bill said.

  “Where’s the new one?”

  After a few more seconds, Bill told her, “It’s right in the area that the grocery store woman just told us about.”

  “Then let’s go.” Riley started the car.

  “Not so fast,” Bill said. “There’s something not right here. That was awfully easy. Peterson’s a smart guy. He had to know we might come around here asking about him. Still, he told his employer where he was moving, and he even changed his mailing address so we could find it? What are we supposed to make of that?”

  Riley didn’t reply. She just put the SUV in reverse and backed it out of the parking space. Then she turned it facing the street.

  “You direct, I’ll drive.”

  Bill was right, and she knew it. Peterson had given the woman this information for one of two reasons. He was either trying to throw her off the scent, or he was drawing her into a trap.

  Riley hoped he was drawing her into a trap. She would be more than ready for him.

  Chapter 20

  “Turn left in fifty feet,” the female GPS voice said.

  As Bill switched on his turn signal, Riley felt oddly comforted by the voice. The sense that someone knew where they were going relieved her stomach-wrenching fear and dread just a little.

  She’d tried figuring out the way with a map before they’d started driving. She was normally very good with maps, but her mind kept filling up with terrible images of April in captivity and Peterson taunting her with a propane torch. She couldn’t think straight, couldn’t figure out a feasible route. Bill had insisted on using the GPS and now the friendly voice was taking care of things.

  Soon after the turn, the SUV crossed a bridge over the river. They were well into the Northwest now.

  “We’re getting close,” Bill said.

  But close to what? Riley wondered.

  It was still very dark outside, and the rain was now heavy and steady. She had no idea how April was being held, but she knew that rescuing her wasn’t going to be easy. She wondered yet again whether she and Bill shouldn’t call in a SWAT team. They still didn’t know if the address they’d gotten for so-called Bruce Staunton was correct. Besides, if it was, it was best not to have a small army storming the place. It might be the surest way to get April killed.

  If she wasn’t dead already.

  The thought was unbearable. Riley had to put it out of her mind. It couldn’t be true. She wouldn’t let it be true.

  “Turn right. You have reached your destination.”

  “Damn,” Bill murmured.

  Riley shared his discouragement. It wasn’t a house at all, just an all-night convenience store. Its glaring interior light jarred against the rainy darkness. Bill parked the SUV. They both got out of the vehicle and opened umbrellas.

  “I don’t think it’s a total fail,” Riley said. “It’s unlikely he’d give this random address if he’d never spent any time in the area. He’s not here, I’m sure of it. But I also think he’s been here. I think he’s in the area. He likes to taunt, after all. He likes to let us know he’s not afraid of us, and that he’s smarter than us. Thus he would give an address that’s not where he lives—but close to it.”

  Bill sighed.

  “At least it’s open,” Bill said. “Let’s go in and ask some questions.”

  “You go ahead,” Riley said. “I want to look around a bit.”

  “Okay,” Bill said. He went on inside the store.

  Riley stood in the parking lot, surveying the area. She saw that they had arrived in a middle-class family neighborhood, with small houses bunched close together. Across the street, the block was comprised entirely of row houses. A couple of the homes were lighted even at this hour. Riley guessed that commuters were getting ready to drive to work.

  Where and how could Peterson be holding April in such a densely populated area? A neighborhood where everybody probably knew everybody else?

  This isn’t right, she thought.

  Still, her every instinct told her that Peterson hadn’t misled them—not completely. Perhaps it was only wishful thinking, but Riley was sure that Peterson had set a trap for her, and that she was getting closer and closer to finding out where it was. A part of him, after all, wanted to confront her.

  Bill came out of the store, splashing through rain puddles as he trotted toward Riley.

  “The guy in there thinks he recognizes the face,” he said. “He thinks he’s seen him around a construction site near the river.”

  Riley felt encouraged.

  “Let’s check it out.”

  She and Bill climbed back into the SUV.

  “The guy said this street takes you there,” Bill added.

  As they drove, Riley’s alertness sharpened. The area seemed less populated and more promising. It ought to be easy to spot an abandoned house—someplace isolated, where no one could hear a woman’s desperate cries for help.

  When they reached the chain link fence surrounding the construction site, Riley said, “Stop here.”

  Bill stopped the car, and they got out, opening their umbrellas. A large sign on the fence announced the construction of a new apartment complex. There were only a few inhabited homes nearby. The area reminded Riley of the tenement where she had been held. She felt her heartbeat quicken.

  “I think we’re close,” she said to Bill. “Look how much more isolated this is.”

  Bill shook his head. “I don’t know, Riley. It seems that way at night, but look at all this equipment. By day these grounds are crawling with construction workers. Do you see any place where Peterson could be holed up?”

  Riley looked all around. This part of the site was lighted, but she couldn’t see anybody anywhere.

  “There must be a night watchman around somewhere,” Bill said. “Maybe he can tell us something.” He pointed. “Let’s go around to the other side of the site. We might find him there.”

  Just then, Riley heard what sounded like kids’ voices. It was a startling sound at this hour, in the dark and the rain. She turned and saw a group of kids standing under an awning near the construction site.

  “You go ahead,” she said to Bill. “I’m going to talk to these kids.”

  Bill walked away, and Riley approached the group of teenagers. There were seven of them, a mixed bunch—black and white, male and female. They were trying their best to look like gangsters and thugs, dressed in the proper attire and smoking cigarettes. She also caught a whiff of pot.

  Riley pulled the flyer with the pictures of Peterson out of her bag. She displayed it t
o the kids as she approached.

  “Have any of you ever seen this man?” she asked.

  One of the kids swaggered toward her. He looked like the oldest, and he seemed to fancy himself the group’s leader. Riley noticed him give a silent signal to the biggest kid, who started to move around her. She knew that she needed to watch her back.

  “What are you, some kind of cop lady?” the older kid asked.

  Riley pulled out her badge.

  “That’s what I thought,” the boy said with a sneer. “What makes you think we’re gonna go talking to cops?”

  “An innocent girl is missing,” Riley said. “She’s being held near here by a psychopath. She’s probably being tortured. She’s going to be killed soon if I don’t find her.”

  She held the picture closer to the kid who had approached her.

  “Have you seen him?” she asked.

  The boy sneered again. “If I did, why would I tell you?”

  “Better not do her that way, Mayshon,” a younger black girl said. “She probably ain’t here alone.”

  The boy laughed sourly.

  “So what?” he said. “We ain’t done nothing wrong.”

  Riley noticed the boy nod ever so slightly, and she knew it was a signal to the bigger kid who was now behind her.

  Riley whipped around and caught the bigger kid by the wrist as he raised a knife toward her. She grabbed his arm in a lock and twisted his arm sharply as she pulled it up behind his back. She knew she could easily break it.

  And yet, despite how much he may have hurt her, she didn’t want to hurt him. He was big and strong, but he was still just a kid.

  He dropped the knife and groaned in agony, writhing, unable to get free.

  The other kids stood there, wide-eyed, staring back in panic and surprise.

  “I wasn’t going to do nothin’!” the big kid called out. “Don’t bust my arm!”

  Riley was fuming. She imagined what this boy might have done to someone else who was not as capable as she.

  “I could send you to jail for that,” she hissed in his ear. “For a long, long time.”

  The boy whimpered, while the other kids shifted uncomfortably. A few of them turned and bolted.