Protective Custody

by Lynette Eason

  She’d be safer with the authorities in the house. He wasn’t worried about any bad guys still hanging around. They’d gotten what they’d come for and were long gone by now.

  Lindsey pivoted on one foot and raced to safety. Nick followed Carly. If someone came out of that thing with a weapon, she wasn’t going to face it alone.

  Shoulders tense, he watched her step to the side of the cabinet door. She motioned him to the other side. He did as she silently instructed, their actions taking him back to his police training.

  He pointed to the side of the cabinet. Stained a dark red. More blood.

  Carly reached for the handle, twisted it and flung the door open.

  A man stumbled out and fell to the floor at her feet.

  Nick breathed a little easier as he realized it was the officer who’d been sent to watch over the children and Debbie.

  A gash on his forehead had started to clot, and his nose looked like it had been broken. Multiple bruises covered the left side of his face.

  Carly holstered her gun and knelt beside the young man. Looking up at Nick, she tossed him her phone. “Call for help, will you?”

  Nick dialed 9-1-1. He had to stop and ask for the address, and Carly supplied it while she checked the officer’s pulse. “Strong and steady. Ben, you’re going to be all right.” She patted the unblemished side of his face, trying to get him to open his eyes. They fluttered, and she asked, “Can you tell me what happened?”

  “Help’s on the way,” Nick interrupted. “I imagine Lindsey’s inside telling everyone what’s going on, too.”

  “Good.” She looked back at the officer. “Come on, Ben, wake up a little and tell me what happened.”

  With a groan, Ben licked his lips then said, “They…um…jumped me. They picked the lock on the door or something…I don’t know. They hit me with something…pushed me.” Another groan. “My head.” His eyes fluttered shut, then opened again. “They hit Debbie, too, and grabbed the kid. I…tried to stop…them…I did…” He faded again, and this time Carly let him go.

  Nick watched her in action. She was very good at her job. Efficient, courageous, lovely. And in a profession that could get her killed.

  He shuddered at the thought.

  And Christopher. Anguish twisted through him. And Debbie, too. Two people he’d promised to keep safe. What was he going to tell Wayne? Guilt flooded him, and he had to shove away the awful images that came to his mind.

  Debbie and Christopher were fine until he had evidence stating otherwise.

  Noise from the door leading from the house captured his attention. A team entered the garage, and Carly said, “Ben’s hurt. I’ve got an ambulance on the way. They’ve got Christopher and Debbie. There’s blood in the garage. I want to know who it belongs to.”

  A rapid explanation brought everyone up to date on what had just happened right under their noses. Nick’s terror knew no limits.

  Making his way back into the house, he and Carly left the officer to the attention of the paramedics who’d just arrived. Lindsey threw herself into his arms, and he hugged her tight. Then she twisted, launched herself onto the couch and sobbed. Carly made her way to her and clutched the girl’s hand, whispering soothing words. Nick was so lost in his fear, he couldn’t understand a word she said.

  Instead of trying to listen, he walked into the bedroom he was supposed to share with Christopher that night and fell to his knees beside the bed.

  Head in his hands, he cried out to the One who knew exactly where Chris was. “Oh, God, protect him. He’s just a little boy.” Grief and fear stole his breath, and he couldn’t form any more words. What had the blood in the garage meant? Did it belong to Christopher or Debbie? Who had walked right in and stolen part of his family?

  “Please, Lord, please,” was all he could choke out of a throat tightened by sheer terror for the child he loved.

  Behind him, he heard Lindsey’s sobs fade while Carly barked orders. “Find out how to track the car that was in the garage. We’ve got to find them fast.”

  Nick knew what she was thinking. He was thinking the same thing.

  What the crushed inhaler in the satin-lined box meant for a terrified seven-year-old boy.

  Carly sipped her coffee and studied the flickering television set from her seat at the kitchen table. They’d come full circle. Back in Nicholas’s house, they waited. For something.

  A note. A phone call. An e-mail. Anything.

  She pictured the scene at the safe house and replayed the last few minutes after Christopher had been snatched right out from under them.

  Light, almost soundless footsteps, crossed the floor behind her. When she turned, she spotted Lindsey eyeing her. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” The girl’s eyes dropped to the floor.

  “Nice outfit. Love the wig,” Carly teased.

  That brought a slight smile as she fingered a dark tress that hung over her right shoulder. “I was going to be in a play the day we had to leave school early. I was a Roman emperor’s wife.”

  “I’m sure you would have done a fabulous job.”

  “Yes, I would have,” the girl agreed without a hint of bragging. She was just stating a fact. “I stuffed it in my backpack as we were being shoved into the car. I just felt like putting it on for some reason.”

  Probably wishing she was someone else, Carly mused to herself. Someone not even remotely connected to the case or anyone who had anything to do with it. She felt sympathy tug her heart and asked, “Is there something you wanted to talk to me about?”

  A nod.

  Carly stood and walked over to the couch and patted the seat beside her. “Come here.”

  Lindsey walked around the couch and settled beside Carly, her eyes still lowered.

  Carly could almost hear her mind clicking. She took Lindsey’s cool hand in her own. “You’re freezing.” Grabbing the blanket off the cushion behind her, she wrapped it around the girl’s shoulders and waited, giving her time.

  Did she remember something else from yesterday?

  Lindsey sighed. “I don’t understand God sometimes.”

  Oh, no, not a God conversation. “I know, honey, I don’t, either.”

  “But I still believe in Him, you know?”

  “Your uncle does, too.”

  “Do you?” This time Lindsey’s eyes lifted and stared deep into Carly’s as though trying to read her very soul.

  There wasn’t going to be any lying to this girl. Carly took a deep breath. “I don’t know, Lindsey. I’m having a tough time with God right now.” She looked away and stared out the window. “I see a lot of bad stuff in my job, Lindsey. And six months ago I had a very close friend who was killed.”

  “I’m sorry,” Lindsey whispered.

  “Yeah,” Carly nodded and looked back at her. “I am, too. He meant a lot to me. I grew up with a great dad and a pretty cool big brother, and Hank was as close to me as they are. It was like losing a family member.” She blew out a sigh and wondered if she was sharing too much with the young girl. And yet, she didn’t want to treat her like a kid when Lindsey was acting like a mature adult. “I guess it’s because his death was so unnecessary and…” She gave a shrug. “I suppose I feel like God could have prevented it, you know?”

  “But He didn’t.” A flat statement.

  “No. He didn’t.” Carly felt the familiar lump form in her throat and swallowed.

  “I know how you feel.”

  Carly squeezed the fragile fingers. “Your mom and aunt?”

  “Yes,” Lindsey whispered. “I thought God must have hated me to take them away from me like that.”

  “Oh, sweetie, God doesn’t hate you. He loves you very much.”

  A sad, too-mature smile crossed Lindsey’s lips. “I know. At least I used to. I’m not so sure anymore. Not with Christopher gone now.” Two big tears spilled over and down her cheeks. “Things were just starting to get better, and now this.”

  Carly pulled the girl into a hug, and Lindsey
sighed then gave a hiccup. “But if all the bad stuff hadn’t happened, we wouldn’t have met you. And I’m glad you’re here. So I think maybe even when the bad stuff happens, God lets good stuff happen, too, so we don’t totally lose our faith, you know?”

  Carly went still. “Good stuff in the midst of the bad?”

  “Yeah, something like that, I guess.” She shrugged then stood. “I don’t know. I’m going back to my room. I want to be alone for a while.”

  “Okay, hon.” Carly let her go, her mind reeling with what Lindsey had just said. She thought back. Had anything good happened in the midst of all the bad?

  When Hank had been killed, what good had come from that?

  His widow had been left with a hefty sum of life insurance, and the house that had been in the process of fore-closure was paid off. Not the way she’d wanted to do it, but if Hank had to die…

  Carly rubbed her eyes.

  “You okay?”

  She looked up. Mason stood with the laptop in his hand. She waved him over. “What’s up?”

  “Come here. I want to show you something.” Carly walked into the kitchen and took the chair she’d vacated when Lindsey had claimed her attention.

  Mason sat in the chair next to her and placed the computer on the table. “Our officer’s name is Ben McCann.”

  Footsteps sounded, and she turned. Nicholas descended the stairs looking like he’d aged ten years in the last six hours since Christopher’s disappearance.

  Without a word, he sat beside her and poured himself a cup of coffee. She wanted to ask him how he was but figured that would be a dumb question. She wanted to hug him, hold him, tell him everything would be all right.

  But she just didn’t know. Looking away from him, her heart aching like someone had reached in and punched it, she fixed her gaze on Mason and asked, “Yeah, and? Does Ben McCann have a story?” She felt numb inside but knew it wouldn’t last. Soon fear, guilt, shame, and more would invade her to the depths of her very being. But for now, she would take the numbness. It wouldn’t distract her like the other feelings would.

  “A good cop of four years. Nothing negative on his record. But he’s in debt up to his ears.”

  “Do you think they bought him off? Knocked him out to make us think he didn’t have anything to do with it?”

  “Looks like it. He just deposited ten grand into his checking account yesterday.”

  “Something to definitely check into. When he wakes up from that nasty concussion I’m sure he’s got, I want to hear what he has to say for himself. What made you do a background check on him?”

  A shrug. “I’m checking everyone.”

  She rubbed her eyes. “Okay, but how did they even get to the garage? It’s wide open out there. We had people watching the grounds. How would they get from the edge of the woods to that garage without someone seeing them?”

  “A good question. Unfortunately, I don’t have a good answer.” Mason tapped a few more keys, then said, “If they watched the movements for a while, they may have picked up on a pattern, waited for a break then made their move.”

  “And everything happened so quietly. Lindsey didn’t hear a thing from the bathroom.”

  “If the door was shut, she probably wouldn’t.”

  In a sudden movement, Nick set his cup on the table and wondered aloud, “Why haven’t they called?”

  At first Carly didn’t speak. Then she drew in a deep breath and looked at him. “Because they don’t have to. You know what they want.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

  “How’s Lindsey?”

  “Asleep. Finally.”

  “She’s feeling guilty, isn’t she?”

  He lifted a brow in surprise. “Yes, she is. I tried telling her it wasn’t her fault, but I don’t think she hears me.”

  “She will. Just don’t give up telling her.” A pause. “I’m sorry, Nick.”

  “It’s not your fault, Carly.”

  “I failed you. I failed myself. I…” Now the emotion swarmed her, and she did her best to beat it back. Through her tears, she saw Nick shoot a look at Mason.

  Mason nodded and rose to disappear outside, where he would walk the perimeter.

  Nick scooted his chair over and put his arm around her shoulder. “You didn’t fail, Carly. It’s not your fault any more than it’s Lindsey’s.”

  Jerking away from him, she stood and stumbled over to the sink. She felt a tear slide down her cheek. Furious at her unprofessional behavior, she turned her back on him and swiped at the wetness.

  But he wouldn’t let her withdraw from him. Pulling her around to face him, he stared deep into her eyes, into her soul. “You’re blaming God, aren’t you?”

  She looked away, desperately trying to keep the tears from falling.

  “Aren’t you?” he insisted.

  “Yes!” she hissed. “Yes, I am. He’s a seven-year-old little boy, Nick. It’s not right! Where is the justice in this world anymore? Where? Where’s God when stuff like this happens? Why does He let good men with so much to live for get killed? Why wouldn’t He intervene when someone enters a house with the intention of kidnapping a little boy in order to force his uncle to—” She broke off because her voice wouldn’t work anymore. Sobs crowded her throat, clamoring to get out. But she wouldn’t let them. She wouldn’t.

  For a moment Nick didn’t answer. Then she felt his arms slide around her and pull her to him.

  The sobs won. She let them out and poured them onto his strong chest.

  She felt him plant a light kiss on her hair and felt ashamed at the comfort it gave her. She pulled away and ordered herself to get it together. “I’m sorry, Nick. I’m so sorry. I’ll find someone else to take over for me. I’m not able to handle this. I’m being completely unprofessional, and you need someone—” Her voice squeaked and broke again.

  Hands cupped her face, and she looked into his eyes. “I need you, Carly. And you need to do this. To see it through to the end. Just like I have to do.”

  “But—”

  “Shh….” He placed a finger over her lips. “No buts. God is in control. I can’t see His plan. I don’t understand why He lets this kind of thing happen, but I trust Him. Do you get that? I really do trust Him. I have to.”

  “But Chris…”

  He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, tears swam there. “I won’t say I’m not scared for him. I’m not saying I’m going to like the way this ends, but…” He drew in a deep breath, “I will trust Him. In all things. In all His ways. Okay?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t do that.”

  His forehead touched hers. “Yes, you can, Carly. It’s not just a heart decision. It’s a head decision. One you have to make over and over, again and again. And it’s not easy. But it is real. God is real, His promises are true, and He’ll get us through this no matter what.”

  “I want to believe that. I really do.” Surprisingly enough, she found she did. She thought back to the brief prayer she’d uttered earlier and the comfort it had given her.

  “Then believe it. Ask Him to help you believe it.”

  Biting her lip, she pulled away from him and walked back to the kitchen table to pick up her coffee. She took a sip and grimaced at the lukewarm liquid. Without looking at him, she said, “I’ll try.”

  A hand reached out and grasped her chin. She looked up. “That’s all He asks. For your willingness to be open to Him.”

  She nodded. “Okay. If you can trust Him in this situation, I can at least be willing to listen if He has something to say to me.”

  Nick pulled her to him for a hug, and Carly felt her heart break as she tried to communicate the prayer in her soul. Please, God, bring Christopher home safe and sound. Help me to believe.

  TWELVE

  It had been twenty-six hours since Christopher and Debbie’s disappearance, and Nick felt each minute age him. They’d decided against going public with the kidnappings.

  Even the FBI had agreed in this in
stance. They knew who had Chris and Debbie; they just didn’t know where, and it was a sure bet they wouldn’t be making any public appearances.

  So the less the media knew, the better.

  When he’d called Wayne Thomas with the news, the man had gone silent then said, “I’m coming over. If we’re all in one place, it’ll be easier to keep abreast of everything.”

  Nick had agreed.

  Wayne had arrived and planted himself on the couch, his eagle eye taking in every detail of the FBI operation now in charge of locating Christopher and Debbie. They’d invaded Nick’s house shortly after he’d arrived home yesterday. Nick and Carly had discussed asking the man about Debbie’s association with a de Lugo thug. She promised to get to that at the right moment. He wondered what she was waiting for.

  Carly walked into the den and headed toward him. Wayne looked up from the laptop he’d brought. Carly rubbed her hands together and looked at them. “I just got word that the blood on the floor of the garage at the safe house is Debbie’s.”

  Blood drained from Wayne’s face, but he just nodded. Nick reached out and gripped his friend’s arm. “I’m sorry, Wayne.”

  Wayne looked at him, sorrow in his eyes. “It’s not your fault, and it wasn’t that much blood. Right? Maybe they just hit her to keep her quiet and…” He shrugged and looked away.

  Nick looked at Carly, who bit her lip. She’d had trouble looking him in the eye after her meltdown, but he’d refused to let her ignore him. And he thought he saw a new peace in her eyes. At least he hoped so. Once all this was over, he looked forward to discussing it further.

  Carly cleared her throat and frowned. Nick raised a brow. “What is it?”

  “The blood on the cabinet belongs to Ben.”

  “You kind of figured that, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, that one doesn’t surprise me.” She paused. “But we still don’t know how they keep staying one step ahead of us. It seems to me we’re missing something.”

  “Like what?”

  She placed her hands on her hips and cocked her head. “That’s the problem. I can’t figure it out.” Looking at Nick, she asked, “How would Ben McCann have access to secure information like the location of the different safe houses kept by the marshals?”