Fuck, I just spoke with her. But as I stare, I can’t help but wonder what she’s so happy about and why did she leave the tree undone, her hot chocolate half finished, sticky buns getting stale on the counter.
I should call Slate but what if it’s nothing?
Around me, people head out for a late dinner or to catch the second act of their favorite band, maybe a movie.
If not for this horrible pit in my stomach, I wouldn’t be worried in the least.
But dammit, my gut is never wrong.
Chapter 6
Blakely, earlier that day
Despite being alone on Thanksgiving, I have to think happy thoughts so open the hall closet and find the box of Christmas stuff. As soon as Jack gets home, we’ll light the tree and make love on the sofa. He’ll be done with his stint in DC, we’ll have our baby, and start our lives together.
Smiling, I take a shoulder to one of the living room chairs and push it into the spare bedroom. When he notices I moved something heavy, Jack might be annoyed, but before I met him, I did everything by myself. Besides, I’m being real careful.
My mind wanders to how we first met.
At the time, I only knew Melanie Quinn by name. When the wife of the famous quarterback asked me to lead her self-help group, of course, I said yes. Later, I learned she was moving to North Carolina and no longer needed a bodyguard.
The first time I met Jack and the ladies, it was a late summer day. Raining outside, the downstairs bar smelled of musty old brick, burgers, and beer. The group had just finished talking and we were ready to leave when an armed man appeared on the stairs waving a gun in the air.
My heart races as I recall how Jack vaulted over the bar and tackled the gunman, a brother of one of the girls. The Muslim said he was there to restore his family’s honor.
Poor Rasha. I shake my head, then smile. She found her own bodyguard that night and couldn’t be happier. Life is so weird.
Sighing contentedly, I sip on hot chocolate and open the tree directions written in Lilliputian font. The Amazon reviews said this tree was super-easy to put together but as I look at all the pieces, I’m not convinced.
After an hour of struggling, I’ve got a base, a lopsided tree trunk, and a few lonely branches. I’m truly considering the benefits of a real tree, no assembly required, when my phone rings.
I put down the directions, pick up the phone, and grin when I see who’s calling. “Hi sexy.”
“Hi babe. M… downstairs.”
“You’re breaking up.” I press the phone closer to my ear.
“mmph… meet… screeeeeetch… out-front.”
“You want me to come downstairs?”
“Yes.”
Well, that’s pretty mysterious, even for a man who likes surprises. I check myself in the mirror, throw a nicer coat over my pants, in case we want to go out, and use the stairs instead of the elevator. At the bottom, I turn and give a happy wave to Pat, our lobby guard.
Outside, Jack’s nowhere in sight but there’s a town car parked down the street. I suppose it could be him. It’s not unusual for him to borrow one of Patten’s limos for a special evening.
I take a few steps looking up and down the street. A small voice says danger and maybe because of the talk with my mom, for once I listen. Turning on a heel, I dash back toward my building.
When a too-firm hand grabs my forearm, I snap my head around and try to tug out of the iron grip.
Shit, oh shit. That’s so not Jack.
I’m about to let go a blood curdling scream but an Asian guy covers my mouth and presses something sharp to my belly button. The blade cuts through my wool coat and cold metal stings my flesh. On the other side of the blade is a short bald man with tats on his neck and a nasty scar on his upper lip.
“Shut up and get into the car. Nod if you understand.”
Bobbing my head, I swallow hard while reality sinks in. Someone must’ve stolen Jack’s phone, and imitated his voice. Then, there was the bad reception…
Oh my God. I’m being kidnapped. Did the Church of Heavenly Bliss finally catch up with me? I tamp down the fear and recall a movie I just watched. A girl survived a kidnapping. She convinced the serial killer to let her go and actually helped the FBI to find him.
I hardly think that’s going to be my happy ending as I’m half-dragged down the sidewalk with a knife to my baby bump.
I need to leave a clue for Jack but my kidnapper is already opening the door to the car. Before he can push me in, I pretend to drop my purse on the sidewalk. Cursing, Mr. Sneer squats and yanks me down with him. Time stands still as I pick everything up and wait for his gaze to focus on the pavement. When it does, I reach to my ear, pull off an earring, and toss it to the curb.
When he glances my way, I tug a strand of hair in front my earlobe. Order restored to my bag, he pushes me into the back seat of a blue Ford Truck.
It suddenly dawns on me. Neither the driver nor Mr. Sneer are covering their faces.
They don’t intend for me to live.
Chapter 7
Jack
For God’s sake, she left the lobby wearing a huge grin. Why the hell am I worried?
I slip off my knapsack, sit down in the lobby, and go to our phone carrier’s website. Moments later, while scrolling through her incoming calls, I stop and stare.
Fuck it all.
The smile she wore was for me. Someone used my callerID and sure as hell lured her out of our apartment. Maybe they had a recording of my voice or just winged it with a bad connection.
Shit. Worried how I’ve already wasted too much time, I call Patten Securities and when Slate picks up, I don’t even say hello. “I’m pretty sure someone just kidnapped Blake.’
“Whoa, Jack. Backup. Where are you?”
I’m not actually certain until I glance up at the cheap desk, chandelier, and four green vinyl chairs. “In the lobby of our apartment building. Someone spoofed my callerID. She went out and never came back.”
“What time was that?”
“Five fucking hours ago.” When my heart races like this, I can’t think straight.
Slate’s all business. “I got friends at the FBI. Text me her number and we’ll trace it. What else you got?”
“I’ll call you as soon as I find anything more.” I grunt my thanks and hang up.
She could be halfway to Canada by now. Outside, I check for other cameras that might have caught her on video. I’m guessing whoever took her knew better than to park right in front of our building.
The thought of her scared and all alone comes to mind but I force it away. If I go there, I’ll be no good to her at all. With a habit learned as a kid and honed in the service, I lock out all emotions until all that’s left is the job at hand.
Immediately, smarter brain cells fire.
Blake, luv. Did you leave a clue?
Outside, I comb the curb and the sidewalk, picking up tissues and candy wrappers. Anything could be a clue. I squat near a small gold earring stuck in a crack near the curb, a miracle it didn’t fall down the sewer.
Given this new vantage point, I search until I find any street camera pointing in my direction and flash a fake badge. “NYPD, Detective Taylor. I need to see your security footage.”
A bearded millennial at the front desk shrugs, taps an address into his browser, and shoves the laptop at me. “Use the arrows to move the timeline.”
“Thanks.” I take the video to right before her phone call and play it forward.
First, a Ford truck pulls to the curb. Then, an Asian man with a scar gets out and moves out of view. When he returns, he has ahold of Blake’s arm and drags her forward. Without warning, my wife drops her purse and the contents spill on the sidewalk. When he looks down, she pulls off an earring and tosses it into the street.
Good girl.
A copy of the footage gets stored on the cloud. After emailing the link to Slate, I shove the screen in front of the guard, and point to the kidnapper. “You ever see
him before?”
The kid purses his pierced lip. “No, but I recognize the woman. She lives nearby, right?”
“Yeah. That’s my wife.” My emotions must seep out onto my face because there’s pity etched in the kid’s.
“Sorry, man. Really sorry.”
I don’t respond because I’m already logging into Patten Securities. The Ford was a rental. No doubt the fuckers used fake ids but it’s the first real lead I got. When I find the company, I walk back to my building and check my watch. Another hour has passed.
I need to move a hell of a lot faster.
Slate surprises me when I enter the lobby. He grips my forearm when we shake, then introduces a tall black man with thick gray hair, standing beside him. “This is Special Agent Peter Diamond.
The guy shakes my hand firmly with a grim nod. We both know the odds of getting her back and I appreciate the fact he doesn’t sugarcoat it.
After holding the door open for the three of us, I push the elevator button. “Do you think her abduction has something to do with the senator?”
“Not sure. Have you got any calls? Ransom?”
In the small space, I glance over at Slate. Me and Blake sure as hell aren’t poor. However, even with her mom’s assets, we wouldn’t have enough cash for a decent ransom. It doesn’t make sense.
At my apartment door, Diamond holds out a palm. “Can I see your cell phone?”
Rather reluctantly. I hand it over, feeling as if I’m giving over control of finding my wife. Inside, another agent sits at my kitchen table and glances up. My heartstrings twang at the smell of baked bread and cinnamon.
A thought comes to me, I rush into the bedroom, and open the top drawer of her bedside dresser. She used to carry a useless Glock in her purse. I insisted she trade up. Breathing a little easier at finding the case empty, I walk back down the hall, past the unfinished tree, and into the kitchen.
“Say again?”
Slate puts a pod in the Keurig. “I said, it’s just a matter of time before we find her.”
“She has her weapon on her.” I pray she plays it smart and all the lessons I’ve given her pay off.
My cell phone sings out with the ringtone reserved for her, my gut clenches, and I say to the agents, “It’s her.”
Diamond puts the phone on speaker, nods at the agent sitting, then swipes the screen, his palm held out.
“Hello?”
“Jack? You there?” At the sound of her voice, a little of my battle armor cracks but I can’t fall apart and stay strong enough to save her.
“Babe? Where are you?”
A low male voice says, “Back off.” The line goes dead.
Fuck it all to hell. Part of me is thrilled she’s still alive, the other part knows it could be a recording. She could already be gone.
The young agent sitting at my kitchen table purses his lips, suspicion written all over his face. “What do you think they want?”
“I’m guessing for me to back off.” My tone isn’t really friendly, I don’t have time for this.
Antsy, I walk behind his chair so I can see his screen. “Did you get where the call came from?”
“Working on it. Somewhere in midtown.” He pushes up on the bridge of his dark glasses, grimaces, and opens a few more windows in his other monitor.
If we were anywhere else in the world, those tight coordinates would lead you right to the kidnapper’s front porch. In Manhattan, not so much.
“We need to do better. Keep trying.” Special Agent Diamond frowns at the younger, geeky looking agent, then looks up at me. “Agent Lukeman was right to ask. The guy said to back off. What did he mean by that?”
I glance at Slate for some guidance. I’m not sure how much the FBI knows about the other night. And honestly? I don’t want us distracted when I’m trying to find my wife.
After some reflection, I decide upon a partial truth. “I’ve been guarding Senator McAlister and recently got fired. I guess they didn’t get the memo.”
“And?”
“That’s it. There is no and.” I’m not saying a word until I hear from Patten. Putting a bug under a senator’s chair was risky. Telling the FBI would be just plain stupid.
Chapter 8
Blakely.
Six hours ago
My nose hurts the way it’s pressed into the back seat and the cloying scent of upholstery cleaner makes me want to puke. Suddenly, my arms are pulled behind, almost out of their sockets. I scream as rough hands grab my hands, plastic ties dig into my wrists, and my skin breaks open.
For the first time since being grabbed, I wonder if Jack will ever find me. Mr. Sneer paws through my purse, pulls out my cell phone, and grinning, pockets my sim card.
Silently, I thank God for Jack’s stubbornness. He rid me of the purse-gun and insisted I carry a real weapon with professional holsters. I press down with my upper arm, comforted by the feel of my pistol nestled next to my body.
I just pray when the time comes, I’ll be brave enough to use it.
When we stop at a light, I turn my head toward the window where the Empire State Building blocks the sky. I must be in the thirties between Fifth and Seventh Avenues. I store the information for later use.
The man behind the wheel barks in Chinese at Mr. Sneer, who pins me back down to the seat by my neck.
Who are these guys and why do they want me? At first, I thought my old cult wanted me back but they’d never hire Asians or any non-white.
If not The Church of Heavenly Bliss, then who? And why?
Neither Jack nor I come from money. Sure, we got a couple wealthy friends but that doesn’t make sense. No one gets kidnapped because of rich acquaintances. My thoughts are still churning when the driver pulls into a dark parking garage. Mr. Sneer pulls me to sitting, money exchanges hands with a grubby attendant, and I’m shoved into a smaller car with a different driver.
A few blocks later, we stop and I’m led out onto the sidewalk and down a set of subway stairs. Mr. Sneer stops halfway. He puts a hat on my head, pulls a dark cape over my coat, and places sunglasses on my face. Now it’s so dark I can barely see.
His accent is thick and his tone cold as hard metal pokes into my back. “I have a gun. Walk ahead of me and don’t try anything stupid.”
The dark glasses don’t make it easy as I stumble blindly. At the turnstile, he swipes a metro card and pushes me forward into the bars. We go down another set of stairs and once we’re on the train’s platform, I glance up, hoping a camera might pick up my face and send it to Jack.”
The man snickers. “The glasses disable facial recognition.”
Jack will find me, I’m sure of it.
But does he even know I’m missing? I missed our phone-sex date but is that enough for him to grow suspicious? Surely, if I don’t answer my phone by morning, he’ll start to call my mom and my friends.
Shit. How often have I let my cell battery die? He might not be concerned until tomorrow evening. By then, I could be dead.
Clearly, I’m going to have to get out of this jam by myself. When the timing is right, I’ll just take out my gun and shoot this asshole. There’s just one tiny problem to solve. My hands are tied behind me.
The D train rumbles in the tunnel and squeals to a halt in front of us. The doors open, I’m shoved inside and sit. Passengers in dark coats sit randomly with an array of canvas bags at their feet. All stare at their cell phones, Kindles, or out the windows. Mouthing the word help would be pointless.
Welcome to New York.
Because of the holiday, the trains are running on the local tracks making progress slow. After about ten stops, the door opens, and Mr. Sneer pokes his gun into my side. Standing quickly, we depart onto another platform. When I turn my head to figure out where we are, I’m shoved in the opposite direction, into a dark tunnel.
“I can’t see.” One false step and I’ll tumble onto the tracks. Maybe he’s hoping?
Pretending to slip, I use the rough wall to push the lenses
down to the tip of my nose. Good thing I did because our path is but a thin strip of cement. My sneakers barely fit.
The further we go, the darker it gets. Around a corner, the tunnel glows eerily from a green signal light. The next train will surely rush by and kill us.
“Hurry up.” Mr. Sneer shoves, I slip and wobble, about to fall six feet without any hands to break my fall.
A large hand grabs my cape by the neck and I’m pulled back to the wall. My heart thumps so hard I can’t even hear myself hyperventilating. Frozen with fear, I don’t dare take another step.
“Go. The door is just ahead.” My captor presses metal to the small of my back.
“I c-c-can’t.” I open my eyes and am rewarded by the walls of the tunnel spinning in circles.
“Do it or I shoot.”
What kind of death do I prefer? One is more immediate so I shuffle forward without lifting a foot. When I see a set of metal handles, I release my breath and sweat rolls down my sides.
Mr. Sneer will make a mistake and when he does, I’m going shoot him. Then, I’ll do my happy dance on his dead body.
He unlocks a padlock holding a chain wrapping around the door’s handles.
I thought I’d be happy to be off the ledge but now I’m not so sure. Cool, musty air hits my face as we descend a steep set of stairs lit only by a string of dim bulbs. At the bottom, we traverse an open space filled with piles of lumber and tons of cement bags.
I shiver as he pushes me toward more steps and we go lower still. By my calculations, we must be at least two stories underneath the subway.
I say a little prayer for my mom. She’ll be devastated when she finds out I’m missing, even more so when they find me dead. She was looking forward to being a grandmother. And Jack? He’ll be a mess. I see him in front of my casket, face devoid of any emotion. He’ll just shut down and probably never recover.
I can’t let that happen.
Jack II Page 5
