His body tensed—any second now.
He sat forward when a dark figure emerged on camera to the right, skulking through the night toward Madalina. Coming up behind her, out of sight so she couldn’t see him. But she must have glimpsed the man in periphery or from a reflection on the car, because she suddenly whipped around, posture stiff in preparation for self-defense. She had attempted to use the purse as a distraction, swinging it in a wild arc.
A fresh bout of fury gripped Cole at the altercation that played out on the screen. There was something menacing about the masked men, something determined. Methodical. He noted that they moved with precision and skilled expertise, even when Madalina fought back.
In his experience, the agents hadn’t ever bothered to hide their faces behind ski masks, which threw him into a quandary about Madalina’s attackers. Not only that but these men appeared much bigger than the agents, hulking men who must have stood greater than six feet. Cole knew the angle could be deceiving, but the way the men loomed over Madalina gave him a good guess as to their size. He judged the attackers to be at least as tall as he was and as broad through the shoulders.
“Whoever these guys are, one thing is for certain. They’re professionals, not hired thugs off the street. Look at their presence, the way they carry themselves. They’ve had training for this,” Damon said, studying the footage alongside Cole.
“Yes. What I can’t determine is if these are the agents or not. Since the beginning of all this, the agents have come at us head-on, never hiding their identity. They never wore masks. I don’t know why they would start now.” Cole leaned even closer to try and get a better view of the license plate as the getaway vehicle pulled into view. Two numbers or letters were obscured.
“It does have a different feel than what you’ve dealt with before now,” Damon said. “In subtle ways, but different.”
Cole rewound the footage and watched it again from the beginning. Leaning back, he thrust both hands through his hair, elbows askew, trying to make sense of what he saw. “Look at the way that one guy goes through the contents of her purse. Very practiced and on purpose. And then he glances inside the car, as if searching for something else.”
“Probably more paperwork, folders, notes. Things like that,” Brandon said from the doorway. He strode into the room, eyes on the monitor. “Play it again.”
Cole started the tape over.
Brandon paused behind Cole’s chair and observed Madalina’s abduction. He leaned in, as if to get a better look. “They took her wallet to throw off the police, to make it seem more like a mugging. Classic misdirect. They didn’t bother with her phone because they know it can be tracked by GPS. Nothing on her phone mattered enough to risk bringing it with them. Not the photos, videos, or contacts. Now the organizer . . . that suggests something entirely different than everything else. The only possible reason they searched her purse and took the organizer is because they’re looking for something specific—or they think she’s got a meeting with someone they’re interested in. The abductors believe there’s information on those pages that might lead them to what they seek.”
“That’s what I thought, too. And the only thing in her life that’s remotely worth anything lately are those dragons,” Cole concluded.
“Exactly,” Brandon said. He used a control on the keypad to rewind the tape to a certain spot, zoomed in until the screen threatened to pixelate, and let it play through that particular point.
Cole regarded Brandon, waiting to see if his brother had hit on a clue. But Brandon straightened and pushed his hands into his pockets without saying a thing. The complicated expression Brandon wore was impossible for Cole to decipher. Maybe he was judging height and breadth or attempting to discern facial features behind the masks. Before Cole could ask, the conversation continued.
“I’m with Cole, though. This still feels different than what the agents usually do,” Damon said, swiveling his chair toward the others.
“Those aren’t the same men. I’d bet my entire yearly paycheck on it.” Brandon sounded sure.
“What makes you say that?” Cole asked.
“These people took extreme measures to hide their identity. The agents have never done that. The agents would have grabbed Madalina and then called to tell you they’d done so. They would have made whatever demands they had. These guys . . . they don’t want to be found. They want to make it difficult for anyone to track them down. I’ll bet that vehicle is a rental and the name used to rent it is fictitious. I’ll even go so far as to say that if we can find the rental company, their security feed will show someone who managed to hide their face from the cameras. Or, if they’re really cautious, they paid cash for that van and will dump it somewhere when they’re done. And, having been a ‘guest’ of the Chinese agents personally, I can tell you that none of them were as big as these guys obviously are. These men are like linebackers, built heavy and strong.”
Hearing Brandon voice the same sentiments going through his own mind made Cole believe that they were dealing with something new here. Something they hadn’t dealt with before. They don’t want to be found. The thought sent a fresh chill down Cole’s spine. These people weren’t going to call for ransom, didn’t care about anyone else but Madalina.
They had what they’d come for.
Madalina woke to darkness. Immediately alert to the strangeness of her surroundings, she sat straight up, heart thundering in her chest. Her first thought was, I have to get out of here. In vivid flashes, she recalled the attack outside the store. The ski masks, the fight, the open door of the van. This had to be the work of the agents. They’d snatched her when she least expected it, and the demands for the location of the final two dragons would begin any moment.
Dammit.
She should have known this was coming. Should have guessed that the agents were only biding their time. What gave her strength and fended off panic was the knowledge that in all her altercations, she hadn’t suffered serious physical harm at the hands of the agents. Hadn’t been beaten or tortured or maimed. Threatened, yes. The agents were quite adept at threats and manipulation. If they killed her, however, they wouldn’t be any closer to finding the dragons.
Cole’s lessons and training for circumstances like these also helped keep terror at bay, and forced her to focus on acting, instead of reacting. To put her mind to use figuring out ways to get loose, to gather clues about her surroundings.
She discovered that her wrists were shackled to the cot she’d been sleeping on, restricting her range of motion to less than two feet. The cot itself reminded her of something she might see in an army barracks: sturdy, lightweight, foldable legs, and plain green canvas. No pillow, no blankets. Windows in the wall to her right provided vague illumination, enough for her to make out the shape of a desk, a simple chair, and a single door. As far as she could tell, she appeared to be locked in a sparsely furnished bedroom. There were no pictures on the walls, no rugs on the floor.
Madalina filed away all that information while she listened for other signs of life. Attempted to pick out recognizable sounds. She heard the rustle of wind in the trees, and more distantly, waves. No voices. Was she alone?
This might be her chance to escape.
Testing the strength of the rudimentary shackles, she twisted and tugged to no avail. The cuffs felt loose, as if made for much bigger wrists, and she found that she could nearly squeeze her hands free if she pulled hard enough. The iron cut into her skin as she tugged, a frown furrowing her brow at the pain of grinding bones. Suddenly her right hand came free. Bloody abrasions marred her flesh, which did not deter her in the least. She worked her left hand free the same way and scrambled off the cot.
Okay, what would Cole do? Madalina searched for a phone first. She doubted the men who’d abducted her would be so careless as to leave one behind, but she double-checked the desk anyway. All the thin, narrow drawers were empty. With a glance at the closed door, she crossed to the window and parted the blinds to look
outside. It was the middle of the night, but even in the darkness there was enough moonlight to make out a small courtyard, several tropical trees, and the California coastline beyond. Her abductors hadn’t taken her out of the state.
She considered this good news. The other piece of good news was that there were no bars on the windows to prevent her from climbing out into the courtyard. What about alarms? The thought gave her only a moment’s pause. She couldn’t stay here, couldn’t not try to escape. If an alarm went off, she would deal with that problem when it came. Using a pull rope, she eased the blinds to the top, effectively moving them out of her way. Undoing the latches of the window, she pushed up the pane, wincing at an unexpected squeal of metal. A gust of salty air curled into the room as she disengaged a screen and set it against the outside wall.
She was almost there. Almost free.
The sound of crashing waves was much louder now. She could see the roiling black ocean past the half wall of the courtyard, but no road. The house appeared to be sitting on a low bluff, perhaps at the end of a street or cul-de-sac. She debated the option of simply running along the beach itself until she came to another section of houses. She knew help was close by. It was just a matter of finding a safe house before her abductors saw her or caught her.
With a final glance at the door, she lifted a leg and slid out the window to the courtyard, which turned out to be bigger than she initially thought. A few iron tables and chairs sat near potted palms in either direction, the low half wall creating a neat patio area that stretched the length of the structure. Left would lead her to the front of the house; right seemed to circumvent the property at the back.
Crouching low near the wall, she hurried toward the end of the courtyard. The stucco exterior of the house scraped her shoulder, her thigh. A burst of exhilaration at being so close to escape energized her, sent the hair up on the back of her neck.
Go, go, go. You can do it. Almost there.
She slowed when she came to a broad set of french doors. Taking a few deep breaths to prepare herself, she braced her hands against the wall for balance and peered quickly through the panes to make sure her abductors weren’t in whatever room lay beyond. It wouldn’t do to be in such a rush that she made a critical mistake. She still needed to think, be on alert, use caution.
She glanced so quickly that she caught only a fleeting image of two people strapped to chairs, gags in their mouths.
Swerving back out of sight, she frowned. As far as she knew, the agents had never abducted anyone along with herself. Why were they there? What purpose did they serve? She hadn’t seen any men in black ski masks, and it made her bold enough to risk another look.
When her eyes adjusted to the gloom and focused on the people themselves, on their features, she gasped in shock. Madalina couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
“Mom! Dad!” Her urgent whispers went unheard. Madalina’s entire perspective changed in a heartbeat.
The escape she’d coveted instead turned into a rescue mission.
CHAPTER THREE
Every direction he turned, Cole ran into a dead end. He cursed under his breath, frustrated, as he hung up from another call with Thaddeus. His brother had men working around the clock on the footage, on calling car-rental places to search for the mysterious van.
Not one shred of evidence had turned up.
Brandon and Damon sat at the other computers in his office, tapping resources, scouring information venues not available to the general public. Trying to help, looking for clues.
Their father’s company—a company he and his brothers would one day inherit—had sanctioned access to databases that made people easier to track down. It was the kind of company the government used to secure sensitive items and information and, sometimes, high-profile citizens. Not just from the USA, but many other countries as well.
The problem was—they didn’t know who they were looking for. There were no specific names or aliases to give them a head start. No facial features to run through recognition software.
Agitated and annoyed, he glanced at the wall clock and stood up from his chair. “I was hoping to have some kind of good news for Madalina’s parents, but I can’t put this off any longer. I need to call them and tell them what happened.”
Damon pushed his chair back from the desk and swiveled to face Cole. “I figured that was coming soon. We’ve been at this an hour already and nothing.”
Brandon didn’t look away from the piece of footage he was watching. “Are her parents here in Whittier?”
“Yeah, yeah. They came home last week for Madalina’s birthday.” Cole unplugged his cell phone from the charger on the desk and dialed Madalina’s parents. He’d met them several times over the past few months and found them to be salt-of-the-earth-type folk. Easygoing, free-spirited, quick to smile and laugh.
When he got no answer on the main house line, he tried Madalina’s mother’s cell phone. Nothing. He wouldn’t leave this kind of information on her voice mail, either. He tried Wesley’s number next. Madalina’s father’s phone rang and rang and rang.
“As much as I hate to disrupt them in the middle of the night, I’m going to have to drive over there and wake them up. They would want to know that their daughter has been abducted,” Cole said decisively. “You two stay here and keep looking.”
“Righto,” Brandon said.
“Call us if you need us,” Damon said, swiveling back to the computer.
“Will do.” Cole left the house shortly after, driving through the wet streets with a tight grip on the wheel. The sodden city glistened under the lamplights and the glow of the emerging moon. Silhouettes of swaying palms lined the main thoroughfare—a peaceful, tranquil sight on any other night but this one.
Tonight all Cole could think about was Madalina and how much danger she might be in. About whether the Chinese agents were behind the abduction and if he would ever see her again.
Thirty minutes later he pulled to the curb in front of the Maitlands’ modest home in Chino. The headlights flashed off a DEAD END sign thirty yards ahead, indicating to vehicular traffic that this was not a through street. Madalina’s parents’ home was the last residence in the tract of houses before wild terrain took over. Cole cut the engine and pocketed the keys.
Wesley’s steel-gray SUV sat in the Maitlands’ driveway. The porch light was off, and he detected no other lights on inside the residence. Not surprising considering the late hour.
He scoured the scene as he walked a small pathway toward the porch, always wary, always aware. After Madalina’s abduction, he couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t become the next target. At the front door, he paused with his finger over the doorbell and knocked instead. The doorbell might scare the pants off the elders this late at night. He waited, occasionally glancing back at the street. After several minutes, more than enough time for Wesley or Juniper to throw on a robe and answer the door, Cole rang the doorbell anyway.
A minute ticked by. Then another. He expected to hear shuffling and movement any second. Telltale signs that the homeowners had roused and were on their way to answer the door.
Still nothing. He knocked again, this time with urgent impatience.
“Wesley, Juniper, it’s Cole. Open the door.” He spoke low, but loud enough for his voice to carry a few feet into the home. Just in case the couple were afraid and hesitant to answer the knock.
Reaching out, he tried the knob on impulse—and was surprised when the door opened under his hand. What the hell? He hadn’t spent an immense amount of time at Madalina’s parents’ home, but he knew they wouldn’t leave their door unlocked.
Pushing inside, slowly and quietly, he scanned the foyer. No sign of Wesley or Juniper. Closing the door behind him, he flipped the lock so that no one could creep in behind him without making a lot of noise, and prowled into the living room.
A vase had been knocked onto the floor, the flowers scattered across a Persian carpet. On a wall opposite, the frame of a painting sat askew
, as if someone had bumped against it.
Cole didn’t like what he saw. In stealth mode, he moved more quickly through the house, finding small signs of what appeared to be a struggle. Their beds were still made, as if they’d never been slept in, and he found Wesley’s keys on the nightstand.
Back in the kitchen where, once upon a time, Madalina had been snatched by the agents, Cole pulled out his cell phone and dialed Damon.
“What’s up?” Damon said.
“I think something’s wrong over here. I set up new security cameras here after our last situation with the agents, and I want you to pull it up on the computer. Tell me what you see.” Cole looked for more clues as Damon got on the task.
“What do you think happened?” Damon asked.
“Not sure. But they’re not here, their front door was unlocked, and there are a few pieces of furniture out of place. It looks as if there was a scuffle or something,” Cole replied.
“Hey,” Brandon said. Clearly Damon had put the call on speaker.
“This is bizarre. I’m not finding any clues as to why they would have needed to leave the house for an emergency. They’re just . . . gone,” Cole said.
“I think the chances that Madalina’s parents are missing and that she got picked up on the same night are astronomical. That can’t be coincidence,” Brandon said.
“I think you’re right.” Cole paced to the back window, then the front window; everything seemed calm, normal.
“Okay. I’ve got the right file. Pulling up the feed for today,” Damon said. Cole could hear his brother’s fingers flying over the keys.
Pacing through the house, tense and edgy, Cole waited for the verdict.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Brandon said out of the blue.
“What? What is it?” Cole hated that he couldn’t see the video feed.
“Well, it’s not good news. The angle you set up that views the front yard, driveway, and curb shows the same van that was in Madalina’s feed earlier. Three guys get out and go straight to the door. They don’t seem to have trouble getting in—they didn’t kick down the door or anything. Must have had lock picks. They disappear inside and twenty-eight minutes later come back out with Madalina’s parents in tow. Both Wesley and Juniper look . . . defeated,” Damon said.
A Dangerous Tryst (The Inheritance Book 3) Page 3
