by Marie Force
“What the hell does that mean?” Freddie asked. “You can’t just take her. She’s not under Secret Service protection, and she’s working.”
“I’m afraid we can take her, and we will, by force if necessary.”
“What the fuck?” Beckett spoke for all of them. At some point he’d moved to the other side of her.
Like someone flipped a switch, they moved with military precision, busting through the tapeline, grabbing hold of her arms and quickly extracting her before her stunned colleagues could react. Sam fought them, but she was no match for four huge, muscled, well-dressed men who whisked her away with frightening efficiency.
In the background, she could hear Freddie and Beckett screaming, swearing—at least Beckett was—and giving chase, but they, too, were no match for this group. Before she knew what hit her, she was inside the cool darkness of one in the Secret Service’s endless fleet of black SUVs, the doors locking with a sound that echoed like a shotgun blast.
“Move,” the agent in charge ordered.
The car lurched forward just as Freddie and Beckett reached it. Freddie pounded once against the side window with a closed fist before the car pulled out of his reach.
Sam watched the scene unfold around her with a detached feeling of shock and fear. Something awful must’ve happened. That was the only possible reason for this dramatic scene. She was far too afraid for Nick to work up the fury she’d normally feel at being kidnapped by federal agents. Her hands were shaking, and her entire body was covered in cold chills.
If Nick had been harmed in some way or if he was... No, no, no, not going there. If he was hurt, what did it matter if Secret Service agents had grabbed her? What would anything matter?
She bit back the overwhelming fear and forced herself to focus. “Would someone please tell me what’s going on here?”
CHAPTER TWO
NO ONE SAID a word.
Silence had never felt heavier or more oppressive. Why wouldn’t they tell her what was wrong? Out the front windshield she noticed several other black SUVs had joined their caravan. They moved with stealthy speed, emergency lights flashing as they flew through notoriously clogged District streets. Drivers who regularly ignored police sirens got the fuck out of the way for the Secret Service.
While trying to control her galloping heart and frantic need to know what was happening, she made herself watch the world go by outside the car, trying to figure out where they were taking her. When they hung a left, she realized they weren’t going to her home.
How did she even know these guys were actually with the Secret Service? What if terrorists pretending to be federal agents had kidnapped her?
“I want to see your badges. Up close. Right now.”
The one sitting closest to her handed his over.
Sam studied it carefully. Thomas J. Jackson, United States Secret Service. The badge seemed legit. She gave the others the same scrutiny, noting the one in charge was named Daniel Cooley. “What do you want with me?”
“We’ll brief you fully when we arrive at our destination,” Jackson said.
“Which is where?”
“We’re not at liberty to share that information.”
“Tell me one thing.” She swallowed the largest ball of fear that had ever lodged in any throat ever and forced herself to ask the most unimaginable question of her life. “Is my husband dead?”
Jackson, bless his heart, took mercy on her. “No, ma’am.”
Sam rested her head back against the seat, closed her eyes and released the breath she’d been holding from the second she realized the Secret Service had come for her. Adrenaline coursed through her system, making her feel amped and drained at the same time. “And my son?”
“He’s fine.”
She’d never been more afraid at any time in her life than she’d been in the last ten minutes, and it would be perfectly all right with her if she never felt that way again—ever. Then it dawned on her that Jackson had said Nick wasn’t dead. He hadn’t said he was fine either. Was he hurt? Clinging to life? Taken hostage? Being held for ransom? On a flight that’d been hijacked?
One after another, the scenarios went through her mind, each more horrifying than the last. What if... Oh God, I can’t even... I just can’t.
They drove for quite some time before the driver took an abrupt right onto a ramp that descended into what looked like a parking garage. The car stopped in front of a security door that rose to admit them, and the car lurched forward into darkness.
Sam spun around in her seat to watch the door close behind them. What the actual fuck was happening? And where the fuck was she?
The door next to her opened, and one of the agents held out a hand, as if to help her from the car. “Right this way, ma’am.”
She ignored his hand and got out on her own, hoping there’d be some answers at the other end of “right this way.” All four agents surrounded her as they traveled down a long corridor that ended at a closed door.
Cooley punched in a code on a keypad next to the door, and it slid open to reveal another dark room. Sam blinked several times, her eyes protesting the darkness after the bright sunshine outside.
“Ma’am?” He gestured for her to go in ahead of them.
She didn’t want to go in there. Every instinct was telling her not to step forward, to run away, but she knew they’d never let her escape. This was reminding her far too much of the march down the stairs into hell in Marissa Springer’s basement.
“Wh-what is this place?” Sam hated the hitch in her voice that made her sound nervous.
“It’s a secure facility,” Cooley said. “You’ll be safe here.”
“How do I know that?”
“You have to trust us.”
“Why should I trust you? I’ve never laid eyes on any of you before you showed up at my crime scene and basically snatched me without any information as to why I was being snatched. You’ll have to pardon me if I’m currently running a little low on trust.”
“I understand how you must feel, Mrs.—”
“Do you? Do you really? Is your husband the vice president of the United States? Is he protected by the agency that just snatched me from a crime scene for no reason that I’ve been made aware of? Is he in Iran, a country not exactly known for its hospitality toward Americans? Do you not know if your husband is injured or worse? If you can’t answer yes to any of those questions, then you actually have no fucking idea how I must feel!”
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I don’t know how you feel, but if you’d please come with us, I assure you that everything will be explained in due time.”
“Due time,” she said with a bitchy-sounding snort. “Is that agency speak for ‘when we get around to it’?”
“We’ll brief you as soon as we’re authorized to do so.”
Sam was about to give in and go into the room when she heard a shout from behind her.
“Mom!”
She spun around to see Scotty heading toward her, surrounded by his Secret Service detail. The sight of the familiar agents was welcome proof that the four who’d snatched her were legit. Her son ran into her outstretched arms.
“What’s going on?” he asked. His dark hair was damp with sweat, and his face was flushed from being outside at camp. He was wearing an orange camp T-shirt, a Feds cap and his baseball cleats.
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly, “but I’m told we’re going to be briefed soon.”
“Is it Dad? Has something happened?”
“I’m not sure. They told me he’s alive, but they haven’t said anything more than that.”
That he visibly crumpled at the news Nick was alive let her know how afraid he’d been, and for that alone, she’d never forgive the Secret Service for this stunt. It was one thing to sca
re the hell out of her. It was another thing altogether for them to scare the hell out of her kid. As soon as she found out what the fuck was going on, heads were going to roll.
“If you would.” Cooley again gestured to the room on the other side of the steel door.
Sam took Scotty by the hand and led him into the huge space, where there were comfortable-looking sofas, tables with books and magazines neatly arranged, and a counter with snacks and drinks on ice.
“If there’s anything in particular you need,” Cooley said, “please let one of my people know. We’ll do anything we can to ensure your comfort.”
“When will this briefing I was promised happen?”
“Shortly.”
Sensing that was the best answer she was going to get, Sam led Scotty to one of the sofas. “Let me see your phone,” she said to him when they were seated together.
While the agents conferred with each other in hushed voices, Scotty handed over his smartphone.
Sam pressed the big button and waited for it to come to life. “How do I get to the internet on this thing?”
Scotty took it back and pressed a few buttons. “That’s weird. Nothing is happening.”
“There’s no service down here,” Jackson said.
Sam blew out a deep breath full of frustration and anxiety. This was bringing back far too many unpleasant memories of being trapped in Marissa Springer’s basement, at the mercy of Lieutenant Stahl as he tortured her. Sam’s chest felt tight with growing anxiety, and she couldn’t stay seated on the sofa. She got up to pace the length of the room, examining it more thoroughly.
The walls were made of reinforced concrete and the only way in or out, that she could see, was through the secure door they’d used to enter the space. When she felt herself beginning to hyperventilate, she focused on breathing in a steady rhythm that helped to keep the panic at bay.
A low hum and a clicking noise preceded the door sliding open again.
Sam’s mouth fell open in shock when her sister Tracy was escorted in. She wore a black cape over her clothing, and her hair was full of foil packets.
“Oh my God, Sam! What the hell is this? They took me right out of the chair at the salon!”
“I wish I knew. I was grabbed from a crime scene.”
“I was on deck at camp,” Scotty said. “I missed my chance to bat.”
“So they haven’t told you anything?” Tracy asked.
“Nothing other than Nick isn’t dead.”
“You really thought he was?” Scotty asked.
Sam put her arm around him. “I didn’t know what to think when they showed up at a crime scene. I asked them straight-out if he was dead, and they said he isn’t.”
“Jesus,” Tracy muttered. “How long are they going to hold us here?”
“I have no idea. They said I’ll be briefed shortly. That’s all I know.”
A low hum and then a click had them turning toward the door as it opened to admit Sam’s other sister, Angela, her two young children, Jack and Ella, and Alex, the infant son of Sam’s colleague Sergeant Tommy “Gonzo” Gonzales. Angela babysat Alex.
Ella and Alex were crying as Angela and one of the harried-looking agents carried them into the room.
“Where are we?” Angela asked. “What’s happening?”
“No one knows,” Tracy answered as she scooped up her shell-shocked nephew Jack.
Jack wrinkled his nose. “You stink, Auntie.”
“That’s because my hair is now officially overprocessed, buddy, and it’ll probably be purple after all this.”
“Cool purple hair.”
“Glad you think so,” Tracy said. “Do you suppose they’re rounding up my family too?”
Her question was answered by the hum and click of the door opening again to admit her daughter, Brooke, who was dressed in the uniform of the restaurant where she waitressed. Two agents had her by the arms as Brooke fought them every step of the way. When she saw her mother and aunts in the room, she stopped struggling and burst into tears.
Tracy handed Jack to Sam and went to hug her daughter. “Easy, honey. It’s okay. We’re right here.”
“I was s-so scared,” Brooke said between sobs. “I didn’t know why they were taking me. I thought it was happening again.”
Sam wanted to kill someone for putting Brooke through such an ordeal when she was only beginning to truly recover from being drugged and gang-raped at a party last winter. Whoever ordered this operation would live to regret it by the time Sam was finished with them.
Over the next half hour, the door opened repeatedly as the rest of the family arrived. Sam’s dad, Skip, used his one working index finger to roll his wheelchair into the room with his wife, Celia, by his side. Tracy’s husband, Mike, and their younger children, Abby and Ethan. Nick’s father, Leo, his wife, Stacy, and their six-year-old twin boys. The last to arrive were Nick’s adopted parents, retired Senator Graham O’Connor and his wife, Laine, both of whom were rattled and undone by the ordeal.
The agents produced toys and games for the kids, who went to check out the offerings while the adults speculated as to what might’ve happened to result in them being plucked out of their lives and brought to this underground bunker.
“Whatever it is,” Skip said, “it must be huge to warrant something like this.”
Her father’s comment didn’t help to calm Sam’s out-of-control nerves. The only person missing from this family reunion was the one she most needed to see, to touch, to ensure he was okay. Until she knew for certain that he hadn’t been harmed, she wouldn’t be able to function normally.
The lack of information was the worst part. They were completely sealed off from the outside world with no earthly idea what had prompted the Secret Service to gather up people who weren’t even under their protection.
Tracy came over to Sam, who stood by herself, trying to think it through as a detective and coming up empty.
“Are you okay?” Tracy asked. At some point she’d removed the foils from her hair, which was sticking up at awkward angles that would’ve made Sam laugh under normal circumstances.
“I’m freaking out and have a million questions. Where’s Nick? Is he okay? Why won’t they tell me anything? Who ordered that everyone be brought here? What is this place?”
“I know it’s hard not to go to the worst-case scenario, but if something had happened to him, surely it would’ve made the news before the dragnet swooped in, right?”
“I suppose, but who knows for sure with him in freaking Iran? Well, they know, but they’re not telling me anything!” She intentionally raised her voice so the agents huddled together at the far end of the huge room would hear her. Not that they gave a shit. In a quieter tone, she said, “I’m losing my mind, Trace.”
Tracy put her arm around Sam and led her to one of the sofas, where they sat together, Sam leaning her head on her older sister’s shoulder the way she had all her life when she needed comfort. Tracy was always there for her, and now was no different.
With baby Ella in her arms, Angela joined them, sitting on the other side of Sam. “I hope they thought to get diapers, because they didn’t give me time to get anything, and this little girl is going to need a change before too much longer.”
“What did they say when they came to your house?” Sam asked.
“Just that they were with the Secret Service, that there was a ‘situation’ and the children and I needed to come with them.”
“A situation,” Sam said. “That’s more info than I’ve been given.”
“What about Spencer?” Angela asked about her husband. “He’s in Philadelphia today for work.”
“I’m sure they’re aware of his whereabouts, but I’ll ask when I get the chance,” Sam said.
“I’m worried about Gonzo and Chri
stina not being able to reach me when they want to pick up Alex,” Angela said. “Someone needs to tell them what’s going on.”
“Someone needs to tell us what’s going on.” She stood and marched over to the group of agents. “I want to be briefed. Right now.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Cooley said, surprising her with his easy capitulation. “Right this way.”
Sam took a tentative look over her shoulder, caught Tracy’s eye and nodded toward Scotty, asking her sister to keep an eye on her son. He’d been unusually quiet as they waited to find out what was happening.
Tracy nodded in understanding and slipped an arm around Scotty’s shoulders.
The last thing Sam saw before she entered an adjoining room with the agents was Scotty smiling at whatever Tracy had said to him.
Sam’s stomach knotted in fear, and her hands were suddenly sweaty. What would they tell her, and how would it change her life? Please...whatever it is, please let Nick be okay. Sam could handle anything they had to say as long as her beloved husband hadn’t been harmed.
When they were seated around a large conference table, Cooley began by offering Sam something to drink.
“Water would be good.”
Cooley brought her a plastic cup filled with cold water.
As she took a drink, she realized how dry her mouth and throat were. Fear did that to a person.
“On behalf of the United States Secret Service, I apologize for the inconvenience to you, your son and your family members,” Cooley said. “At eleven twenty this morning, the Secret Service was provided with information that specified a credible threat against the vice president and his family.”
“Wh-what kind of threat?”
“We’re still in the early stages of our investigation. We hope to know more in the next few hours.”
“Where’s my husband?”
“He’s on his way home and due to land at Andrews at twenty hundred hours.”
Sam checked her watch. Six hours. He’d be home in six hours. Thank you, God. “When can I see him?”
