by Sara Davison
“He’ll be okay.”
“I know. This time. But he’s right. He’s not young anymore, and obviously he has health problems. What if …”
Nicole shuddered and pressed her forehead to his shoulder. Gage wrapped his other arm around her, holding her close. One hand stroked her hair as they sat for several minutes without speaking.
Finally, she summoned the strength to move. “Let’s clean up. I really want to get home.”
“Okay.” He kissed her forehead before standing up and starting to stack the dirty dishes.
Nicole followed him into the kitchen and turned on the water in the sink. Gage set the dishes down on the counter and moved to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “I’m sorry your birthday dinner got ruined.”
She shook her head and squirted dish soap into the sink before reaching for a plate. “It didn’t. I mean, I’m worried about Joe, of course, but dinner was great. It was exactly what I wanted, an evening with the people I … care about the most in the world.”
She swallowed. Had she almost told him that she loved him? That was ridiculous, wasn’t it? She’d only known him for a few weeks.
Gage pulled his arms from her waist and took her by the shoulders to turn her around. His dark eyes glowed and her breath caught. “I … care about you too.”
He lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers. Nicole lifted her hands to his face as he pulled her close. The warmth that coursed through her pushed away the fear that still hovered at the edges of her consciousness, and the ache in her stomach finally eased.
Gage lifted his head. Nicole looked up at him and pressed her lips together.
He tilted his head. “What?”
Still in his arms, she half-turned to grab a towel off the island. “You have soap all over your face.”
“Oh yeah?” He moved back when she tried to wipe it off with the towel, and instead used his hands to remove the white bubbles from his cheeks. Before she could move, he swiped his fingers across her nose and chin.
“Hey.” Nicole pursed her lips and blew, sending a cloud of bubbles into the air.
Gage snorted, and suddenly they were both laughing. The heaviness of the last few minutes dissipated like the soap into the air. When her laughter died down to the occasional giggle, Gage, still grinning, tugged the towel from her hand and gently wiped her face before cleaning the last of the soap off of his.
When they’d finished loading the dishwasher, Nicole dried her hands and rested them on his chest. “Thanks, Gage.”
“For what?”
“Being here. Making me laugh. Celebrating my birthday with me.”
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” Gage slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a small, square package. “I was going to give you this at dinner, but …”
Her eyes widened. “You did get me a gift.”
He laughed. “Unfortunately, I didn’t know at the time I could have gotten away with only giving you a compliment.”
She took the box from his hand. “You couldn’t have.”
“I didn’t think so.”
Nicole tore the light blue paper off the gift. It dropped to the floor as she lifted out a small box with the words Peoples Jewellers scrawled across the top. Her eyebrows rose as she looked up at Gage.
He offered her a lopsided grin. “Just open it.”
Her heart thudding against her ribs, Nicole lifted the lid of the box. A pair of pearl studs were nestled in the black velvet lining of the box. She drew in a quick breath. “Gage. They’re beautiful.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Pearls are the symbol for thirty years, apparently. That’s what the saleslady said, anyway.”
She set the box down on the island, slipped off the small silver hoops she always wore, and dropped them onto the counter. One at a time, she tugged the pearl earrings loose and put them on. Holding her hair back with both hands, she tilted her head. “What do you think?”
“Gorgeous.” He wasn’t looking at the earrings.
Nicole let her hair drop. She struggled to pull air into her lungs.
Gage lowered his head.
Time to go. If he kissed her now, she wouldn’t have the strength to stop whatever happened next. She pressed a hand to his chest and drew in a shuddering breath. “I love them. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He pulled back and studied her for a moment. As always, she felt far too exposed under his intense gaze. He didn’t comment on the change in climate, however, as he held out his arm to her. “Shall we?”
She slid her hand through the crook of his elbow. “I think we should.”
They walked to his car in silence. When they reached it, Gage pulled open her door and rested his hand on top of it as she climbed in. Then, his hand still on the top of the door, he leaned down closer to her. “Nic, remember what I told you that night I brought Chinese food to your place, about the mistake I’d made in the past, and wouldn’t make with you?”
Her stomach clenched as she looked up at him. “Yes.”
“Well, that still stands.”
The tense muscles across her shoulders relaxed. “Good to know. Thanks.”
He nodded and closed the door.
Nicole twirled one of the earrings in her ear. Once again, she’d pushed Gage away, and once again, he hadn’t gone. Could she trust that, then? Trust him?
He climbed behind the wheel and flashed her a smile before starting the car.
If she could, then of all the gifts he’d given her tonight, that one would be the greatest of them all.
Chapter Seventeen
You have to admire them. Everything they had told him was right so far, down to the sensor light attached to the back wall of the house. The bulb would have come on if he had walked anywhere within a fifteen-foot radius of that corner, thrusting him onto center stage beneath a glaring spotlight. In the dim glow of the quarter moon, Rogue could barely make out the shape of it, set back in the bricks so that, if he hadn’t known it was there, he would have tripped it for sure.
Skirting it carefully, he made his way to the brick wall and pressed his back against it. Somewhere down the street, a dog barked, and he jumped then forced himself to take several deep breaths. This would go a lot smoother if his nerves were under control.
Moving slowly, he pulled a slim tool out of his jacket pocket and held it in his gloved hand. He glanced through the glass and positioned himself in front of the door, blocking the view of what he was doing from anyone who might look out a neighboring window. Not that anyone was likely to see him in the watery light of the thin moon. Even that they had factored into the equation when they chose this particular night. Rogue slid the tool into the lock and turned it to the right and then the left, exactly as they had shown him. A soft click brought a grim smile of satisfaction to his face. He straightened. Grasping the handle, he turned it slowly and pushed the door open, one careful inch at a time, listening for any sound inside the house after each movement.
He opened the door just enough to slip through, then pushed it against the frame without latching it. Drawing in another deep breath, he turned and made his way through the living room. The only light came from the flashing green numbers on the Blue-Ray player. Perfect.
Rogue felt along the hardwood floor with the toe of his running shoe, checking for any loose boards. He tested each step for creaks before putting his full weight on it. At the top of the stairs he sidled along the wall, past the small circle of light that fell onto the hall floor from the nightlight left on in the upstairs bathroom.
When he reached the little girl’s room, he paused for several seconds to slow his breathing before reaching into his pocket to grip the thin needle he’d stuck there. He’d have to proceed carefully. It was impossible to predict what might be lying on the floor of a child’s room. His next few steps, taken in near-darkness, would be crucial. If he stepped on a roller-skate and slipped, or his foot came down on a rubber squeaky toy, or he tripped over a bo
ok or blanket lying in his path, he risked waking up the mother sleeping in the next room and losing his opportunity to grab the girl. Or worse.
He pulled the needle out of his pocket, plucked off the protective top and shoved it into the pocket of his jeans, then depressed the plunger far enough to expel the air. Gripping it tightly, he moved one foot ahead gingerly, then the other, pausing after each step. After what seemed like hours, the edge of the mattress lying on the floor pressed against his shin and he stopped. Straining into the darkness, Rogue listened for a sound, any sign that the woman next door had heard him. Except for the soft exhalation of deep breaths coming from the child at his feet, the house remained blanketed in silence.
He lowered himself into a crouch beside her. A weak shaft of moonlight struggled its way through the leaves outside her window and fell, dappled, across a thin arm resting on top of the blankets. His hand hovered over her skin for a moment as he braced himself for the most dangerous part of the mission—the few seconds after contact with her arm, and before the contents of the needle took effect. She appeared to be in a deep enough sleep that the tiny prick shouldn’t wake her, but he wouldn’t breathe until enough time had passed to know that he was safe. He bit his lip in concentration, slid the sharp tip of the needle under her skin, and pushed down the lever. His heart stopped when she yanked her arm away and the point slipped out. Thankfully, the slender tube was empty.
He froze as she turned over onto her back, long, tangled hair spilling across the pillow, but her breathing deepened again almost immediately. For several more seconds he held his position, until his legs began to ache. Then, inhaling deeply, he peeled back the blanket and slipped his arms beneath the child’s back and knees, shifting her to the edge of the mattress. He paused again, but she lay still, and he lifted her to his chest. Although she was nearly seven, the child weighed next to nothing, and he pushed to his feet easily.
Holding the tiny body close to his, Rogue retraced his steps, making his way down the stairs and back across the main floor of the house. The door remained closed but unlatched, the way he had left it. He shifted the girl in his arms and reached for the knob to pull it open and step out into the backyard.
Almost done. Adrenaline shot through him, and for a second his focus wavered. He jerked to a stop. He’d almost wandered straight into the path of the sensor light. Heart pounding, he recalculated his route, widening his path to give himself enough room to safely round the corner of the house.
As he edged his way toward the front of the property, headlights came on down the block and a vehicle rolled toward him. He increased his pace slightly, taking care to avoid the drain spout sticking out into the driveway. The dark-colored car slowed to a stop and the back door opened. Breathing a prayer for the child in his arms, that the people he was giving her to were all they claimed to be, and that they would find her a safe and loving home, he placed her gently into the arms that reached for her.
The face of the person inside remained in shadow. Just how I want it. He had to deal with Natalya, and with a young man at the office where the organization had set up temporary headquarters who showed him how to use all the tools and electronic equipment they supplied him, but those were the only ones he wanted to have contact with. The young man hadn’t offered his name and he hadn’t asked. If he were ever put on a stand, the less he knew the better.
The car pulled slowly away from the curb, and Rogue stood and watched it until it turned at the next corner and disappeared from sight. Then he slipped off his black ski mask and gloves, shoved them into the pocket of his jacket, and headed for the subway.
Chapter Eighteen
Daniel smashed a fist down on the boardroom table. “Are you kidding me? How did Stiller manage to grab another child? I thought he was long gone from the city.”
Sharleen grabbed his mug of coffee as it started to tip over and wiped up the few drops that had spilled onto the table with a napkin.
“He is.” Steve Simons, one of their IT guys, set a laptop down in front of him and his partner. He clicked a few buttons and an image appeared, grainy, but clearly their suspect. “This footage came from a security camera located outside a store on a street in Copenhagen.”
Daniel checked the time stamp. It was dated the day before, April 12th at 11:44 pm EST. An hour before the latest child, another girl, had been reported missing in Toronto. No way he could have gotten from Denmark to Canada in time to abduct the child. Had they made a mistake then? Were they on the trail of the wrong guy? Or had Stiller taken the other kids and then disappeared after Daniel had seen his face?
“That doesn’t mean he didn’t take the first four.”
As usual, his partner was reading his mind. “I know. But it does mean that, if he was the original kidnapper, someone else has picked up where he left off.”
“Looks like it.” Sharleen looked up at Steve. “Good work getting your hands on that. Were the Copenhagen police able to pick him up?”
“No. Although they were in the neighborhood within minutes of this shot being captured, the guy was gone, and they haven’t been able to pick up his trail since. This Stiller’s as elusive as Sasquatch. I’ll stay on him, though, let you know if he’s spotted again.” He picked up the laptop and started for the door.
“Thanks.” Daniel turned to his partner as Steve closed the door behind him. “Are we back to square one?”
“Looks like it.”
“What do you think this latest abduction is then, some kind of copycat crime?”
Sharleen pursed her lips. “I don’t think so. The MO is exactly the same, and all those details weren’t released to the public. Feels more like the new guy’s a replacement on the team.”
“Team?”
“Yeah. There are obviously several people involved in these operations. At least two drivers, plus the person in the backseat who takes the children. Who knows how many more there are behind the scenes? These abductions are too well planned out, and carried out far too professionally and efficiently, for this to be a group of small-time criminals.”
“Hmm.” Daniel propped his elbows on the table and pressed his fingertips together.
“What?”
“I was thinking about something the social worker I talked to hinted at.”
Sharleen moved his coffee mug into the center of the table. “What’s that?”
“He didn’t come right out and say it, but I got the impression he didn’t think that whoever is taking these kids means them any harm.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “Why else would they take them?” Her face cleared immediately. “He thinks they’re trying to help them, doesn’t he?”
“That’s what I gathered. All the kids, including the one that was taken last night, were only children living in abusive situations. That’s too much of a pattern to be a coincidence. As crazy as it sounds, I think we have to at least consider the possibility that these aren’t heartless criminals we’re dealing with, but members of some kind of group that believes they’re actually rescuing these kids.”
Her features hardened.
Daniel’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“I was thinking that, if whoever is doing this was caught up in one of those situations we see kids in all the time himself as a kid, I would actually kind of understand why he’s doing what he’s doing.”
“What he’s doing is breaking the law.”
“I understand that, I’m just saying—”
“There’s no room for vigilante justice in this country, Shar. Whatever the motivation.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“I am. You make a good point, though. We know Stiller was abused as a kid. Good chance his replacement was too, which would explain why they both might be willing to risk everything to help other kids in that situation.”
Sharleen picked up a spoon and absently stirred her cup of tea. “How do they know which kids those are?”
“Good question. They’d pretty much have to have acces
s to CAS files to figure that out.”
“That would be the fastest and simplest way. Who would have that kind of access?”
“Besides the social workers themselves?” Daniel contemplated the recent meeting he’d had with Holden Kelly. Given the level of frustration and anger the man hadn’t quite been able to keep hidden, it wasn’t a stretch to think a social worker could be persuaded to work outside the confines of the law to try and help kids he or she couldn’t otherwise do anything about.
“Yeah. Police officers, I suppose. At least, we do know who a lot of these kids are.” She shot Daniel a look.
A tight fist squeezed his gut. There was nothing he’d rather do less than investigate a fellow cop. They did get called to those types of situations though, as he well knew, so they had to be on the list of possibilities. He racked his brain to come up with alternatives to that scenario. “Since these cases often go through the courts, we have to look at lawyers too, and judges. Maybe this is a Star Chamber kind of deal.” The old Michael Douglas movie about a group of judges who, after being forced to set accused people free on technicalities, decided to take justice into their own hands, was one of his favorites.
She grinned wryly. “Unlikely, but let’s not dismiss any possibilities at this point. Anyone else who might know about these kids? What did Stiller do?”
“Good question.” Daniel reached for the file Nate Black, another detective in the office he’d asked to do research on their suspect, had compiled. He flipped it open and scanned the first page. “He’s a paramedic. He was a first responder in Toronto for six years before disappearing the night I saw him.”
Sharleen clasped her hands in front of her face and tapped a finger against her chin. “Then we have to consider any and all first responders. That does make sense, since they’d be the initial ones on the scene if someone called in a domestic. Anyone working in the ER. And what about teachers? They see these kids every day and would know, or at least suspect, which ones had difficult home lives.” She dropped her hands onto the table. “Daniel, there are thousands of doctors and teachers in this city. How are we going to look into all of them, as well as the social workers and cops and ambulance drivers? It will take us years.”
