When She's Gone

by Palmer, Jane;

  “We’ll find her.” Ara stepped forward but resisted the urge to place a reassuring hand on Oliver’s arm. “I’ll find her. I promise.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t, Ara. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  She opened her mouth to respond, but a knock at the door interrupted her.

  “Come in,” Oliver barked.

  The door swung open and Mick walked in. He was wearing a set of gloves, a letter in his hands. “This was just delivered to the front gate. No return address. I have the courier waiting down at the gate with Gannon. He claims a man paid extra to have this envelope delivered within the hour. The transaction was made in cash. He doesn’t believe they have security cameras inside the courier office.”

  Oliver reached for the envelope with an impatient hand.

  “No, sir,” Ara said. “You aren’t wearing gloves, and we need to touch the envelope as little as possible. There probably aren’t any fingerprints, but we can’t be sure.”

  He gave a sharp nod of understanding. “Open it.”

  Ara handed Mick a silver letter opener from the desk. He deftly swept through the paper, the slicing sound carrying across the office, before he dumped the contents onto the black glass covering Oliver’s desk.

  When Ara saw the familiar locket, her heart stopped. Sam wore that piece of jewelry every day of her life. Inside, Ara knew, was a photograph of her late father. It had been his gift to her on her fifteenth birthday.

  “Good God,” Oliver whispered. This was the demand they had been waiting for.

  “Open the letter,” Ara ordered Mick.

  The notebook paper was plain, folded in thirds. And the letter was written in Sam’s own hand. Another personal touch, and proof that she was alive. At least, she had been.

  $15 million dollars. You have 72 hours to gather the money. If you call the police or fail to deliver the money, we will kill her.

  We will contact you again soon.

  “That’s it?” Oliver asked incredulously. He came around from behind the desk to reread the note. “This barely tells us anything.”

  “It tells us that Sam is still alive.” Ara gestured to the locket on the desk. “It tells us that she’s valuable to them.”

  “But it doesn’t give us any clues on how to find her.” Oliver spun away to pace the room. “And it doesn’t ensure they will keep her alive. It’s just enough to keep us hopeful that if we follow their instructions, we have a chance to get her back.”

  “Most kidnappers get the money and then the victim is found alive,” Mick offered. “If she remains compliant—”

  “Does Sam strike you as the compliant type?” Oliver threw his hands up.

  “You need to start gathering the money together,” Ara said. “This amount won’t be easy to get within seventy-two hours, especially with today being a Sunday.”

  “I’m not paying a damn dime.”

  “What?” Ara blinked, certain she’d heard him incorrectly. She never once considered he wouldn’t pay the ransom.

  “We aren’t playing the game by their rules.” Oliver reached for his phone, picking up the receiver with rapid, jerky movements.

  “Who are you calling?”

  “The director of the FBI.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Luke drove his car down the tree-lined street. Fall was making her presence known. Deep red, tawny yellow, and brilliant orange leaves decorated the branches of the trees and fell, with October’s swift breezes, across the road. The early-morning light made the whole scene appear ethereal. Only an hour outside of Manhattan, but he might as well have been a world away.

  Huntington, Long Island, was an oasis of calm. Giant mansions sat on wide green yards, protected from prying eyes by massive oak trees and security gates. Living in Huntington meant having all the comforts of being close to Manhattan without actually having to live among the crowds and the noise. The catch was affording it. Luke knew from his quick research on the Boone family that they could buy a whole block and still have a fortune left over.

  He swung his car into the driveway and faced an intricate iron gate. He rang the buzzer and raised his eyebrows at the camera.

  “Can I help you?” The man’s voice was gruff, meaty; Luke pictured someone with huge muscles to match.

  “Luke Patrick, FBI.”

  “Come to the front door.” The gate swung open soundlessly, and as Luke drove up the driveway, he shook his head. Gaining access had been easier than he could have imagined.

  Big mistake.

  A mermaid fountain sat spraying water in the center of the mansion’s circular drive. Luke parked his car on the left side and climbed out. His gaze swept over the perfectly manicured lawn, the stone detailing on the estate’s walls, the statues gracing either side of the walkway. The obvious lack of security.

  The heavy, wooden main door of the house swung open, and a man charged out.

  Oliver Boone.

  Luke didn’t need an introduction. He recognized the man from the photograph he’d pulled up when he’d been assigned the case. Although, with his hair flying and his clothes rumpled, Oliver looked slightly different from the polished, put-together CEO in the picture.

  Oliver stalked toward Luke on long strides, shoulders back and head high. Even exhausted, this man was formidable.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Oliver demanded as he grew closer, followed closely by a petite woman. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

  “Mr. Boone.” Luke kept his tone calm but authoritative. “I can assure you I’ve been working hard on Sam’s case from the moment I received the call this morning. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, but I wanted to gather as much information as I could before coming here.”

  Kidnappings were tricky business. Sam had been missing for nine hours, no witness had been interviewed, and the crime scene had been severely compromised. Luke would’ve choked Oliver Boone just for that if he could. He’d put Sam’s life in extreme danger by delaying the call to authorities. Every moment counted in these situations, especially now that a ransom had been demanded, and Luke was stepping in with one hand already tied behind his back.

  Before driving out to Huntington, Luke had gone to Phillips, the restaurant where the kidnapping had taken place. He’d woken the owner from a dead sleep and forced him to open the space. It was imperative he see the scene of the crime, get a feel for the layout and the chain of events. He didn’t know much—only that the daughter had been taken out the back of the restaurant by a masked intruder and had been driven off in a white van—but he felt more knowledgeable walking in the actual space. It gave him an edge reports and photographs couldn’t replace.

  Oliver drew up sharply in front of him. “What information have you been able to gather? Is there progress on the case?”

  “I have a forensic team going through every inch of the restaurant for evidence as we speak.” Luke drew in a breath and silently reminded himself to be patient. “I’m also doing my best to locate all the patrons who were in the restaurant last night. It would’ve been easier had the authorities been called immediately.”

  Oliver’s jaw tightened. “This is a sensitive case. I don’t want the media—”

  Luke held up a hand to ward him off. “The agents doing the questioning will be discreet. No one will be told of Sam’s kidnapping.”

  Luke studied the woman standing just behind Oliver and slightly to his side. Not the wife, he knew that. Friend? Family member? Her short hair was cut flatteringly around her angular face, complementing her meadow-green eyes. She was dressed in simple jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. Tennis shoes on her feet.

  “And you are?” he asked.

  “Ara Zuyev. I’m a member of the Boones’ security team.”

  She wasn’t American. At least, not American-born. Russian, if her name was any indication. Luke knew some of the security detail had been present at the restaurant. Had Ara been one of them? He would have to do a background check on her, along with the ent
ire security team and possibly the household staff. He made a mental note to tell Thomas, his second in command, to do just that once he arrived.

  Luke turned his attention back to Mr. Boone. “Forgive me, sir, but your security team is lackadaisical at best.”

  “That’s—” Ara started to say, but Luke cut her off.

  “I was able to enter the gates of your home without anyone verifying my ID at the gate. If I had been a kidnapper posing as an FBI agent, you, sir, would be in serious trouble.” His gaze flickered to the woman. “Even with your bodyguard.”

  Ara glared at him.

  “I’m putting an FBI officer at the gate,” Luke continued. “He’ll check everyone going in or out. I assume you have security cameras around the perimeter of the property?”

  “Of course,” Ara answered.

  “Good. I’ll want copies of all the video from the last month.”

  “That’s intrusive.” Oliver’s face reddened. “I don’t think it’s necessary to have you going through an entire month of security footage for a kidnapping that didn’t even take place here.”

  Privacy. It seemed to be important to Oliver, very important. He was famous because of his wealth, yet the man avoided interviews and the public eye as much as possible. For someone like him, having strangers go through his home would be difficult.

  Well, tough. To a certain extent, Luke could understand Oliver’s hesitation and protective instincts, but he couldn’t allow them to interfere with his job. Sure, Oliver was probably used to having people jump to give him what he wanted. But that wasn’t going to happen with Luke. It would be better if everyone realized right up front who was running the show from this moment on.

  “Look, Mr. Boone, I will do everything I can to protect your family’s privacy, but any further delays could mean the difference between getting Sam back alive or dead. You need to listen to me and follow my advice.” He locked his gaze onto Oliver. “You do want her back alive, don’t you?”

  “Of course. I—”

  “Good. Then that’s settled.”

  A flower delivery van curved around the driveway and came to a stop next to Luke’s car. “My team is here.”

  “Your team?” Oliver repeated, staring as various people piled out of the van. Cameras, forensic equipment, and other objects were meticulously organized inside. “I was assured by the director it would only be you. Again, I must insist—I don’t want the media catching wind of this.”

  “Well, I can’t very well find your stepdaughter all by myself.” Luke tucked his hands in his pockets. “I assure you, we have everything under control. As you can see, anyone watching the house would think you’d simply had flowers delivered for an event.”

  He waved a few key personnel over and doled out orders: tap the phone in case the kidnappers call, search the missing girl’s room, get a man on the gate, gather the security video from the house. Once his team had dispersed, he turned his attention back to a gaping Oliver and a furious bodyguard.

  “Are we going to go inside, or should I start the questioning out here on the driveway?” he asked, walking toward the house. “I want to see the ransom note. Then I need to speak with Mrs. Boone.”

  Oliver ran to catch up with him. “You can’t talk to my wife. She’s a wreck. Questioning her—”

  “Is exactly what needs to happen.” Luke stepped over the threshold of the open front door. It was warmer inside the house, the marble entryway and soft-peach walls both elegant and inviting. “Mrs. Boone saw the event take place.”

  Oliver swung a hand in his bodyguard’s direction. “Ara was also there. She can answer your questions.”

  Ara remained silent, but Luke could feel her gaze heavy on him. Watching, assessing how he would handle the situation.

  “I’ll speak to her, too.” He moved further into the foyer. “Where is the ransom note?”

  * * *

  He’d dismissed her.

  Ara watched him pull on a set of disposable gloves with ease and fumed. Luke Patrick represented everything Ara had hated in the cops she’d previously worked with. He might be the best the FBI had to offer, but in her opinion, that didn’t matter if he didn’t give a damn.

  And Luke Patrick didn’t care about Sam.

  It was obvious in his flat expression. In the control he exerted from the moment he opened his mouth. And in the arrogance that colored his every word.

  This was a job to him. Nothing more.

  It didn’t help that the security team had screwed up. Again. She was going to kill Gannon for allowing someone through the gate without first verifying their ID. It didn’t matter that they’d been expecting Luke, and it also didn’t matter that they’d known his name beforehand. Gannon should have double- and tripled-checked.

  Luke examined the ransom note as though it held the secret to life. The sunlight from the large corner window caressed his face. Ara studied his straight nose, closely shaven jaw, shortly cropped dark hair, and sharp blue eyes. His expression remained placid, as cool and still as an iced-over lake.

  “How did it arrive?” Luke asked.

  It wasn’t clear who he was addressing. Habit had Ara looking toward Oliver, who was sitting in his office chair. When he remained still and quiet, she was forced to respond. “By courier.”

  “Did anyone touch the paper?”

  “No.”

  Luke carefully folded the page and placed it back into the envelope before turning his attention to the locket. His gaze tracked over the simple piece of jewelry before he opened it to study the photograph inside.

  “It’s Sam’s father,” Ara offered.

  “He died in a plane crash. Last year.” Luke glanced from the locket to her. “Along with an older brother, Jacob.”

  He’d done some research at least. That fact mollified Ara slightly, and she nodded. This wasn’t about her or her feelings. This was about finding Sam and getting her home alive. To make it happen, like it or not, Ara was going to have to work with Luke.

  “Yes,” she said. “That necklace was a gift to Sam for her birthday. The last birthday she had with him before he died.” Ara swallowed hard, past the lump of guilt and anguish that lodged itself in her throat. “She wore the necklace every day. She was never without it.”

  Luke snapped the locket closed and placed it back into the envelope. He pulled off his gloves and removed a small notepad and pen from his jacket pocket.

  “Explain to me what happened at the restaurant.”

  She gave him a rundown of the facts and what she knew. He listened carefully, never interrupting. Ara wasn’t sure if that was his style or if it was because she instinctively provided him with the necessary information before he could ask.

  “How long have you been working for the Boone family?” He leaned against the desk and crossed his feet at the ankles. It was a deceptively casual stance. One Ara recognized as a simple investigator’s trick. Luke was about to dig in and go for the jugular.

  “For the last six months.”

  His mouth thinned, and he didn’t have to say what he was thinking. She already knew.

  “I didn’t have anything to do with Sam’s disappearance, if that’s your next question.”

  He let her words linger, absently running a hand down his tie. The tick of the grandfather clock seemed extraordinarily loud in the silence, and Ara fought the urge to speak. It was what he wanted. For her to continue to explain and deny.

  Finally, he met her gaze. “Aren’t you quick to clear yourself?”

  “It’s the most logical next step, isn’t it?” She lifted her chin. “I used to be a cop. I know how this works.”

  If he was surprised by her answer, he didn’t show it.

  “Do you often separate yourself from the people you’re protecting?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Exactly what I asked.” His voice was smooth and easy. “Do you often go outside or to a different room, separating yourself from the individuals you are supposed to protect?�
��

  “Generally, no.” Ara’s cheeks flushed. She understood exactly what he was getting at. She’d left Sam and Holly alone. Conveniently during the time of the kidnapping. Either that made her part of the scheme or it made her completely incompetent.

  “I didn’t have anything to do with the kidnapping,” she said. “I wouldn’t have left them alone in the first place, except Mrs. Boone requested it. She’s my boss. I can’t argue with her in the middle of a restaurant in front of her guest. Not if I want to keep working here.”

  He studied her, disbelief evident in the arch of his brow, and Ara felt a fresh wave of anger rush her. Damn him. What would he have done in her position? It wasn’t like Luke Patrick would ever go against an order from the FBI director. Not if he wanted to keep his job.

  Luke rose from desk in a fluid, graceful movement. “I’m ready to interview Mrs. Boone now.” He turned to Oliver. “Where is she?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Oliver escorted them to Holly’s sitting room. It was decorated in soft-purple pastels offset by cream highlights. Delicate feminine touches were everywhere, from the silk-covered couches to the vases of fresh flowers.

  Oliver ordered them to wait before disappearing through the doors leading to the bedroom. The silence left in his wake was awkward and uncomfortable. Ara wanted to ask Luke if he believed her about her lack of involvement in the kidnapping, but she held back. She would not appear weak in front of this man. If she did, he would never respect her.

  Luke wandered around the room in a large circle. Ara had no idea what he was thinking about. Or looking for. He paused at a family photograph hanging on the far side of the wall, a large portrait of Oliver and Holly on their wedding day. Next to it was one taken the same day, this time with the children. Charlie, all dark-eyed mischief, radiated happiness. Sam, on the other hand, was barely smiling.

  The bedroom door opened, and Oliver brought Holly into the sitting room, his arms around her. Ara nearly gasped at the sight of Holly. She was deathly pale, her long blonde hair stringy and uncombed, her eyes bloodshot. Once settled on the sofa, she appeared tiny and fragile, like a delicate doll about to break.