When She's Gone

by Palmer, Jane;

  Ara was so deep in her thoughts, it wasn’t until Luke stopped at a light in Midtown that she realized he was going in the wrong direction.

  “Where are you going?” she demanded. “The address Michelle gave us—”

  “We’re going back to Boones’ house.”

  “We can’t. This guy may be involved. He may know exactly where Sam is.”

  Luke passed her a look filled with exasperation. “We don’t even have a name for this guy. I am not walking into this blind, not with this much on the line. We need to do a background check on Eddie and figure out who lives at the address Michelle gave us. I’d also like to know how Eddie and Nick are connected. All of that will take time.”

  “You mean you need sleep,” she said.

  The judgment was clear in her voice, and Luke’s face flushed. He pulled the car over to the side of the road with a jerk and slammed it into park. He didn’t even look at her before exiting the car, slamming the door shut so hard it rocked the sedan.

  Ara glared at his back through the windshield. He was pissed with her, and the sudden wave of his temper was both unexpected and refreshing. She never thought she’d see the cool, controlled Luke lose it.

  Obviously she’d hit a very sensitive nerve, and a small part of her felt bad about it. Still, she climbed out of the car, ready to do battle.

  His back to her, he shot out, “Are you questioning my commitment to this case?”

  “I’m questioning your judgment,” she retorted. “Sam doesn’t have time. This case is finally getting some traction and you are going to slow it down by doing background checks and playing it safe.”

  “I will not risk the lives of my team, of any law enforcement officer, because I didn’t do my job.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “But you’ll risk Sam’s.”

  “I could kill Sam if I go into this blind.” He spun around to face her, and Ara was tempted to take a step away from him. Luke’s blue eyes were like ice. “Don’t you get that? If she’s messed up with these mafia people, I have to tread carefully. And I need to know a lot more than I do, because right now,” he said, spreading his hands wide, “we know jack shit. We don’t even know if we’re on the right path.”

  “We are.” Ara could feel it in her bones. “You know we are.”

  He exhaled slowly, a long sigh that seemed to take the anger out of him as quickly as it had come. He ran a hand over his face, and Ara couldn’t help but notice he seemed ragged. Deep circles, so dark they looked like bruises, shadowed the skin under his eyes.

  “I want to find her, Ara. As much as you do. But I don’t want to kill anyone else in the process.”

  There was a note of something in his voice. Not fear, but something sorrowful. Ara wondered if he was speaking from experience. She drew in her own breath and let it out. It was one thing to risk her own life, to hurtle toward something without caution. It was quite another to ask others to follow her. She had to remember Luke had people who took orders from him. People who would risk their lives to save his, and he owned them some measure of responsibility.

  He was right. Whoever had Sam knew what they were doing. Going in blind might do more harm than good.

  “I’m sorry. I—”

  He held up a hand. “No, it’s okay. I get it.”

  Maybe he did, but she still plowed ahead anyway. “When I worked on the force, there were guys who were there just to punch a clock. It didn’t matter what was happening. If their shift was over, they left.”

  “And I strike you as one of those guys?”

  “No.” She smiled weakly at him. “But old prejudices die hard, I guess.”

  He approached, stopping only when he was close enough for her to touch. “Believe it or not, I’m not a machine. I’ve been going for more than thirty-six hours straight. I can barely see, let alone drive.” He sighed. “Five hours. While my team is running down this guy Eddie and the address Michelle has given us, we’ll take five hours.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “And when I say we, that means you, too.”

  “I can’t—”

  “You will, or I’ll pull you off this case. If we get into a situation and my life is in danger, you have to be able to shoot straight.”

  He was right, of course. She was so tired that her legs were trembling. Still, she poked at him. “It’s all about you, isn’t it?”

  Luke’s lips turned up in amusement. “Always.”

  Her breath caught as their eyes met. Warmth seemed to creep across her skin from where his hands rested on her shoulders. A sharp blade of desire sliced through her, sudden in its intensity.

  “Ara . . .” Luke’s gaze dropped her to mouth.

  She pulled away from him, stumbling back. “We should get going.”

  A flash of something crossed his face, but he was too deep in the shadows, and she was too far away to read what it was.

  “Right.”

  They rode together in silence, gliding through the dark streets of the city quickly. Ara rested her head against the cool window and tried not to think of Sam—where she was or what was happening to her.

  Luke’s voice startled her from her thoughts, so much that she jumped when he spoke. “Where did you get the scars?”

  Despite herself, she stiffened. “An accident.”

  “When?”

  “Why do you want to know?” Her tone was hostile, far more than she intended. The peaceful understanding they’d had for the last twenty minutes melted away in an instant.

  “Because you’re hiding them.” He glanced at her before returning his attention to the road. “And you were upset when I saw them.”

  “I don’t like them. They’re ugly.” The words were out of her mouth before she even knew what she was saying. God, she was more tired than she thought. Her face flushed with embarrassment. “I’m allowed to keep some things to myself, aren’t I? Or do you force all the members of your team to share every piece of their past with you?”

  “No.” He paused for a moment. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  The apology shocked her, and her anger ebbed away. He took the exit ramp off the highway, the streetlights casting him in a weird yellow glow that came and went as they passed them.

  “Dmitri acted like he knew you.”

  “So you said.” She yawned.

  “Ever crossed paths with him? Maybe as a police officer?”

  “No.” Ara shook her head. “Not that I know of. If I’d seen him before, I would’ve told you.”

  He arched his brows slightly.

  “What, you don’t believe me?”

  “I believe you want Sam back, so yes, I believe you. But I also believe you have secrets, Ara. And that makes me nervous.”

  The sudden and overwhelming urge to tell him washed over her. She opened her mouth, but the words got caught in her throat.

  It would change everything. It would change the way Luke thought of her.

  Ara closed her mouth and turned toward the window. She couldn’t do it. Some secrets were meant to be kept.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The neon light blinks, barely visible between the crack of the blackout curtains. Red. Black. Red. Black. She watches it, counting the flickers, passing the time. In the bed across from her, Nadia whimpers, her beautiful face contorted in a painful grimace. She’s having a nightmare again. Ara reaches out but stops before waking her. Whatever dream she is having cannot be worse than reality.

  Instead, Ara simply runs a hand down her best friend’s arm, murmuring words of a Russian lullaby that makes her think of her mother. As Ara’s eyes tear up, Nadia quiets, breathing out a soft sigh before rolling away, leaving Ara with the sight of her back. Her blonde hair is filthy, knotted, and tangled. The metal bunk bed has no sheets, the mattress old and stained with God-knows-what. The room itself is pitiful, a crumbling structure with concrete walls and a rank smell she can’t get used to.

  At least she isn’t still handcuffed to the bed. For some reason
, today they’ve been given that small freedom.

  She gets up, crosses to the only window. She parts the curtains, a forbidden activity, and stares down at the alley below. They are up high, at least several stories, the narrow buildings seeming to close in around them. A sudden need for fresh air, frantic and painful in its urgency, overtakes Ara, and she struggles with the latch on the window. It has been painted over many times, rust breaking through in thick, flaky layers. She strains, her muscles weakened, but is rewarded with a small movement. Using all her strength, she yanks, and the latch comes free.

  Ara draws in a quick breath, straining her ears, listening for any movement beyond the locked door.

  Quiet. Only the whimper of Nadia and the snoring of the girl on the top bunk, one of the many others, their bodies shrunken down from weeks of captivity.

  Ara’s hands shake as she pulls the window up and a sweet breeze blows in, running along her flushed face, cooling her skin with a kiss, and lifting loose strands of her hair. She gulps in the scent of it. Draws it into her lungs and holds it there before letting it back out again. She imagines she can smell sweet rolls, fresh grass, sunbaked hay.

  It’s heaven.

  They are several stories up, and Ara forces her attention away from the fresh air to study the building. At first glance, it seems there is no way to escape the room, but she’s determined. They have to get out. It’s either that or die.

  Their kidnappers are going to kill them. Ara is certain of it. She might only be thirteen, but she’s heard the stories. She’s been warned by her mother. There will be no good end to their captivity, even if Nadia’s father pays the ransom.

  There. The scaffolding. It’s rusted and ancient, probably never used. It’s also a bit of a jump. She and Nadia could make it with ease. Their gymnastics training has taught them to stretch and fly. But the other girls . . . Ara bites her lip.

  She will have to teach them. They will have to try. It’s their only chance.

  “Ara?” Nadia’s voice is sleepy and she blinks rapidly, pushing away her dreams. “What are you doing?”

  Ara moves away from the window, dropping down next to her best friend on the mattress.

  She can’t keep the smile off her face.

  “I found a way for us to escape.”

  Ara jolted awake, the image of Nadia’s face fading, replaced by the semilit room. Her bedroom. In the Boones’ house.

  She sat up in her bed, swinging her legs over the side. Her arms ached down the entire length of her scars. She had the overwhelming urge to cry, as she often did when she dreamed of Nadia and the other girls. The well of hope the dream ended on was the worst part because the minute Ara opened her eyes, she was forced back into reality. Back into an existence in which she had not saved her best friend. Or the others. And the crushing weight of her failure made it hard to breathe.

  Nadia, I’m so sorry.

  Ara rubbed a hand over her face, forcing back her emotions. She could do nothing for Nadia now. She hadn’t had a dream like this in months. It was this case. Sam’s kidnapping had brought it all back up.

  Ara glanced at the clock. Six o’clock. She’d slept for four hours. The briefing was scheduled for thirty minutes from now. She needed to move.

  Urgency and a sense of purpose carried her through a quick morning routine. A cold shower to help her wake up. Clean clothes. Soft socks and her trustworthy boots. She left her short hair wet and didn’t bother with makeup or jewelry.

  The house was still and quiet as she made her way to the dining room. The Boones had forced a vacation on most of the staff, leaving only the security team and a few trusted housekeepers. So far, the media didn’t know about Sam’s kidnapping, and if they were lucky, it would stay that way. Keeping staff to a minimum was one way to ensure that.

  The strong scent of fresh coffee and a murmuring of noise preceded Ara’s entrance into the dining room. The door was cracked, and as she opened it to step through, the noise level increased.

  So many people.

  The glossy wooden table, able to accommodate fifteen, was nearly full. Laptops, papers, and file folders covered it from one end to the other. There was a projector screen hung at the far end with the FBI symbol flashing across it. The room hummed with activity as agents helped themselves to coffee and an array of breakfast foods set up on the buffet.

  “Good. You’re here.” Luke came up behind her. He had showered as well, his dark hair still damp, a few droplets staining the shoulders of his crisp white shirt. Dark circles still shadowed the skin under his eyes, but they weren’t as deep as before.

  “You can sit next to me. At the front.” He gestured to the last two available seats. “After you get some breakfast.”

  It wasn’t a request but an order, and Ara immediately bristled. Taking a deep breath, she bit back the retort at the tip of her tongue. She hadn’t eaten . . . Hell, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. He was right. She needed food.

  More importantly, she needed coffee. Her plate loaded, she sat at the table in the chair he’d designated for her and took the first sip of the rich, black brew.

  Oh, it was good.

  “Everyone take a seat. We need to get started.” Luke, with his own plate of breakfast and cup of coffee, took his place at the head of the table. With his orders, there was a shift in the room. All socialization stopped immediately, and the rest of the team found their places quickly.

  Once everyone was settled, Luke gave a nod to the only person left standing. The woman was petite, her black heels barely making up for her short stature.

  Ara clicked through the names in her head until she found it: Vicki. She’d been at the warehouse yesterday.

  “Okay, people, I’ll do a brief run-through to make sure everyone is on the same page, and then I’ll get to the information that’s been gathered about the relevant parties.”

  An image of Sam appeared on the projector screen. Ara didn’t recognize the photograph and wondered if it had been taken from Sam’s Facebook account. In it, she was smiling broadly, her head tilted, a long spill of blonde hair trailing to her shoulder.

  “Samantha Harper, stepdaughter to Oliver Boone, was kidnapped outside of the restaurant Phillips two nights ago.” Sam’s image was replaced by a variety of images from the inside of the restaurant as well as the back alley. “She was nabbed through the back door, placed into a plain white van, and driven off. Through the search of her phone records and texts, we have learned Sam herself arranged for the kidnapping.”

  “Why?” a dark-haired man with a mustache asked from the middle of the table.

  Vicki gave a half shrug. “The only thing we have at this point is speculation.”

  “Sam lost her father and brother in a plane accident two years ago,” Luke said. “She’s unhappy with her mother’s recent marriage and probably wanted to kill two birds with one stone. Make her stepfather pay and make her mother sorry for ignoring her.” He leaned back in his chair. “She may also have been manipulated and encouraged to believe the kidnapping was the answer to her problems.”

  He nodded at Vicki, silently passing the ball back to her, which she took gracefully.

  “Sometime after the kidnapping, we believe Sam lost control of the situation and is currently in danger.” A DMV photo of Nick filled the projector screen. “This is Nick Flores, age twenty-one. Several months ago, he delivered a painting to the Boone residence and met Sam. We believe this was their first contact, and through phone records and e-mails, we know Nick and Sam started dating. Nick has no priors on his record, but we traced him to a warehouse where we found evidence that Nick has been painting forgeries. He uses his job as a delivery driver to take the forgeries to clients who think they are getting the original paintings. We believe the gallery Nick works for is selling the original paintings on the black market. For his part in this scheme, Nick is getting paid well. His bank records indicate he’s getting regular transactions from an offshore account we can’t trace.”
>
  Another image appeared on the projector, next to Nick. An image Ara had seen before, and her stomach clenched just a little.

  “Also, when we raided the warehouse, along with the paintings, we discovered the body of Gina Antonova. She’d been shot in the head. Clothes recovered from the scene, along with trace evidence, prove that Sam was in the warehouse at the time of the shooting.”

  Ara didn’t want to think about that moment. Sheltered and protected all her life, Sam must’ve been out of her mind.

  “From the direction of Gina’s body, it appears the woman—perhaps along with Sam—was attempting to escape. That may have been why she was shot,” Vicki continued. “Blood at the scene tests only to Gina. So far, we haven’t found anything to indicate Sam is dead.”

  Vicki paused to sip water from the glass sitting at the edge of table. “Gina worked as a bottle girl at a club called Mist. This club is owned and operated by one Dmitri Grishnokov, an extremely dangerous individual with ties to the Russian mafia.”

  Vicki took another sip of water.

  “An informant at the club confirmed Gina worked there. In addition, she gave us the name of Gina’s boyfriend.”

  An older man, late twenties, with sleek black hair and a large nose appeared on-screen. “Meet Eddie Flores. Eddie is a small fish with a few priors for drug dealing, robbery, and domestic violence. He also works at Mist as a bouncer. More importantly, Eddie is Nick’s first cousin.”

  One of the agents whistled. Inwardly, Ara felt a jump of excitement. Cousins? Beside her, Luke leaned forward in his chair. Breakfast and coffee forgotten, his sole attention was on the screen in front of him.

  “We have contacted their families, along with friends and coworkers. No one has seen Eddie or Nick within the last two days. At this point, it’s safe to say that Eddie and Nick are persons of interest in this case, wanted for questioning regarding the murder of Gina Antonova and the kidnapping of Samantha Harper.”