When She's Gone

by Palmer, Jane;

  She would just have to do what he said and hope he followed through with his end of the bargain.

  “And Ara.” He paused, the amusement leaving his voice, replaced by cold, lethal steel. “I’m watching. If anyone—and I mean anyone else—approaches Sam, I start shooting.”

  He hung up before she could respond. Silently, she cursed.

  “We heard it, Ara.” Luke’s voice was tense, and she knew he’d been thinking the same thing she was. They couldn’t save Sam any other way. They had to transfer the money and hope their mysterious henchman would follow through with his end of the bargain.

  Her phone beeped with the text message. She pretended to dial the phone and lifted it to her ear. Keeping her eyes glued on Sam, she read the numbers off for Luke’s benefit.

  “Okay, Ara,” Luke said. “We’re doing the transfer now. It’s confirmed that the girl standing at the perimeter is Sam.”

  A tinge of relief cut through the tension, but Ara wouldn’t allow herself to revel in it. Sam wasn’t safe yet.

  “We can’t tell if there’s someone with her,” Luke continued. “Hidden in the trees. There might also be a sniper we’re not aware of, so we’re doing another check.”

  But those checks took time. And that’s something they didn’t have.

  “The money transfer’s done.”

  As soon as Luke’s words finished, Sam started running across the grass. Ara sprinted toward her. Her pulse pounded against her sternum, her single focus on getting to Sam.

  She jumped over the low gate and nearly slipped on the wet grass. She righted herself and kept going.

  Closer. Just a little closer.

  Sam stumbled. Had she been shot? Panic and urgency fueled Ara’s last steps, and she flung herself around Sam, trying to block as much of her body as she could. The teenager was trembling violently, and Ara clutched her closer. She kept her moving toward a secure location. The agent from the bench caught up with them, flanking Sam with his body as well.

  Relief washed over Ara as they stepped into the protected area. She registered the thin frame, the wholeness of the girl in her arms. “Sam, it’s okay. It’s over.”

  Luke came running up the pathway, followed by Thomas and several other agents.

  “Sam, are you hurt?” Ara ran her hands over the girl’s torso, but there was no blood, no wounds. “Are you all right?”

  Sam said nothing, and Ara lifted the ball cap off of her head, desperate to make sure there were no injuries. A waterfall of long blonde hair spilled out.

  The wrong shade.

  The ball cap tumbled from Ara’s fingers, and she took a step back. Dread washed over her like a wave of sudden sickness. Luke drew up short and sucked in a sharp breath.

  The girl lifted her face, confusion etched on her features. “Who’s Sam?”

  * * *

  Ara’s body felt like ice. Her hands were shaking so hard, she had to ball them into fists to stop it. They’d fucked up. Big time.

  “God damn it!” Luke cheeks were flushed, and he turned on one of the agents who’d been a part of the takedown team. “You told me it was her. You said you saw her face.”

  She blinked. “I . . . I thought . . .”

  Luke cut off the stuttering agent with a swipe of his hand. “Who are you?” he demanded of the teenager.

  “J-J-Jane Johnson.” Her green eyes were wide and darted from face to face. “What’s going on?”

  “That’s exactly what the hell I would like to know. How did you get here?”

  “Some guy hired me for a hundred and fifty bucks to stand at the clearing edge, wearing these clothes, and then run toward her,” she pointed at Ara, “when he gave me the okay.”

  “They set us up,” Ara said.

  “Yes, but he had to physically be in the area in order to pull this off.” He narrowed in on Jane again. “The guy you arranged this with. What did he look like?”

  “Dark hair. Brown eyes.” She pointed to a spot on her right cheek. “He had a mole right here.”

  “How tall was he?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Luke jabbed a finger at himself. “Taller than me? Shorter?”

  Jane eyed him. “About your height.”

  He pointed at several agents. “Make the rounds of the perimeter again. Use this description and find him. Now.”

  He pointed to several more. “Stop anyone you’ve seen in the last twenty minutes passing through the square and question them. Ask them if they’ve seen the guy.”

  There was a flurry of activity as the agents moved off.

  “Thomas,” Luke continued. “Take Jane and see if you can get a composite of the guy we are looking for.”

  They were left alone on the pathway. “Ara . . .”

  He reached for her, but she moved out of range. If he touched her, she would fall apart. She shook her head. “No, don’t. I know. I already know.”

  Luke’s cell phone rang, and with a growl, he unclipped it from his belt and glanced at the number. “Oliver. Shit.”

  He moved off to take the call.

  She held it together long enough to turn away and take a few strides toward the fountain. Tears stung the backs of her eyelids, and the tightness in her chest burned like acid.

  Sam was dead. There was no doubt in Ara’s mind.

  She’d failed. Again.

  For a moment, she was back in that dirty room in Russia. Nadia’s warm body next to hers. If she closed her eyes, she could hear her voice.

  “I’m scared.”

  The commotion outside the door increased in intensity. Shouting. Footsteps on the stairs. A couple of the girls screamed. One was crying.

  “I’ll go first. Then you can follow me once you see how I do it.”

  The night was so dark, the only light coming from that red sign. The feel of the metal scaffolding under her hands. Her grip was tight, the years of gymnastics training giving her the upper-body strength to hang on.

  “Come on, Nadia! Hurry!”

  The bang of a door answered her. Screams. Gunshots. Nadia’s face froze, and a dark spot bloomed across her chest.

  The wind blew, and some droplets of water from the fountain sprayed her face. Ara opened her eyes and wiped her cheeks with a shaking hand. She hadn’t been able to save Nadia or any of the other girls.

  And now, she’d failed Sam, too. The pain coursing through her was crippling. There was so much blood on her hands.

  Her cell phone rang. Ara yanked it out of her pocket, and her body grew rigid when she saw the caller ID.

  Unknown.

  She answered.

  “I knew you wouldn’t listen. You broke our agreement and brought your FBI friends to the party.” He tsked. “I told you—no one but you. Although I must admit it was quite fun to see the look on your face when you realized the girl wasn’t Sam.”

  He was here. In the park. Close enough to be watching. She started searching the perimeter. “Where’s Sam?”

  He laughed. “Do you really expect me to answer that?”

  Ara spun around, her hand gripping her phone even tighter, and scanned the area again. Her gaze darted over the runner to her left, the couple kissing on the bench, the man in the trench coat walking away from her. “You bastard. If you’ve hurt her, I will hunt you down myself and you’ll wish you’d never been born.”

  “Sam is perfectly fine, I assure you.”

  Was he lying? Or was there a chance she could get Sam back alive?

  She took a deep breath and said, “You got your money, but that’s not all you’re after.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No. Let’s end this game.”

  “And how do you propose we do that?”

  “Easy. We’ll make a trade. Me for her.”

  There. She caught sight of a man on the east side of the fountain, up on a hill under a grouping of trees. A cell phone in his left hand. Tan jacket, blue jeans, dark hair.

  His mouth started moving just as the voice came th
rough on the phone. “That’s an interesting proposition.”

  He looked in her direction and their eyes met, just for a moment across the distance. He froze like a deer, registering the fact that he’d been made.

  She stepped forward. He took off running.

  Ara sprinted across the square and dove through the trees after him. Her heart pounded in her chest as she jumped the small fence enclosing the area and spotted him several yards away. The bastard was fast.

  She kept her eyes locked on his tan jacket as she barreled down the path. He glanced over his shoulder. He veered to the left onto a dirt path, and she felt a surge of adrenaline.

  Wrong way, buddy.

  His panicked decision forced him to climb a hill and traverse a rock formation. He clamored over the boulders. Ara gave a last burst of speed. He came flying down toward the main path, and she sprang at him.

  They landed in a tangled heap on the leaf-covered grass. The kidnapper jutted up with his elbow, and Ara moved her head just in time to avoid having her nose broken. She fought to grab his hands, but he rolled and managed to get back on his feet. She grabbed his jacket. He twisted, his arms sliding out of the garment, and took off down the pathway again.

  Son of a bitch.

  Ara took off behind him. The bulletproof vest felt like a vice, and mentally she cursed it. They ran through the park. With every footfall, she managed to close the distance between them, but it wasn’t enough. He darted out onto Fifth Avenue and took a left. She used the last of her resources and put a final burst of power into her legs. In the hustle of New York, she could easily lose him.

  Bursting onto the street, she was slammed from behind. Her hands shot out in front of her, just in time to prevent her face from connecting with the concrete. The squeal of tires barely registered as she jabbed an elbow into the man on top of her. He grunted and punched the side of her head hard enough to have her vision blurring.

  He took advantage of the moment and secured her hands behind her. She caught a glimpse of tennis shoes, the metallic inside of a van before everything went black as a hood was placed over her head and she was lifted into the vehicle.

  Before the door slammed shut behind her, she heard one voice, calling out her name.

  Luke.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Luke saw everything in quick flashes.

  The van with the muddy license plates. The huge man hauling Ara inside. The squealing as it pulled away from the curb.

  Thomas came crashing out of the trees behind him, but Luke didn’t pause to speak to him. Instead, he bolted down the street, pulling his identification from his pocket.

  “FBI. Give me your keys.”

  A man held his motorcycle helmet under one arm and gaped at him. Luke didn’t bother to say it twice. Ripping the keys out of the man’s hands, he mounted the bike and started it.

  “Hey!” the man shouted.

  Thomas caught up and physically held the man back. “FBI, sir.”

  “But that’s my—”

  Luke grabbed the helmet and shoved it onto his head. Heart racing, he peeled down the street. The van was weaving and bobbing ahead of him. Several blocks up, it took a left-hand turn.

  They were heading for the tunnel. If he didn’t move fast, he would lose them.

  Luke pushed the bike to the limit, weaving through cars. His chest felt tight, the wind whipping around him. He took the turn a little too sharply and almost took out a street vendor.

  Shit. He regained control and flew through a yellow light.

  Faster. Faster.

  It was a mantra in his head as he went through another yellow. Cars honked their horns in furious succession.

  The light in front of him turned red. A truck pulled into the intersection. Pedestrians started crossing the street. Luke slammed on his brakes, and the motorcycle fishtailed. He tightened his grip on the handlebars and turned just slightly.

  Everything moved in slow motion. The shock on people’s faces as they threw themselves out of his way. The side of the truck looming in front of him. Luke fought the urge to close his eyes.

  Please. Please.

  The bike skidded to a stop. He could’ve reached out and touched the side of the truck. Luke blinked and took one deep breath. He was still alive, and so was everyone else.

  Ara.

  Cursing, he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed. When Thomas answered, Luke bit out, “Tell me she’s still wearing the GPS tracker.”

  “She is.”

  Relief flooded over him, sharp and strong.

  “They’re in the tunnel headed toward Brooklyn,” Thomas continued. “Where in the hell are they going?”

  Brooklyn. . . . There were so many potential hiding places, so many places they could . . . Luke gripped the phone tighter as the answer slammed into him.

  “There’s a commercial shipyard in Brooklyn,” he said. “That’s where they’re going. Get the units and meet me there.”

  He hung up the phone and sped off. With any luck, he would only be a few moments behind them.

  Luke didn’t want to think about how a few moments could mean the difference between finding them alive and finding them dead.

  * * *

  For the first few minutes, sheer panic ruled. Being tied up, unable to see anything, and at the mercy of the men who’d taken her was enough to set loose every terrifying memory of the first time she’d been kidnapped.

  Ara’s heart pounded. It felt like she couldn’t get enough air, the fabric covering her face pulling in tighter with every intake of breath. She screamed and kicked out, but all she got for her trouble was a solid rap to the head.

  “Shut the fuck up. Do you want to get Sam back or not?”

  Sam. The one word was enough to bring her back to herself. She was not a child any longer. This was not Russia. She was an ex-cop, and there was a teenager who was depending on her to keep it together.

  Ara stilled and made a conscious effort to slow her breathing. She was still wearing her vest, and although her hands were tied, her gun was still in its holster. She couldn’t use it now, but there may be a time . . . Ara titled her head against the floor and felt the clip in her hair dig into her scalp. She still had the GPS tracker on. Luke would be following. He would come.

  Focus.

  The van was flying now, which meant they had to be on a highway of some sort. Twenty minutes passed, and she counted every one of them, listened for surrounding sounds, kept up with the turns.

  They slowed down, making one final left.

  “I’m going to free you, but you are not going to kick me.” His voice came from the direction of her feet. “You can’t see it, but there’s a gun pointed right at you. So much as twitch, and I will shoot you.”

  The slide of metal against metal and the faint rush of wind. The van door was open. The ties were clipped from around her feet and her hands. Before Ara could move, her hands and feet were instantly grabbed. She was lifted and thrown. The sensation of free-falling. Ara had just enough time to tuck herself into a roll before she slammed into the ground. Tires squealed.

  She reached up and jerked the hood off of her head. The van peeled out of the parking lot, its taillights barely winking.

  Ara didn’t waste a moment. She pulled her gun from its holster and got to her feet. She ducked behind the nearest building, using it for cover. Where in the hell was she?

  She peered around the corner and caught sight of the vessels at dock. The huge crane. The containers. They’d brought her to the shipyard. Her hands trembled just a bit and she willed them steady. Clearly, the kidnappers had delivered her here for a reason. Ara could only hope that reason was Sam.

  Taking the comfortable, familiar stance of an investigating officer, she lifted her gun and moved away from the building wall she’d been using for cover. Her gaze swept across the parking lot as a quick wind fluttered through her hair. It carried the scents of gasoline and trash. The slap of waves breaking against the ships and docks echoe
d across the expansive, empty space. The shadows were darkening by the moment as the last streaks of sun faded in the sky.

  There was no sign of Sam. Ara’s heart was pounding as she reached the middle of the parking lot.

  Where is she, damn it?

  She sucked in a deep breath and lowered her gun. Ignoring every instinct telling her to run away, Ara closed her eyes. She strained to listen to the sounds around her.

  The slap of the waves. A distant train whistle. The rushing from the highway.

  “Help! Someone please!”

  Her eyes flew open and Ara spun to her left. On the far side of the parking lot was a wooden dock. She sprinted toward it. Her tennis shoes slapped against the pavement, the sound turning to a thumping when she crossed over onto the wooden boards of the dock.

  The end of the dock was cast in deep shadows. She peered forward, slowing long enough to draw up her weapon once again.

  “Please. Is anyone there?”

  Her heart skipped a beat. It sounded breathtakingly like Sam. Ara could barely make out a form at the end of the dock. It took her a moment to realize the person had been tied to one of the posts.

  She moved forward, caution keeping her senses alert. As she drew closer, the familiar features of Sam’s face appeared like a mirage in the desert.

  Her long blonde hair was loose and tangled, hanging in clumps around her face. Dark circles seemed even starker against her pale skin, and she was dressed in only her undergarments. Relief, sharp and nearly painful in its intensity, rushed through her.

  Ara knew the moment Sam recognized her because her eyes widened. “Ara! Oh my God, Ara!”

  She pulled against her binds.

  “It’s okay, Sam. It’s okay,” Ara whispered. She wanted to reach out and touch her, to remove the loops of chains securing Sam to the post, but she didn’t dare shift her protective stance.

  Ara took a final scan of the area. Nothing moved except the water, swirling underneath them. She waited a beat, then another second more. She forced herself to lower her weapon and drew closer to Sam. Tears flooded the teenager’s eyes, spilling over and streaking clear paths down her dirty cheeks. Ara’s heart ached at the sight of those tears, at the obvious relief coming off of Sam’s whole body. She couldn’t, didn’t know how to tell her that they weren’t safe yet.