Tracing a Kidnapper

by Juno Rushdan

  Dear God. She never would’ve guessed that he had such talent inside him.

  The way he played was entrancing.

  He struck the last chord. The melancholic melody hung in the air, resonating in her soul, and goose bumps broke out on her arms. She wanted to weep.

  Staying seated, he rested his hand on the top of the piano.

  This was as good a time as any. “That was Supervisory Special Agent Peters on the phone. He would like to have an agent stay the night.” She geared up for the rest of her speech. “The volatility of the situation—”

  “Which agent?” he asked, his voice flat and low, keeping his back to her.

  “Madeline Striker.”

  “Madeline,” he said with a strange emphasis. A statement, not a question. For a beat longer, he didn’t move. Then he swiveled around on the bench and looked at her, his face impassive.

  Was he going to complain? Fight this?

  One of the most important parts of her job was to reduce the stress for the agents whenever and however she could in her dealings with the police, the press and public.

  Caitlyn raced through a list of potential objections he might make and chose the best proactive counterargument. “Once the kidnapper makes contact again, we want to ensure you’re not compelled to take action you might regret. Especially if the form of communication changes from text to a phone call. With Special Agent Striker present we can manage an appropriate response, as well as act on any new information quickly. She’s on her way here now.”

  “It’s fine.”

  Wait, what? “Really?”

  “Yes. I’ll do whatever is necessary to get Emma back.”

  Caitlyn wiped the shock from her face. “I’ll stay until she arrives.”

  “To watch me and keep me under thumb.” He rose. “Can I get you a cup of coffee or tea while you wait?”

  “Tea, please.”

  * * *

  THE NIGHT HAD grown chilly. Fat splats of rain pounded the car, accompanied by a long growl of thunder. Madeline drove her Volvo to Madison Park, a far more affluent area than where she lived. Her Wedgwood neighborhood was safe, affordable, allowed her to get away from the busy city center while the commute to work was still quick via I-5. But it was a far cry from the chic enclave of legacy properties lying on the shore of Lake Washington that many business executives sought to live in.

  Out of all the high-powered, wealthy CEOs in Seattle, and they were in abundance in this city, why had Jackson Rhodes been targeted?

  Better still, why work out the grievance through his child?

  Jackson was driven, smart, self-assured without being arrogant. Capable of rising to the top. Whoever did this must view his love for his daughter as his weakness.

  Children made you vulnerable. Opened you to the possibility of unimaginable pain. The very reason she never wanted to bring a life into this world. She’d watched her parents suffer for years, bore witness to how their grief ate away at their family like a cancer.

  For all the guts she had every day on the job, she was still too much of a coward to be a mother.

  The GPS chimed, indicating she had reached her destination. She parked the car in front of the house and killed the engine. Lightning flashed through the sky.

  Storm clouds made the evening an unusually dark one. Everything beyond the wet windshield seemed to be dissolving, as though the whole world might drain away through some cosmic hole. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel, not wanting any part of herself to get sucked into the void, set adrift in the darkness, alone. It had been so long since she had needed to hold on to anything, but this case was dredging up the agonizing memories of that life-changing day when her sister, Kimberly, had been kidnapped.

  For so many years, one question plagued Madeline.

  Why Kimberly and not her?

  Guilt tightened around her like a noose.

  She’d worked so hard to move past it, to convince herself that she was stronger than the loss, than the pain that had nearly crushed her family.

  Burying her face in her hands, she gave in for a fleeting moment to the dread and pain churning inside her. The memories made her want to curl within herself. Disappear.

  Pull yourself together. You don’t do pity parties.

  That innocent little girl needs you.

  So many in her field entered this profession as a way to do good. For Madeline, it was a way to drive out the darkness.

  Dropping her hands, she hauled in a steadying breath and realigned her focus to one thing. Finding Emma Rhodes. Nothing else mattered.

  She had to come to an understanding with Jackson that working together was in his daughter’s best interest. Then she had questions for him, and his answers had better be damn good.

  The rain slowed. The last rumble of thunder sounded farther away. The storm was passing. One good thing at least.

  She leaned over to the passenger seat, grabbing her umbrella and overnight bag. After leaving the office, she’d made a pit stop at her condo and packed a few changes of clothes and some essentials. She would be holed up with Jackson for as long as it took to find his daughter and prayed that wouldn’t be more than a day or two.

  Madeline hopped out into the drizzle, hoisting the open umbrella over her head.

  The rain crackled against the pavement as if it were oil in a deep fryer. She looked up and down the quiet street, taking in the surroundings. Only a handful of cars were parked along the curb. She noted makes and models. The rest of the vehicles were in driveways or she assumed the garage by this late hour.

  Shivering against the chill, she walked up the stone path to a charming cottage set on a large lot. According to the GPS, the house was only steps from the lake.

  The nip in the air had her hurrying up the wooden stairs and under the covered porch. She closed her umbrella, giving it a good shake.

  The glass panes of the front door provided a view of the lit foyer and short hall that led deeper into the house.

  Before ringing the bell, she sucked in the rainy night air, seeking a little more emotional distance. Then another deep, cleansing breath.

  Still, she hesitated.

  Compartmentalization allowed her to operate at the top of her game. She’d learned techniques to detach and deal with the emotion later—while out on a run, unwinding in the bath, during her kickboxing class, any time or place she wasn’t on the clock and didn’t have to be a consummate professional. That was the only way to do her job.

  Yet all of her tried and tested tactics were failing her.

  Something, or rather so many things, about Jackson and this case made it hard not to feel when the last thing she could afford was any sort of attachment to a victim’s father.

  Professional investment was necessary. An emotional one would only cause distraction.

  She rang the bell.

  Less than a minute later, Jackson and Caitlyn rounded the corner into the foyer, engaged in easy conversation. No one appeared on offense or defense.

  Jackson opened the door. “Madeline.” He gave her a smile, broken and weak, fragile as a wounded bird.

  There went that catch in her chest, which came each time she saw his sorrow.

  “Come in.” He stepped aside, beckoning her to enter.

  “Thank you.” The space was bathed in soft golden light. “I know it’s an inconvenience to have someone in your home, but I’ll do my best to make sure my presence doesn’t feel like an intrusion. With any luck, you won’t notice I’m here.”

  “That will be an impossible task.” His gaze locked onto hers. “This is a small house, but it would be difficult not to notice you even if it were a sprawling estate.”

  Was that good or bad? Considering how they’d left things when they’d last spoken, she wasn’t quite sure.

  Jackson had changed clothes, ditc
hing the suit. He wore jeans and a cobalt blue long-sleeved T-shirt that matched the color of his eyes. The clingy material hugged his broad shoulders and biceps, stretching across a muscled expanse that tapered to slim hips.

  All the oxygen emptied from Madeline’s lungs. She swallowed, tightening her grip on her bag. Never had she reacted to a man in quite this manner.

  It wasn’t as if she could click it on or off. A part of her feared blocking the sensation of feeling so routinely that she might construct a wall too thick and tall to be able to get through one day.

  “The surveillance on his landline and laptop are good to go,” Caitlyn said. “The team will be able to monitor everything. I should head out.” She walked to the door. “Try not to worry, Mr. Rhodes.”

  “It’s Jackson.” His tone toward her had warmed considerably.

  Caitlyn flashed a gentle smile, but Madeline noted it was more reserved than usual.

  The evening must have been tense. Jackson coming home for the first time without Emma, surrounded by strangers. For Caitlyn, she probably had to navigate an emotional minefield, but if anyone could handle it with finesse and compassion, it was her.

  Madeline turned to Caitlyn before she slipped through the door. “You might want to give Lorelai a call. I think she’ll need to vent.”

  Caitlyn gave her a knowing nod. They were used to being the proverbial shoulder for Lorelai to lean on since the engagement. Both of them adored Lorelai and were happy to listen whenever she needed.

  With a curt wave, Caitlyn was gone.

  He locked the door and put the chain on. “Let me show you to the guest room.”

  “That won’t be necessary. I can catch a few winks on the sofa.”

  “I won’t hear of it.”

  He headed down the short hall, leading her past a formal living room with a piano. The dining room sat across from the kitchen. Beyond that was the family room, lit from the glow from the fireplace. Large windows overlooked the dark front yard. Next, they passed what appeared to be his office. At about two thousand square feet, the one-story multimillion-dollar home was cozy, welcoming. Tastefully furnished in a neutral palette, it was the kind of place where you wanted to sit down, have a glass of wine and snuggle in.

  Finally, he opened the door to a room with a queen-size bed ready for guests. “There’s no en suite, but the bathroom is next door. Emma’s bedroom is right across the hall.” Sorrow drifted across his expression. The muscles in his throat worked as if he’d swallowed gravel. “Mine is at the end of the hall.”

  Staying in the corridor, Madeline dropped her overnight bag on the floor inside the room, setting her purse on top, and kept her cell handy. He leaned against the doorjamb and their eyes met, his deep and unfathomable.

  For one quiet moment, they stared at each other. She fought not to squirm in her skin or shift her gaze under the unexpected jolt of power that came with that stare.

  Why couldn’t he get less attractive the closer she got? Instead, he was one of those men you couldn’t help but look at. An aesthetic face that was all male, a slash of cheekbones and sculpted mouth. Blue eyes with such intensity of color she could lose herself in them. Hair that was thick and full. He was almost ridiculously gorgeous with a devastating presence that filled a room.

  Before she melted into a puddle at his feet, she asked, “Can we sit down somewhere and talk?”

  They needed to hash things out. Right now.

  Jackson gestured for Madeline to follow him.

  Lecturing him, extolling her success rate, trying to use her position to get him to fall in line wouldn’t work on him. Only one thing would get him to trust her and treat her like a teammate in this because he sure as heck wasn’t going to sit on the sidelines.

  She straightened, steeling herself for what she had to do.

  Chapter Six

  Walking down the hall, Jackson led the way back through the house, sensing what Madeline was about to bring up.

  She wanted to talk about the way he’d handled the press conference. Read him the riot act. Lay down the law. Make sure he understood who was in charge and how things would go from here on out. It was evident in her bearing, the way her tone had changed.

  If they needed to clear the air and reach an understanding, so be it.

  First, he damn sure needed a drink. Anger and adrenaline had drained from him, leaving him cold with a bone-deep fear.

  Minutes had blurred together until hours had crept by since he had resigned on television. Still, there was no proof of life. No new text.

  Only silence while he was forced to wait in purgatory.

  Had he made a mistake? Had he ruined his one chance to find out whether his daughter was alive?

  No, no, he mustn’t think like that. Following his gut wasn’t wrong.

  He shuttered the doubt. Nothing was final. Not yet. He’d created a loophole rather than backing himself into a corner he couldn’t escape.

  The monster who’d taken his daughter wanted Jackson’s resignation to be final. The only way that would happen was to have evidence Emma was all right.

  Inside the family room, he made a beeline to the discreet bar at the far wall. “Do you drink Scotch or brandy?”

  “Brandy, but not while I’m on duty.”

  He pulled the cork from a bottle and poured amber liquid into two snifters. Crossing the room, he handed her one. “Calvados. Lecompte. You can’t remain on duty 24/7. I got the impression from Caitlyn that you’re here to make sure I don’t do anything stupid. One drink won’t prevent you from doing that.”

  Madeline considered him. “One.” She accepted the glass, smelled the brandy and took a sip. “I haven’t tasted Calvados this good since my last vacation, in Paris.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  Madeline sat on the sofa that faced the burning gas fireplace. “I’m ashamed to say, but it’s been too long since I’ve taken any time off.”

  She was a workaholic, the same as him.

  Emma was the only thing to drag him out of the office. With one parent gone, he did his best to shower her with the love and attention that two would give. Sometimes that meant spoiling her a bit. At other times, he worried that he pushed her too hard to excel.

  He turned from Madeline toward the fire. Closed his eyes, pictured Emma safe and warm and tucked into bed, waiting for him to read a story. Tears pressed against his eyelids. He recalled the sound of her giggle, the feel of her hair slipping through his fingers, the fruity scent of her shampoo mingled with her skin still damp from her bath.

  Fathomless despair yawned inside him like an abyss.

  Opening his eyes, the world blurred. He blinked back tears and took a healthy swallow of brandy, forcing himself to stop before he drained the snifter.

  The doorbell rang.

  Madeline shifted on the sofa, glancing toward the hall. “Are you expecting anyone?”

  “I’m not. I’ll be right back.” He set his glass down on the coffee table and went to the door.

  From the foyer, he spotted Brittany.

  Jackson opened the door and let her in.

  She stepped into the foyer, carrying a large brown paper bag.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  Brittany tucked her straight black hair behind her ear. “Today has been a whirlwind. I haven’t had a chance to say how sorry I am about what happened to Emma.” She clasped his arm with her free hand. “I wanted to stop by and see how you were holding up. Thought maybe you could use some company.”

  “That’s very considerate of you, but unnecessary.” No one needed to make a fuss over him. Everyone’s concern and energy should be directed toward Emma.

  “I can’t imagine what you must be going through. Not knowing where she is, who has her. It must be torture.” Brittany’s gaze shifted behind him.

  Jackson loo
ked over his shoulder. Madeline stood on the periphery of the foyer.

  “I’m sorry.” Brittany dropped her hand and shuffled backward. “I didn’t realize you weren’t alone.” Her gaze bounced between them, a flush blooming on her cheeks.

  “This is Special Agent Madeline Striker,” he said.

  “Oh, you’re one of the FBI agents investigating the case,” Brittany said. “There were so many police officers and agents at ETC earlier. I didn’t think you guys would still be here this late.”

  Madeline strolled deeper into the foyer. “I’m staying the night. The Bureau wants to ensure we have an around-the-clock presence.”

  “Really? I would’ve expected a police officer parked out front for that sort of thing,” Brittany said. “Not an agent in the house overnight.”

  “Are you well versed in law enforcement protocol?” Madeline asked.

  “I just assumed, you know,” Brittany said. “From movies, TV shows, that sort of thing.” She glanced down at the bag in her hand. “Takeout from Spinasse. I figured you wouldn’t think about eating until you were famished.”

  How astute of her. He hadn’t eaten since the Family Day event, but he wasn’t hungry. The thought of food turned his stomach.

  Brittany handed him the bag. “A few of your favorite dishes. You need to keep up your strength. For Emma’s sake.”

  Jackson smiled at her. She was the world’s best assistant. Always looking out for him. “Thank you, but I wish you hadn’t gone to the trouble.”

  Brittany shrugged, throwing a glance at Madeline. “No trouble at all. Besides, I also picked up a late dinner for me and Aaron. Saves me the hassle of cooking.”

  “Who’s Aaron?” Madeline asked.

  “My boyfriend.”

  Another step forward and Madeline’s expression softened. “Is it serious?”

  “I should hope so. We live together and I think we’re ready to take the next step.” Brittany flashed an unfiltered smile, then her gaze darted to Jackson and the light in her eyes went out. “I saw your press conference on the news. Since you resigned, I didn’t know if I should go into the office tomorrow. Did you want me to take care of anything for you?”