Tracing a Kidnapper

by Juno Rushdan

  Jackson hadn’t considered that far ahead. His mind snagged on the thought of getting proof of life, unable to go beyond the dark hypotheticals if one never came. He ran his hand over the cell phone in his pocket. “Stay home, for now. Enjoy your time off.” She was only twenty-seven, worked fifty to sixty hours a week and needed to spend more time with her boyfriend. A break would do her good. “I’ll contact the chairman and make sure they find you a new position.”

  “Are you really not going to come back to ETC?” Brittany asked.

  So long as he got his daughter back, it didn’t matter to him which company he worked for. Emma was the most important thing in the world. “That’s not up to me.”

  “This is so unfair.” Tears sprang to Brittany’s green eyes. “I’ll keep you and Emma in my thoughts and prayers. If there’s anything you need, anything at all, day or night, call me.”

  He nodded, though he wouldn’t call. But her dedication was appreciated. “I’ll make sure the chairman gives you paid leave until you’re reassigned.”

  “That’s so generous of you. Thinking about me at a time like this when you’re being put through the wringer.” Brittany whisked away tears with the back of her hand. “Try to get some rest. You need to take care of yourself.” She opened the door and stepped out into the night.

  Jackson locked the door and switched off the light in the foyer. “Are you hungry?” He held up the bag.

  “I’m good. But your assistant is right. If you haven’t had dinner, you should eat something to keep up your strength.”

  “I can’t right now.” Not when he didn’t know if Emma was safe. Had she been fed dinner, or was her little stomach rumbling with hunger pangs? He suppressed the anger and sheer worry rising inside him like a tsunami. “I’ll put it away.”

  Jackson set the entire bag on the top shelf of his fridge and returned to the family room.

  Picking up his glass, he sat near Madeline on the sofa. She pressed against the side of the couch as if he’d invaded her space. They were an arm’s length apart.

  “If I’ve made you uncomfortable, I can sit somewhere else.” He motioned to one of the slipper chairs a few feet away.

  “No,” she said in a rush, shaking her head to emphasize the word. “It’s not that. It’s just...nothing. We need to talk.”

  He downed the rest of the brandy, letting the heat slide down his throat to his belly. Got up and poured another. Sat back down, this time an inch or two closer to her.

  For some reason, the proximity unsettled this unflappable woman. As he saw it, that took away her advantage and gave him a fighting chance at staying involved in his own child’s case. It hadn’t occurred to him how much information the FBI might withhold from him until Jackson had shot off one rapid-fire question after another to Caitlyn, asking about the bomb, the statements that had been taken, the list of top suspects, the next steps in the process—and she had told him virtually nothing.

  “Let’s talk,” Jackson said.

  Madeline cleared her throat. “There was a misunderstanding between us earlier. This job isn’t a game to me. I’m sorry if I made you feel otherwise.” She shifted toward him, wrapping both hands around her glass. “This is my life’s purpose. It’s the reason I’m here.”

  He got the impression she didn’t mean here as in his house, but more of an existential reason for being.

  “I would never gamble with human life, especially a child’s,” she continued. “Neither will anyone else I work with. Not while I’m in charge of a case. I may not be a parent, but I understand what you’re going through.”

  He looked up at her. There was an openness in her eyes, a vulnerability that hadn’t been there before. As if she had lowered a wall. Now he saw what she hid so well.

  Something haunted her. She understood pain. Loss.

  “When I was eight, my sister was kidnapped,” she said in a soft voice. “Taken from a playground while we were together. She was two years younger than me.”

  Shock surged like an electric current through his limbs. “The same age as Emma.”

  Madeline nodded grimly. “My sister was never found, but that was a different time, much different circumstances. Technology has come a long way in facilitating investigations since then.”

  The hell she had gone through as such a young child, and to come out on the other side without acting the victim or martyr. He had no idea. Then again why would he?

  She swallowed and then went on. “I’m sharing this with you so you know that what I’ve been through, what my parents had to endure...” A stricken expression fell across her face, but just as fast melted away, leaving warmth and determination.

  Jackson inched closer to her. He didn’t touch her, but the urge to reach out and take her hand hit him hard. When their gazes met this time, it was more powerful than any physical connection. Never before had he experienced an instant common bond with someone.

  Even one borne from tragedy.

  “It’s the reason I’ve dedicated my life to this,” she said. “To spare as many families as I can that unbearable grief.”

  The perseverance and true grit it must have taken to become an FBI agent, choosing to face the same gut-wrenching scenario on a regular basis, all to save others. It couldn’t be easy.

  Madeline Striker was steelier and stronger than he’d first assumed, being one of few women in a male-dominated profession. While he understood her motivation and admired her dedication, her self-sacrifice to do this simply blew him away.

  “On each case,” she said, “getting it right means everything to me. I am fully invested. The entire team is committed to bringing your daughter home safely.”

  The way she said it, the promise in her voice, the sincerity behind the words, rocked him to his core, spreading calm within him.

  “Thank you for telling me.” Knowing that she did understand what he was going through in a way most others wouldn’t changed everything. He wasn’t alone. “I’m sorry about your sister.”

  Unable to resist the impulse, Jackson squeezed her shoulder, for a moment, but with tenderness as well as strength.

  Madeline was fierce yet also a little wounded. Maybe a lot wounded.

  Taking a deep breath, she nodded, allowing his sympathy without bristling, and he admired her more for it.

  “I’ve often wondered why Kimberly was taken,” she said. “Instead of me. Why I got to...” Her voice trailed off, but he filled in the blank.

  Live. Love. Laugh.

  For more than twenty years she’d battled survivor’s guilt. He couldn’t begin to comprehend what that must be like. He’d been without Emma for less than twenty-four hours and he was on the verge of losing himself. Right on the edge of the abyss.

  Having Madeline there, with her calming energy, grounded him. Kept him from spiraling. Much in the same way playing the piano did. But no one could play forever.

  “I owe you an apology for what I said to you earlier.” Asking her in the heat of the moment if she was a parent, like some litmus test, had been unfair. The emotion that had flashed across her face he now recognized as hurt. He regretted saying it.

  “There’s nothing to apologize for. I can relate to what you’re going through. It’s the flip side of a coin, but it isn’t exactly the same.”

  He lowered his hand, grateful that they could move forward.

  “We have to work together as a team, Jackson. That means listening to my professional advice, and if your gut leads you in a different direction, talk to me before you act. Okay?”

  He couldn’t pull his eyes from hers. The depth of pain, of affinity staring back at him, wouldn’t let him go.

  “Fair enough,” he said. “I can, I will do that. I hope that means you’ll keep me in the loop.” Being kept in the dark would drive him stir-crazy.

  “Sharing information is critical. It’ll eas
e your mind a little and help us find your daughter. But you have to stop withholding information.”

  He flinched at the accusation. “I haven’t withheld anything.” He’d never dare compromise the safe return of his daughter.

  “Then why didn’t you tell us about the Red Right Hand and how they’ve harassed you when I asked you about enemies?”

  What did they have to do with this? “They’ve gone after half the CEOs in this city for one reason or another.” Others had faced far worse treatment from them. “They’re just a bunch of tree-hugging hippies.” A royal pain for certain. Occasionally, a PR nightmare, but nothing more.

  Madeline shook her head. “They are violent domestic extremists whose beliefs lead them to commit crimes. Thus far they haven’t sought to kill or injure anyone, but they’re guilty of vandalism, cyberattacks, property damage and arson. We’re trying to locate their leader, Samantha Dickson.”

  “She’s a real piece of work.” Unfortunately, he was well acquainted with her tactics. If he never set eyes on her again, it’d be too soon. “At every protest, she’s rather vocal. Along with a young guy, Kane Tidwell. He was the one who threw acid on my car.”

  Madeline sent a text with the name. “Their pattern of aggression toward you makes the group a suspect, though we’re focused on Dickson. What motivated them to target you in the first place?”

  Jackson gritted his teeth, hesitant to get into the ugly details. “Andrew Phillips and the smear campaign he launched against me.”

  “This smear campaign, what was it about?”

  “It started small and then snowballed. Andrew spread rumors amongst the employees that I was a coldhearted cutthroat who only cares about the company bottom line after I had some of our operations moved overseas and had all charitable donations stopped.”

  Madeline raised the expected eyebrow at his admission, but it sounded worse than it was in reality.

  “Andrew also made sure I received a lot of bad press for it. Not that I can prove it, but I know it was him. Ever since, I’ve been on the radar of the Red Right Hand.”

  “Sounds like you gave a lot of people legitimate reasons to view you in a negative light. Is there more to this story in which painting you as the Grinch was unwarranted?”

  He liked a woman who didn’t hold her tongue and who cut to the point. “The company was on the brink of bankruptcy. Either we found a way to remain solvent or we were going to go under. Andrew was the first to propose having machines replace workers for some of our operations, quite ironically. Over time, five years to a decade, that would’ve saved us money. But we couldn’t wait that long to stop hemorrhaging. I recommended halting our charitable donations, only temporarily, and sucking up the PR hit. Instead of machines, I suggested we move a limited number of operations overseas. The impact was bigger and faster. I also cut one of Andrew’s departments. Video games.”

  Madeline tilted her head to the side. “Was the video games department his pet project? Something he was passionate about? A reason for him to blow up the Duwamish site?”

  “I started that department. It meant more to me than it ever did to him. During a reorganization, he vied for it and won. He lorded it over me, rubbing my face in it every chance he got.”

  “Did you eventually cut the department to get back at him?”

  Petty vengeance wasn’t his style. “Of course not. I sold off the games to other companies for a quick, heavy injection of funds. Everyone in that department walked away with a very generous severance package. Half of them ended up making millions in the deal. I made sure to take care of them. It was a major win-win for everyone.” Even provided the funds to expand ETC’s reach in the industry.

  “That doesn’t change the fact you moved key operations overseas, which resulted in the loss of jobs. I’m guessing quite a few, and that earned you the moniker the Butcher of the American Dream.”

  The epithet still burned his gut. But that’s what the Red Right Hand did. They called you cruel names and protested. Though the acid splashed on his car had been disturbing, not to mention expensive, to fix.

  “Also, you did stop the company from giving to charity.”

  “Everyone at ETC would’ve lost their jobs if not for those changes. I saved the company and hundreds more jobs. I’m no Grinch.” Explaining to Emma why some people thought that he was hadn’t been simple after those horrid posters depicting him as such had been put up around her school. For weeks, other kids had teased her. That had been worse than the acid. “After the most recent incident with the Red Right Hand ruining my car, I issued a press statement announcing that not only were we able to resume our charitable donations by Christmas, but that we’d double the amount from previous years. I thought that would pacify them, as well as doing something good.”

  “Dickson is one of our top suspects. Along with Charles Albrecht and Andrew Phillips. Are we missing anyone who might have a grudge against you? Are you sure there’s no jilted girlfriend? Maybe think back further than six months.”

  Jackson snorted. “That’s outside the realm of possibility. There hasn’t been anyone since my wife, Francesca.”

  “No one, in four years?” she asked skeptically.

  Hearing the status of his love life phrased that way even sounded sad to him. “No one.”

  “You must’ve loved Emma’s mother very much.”

  Devotion to the memory of his deceased wife had kept him single? A lovely notion. Too bad the reality wasn’t so picture-book. He’d never been honest with anyone about his marriage. Carried the truth for years like a dirty secret.

  He was tired of pretending.

  “I did care for her a great deal.” Much more at the end when she had been sick and suffering than at the beginning. “She was a prima ballerina. We met at a fundraiser for membership donors such as me. It was only meant to be a fling for both of us. A fun distraction. She got pregnant. So we got married. Quickly, we realized we were polar opposites. Not even friends. She was miserable throughout the pregnancy once she had to stop dancing. Resented me because I didn’t have to give up anything, even temporarily, to bring our daughter into the world. Then she got sick.” And cancer redefined how he loved. “I took a six-month sabbatical to take care of her. She was gone so fast, Emma doesn’t remember her.” He wasn’t sure why he’d told Madeline quite so much. He only knew that once the words had started, there was no holding them back.

  Unburdening was good for the soul. Lightened the load he had been carrying.

  “You sacrificed for Francesca at the end.” There was unwavering sympathy in her eyes. “You’ve continued to sacrifice for your daughter.”

  He’d been single a long time. So long, he’d grown numb to the loneliness. Earlier this evening, when his house had been teeming with people, while Emma was missing, it was like a scab had been ripped off, leaving him raw. Forcing him to face the emptiness that had metastasized over the years. Sitting here with Madeline, talking, made him feel less alone.

  Tonight, he needed that more than he had realized.

  “I suppose I haven’t been with anyone because I’ve been focused on Emma and work. Not much time for anything else.” Dating required energy and effort he didn’t have to give when Emma was a toddler. Once she started elementary school, he had no clue how to juggle everything. “I don’t think there are many women who would accept that I already have two top priorities. Who would be willing to settle for third place?”

  “Someone who has her own priorities wouldn’t see it as settling, but as compromise. Give and take. But I get it.” She nursed the brandy, indulging in another tiny sip. “There aren’t many men who can handle my grueling schedule with odd hours and not sleeping at home when the job demands.”

  Only an idiot wouldn’t understand. She was intelligent, full of drive, beautiful. The kind of beautiful that struck you at first sight but deepened the longer you looked at he
r. And she was out there in the thick of it saving lives. Literally.

  “All you need is one,” he said. “The right one.”

  Their thighs brushed. Their gazes connected in the firelight of the room.

  Hyperawareness tingled through him, calling him to draw closer, like recognizing like.

  Under different circumstances, when everything he cared about wasn’t slipping through his fingers faster than grains of sand in the wind, he would’ve acted on it.

  He got up and strode to the other side of the room near the window.

  Leaning against the mantel, he drew comfort from the heat of the fire.

  “At least we can rule out the possibility of a hostile ex,” Madeline said, crossing her legs. “Tell me about your combative rivalry with Albrecht.”

  “Our relationship has always been contentious, but purely about business. We’ve gone in similar directions with the manufacture of products once or twice. Right now, he’s vying for a military contract.”

  “The same as you. Could it also be for stealth technology?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know, but if that is his latest breakthrough that would give him a reason to target the Duwamish site. Having me step down as CEO might just be for good measure, a smoke screen for going after a rival product that could win a government bid over his.”

  “That’s what I was thinking. I wish there was a way to verify what he’s working on. Confirmation of stealth technology would be enough for us to get a warrant to search every piece of property he owns and dig into his financials to see if he’s made any large payments. Perhaps hired someone to kidnap Emma.”

  Thanks to Chuck’s need to be in the limelight, there was a way. “He’s having a black-tie cocktail party tomorrow at AlbrechTech to make a big announcement. The cocky bastard even had the gall to send me an invitation. He’s the biggest narcissist.”

  “Literally? As in inflated sense of his own importance, a deep need for excessive attention and admiration, and a lack of empathy for others?”