Tracing a Kidnapper

by Juno Rushdan

  Stop. Authorized Personnel Only Beyond This Point. Trespassers Will Be Shot.

  Once her bare feet hit the cool grass, she sprinted as fast as she could until she hit the tree line. Wood cracked and a warm line of blood scored her arm.

  Stopping beside a tree, she put her shoes back on and searched the darkness.

  Jackson was nowhere to be seen.

  Damn it. Where was he? And how big was this property?

  She guessed an acre, maybe two, at least.

  A palm slid over her mouth, and she reflexively threw an elbow toward the person’s gut.

  Jackson snared her arm, blocking the blow as he came up behind her. He’d managed to get the drop on her. The man was stealthy, too. She would have to add that to the growing list of his annoying traits.

  “I knew you’d follow me,” he growled.

  She swatted his hand from her face. “You’re upset with me?” she whispered.

  “You didn’t listen.” He moved downhill at a quick pace through the thicket, trekking parallel to the illuminated path.

  Madeline hurried to catch up with him, doing her best to balance on the killer heels. “You simply took off with no explanation.”

  “I considered telling you my plan, per our information-sharing agreement. Then I realized it wasn’t fair to put you in that position.”

  “You mean the position I’m in now? But instead of having all the facts, I’m going in blind.” She tripped over a tree root and stumbled.

  Jackson caught her by the elbow, saving her from a nasty face-plant, and steadied her. “You weren’t supposed to be going in at all. I was keeping you in the dark for your own good. I decided the less you knew, the better in the long run,” he said. “That way you would have plausible deniability.”

  What damnable action was he planning to commit? “Did you make that decision for my own good before or after you kissed me?”

  A smile curved Jackson’s mouth, but Madeline caught the tightening of suppressed anger in it as he sliced a look at her. “Does it matter?”

  To her, it did.

  They cleared the woods and came out to a glade. There was a building, not unlike the one at Duwamish, sitting amid the tall trees.

  “There’ll be a sophisticated security system,” she said. “We won’t be able to simply waltz in and look around.”

  “I’m aware and have prepared accordingly.” He took her hand, and they ran to the double doors.

  As he reached into his left breast pocket and drew something out, she looked around for security cameras. Two were trained on the entrance, where they stood. Red blinking lights on several trees around the perimeter indicated there were more.

  They wouldn’t have long.

  Jackson produced an entry card and swiped it through the reader.

  “How did you come by that?” she asked.

  The red light on the sensor flashed to green. The door unlocked with a click.

  He opened the door and ushered her inside. “The less you know, the better.” He slipped the keycard back into his jacket.

  “Right. Plausible deniability,” she said. “Which will mean nothing if we don’t hurry up and get out of here before security guards show up.”

  A low whooshing noise captured her attention. A second later, the ten degree drop in temperature from outside registered. The sound was the cooling system recirculating the air.

  They stepped forward, triggering motion sensors, and overhead lights popped on, bathing the space in bright white light.

  “I’d say we have about two minutes before we have company,” she said.

  He nodded. “Come on.”

  They headed down the corridor. Labs lined either side of the hall that led to a large open bay. Beyond the glass walls of the workrooms, there were prototypes of new drones, biometric devices, semiconductors for a video gaming platform and equipment connected to a replica of a sink with water lines for what she guessed was the development of smart water tech.

  “Do you see anything at all that could be stealth technology?” Madeline asked.

  Getting closer to one of the rooms, he said, “No.”

  At the end of the corridor, they entered the large bay and stared at the centerpiece.

  A military tank.

  “How did I not guess?” Jackson said. “Chuck’s contract with the DOD is for self-driving tanks.” Slamming his eyes shut, he hung his head.

  “Are you sure? Maybe it’s stealth technology for tanks.”

  A look of defeat shrouded his face as he shook his head. “Chuck achieved Level 5 autonomy for self-driving vehicles. This is the next logical step. The most efficient one for the greatest profit in the least amount of time. Of course the military would jump at the chance to get their hands on this.” Clenching his hands, he swore. “I had this all wrong.”

  Chuck didn’t have a motive to torch Jackson’s facility, and after the speech he’d given, Madeline didn’t see the rival CEO as someone who would stoop to kidnapping to be top dog. The self-aggrandizing blowhard Chuck Albrecht didn’t think he had to resort to such drastic measures because he already viewed himself as the best.

  “He didn’t kidnap Emma,” Jackson said in a harsh whisper, voicing her thoughts.

  “No, I don’t think he did.” Another dead end. She could only imagine how crushed he must be. The investigation process wasn’t easy, but it worked. At least Albrecht had been eliminated as a suspect.

  “Then who has my daughter?”

  Madeline wished she had the answer. Looking around, she noted the cameras in the bay. “We have to leave. Now.”

  Their time was up. She took his arm and tugged him back to the corridor.

  They hustled down the hallway.

  At the door, Jackson used the keycard to unlock it. The night was quiet. The air still. But Madeline knew it wouldn’t last.

  They dashed to the woods, steering clear of the path. As they reached the tree line, shouts and noise-suppressed gunfire erupted.

  Madeline shoved Jackson behind a tree, taking cover with him.

  They were too late. Security was onto them.

  From the sound of it, at least three guards, using weapons with silencers, were in pursuit. The suppressors flattened the noise of the gunshots but didn’t eliminate it entirely.

  Madeline screamed, “Federal agent! Federal agent! Don’t shoot!” She removed her badge from her purse in preparation to show her credentials. “Stay here, out of the line of fire,” she said to Jackson. “I don’t want you getting shot by these trigger-happy Neanderthals.”

  With hands raised, she stepped out from behind the tree.

  Three men snaked through the woods, headed straight for them and opened fire.

  Bullets split the air and peppered into a nearby tree.

  Madeline dived back behind the tree with Jackson. Her skull prickled. Had they not heard her? “FBI! Don’t shoot!” she said at the top of her lungs.

  More bullets smacked into a tree less than a foot above her.

  Her knees weakened a little at the realization that the guards had heard her identify herself. But they didn’t care. Because they didn’t have to.

  She was the one in the wrong. Trespassing on private property. Searching a building without a warrant. In the aftermath, they could spin the story however they wanted, and a good lawyer would get them off scot-free.

  Bastards!

  Madeline grabbed her BUG. The Beretta Nano was sleek, thin and compact, but only offered seven rounds. Each shot needed to count.

  If that was the game they wanted to play...

  She ducked low, peeking around the base of the tree. Took aim. Fired.

  The single shot hit a guard through the right upper arm. His weapon dropped to the ground, and he grabbed hold of his perforated biceps as he shouted in agony.


  ...then she’d play.

  Chapter Eleven

  I should’ve brought the gun after all.

  Adrenaline ramped up Jackson’s heartbeat, had the tight muscle hammering in his chest. The new rush of raw energy catapulted him into fight-or-flight mode. That was the thing about fear: the right amount could help you. Made you think clearer, faster, got you ready to tackle anything that might come your way. But too much fear could cause you to make a mistake. At a time like now, that could be fatal.

  “Don’t move,” Madeline ordered. Then she took off, darting to a new position.

  Glancing around the tree to assess the situation, Jackson did his damnedest not to expose too much of his head and invite a bullet.

  One of the guards noticed Madeline and aimed at her. She fired first, and the guard dropped to the grass, clutching his knee. Seconds later, she vanished behind a cluster of trees.

  The unsuppressed report of her weapon was shockingly loud compared to the shots discharged from the guns with silencers. It would capture the attention of everyone at the party.

  Four additional guards were already rushing down the lit path. They cut into the woods, charging toward the action.

  He and Madeline were outnumbered. Outgunned. Outmaneuvered. Still, Jackson had to do something to help her. Even if it meant taking a bullet to keep her from getting hurt. He’d created this mess and had to make sure she got out of it unscathed.

  Calculating his chances, he seized an opening and worked his way from tree to tree. Bullets snapped and pinged. One whizzed so close to his head, he was forced to duck back behind a large oak. But he refused to stop moving until he caught sight of Madeline.

  She had put down a third guard, once more without killing him.

  Jackson was in genuine awe of her skill and restraint.

  A burly guard, tall and thick, circled around behind Madeline, trying to sneak up on her. Perhaps to shoot her in the back. Like a coward.

  The hulking man was six-five and a solid 250 pounds of pure muscle.

  Jackson couldn’t dodge a bullet. Nobody could. But one on one, in a tussle, Jackson could take him. Training, practice, size, all of it was a determining factor, but the key to a good fighter was natural ability. Quick reflexes and hand-eye coordination were two things Jackson had been born with. That didn’t even take into account the years of training his father had given him.

  The huge guard maneuvered past two more trees, drawing closer. He lifted his weapon, sights trained on Madeline.

  Jackson bolted forward and slid feetfirst into the shooter, his heels connecting with knee joints that bent sidewise in an unnatural way. Bullets rocketed up to the sky, and the guy fell on top of him. Jackson flipped them both over, putting the bruiser’s back to the ground. Without slowing for a second, Jackson slammed his forearm across the big man’s face, breaking his nose.

  Scrambling to his feet, Jackson kicked the man’s weapon away.

  Madeline had wounded a fourth man. Shot him in the shoulder. After disarming him, she grabbed him by the back of the collar and positioned him in front of herself, like a human shield. Her movements were quick and precise, but as smooth and practiced as a dance.

  The remaining guards—Jackson counted three—closed in, focusing their aim on him.

  “If you shoot him,” Madeline said, gesturing to Jackson, “I’ll make sure all of you are hospitalized.” Her eyes remained flat and cool. “Not merely stopped with a flesh wound. But hospitalized. As in requiring serious pain meds and physical therapy for a very long time.”

  The guards exchanged glances and decided on taking defensive positions rather than pulling their triggers.

  “Get your boss down here immediately,” Madeline said, flashing her badge. “Tell him Special Agent Madeline Striker would like to have a chat about his security protocol.”

  One of the guards spoke into his mic, relaying the message.

  Tension stretched between them during the nerve-racking standoff. Three guns against one. But it didn’t take long for Chuck to show his face. A couple of minutes tops, and he was strolling downhill with an entourage of security guards.

  “I’m here, Agent Striker,” Chuck called from the illuminated path. “Would you and your cohort come out into the light for our little détente?”

  “Move.” Madeline nudged the guard she still held in front of her forward.

  The other guards backed up slowly, stopping once they reached the walkway.

  “Boys, lower your weapons,” Chuck said, and they did as instructed.

  Strolling closer, Chuck lifted his wrist to his mouth and whispered something. The lights along the path went from an amber glow to football-stadium wattage.

  Madeline released the guard, stowed her gun in her purse and flashed her credentials in Chuck’s face.

  With a glib smile, Chuck proffered his hand. “Special Agent Striker. Chuck Albrecht. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Madeline glared at his outstretched hand with barely contained fury. “I wish I could say likewise.”

  Chuck’s gaze slid to Jackson and the weasel’s eyes narrowed. “Jackson Rhodes? Is that a wig and fake mustache you’re wearing?” He gestured to a guard, who promptly snatched the headpiece off Jackson. “Well, well, wonders never cease to amaze me. Did you put on this getup because you wanted to come tonight and see what my announcement was about, but were afraid to face me?”

  This jerk was full of perpetual hot air. “My daughter is missing, you son of a bitch, and I needed to see if you were behind it. But I didn’t want the press to know that I was here. I don’t want to make the situation worse for Emma.”

  Chuck held up the wig. Staring at it, he shivered as if disgusted. “This explains why I couldn’t find you after your invitation was scanned. Despite a thorough search.”

  “What amazes me,” Madeline said, “is that your security personnel continued to fire their weapons at us after I identified myself clearly as a federal agent.”

  A smug smile tugged at one corner of Chuck’s mouth. “How were my men supposed to know you were a legitimate FBI agent? Why would they believe you, considering the two of you were trespassing out here? I have every confidence that once they saw bona fide credentials they would have stopped shooting,” he said, holding that evil grin. “Do you have a warrant, Special Agent Striker? Probable cause? Because if you don’t, then your presence and search of this part of the premises is illegal. There’s a little thing called the Fourth Amendment.” He folded his arms. “My men are Russian mercenaries and have a strict ‘shoot first and ask questions later’ policy regarding trespassers. I don’t mess around when it comes to my intellectual property, and no one dares mess with what’s mine because of them. They had every right to open fire on intruders who broke into a restricted facility where I have tech worth billions. And I have every right to contact your supervisor and demand your badge. This stunt you two pulled is highly irregular, not to mention against the law.”

  Everything Chuck had said was true. Madeline didn’t have a legal leg to stand on and what made it worse, Jackson had been the one to put her in that position.

  “I believe your grievance is with me, Chuck,” Jackson said, wanting to draw the slick bastard’s line of fire away from Madeline. “I needed to know what you were working on.”

  “Curiosity killed the cat,” Chuck said.

  Clenching his jaw, Jackson gritted his teeth. “I had to see if what was inside that building was similar to my tech that was destroyed at my Duwamish site.”

  “Oh!” Chuck threw his head back and barked a laugh. “As if I might have been the one who blew up your facility and kidnapped your daughter. You thought me that desperate.” He rolled his eyes. “Hopefully after tonight you’ve come to your senses and realized that I don’t have to snatch your kid, destroy your tech and strong-arm you into resigning to beat you. Because I’m sm
arter and better than you and have two things you never will.”

  Jackson didn’t ask the obvious question. He waited for the answer instead.

  “Prodigious talent and ruthless ambition,” Chuck said. “I was willing to put my own father out to pasture to get ahead since the old man was holding me back.”

  As if that was something to be proud of.

  “And I have two things you don’t,” Jackson said. “A light touch and a tight grip. Step a little closer—I’ll show you.”

  Chuck quirked an eyebrow and backed up. “I’m signing a ten-billion-dollar contract with the DOD on Monday for my self-driving tanks. The only thing you have on me is about ten inches in height and those pretty-boy features. But I don’t need that with my genius, money and talent. I truly do hope you find your daughter and take your job back at ETC. Do you want to know why?” A nasty grin spread across his face. “So I can have the satisfying pleasure of outperforming you. Every. Single. Quarter.” Chuck had the nerve to wink at him. “Look, to show I’m sincere about hoping your daughter is returned safely to you, I’m going to have my guards show you the back way out, so you don’t have to face the paparazzi without your disguise. I will not be held responsible for making things worse for Emma.”

  “Is this professional courtesy, one CEO to another?” Jackson asked.

  More hearty laughter from Chuck grated on Jackson’s nerves. “You’re no longer a CEO. Remember? You resigned. Consider this a favor. Now you owe me, and the thought of you being in my debt puts a smile on my face.”

  The guards escorted them to the eastside exit, which was clear of snooping photographers, where Jackson’s car met them.

  On the drive back to his house, Madeline didn’t look at him. Didn’t say a single word. He could feel her justified anger, simmering below her calm exterior, but he decided it was best to wait to talk behind closed doors in the privacy of his home instead of giving the driver free entertainment.

  Not that he was sure what to say.

  The air in the car seethed with tension.

  He was furious with himself. For not getting any closer to finding Emma’s kidnapper and bringing her home. For his unethical plan backfiring. For endangering Madeline.