Maybe she was sick? Or maybe Macy was ill. Whatever was going on, it was out of the ordinary and Sam didn’t like it. He turned at the sound of a knock on the back door. Frank waved to him through the window.
“Morning,” Frank said when Sam had unlocked the door and allowed him inside.
“Morning to you,” Sam replied. “Have you seen Daniella around?”
“No. I went straight out to that flower bed this morning and didn’t come to the house until now.” He frowned as he looked at the empty coffeepot. “Is she sick or something?”
“I’m about to find out,” Sam said as he walked toward her door. He knocked on it and waited for a response. Nothing. He knocked again, this time more forcefully. “Daniella,” he called.
When there was still no reply a thick tension coiled tight in Sam’s stomach. He tried the doorknob but it was locked. He bent down and looked to see that it was an ordinary interior door lock often used on bathrooms.
“Frank, get me something sharp,” he demanded, as he tried to quell the panic that attempted to roar through him. He rapped frantically on the door, the resulting silence screaming in his head.
Frank returned with a tiny screwdriver that Sam maneuvered into the tiny hole next to the knob. His heart beat fast and furious as he popped the lock and opened the door.
The silence inside the room was hollow, as if no living creatures existed inside the space and Sam didn’t linger but raced toward Daniella’s bedroom.
He stopped in the doorway, his heart crashing to the floor as he saw her empty bed. It was obvious she’d slept there; the covers were rumpled and the pillow still held the depression from her head. So where was she?
He shoved Frank out of the way and ran toward Macy’s room. Macy’s bed was empty, as well, the covers on one side hanging to the floor, as if her little body had been dragged from the bed.
The window next to the bed was open, the screen removed, and the sight nearly overwhelmed Sam. “Call the sheriff,” he said to Frank, his throat nearly constricted with emotion.
It was horrifyingly easy to assess what had happened. Somebody had come in through the window and had managed to spirit away both Daniella and Macy.
As Frank left, the illness that filled Sam nearly cast him to his knees. He’d thought they were safe in the house. He’d believed that the monster couldn’t get to them here.
God, he should have been more vigilant. He should have been sleeping on the sofa in Daniella’s private quarters. He should never have let them out of his sight. Now they were gone, and he didn’t know where to begin to look for them, was afraid to hazard a guess as to if they were alive or dead.
“Jim’s on his way,” Frank said as he rejoined Sam in the doorway of Macy’s room. “What do you think happened to them?”
“I don’t know…something bad.” Sam felt as if he couldn’t catch his breath as he gazed at the bed covered with pink sheets and ruffles.
The focus had seemed to be on Daniella, so why was Macy missing, as well? The toys. Sam hadn’t thought about the toys that had been left as gifts. The perp had wanted both Daniella and Macy.
“Don’t touch anything,” he said to Frank. “Let’s wait for Jim in the kitchen.”
Sam didn’t want to stand around and wait for any thing or anyone, but he also didn’t want to contaminate what he assumed was a crime scene.
Matt. Was he here?
At this thought Sam ran out of the kitchen and took the stairs two at a time. He raced down the hallway, and when he reached the door to Matt’s room he banged his fist against it in a frantic tattoo.
If Matt had anything to do with hurting Daniella or Macy, Sam would kill him. There would be no arrest, no due process for him.
Sam banged on the door again and was surprised to hear Matt. “Okay, okay. I’m coming.”
He opened the door, and all the wind inside Sam whooshed out. Matt was clad in a bathrobe and half his face was covered in shaving cream. “What are you trying to do, bust down my door?”
“Daniella and Macy are missing.”
Matt frowned. “Missing? What do you mean missing?”
“They’ve been kidnapped.” Sam knew the answer wasn’t here with Matt. It was one of those gut feelings that he’d always relied on.
“Kidnapped?” Matt’s jaw dropped and he looked at Sam with incomprehension. “Kidnapped from here? When?”
“Sometime last night.” Sam backed away from the door. “Jim is on his way. I’ve got to get back down stairs.”
Once downstairs again Sam paced the kitchen floor. He was a man of action, a man who investigated crimes. He wasn’t used to cooling his heels in the heat of the moment.
And there was no question in his mind that this was the heat of the moment, that if Daniella and Macy were still alive their lives were at risk and time might be running out.
Unable to stay cooped up any longer, he told Frank he’d be right back, then left the house by the front door and walked around to the open window in Macy’s room.
He scanned the area with narrowed eyes, looking for something, anything that might provide a clue. The ground was too hard to show any footprints, and he saw nothing that might have been dropped or left behind by the perpetrator.
Jim found him there, the older man’s expression grim. “They’re gone, Jim. Somebody got them.” Sam’s voice was hollow, thick with the emotion he was trying desperately to tamp down.
“Frank told me. We’re going to find them, Sam. I’ve got Deputy Wilkerson inside starting the fingerprinting of the rooms.”
“I want you to send some men over to Matt Rader’s new home and see if they find anything there.”
Jim raised a grizzly eyebrow. “You think he had something to do with this?”
“Not really, but I’d never forgive myself if I was wrong in my assessment.” Sam’s stomach twisted in knots. He reached out and grabbed Jim by the shoulder. “We have to find them. This kind of obsession can be dangerous, explosive.” He dropped his hand back to his side.
“You didn’t hear anything last night? No scream? No struggle? No car pulling up out front?”
Sam shook his head. “Nothing. And I’m a light sleeper.” A cold wind blew through Sam despite the rising heat of the day. “There wasn’t a struggle in the bedrooms. Whoever did this managed to get them out of the house without a struggle.”
He frowned, his thoughts once again racing. “They had to have been drugged. It’s the only thing that explains why there was no struggle, why there wasn’t a scream.”
“Let’s go back inside and see if Wilkerson has managed to lift some prints or if there’s something the creep left behind,” Jim said.
When they returned to the house they found Frank in the common room. The older man looked as sick as Sam felt. “Anything?” he asked hopefully.
Sam shook his head.
“I was wondering if it would be okay if I went into the kitchen and checked on the meal plans Daniella had for the weekend. We’ve got guests coming in around noon, and I know she’d want to keep everything as normal as possible for them.” Frank looked from Sam to Jim.
“I don’t have a problem with that,” Jim said.
“I’m sure Daniella would appreciate it,” Sam added.
Frank shrugged. “That’s what I do, I take care of things for Daniella. I’ll hold the fort here. You two just figure out how to find her and Macy.”
As he left the room in the direction of the kitchen, Sam turned back to Jim. “You take care of things here. I’ve got someplace to go.”
“Want to tell me where you’re going?” Jim asked.
“I’m following a hunch,” Sam replied.
“Want to share with me?”
Sam shook his head. “You’ll know if it pans out because you’ll be arresting me for murder.” Sam turned and left before Jim could stop him.
THE HEADACHE PULLED HER from sleep, a nauseating pounding at the temples that made her stomach roll. Daniella kept her eyes closed as co
nsciousness slowly came. The bed was soft and warm, and she was reluctant to start her day until the headache abated somewhat.
At least she had everything ready for the new guests who would be arriving. Their rooms were clean and inviting, and she’d done a lot of the cooking in advance.
The one thing she didn’t want to think about was her conversation with Sam. Then she wouldn’t only have a headache, but her heart would hurt, as well.
She turned over and her elbow hit a wall. A wall? She frowned. That was impossible in her bed. Her eyes snapped open and she sat up, ignoring the pound of her head as she looked over her surroundings.
Horrifying shock gripped her, along with a cascade of memories from the night before. The heavy weight on her body, the cloth shoved tight against her face, each and every moment of the horrifying ordeal came slamming back into her brain.
Where was she? She was in a bed, shoved against a wall in a large, windowless room. An electric bulb dangled from a wire in the drop ceiling over a small kitchen table and provided enough light for her to see.
There was a sofa and a chair, a refrigerator and a microwave and a sink. Like a tiny apartment, it contained everything somebody would need to survive.
The only sound was the faint hum of the refrigerator. There were three doors, all closed. The one at the end of the room she assumed led outside.
At the moment her fear was tamped down, simmering beneath the surface but not screaming out loud. Who had brought her here? Who had crept into her room and then carried her out of it when she was unconscious?
She slid her legs over the side of the bed and put her feet on the slightly uneven linoleum floor. Cold. She was so cold, and she suspected she might be in some sort of shock.
Headache forgotten, she walked toward the nearest door. It opened to a small bathroom with a stand-up shower. She leaned against the door as a tremor worked through her, the force of it nearly buckling her knees.
This place was nothing more than a slightly upscale jail cell. She was a prisoner here. Out. She had to get out! She ran to the next door and twisted the knob, but found it locked with a padlock. The third door was locked, as well. She rattled and pulled, but the doors were solid and she knew she was simply expending her energy for nothing.
A sob escaped her as she crawled back to the bed. She scrambled into the corner, her back against the wall, and drew her legs up to her chest.
The monster had her and she was now in his lair. What were his intentions? What did he want from her? She didn’t even know if she was still in the town of Bachelor Moon. She could be a hundred miles away from home, from Macy.
Macy.
Her heart ripped at thoughts of her daughter. Surely Sam and Frank would take care of her baby while she was gone. And she’d be home before she knew it. Somehow Sam would find her. That’s what he did; he found the monsters and destroyed them.
She squeezed her eyes tightly closed as another sob ripped through her. What if she never saw Macy again? What if she remained imprisoned here until she died?
The thought of never again smelling the sweet scent of her daughter, of never again holding her in her arms, overwhelmed her with grief.
Deep sobs tore up her throat as she pulled her legs more tightly against her chest. Who had done this? Who had broken into her room in the middle of the night to take her prisoner?
The sobs only lasted a minute. Think, she commanded herself. Think about how you can get out of here. She couldn’t wait for Sam to ride to her rescue; she had to try to do something to save herself.
She uncurled from the corner and got to her feet. The cabinet beneath the microwave held water glasses and plates, but only plastic silverware—nothing that could be used to pry at a door.
“Dammit!” The word released from her on a scream.
“Mommy?”
Daniella froze, wondering if Macy’s voice was only wistful thinking in her head. “Mommy, are you out there?”
This time Daniella’s heart clenched as she realized the voice was coming from the one of the doors she couldn’t open. She raced to the door and sank to her knees.
“Macy, honey. I’m here.” She pressed her hands against the door, as if by sheer willpower alone she could feel her baby girl. “Where are you?”
“I’m in a room,” Macy replied.
“What kind of a room? Does it have a window?” Daniella fought against the horror of knowing her daughter was with her in this dangerous situation.
“No. It doesn’t have a window, but it’s a pretty room, kind of like mine at home. And there are toys and books on a shelf.”
The words caused a new horror to sweep through Daniella. So whoever had taken her had planned on taking Macy, as well, had prepared for the little girl to be a prisoner, too.
“Can’t you come in here with me, Mommy?”
“I can’t, baby. The door is locked and I can’t get in. Are you hurt?”
“No. I’m just a little bit scared and I have a headache,” Macy replied.
Rage consumed Daniella, a rage directed at the man who was keeping her from her frightened, hurting child. She’d kill him if she got the chance, for no other reason than this.
“Macy, did you see who brought us here?” Daniella pressed closer against the door, wishing she could pass right through the wood.
“No. I was sleeping and then I woke up here. Mommy, what’s happening?”
“It’s an adventure, baby. I need you to be strong for me. Don’t be scared and very soon we’ll be home and back together again.” Daniella prayed that the words she spoke through the door to her daughter weren’t empty ones.
Chapter Eleven
Sam clenched the steering wheel as he raced down the lane that led away from the bed-and-breakfast. It would take time for Jim and his deputies to thoroughly process the crime scenes in Daniella’s and Macy’s bedrooms. Frank was holding the fort for the guests to arrive, and there was no way Sam could just stand around and cool his heels when he knew the two people he loved most in the world were in trouble.
What had he missed? Nobody was as good as the perpetrator had been so far. There were almost always mistakes made and clues to be followed.
There was only one person on his radar, and he was on his way to confront him now. His only hope was that the person who had Daniella and Macy was still in the love phase of his obsession. But Sam knew how quickly in cases like this love could turn to rage, and that terrified him more than anything.
His father had professed to love his mother and him, but that hadn’t stopped him from shooting his mother to death and attempting to do the same to Sam.
One of the pieces of information he’d gotten from Lexie was the addresses of the people he’d asked her to background-search. Jeff’s address was in Sam’s head, and that was where he was headed.
Had Jeff entertained an obsession with Daniella? Had he fallen in love with his best friend’s wife and had that crazy love prompted him to kill Johnny? Had the gifts to Macy and flowers to Daniella been part of a long and twisted courtship?
It was possible that Sam’s relationship with Daniella had been what had forced Jeff to finally act in a more aggressive manner.
Sam slowed as he entered the town and looked at the street signs, searching for Walnut Street. The tension inside him twisted tighter with each second that passed.
What if it was already too late?
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, refusing to allow those kinds of thought entry into his head.
He had to find them and they had to be okay. Any other outcome was absolutely unthinkable. He spied Walnut Street and made a left turn, then slowed to a crawl as he looked for Jeff’s house.
Myriad emotions rumbled in his chest—fear and anger mixed with hope and despair. And above all of them a burn of urgency that had him half sick.
Jeff’s house was an attractive two-story painted a pale green with beige shutters at the windows. A large porch held several pots of brightly colored flower
s, and Jeff’s car was in the driveway.
Sam parked behind it and got out, his blood running hot in his veins. Before he’d left the bed-and-breakfast he’d grabbed his gun and he now tucked it in his waistband.
He took the stairs to the porch two at a time, and when he reached the front door he banged on it with his fist. It was just after eight. He assumed Jeff went into his office about nine. The man should be home getting ready for work, or perhaps he intended to take the day off to enjoy his new guests.
With this thought in mind, Sam banged against the door with all the force of a desperate man. He heard a voice call from inside, although it was muffled enough so he wasn’t sure what was said.
As the door finally opened Sam placed a hand on the butt of his gun. Jeff stared at him in surprise through the screen door. He was clad in a bathrobe and his hair was mussed as if he’d just now climbed out of bed.
“Late night?” Sam asked.
“What are you doing here?” Jeff made no move to open the screen door that separated them.
“I need to search your house. You here alone?”
Jeff stared at him for another minute and then laughed and shook his head. “I am, not that it’s any of your business. And you sure as hell aren’t coming in here without a search warrant. What exactly is it that you’re looking for?”
“Daniella and Macy.” Their very names ached falling from his lips.
Jeff narrowed his eyes, threw a glance over his shoulder and then stepped out on the porch. “What in the hell are you talking about?”
“They’re gone, kidnapped from the bed-and-breakfast sometime last night. I intend to search your house with or without your permission.” Sam pulled the gun, knowing in some small place of his brain that he’d gone around the bend, was half crazy with his fear.
“Sam, you’re wasting your time,” Jeff said, his eyes dark with worry. “I had nothing to do with this. They aren’t here, I swear to you.”
“Seeing is believing. Step away from the door, Jeff. I don’t want to have to hurt you.”
Scene of the Crime: Bachelor Moon Page 13
