Kidnapped: A Jarek Grayson Private Detective Novel (Grayson Investigative Services Book 1)

by Boyd Craven III

  Kidnapped

  A Jarek Grayson Private Detective Novel

  Boyd Craven III

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2015 Boyd Craven III

  A Jarek Grayson Novel

  By Boyd Craven

  Many thanks to friends and family for keeping me writing! Special thanks to Jenn, who has helped me with my covers from day one and keeps me accountable!!!!!

  All rights reserved.

  1

  I know they’re both gone now. I know I’ll miss my father in odd moments, but I wish I could feel the outpouring of grief that I see everyone else around me showing.

  Things like “Jarek, I’m so sorry,” or “my condolences,” or “call me if you ever need anything,” were said by my father’s friends and former colleagues as they filed past one by one to pay their final respects to my father. A sudden heart attack had left me alone in the world and, at thirty five years old, that thought somewhat terrified me.

  I’d always been different. Even my name, Jarek Grayson, was different. My parents said that they had always expected great things of me, but at first they didn’t understand how I worked. See, I didn’t start walking until I was far beyond the normal age, and I didn’t speak until I was almost seven years old. According to the doctors, I was a high-functioning autistic person. Destined to forever be locked inside my own head. Throw in some social anxiety and OCD tendencies, and calling me different was being kind.

  That’s how I felt now, hiding my true feelings as people walked up and patted me on the shoulder or tried to take my hand for a handshake. Half of these people should have known better. They should have known I usually loathed all contact, except for that of the occasional lady.

  Dad had set things up, and his trusted lawyer had laid everything out for me. In the event of my father’s death, I was set to inherit a considerable sum of money and the business to sell if I wished.

  “You’re glowering,” Burch, the lawyer, whispered.

  “Thank you,” I said, gritting my teeth as my father’s secretary kissed my cheek. I knew it was expected, but I hated the old biddy anyways. When she moved on, I turned my head to look at him. “Sorry, how many more?”

  “Most of them,” Burch whispered back.

  The funeral was probably a beautiful thing, but it was the place where everyone said their goodbyes. I didn’t see beauty in death, nor in goodbyes. I wasn’t heartless, I just processed things a bit differently than everyone else, and I was often misunderstood by how I tried to come across. It had led to some rather amusing disagreements with people.

  My eyes caught the figure in a military uniform. I recognized her right away. Her distinctive features were easy to pick out now that there weren’t as many people. I thought I had spied her at the back, but my eyesight is much better following the curser on a computer screen than keeping track of people. My talents with my father’s company had been in the IT department, often squirreling my time away hunting down obscure information.

  “Thank you,” I kept murmuring as the crowd thinned, yet still she lingered towards the end, until she finally got in line.

  “You’re not trying very hard,” Burch said.

  “Shut up,” I whispered to him.

  The man I was shaking hands with stopped suddenly, as if poleaxed.

  “Not you, the lawyer.” I nodded to my left.

  He hurried away.

  “I swear to God, Jarek…”

  Thankfully, the last dozen or so were not close enough to my dad that I recognized them. Probably representatives of clients whom I’d never heard of, as my father had been running the business since almost twenty years before I was born. Then it was her turn.

  “Jarek,” Burch said. “About the offer—” He paused as the last woman in the room stood in front of me, her eyes steady.

  She was almost five feet eight inches tall, taller than me. She had an athletic build that most guys normally wouldn’t notice—they’d be too busy looking at her curves. Her wavy brown hair used to fascinate me as a kid, and she’d often let me run my fingers through it. I’d known her almost my entire life, and she’d been my savior at school on more than one occasion. She’d fought off bullies and kids who didn’t understand my very blunt, literal nature. She was the one who had tried to teach me sarcasm, but it didn’t work out well. She’d been the daughter of my tutor, my classmate, and a good friend.

  “Johanna,” I said, holding my hand out to her.

  The gesture visibly shocked her. Her body going rigid wasn’t her snapping to attention; she knew that I never offered my hand, and that I’d been trembling the entire day as other people shook my hand or touched and patted me.

  “Jarek,” she said, her voice sounding surprised.

  “Johanna,” I said again, pumping my empty hand up and down.

  She stepped in close, somewhat towering over me, and pulled me in for a hug, burying her head in the crook of my neck. I felt the stirrings of attraction, more of a physical thing, really. It’d been something I’d thus far avoided, with her at least. I patted her shoulder, thinking it was what she expected, and she broke the hug and stepped back.

  “You didn’t freak out. What happened to you?” she asked, looking me up and down.

  “My dad died,” I told her.

  “Well, I know that. I’m sorry, but… how did you survive all of this? Did you find a new therapist who—”

  “Miss Johanna, thank you,” Burch broke in, “but I’ve got to get Jarek home, and we’re going to get him set now that—”

  “I can take him,” Johanna said, knowing I didn’t drive, nor did I have the capacity to do so.

  “That’s unnecessary. Besides, I have business matters to discuss,” Burch told the both of us.

  I turned and looked at the lawyer. And they say I’m emotionless. I knew I processed differently. I knew I grieved differently. I knew I often didn’t get jokes or sarcasm or the quick-witted humor that was so popular, but compared to me, Burch was a psychopath.

  “Burch,” I said, looking him in the eye. “The business is not for sale.”

  He blanched, and I looked to Johanna.

  “I heard your terms of service are up,” I said, looking her uniformed figure over.

  “This is going a little too fast for me,” Johanna said, stepping back.

  “Burch, the lawyer, wants to sell Dad’s agency and take a twenty percent commission. As soon as Dad died, he already had a buyer lined up to sell it at a ‘premium’ price. Makes me think that my father’s decision to go into computer forensics is even more lucrative than Burch is letting on. Since Burch hasn’t been honest with me about things, I don’t trust him. You, however, took on the bullies and kept me from eating dirt on a regular basis. I did hear that your terms of service are up. What are you going to do for work now?”

  The lawyer went pale and stammered. I could see the confusion written across Johanna’s face, but I pushed ahead.

  “If you haven’t already found work somewhere, I’d like to bring you on to help me,” I told her.

  “Help you with what?” she asked.

  “Everything.”

  “Everythi
ng?” She arched an eyebrow at me.

  “There are aspects to Grayson Investigative Services I can’t do. I need somebody to drive, answer phone calls, help protect—”

  “You want me to be your secretary?” Johanna asked me, sounding angry for some reason.

  “—protect me, and somebody who can help me get my meaning across when I don’t make sense.”

  “Your sidekick?” she asked, the anger in her voice draining away to what I thought sounded like amusement.

  “It pays six thousand, five hundred dollars a month, plus a percentage, benefits, and you’ll be provided a company car. The hours may be long and, if needed, I can have an apartment redone in the building so you can have your own space if you think that would be a good enticement.”

  “Excuse me,” Burch said, grabbing my coat and pulling me to face him. “I didn’t broker this deal for your father’s ‘special’ little kid to sour it. He promised that—”

  Johanna’s hand flashed out in a knife-edge chop and popped the lawyer right on the Adam’s apple. Not a killing blow, I noted, as she pulled her punch with surgical precision, but it was enough to choke him up and make him cough and gasp. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he sank to his knees.

  “I’ll take the job,” Johanna said, smiling at me and opening her arms to give me another hug.

  “No,” I said. “It’s too much.” I was getting overloaded from the people and the physical contact.

  She nodded at me and then looked to the lawyer. I was still shy about physical contact, and she understood that. I’d been working on it, but it wasn’t easy. I turned to the lawyer.

  “Burch, I will no longer be requiring your services. Send your bill to accounting. I’m going to have somebody from the fraud department check into any and all of your previous dealings with my father to make sure they are all above board. Are we clear?” I asked him.

  “Bitch… I’ll sue…” he gasped, still on his hands and knees.

  “You grabbed him; looked like assault to me,” Johanna (or Jo, as I sometimes called her) said to him before pointing to the door. We left, continuing our discussion of the terms of her new job.

  2

  Six Months Later

  Three more reps. Sweat ran into my eyes. My arms and chest ached. My stomach muscles clenched as I lifted the heavy bar once more in a bench press. Two more reps. I breathed out, remembering the lessons I’d learned years ago. Deep inhale, and lift. One more rep. I was trying not to gasp or grunt. I’d moved the weight up this week, and I hadn’t been able to finish the workout last time I’d tried. Got it, I thought to myself as I pushed the weight pile back up and hooked the bar into place. I sat up, sweat running down my body.

  The elliptical was next. I flipped on the news channel. I was going to work on my forty-five minutes of cardio while I caught up with who killed whom this morning. If anything, Detroit hadn’t changed much, and there was always something going on. I took a pull from my water bottle and punched in the program before turning up the volume.

  “…reports say that the Mayor’s daughter may have been kidnapped. The FBI speculates that…”

  I zoned her words out and got moving. I knew the speed I had to reach to get my heart rate at peak efficiency for my workout, and I got there as quickly as I could so I could start my day. If the girl I was going to interview worked out, it’d free up a ton of time for me to take on new work. I’d been correct in thinking Burch had wanted to sell the firm. The new cyber security, forensics, and investigations I’d been doing for my father was lucrative. Very lucrative.

  A knock interrupted my thinking and Jo walked in, escorting a petite woman who looked to be in her early twenties. Her hair was chin length and styled in some sort of bob, with a cobalt highlight in her bangs. Otherwise, her ink-black hair was almost as striking as her piercing blue eyes. Her complexion was pale, but the tattoos that traced from her neck and, I presumed, down her collar bones to her wrists were all interconnected. Part of my brain saw that and considered what she’d be like in bed.

  That part of me is normal, I assume. I see a woman that I find attractive or intriguing and I mentally undress her. I guess that’s normal. The thing that didn’t strike me as normal was the laptop she was carrying.

  “Is that an Alienware?” I asked, my breathing labored as they stood there in front of the elliptical.

  The young woman stood rooted to the spot, looking at me with wide eyes. I looked at Joanna to see what the problem was, and appreciated that she’d dressed up for today’s interview. It’d been the only time Skye Erickson could make it in this week, and I’d made an exception to my no-interruptions rule when it came to my workout to talk to her. To be fair, I was trying to head hunt her and steal her away from the competition.

  “He’s talking to you,” Jo said, tapping her on the shoulder.

  That startled her, and she fumbled with the laptop.

  “Why are you working out in your boxers?” Skye asked.

  Ooops. I’d forgotten. It was how I normally worked out, but I often didn’t remember that sometimes my openness and blunt nature freaks people out.

  “I’m sorry, he was supposed to have corrected that issue. I did send an email, Jarek,” Jo said, a little annoyance in her voice.

  “My apologies. I rarely interrupt my workouts for anything, and today is an exception. This is normally how I am. I also hope Jo has explained to you how I am?” I asked hopefully.

  She nodded. “She said you’re eccentric but a good guy to work for, if you aren’t hitting on every lady in the vicinity.” The girl was turning four shades of red.

  “Does that bother you?” I asked her.

  “Well, I mean…”

  “You’re wondering if I’m going to proposition you and try to have sex with you. You’re worried you’ll have to, in order to keep or get the job or promotions. Is that about it?”

  “It’s just that I’ve heard rumors,” she said, looking away and finding my gym had mirrors all around.

  Suddenly her shoes seemed to catch her attention, and I strained as the program changed and I had to work harder on the elliptical. Breathing hard, I looked to Jo.

  “I’m sure they aren’t true,” Jo said, trying to diffuse the tension in the room.

  “I heard you’re a pick-up artist, rich, and a little kooky,” Skye admitted.

  “I’m just blunt and have a healthy sexual appetite,” I told her. “Besides, you are a little too young for my tastes. I can put it in the contract that there will never be a sexual relationship involving me. Ever.”

  “Way to sound weird,” Jo said to the room, her voice making me look up.

  “I’m not trying to sound weird. Obviously Skye has heard that I like the ladies. It isn’t my problem that my parents kept me away from them for so long. My therapist says that I’m probably overcompensating, trying to catch up but—”

  “Excuse me,” Skye said. “I have to get to work soon. I thought I was here for a job interview.”

  “Oh, that. You any good?” I asked her.

  “Yeah…” Skye said, trailing off.

  “Good. Find my personal email account on the web and shoot me a message that says ‘hello.’ The only thing I’ll give you is my work phone number. Then from there, ring my personal number. You have thirty minutes,” I told her.

  “What?” she asked, looking shocked.

  “He’s testing you,” Jo said. “And he pays really well.”

  “What’s your Wi-Fi access code?” she asked, heading over to the bench and straddling it, putting her laptop near the headrest.

  I told her and watched her go to work. Cracking the Wi-Fi code would have taken more than thirty minutes, and she’d recognized that right off the bat. I appreciated her asking. Social engineering wasn’t something I loved or was good at. So far, so good.

  It was too far for me to watch her screen, but she typed furiously. She was quite beautiful, but she was too young. The no-sex thing was fine. I had no problems finding partners
who wanted no strings, and my father had more than once cautioned me to “never shit where you sleep”, whatever that meant.

  My phone chirped from a nearby shelf, and Jo went over to it and brought it to me. I looked down and saw that an anonymous email had come in. It simply said “hello.” I smiled and went into the IP and expected to find my own building’s code. Geneva? I followed the IP address and tracerouted back to Berkeley College. I kept going and then it shot me over to USC. I looked up and saw Skye hit a final keystroke. She looked at me in triumph.

  My elliptical beeped, and I silenced the alarm then forced it to come to a stop, cutting my routine short. The young woman had done something that was difficult but not impossible to do. My personal phone number was going to be almost impossible, but if she could—

  My phone rang. I looked at Skye, who was holding an Android phone up to her ear. I killed my machine and my workout routine.

  I answered my phone. “Hello?” I asked, playing along.

  “Did I get the job?” Skye asked, her cheeks flushed from the excitement of the hack.

  Yes, hack. That’s the only way she could have gotten my personal number. Only Jo and Susan O’Hara, my father’s police contact, had this number. Now the kid did too.

  “Let’s talk,” I said, grabbing a towel and wiping the sweat off my body before heading to the shower stalls built into the corner of the private gym.

  They weren’t anything fancy. The concrete-block walls came up to my chin, the shower heads functional in washing away the sweat and grime.

  “Jarek, stop,” Jo said, her voice commanding.

  I looked at her, curious.

  “I’ve gotten used to your quirks, but you will not scare her off by being… you.”

  “Ok,” I said, sitting down. “But I stink,” I admitted.

  The women sat on a bench across from me, and I dropped the towel around my shoulders. I really did stink, and the smell of it bothered me. I didn’t understand how the girls could stand to be so close to my odoriferousness.