Christmas Kidnapping

by Cindi Myers

  “I’m not a trained therapist, but if your husband was killed in the line of duty, it doesn’t take a degree to figure out you might not want to repeat the experience.” He glanced at her, then back at traffic. “But even civilians can get hit by buses or fall off of mountains or have a heart attack while mowing the lawn.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to date you, Jack.”

  “Fine. But I will have to see you again.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I’m going to try to find out more about the guy who snatched your purse. I’m going to try to find him.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Everything in there can be replaced.”

  “Maybe. But I don’t think he was in that café this afternoon for the sole purpose of stealing a random stranger’s purse. He was watching us—watching me—for a while before he made his move. I want to find out why.”

  “I doubt you’ll get my purse back,” she said.

  “Maybe not. But I have to see you again anyway.”

  “Why?”

  “I promised Ian I’d fix the stiff pedal on his tricycle. And I always keep my promises.”

  Yes, Jack Prescott would keep his promises. He would do his duty and live by his pledge, whether that pledge was to a friend or a woman or a little boy like Ian. But he would also keep his promise to give all he had for his country. Even if that meant his life. That last promise was one she wasn’t sure she could live with.

  * * *

  AFTER JACK DROPPED Andrea at her office, he called Special Agent Cameron Hsung, one of his fellow Search Team Seven members. “Hey, Jack, how are you doing?” Cameron’s cheerful voice greeted him. The half-Asian twentysomething was one of the younger members of the team, an IT specialist who had been recruited, like the other members of Search Team Seven, because of his super-recognizer skills.

  “I’m doing great.” Jack rubbed his thigh, which burned with pain as a result of his pursuit of the thief and squatting to put himself at eye level with Ian McNeil. “There’s no reason I couldn’t come back to work right now.”

  “I’m guessing your doctor has a different idea,” Cameron said.

  “He says at least two more weeks of leave. But what does he know. How’s the case going?” The case—the sole focus of the team at the moment—involved a terrorist cell headquartered here in western Colorado. The suspected leader of the cell, a man named Duane Braeswood, had jumped from the Durango and Silverton tourist railroad two months ago, but a subsequent search hadn’t turned up his body.

  “We got a lead that a man matching Braeswood’s description had shown up at a hospital in Grand Junction,” Cameron said. “But by the time local law enforcement made it there, he had disappeared.”

  “So he was injured?”

  “Pretty badly, I guess,” Cameron said. “After a bit of a hassle, we got a copy of the medical report. He had a broken leg, some busted ribs, and a bruised liver and kidneys.”

  Jack winced. “So he probably didn’t get to the hospital—or out of it—on his own.”

  “That’s what we’re thinking. We got some security video but it’s pretty blurred. Typical cheap system that hasn’t been maintained. Nobody thinks about these things until they actually need the equipment to do its job. Then it’s too late.”

  “The man doesn’t seem to have any shortage of helpers,” Jack said.

  “Yeah, well, money buys a lot of things—even friends.”

  “Right. And speaking of friends, I need a favor.”

  Cameron groaned. “Something tells me I should say no before I even hear this.”

  “It’s nothing complicated. A friend of mine had her purse stolen while we were at lunch today.”

  “You have a woman friend?”

  “Don’t act so surprised.”

  “At least you’re using your leave productively. Who is she? How did you meet?”

  “Her name is Andrea McNeil. She’s a therapist.”

  “You mean the police therapist you were going to see? Man, what did you do, put the moves on her from the couch?”

  “We were having lunch. That’s all.” Though he definitely wanted more. A guy didn’t meet a woman like Andrea every day, and he wasn’t buying her argument that she didn’t want to date him. He understood her reluctance, given her history, but she must have felt the connection between them. And he thought he was savvy enough to have picked up that she hadn’t agreed to have lunch with him because she fell for his “I’m so lonely” line. She was really interested. All he had to do was take it slow and prove that exploring the chemistry between them was worth the risk. “I thought I recognized the purse snatcher. I think he’s in our database.”

  “Uh-huh. And what is this favor you want from me?”

  “I want a copy of the database so I can look for this lowlife and find him.”

  “That database is classified,” Cameron said. “It’s not supposed to leave this office.”

  “It’s not like you’re releasing it to a civilian. I’m a member of your team.”

  “Technically, you’re not on the team right now. You’re on medical leave. You’re not even allowed to come to the office.”

  “Because some bureaucratic pencil pusher is afraid of getting sued if I slip and fall on a wet floor or something before my doctor has cleared me to return to work. That’s why I need a copy of the database on my personal computer.”

  “Jack, it’ll cost me my job if anyone finds out.”

  “No one will find out. It’s not like I’m going to go around showing the thing off. I just want to track down this guy.”

  He thought he heard Cameron’s teeth grinding together. “All right. But don’t go all Lone Ranger on me. If you find anything, you bring it to us.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  “Okay. Meet me when I get off at six, at that tavern around the corner.”

  “The Rusty Moose.”

  “Yeah. Dumb name, good beer. You can buy me one and I’ll get you what you need. And hey, if your therapist friend has a friend, maybe you could introduce us.”

  “You have to find your own dates, Cam. That’s where I draw the line.”

  “Hey, I figured it was worth a try.”

  Jack hung up the phone and started the truck. He couldn’t shake the feeling the purse snatcher had been up to more than looking to steal a handbag. There had to be a connection to his case. Even if he was supposed to be on medical leave, that didn’t mean he couldn’t do a little investigating on his own. He was out of the hospital and doing pretty good. He had never been the type to sit around and do nothing, and he wasn’t about to start now.

  * * *

  BY THE TIME Andrea made it home from her meeting, she was drained. As much as she enjoyed sharing her expertise with groups, she identified a little too closely with the challenges faced by members of the Law Enforcement Spouses organization. She remembered what it was like to be in their shoes and deal with the constant worry about her loved one. Though she was happy to listen to their concerns and offer strategies for coping, she knew her words weren’t really enough.

  She was surprised to find the house dark when she arrived. Chelsea usually left the porch light on for her. She fumbled her way up the steps and opened the door. Silence greeted her—another oddity. Even though it was past Ian’s bedtime, Chelsea liked to stay up and watch movies or her favorite reality TV shows. “Chelsea? Is everything okay?” she called as she reached for the light switch.

  A half-eaten pizza sat on the coffee table, an almost-empty glass of root beer tipped on its side next to the pizza box, the brown liquid pooling on the table and dripping on the floor. One of the couch pillows was on the floor, too. Heart in her throat, Andrea took a step forward. Then she saw the blood.

  Or at least, she thought it was bloo
d. The pool of brownish-red liquid on the rug beside the coffee table definitely wasn’t root beer. It could have been spilled syrup, except that no one would be eating syrup with pizza, would they?

  She reached for her phone to call 911, but of course, the thief had stolen it, along with her purse. “Chelsea!” she shouted, headed toward the kitchen and the phone there. “Ian!”

  She stumbled over something in the hallway—Chelsea lay on her back, her hands and feet tied, a gag in her mouth. She stared up at Andrea, eyes wide. Shaking, Andrea dropped to her knees and pulled the gag from the babysitter’s mouth. “What happened?” she demanded. “Where is Ian?”

  “Ian’s gone.” Tears spilled out of Chelsea’s frightened eyes. “Two men took him. He’s gone.”

  Chapter Three

  Jack spent most of his evening stretched out in the recliner in his apartment, his laptop propped on his stomach, scanning the database Cameron had loaded onto a flash drive. A football game on the TV played in the background, and he was debating getting out of the chair and hunting in the refrigerator for a beer when his cell phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number on the screen, though it was a local exchange, and he almost let the call go to voice mail but decided to take a chance. “Hello?”

  “Jack, they’ve taken Ian. You’ve got to help me. Please. They’ve taken my baby.”

  He didn’t recognize the voice of the hysterical woman on the other end of the line, but the name Ian meant it had to be Andrea. “Andrea? Is that you?”

  “Yes. Oh, God—Jack. Ian will be terrified. You have to help me find him.”

  “I’ll be there in five minutes.” He was already moving toward the door. “Can you sit tight until then?”

  “Yes. But hurry, please.”

  He broke several traffic laws on the way to Andrea’s house, but traffic was light off the highway this time of evening, and in less than five minutes he roared into her driveway. Every light in the house was illuminated. He raced onto the porch and knocked. “Andrea! It’s me, Jack.”

  “Come in. We’re in the kitchen.”

  He found her at the back of the house, applying a cold washcloth to a nasty-looking bruise near the babysitter’s temple. Chelsea held her baby close, tears pouring from her eyes as she rocked and cooed at the infant. Andrea had been crying, too, her eyes red and swollen, cheeks streaked with tears. “What’s going on?” Jack asked.

  “Ian and I were watching a movie and eating pizza and these two men dressed in black and carrying big guns burst in and grabbed him,” Chelsea said. “I tried to stop them, but one of them hit me in the head with the butt of the gun. When I woke up, I was tied up and gagged in a back bedroom and Ian was gone.” She gulped and swallowed hard. “I was so afraid they’d taken Charlotte, too, but they left her sleeping in her crib.”

  “Have you called the police?” Jack asked.

  “They said not to,” Andrea said. “They said they would kill Ian if I contacted any law enforcement.” Her voice wobbled at the word kill and she looked ready to collapse.

  Jack put his hand on her shoulder to steady her. “Who told you not to?” he asked.

  “I don’t know who. They left a note.”

  She handed him a piece of paper, the message on it typed in block letters.

  YOUR BOY WILL BE SAFE AS LONG AS YOU COOPERATE. YOU AND YOUR BOYFRIEND BRING TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS TO THE ADDRESS WE’LL GIVE YOU TOMORROW AND WE WILL TALK THEN. DO NOT GO TO THE POLICE OR TELL ANYONE ELSE. WE HAVE PEOPLE WATCHING YOU AND WE WILL KNOW. MAKE ONE WRONG MOVE AND YOUR BOY WILL DIE A HORRIBLE DEATH.

  Andrea sank into a chair, her hand over her mouth, stifling a sob. Chelsea leaned over and squeezed her hand.

  Jack read the note again. “Who is this boyfriend they’re talking about?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I’m not dating anyone. I haven’t since before my marriage.”

  “I think they mean you,” Chelsea said.

  “Me?”

  “Jack isn’t my boyfriend,” Andrea protested.

  “If the kidnappers saw the two of you together this afternoon, they might think so,” Chelsea said. “I mean, I did.”

  Andrea moaned and covered her mouth again.

  Jack sat across from her. His leg throbbed, but he ignored it. “The only person watching us this afternoon was that guy in the restaurant,” he said.

  “Did you find out who he is?” Andrea asked.

  He shook his head. “I’m still looking into it.” He glanced around the room. “He probably got your address from your license in your purse. And he has your keys, too.” Why hadn’t he thought of that before? He should have made Andrea change her locks. Or he should have insisted on staying here at her house tonight. He turned to Chelsea. She looked as wrecked as Andrea, clutching the child in her arms so tightly it was a wonder the infant didn’t wail. “What did these two look like?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “They were wearing masks, dressed all in black. They carried big guns. Everything happened so fast...”

  “How tall were they? How much did they weigh? Did they have accents? Could you see their hands, get an idea of race?” He knew he sounded like a bully, firing questions at the upset woman, but he couldn’t help himself. In situations like this, gathering as much evidence as possible as quickly as possible could make the difference between life and death.

  Fresh tears spilled from Chelsea’s eyes and she shook her head again. “I’m sorry. I don’t know. I was so focused on Ian and the guns. And then they hit me.” She began to sob, and Andrea pulled her close.

  “Why would someone do something like this?” Andrea asked. “How did they know I had a child? Have they been following me for a while now?”

  Jack considered the questions. “This doesn’t make sense as a kidnapping.” He tapped the note. “For one thing, the ransom is too low. Kidnappers ask for millions of dollars, not a few thousand.”

  “They must have known I don’t have millions,” Andrea said.

  “Maybe this doesn’t have anything to do with you,” Chelsea said. “Maybe they got their houses mixed up. You see that on TV sometimes. What do they call them—home invasions.”

  “Maybe.” Jack reread the note. “But I don’t think so. How long would you say they were in the house?”

  Chelsea frowned, concentrating. “I don’t know. They burst in and knocked me out right away. They were here long enough to tie me up and put me in the bathroom. After I woke up, I spent a half hour or more crawling down the hall, trying to get to the phone.”

  “It sounds to me as if this was planned,” Jack said. “They came in fast and hard, took out Chelsea, grabbed the boy and left. They didn’t kill Chelsea, though they easily could have, and they left her baby alone. They wanted Ian.” His eyes met Andrea’s. “And they wanted you to cooperate. They knew taking your son would make you do whatever they wanted.”

  “But why me?” she asked. “I’ve never hurt anyone in my life.”

  “Your husband was a cop,” Jack said. “Maybe he made enemies. It could be someone he put in prison. They’re out now and seeking revenge.”

  “Preston has been dead three years. Anything they do to me or Ian now doesn’t touch him. These people would be taking a lot of risk for nothing.”

  He nodded. While he’d learned not to discount some people’s drive for revenge or the irrational ways evil people could act, this didn’t feel like that kind of situation. The note hadn’t mentioned Andrea’s husband at all.

  But it had mentioned her “boyfriend.” “Maybe whoever did this was trying to get to me,” he said.

  “To you?” Confusion clouded her eyes. “But, Jack, I hardly know you. We just met.”

  “I can’t prove it yet, but I think the man I saw in the restaurant this afternoon is connected to a case I’ve been working on. He m
ay have seen the two of us together and assumed a relationship. He stole your purse in order to learn where you live. He may even have meant to kidnap you and send the ransom note to me, but when they found Ian instead, they decided to use him.”

  “That’s crazy,” Chelsea said.

  “It is. But this group has done this kind of thing before.” Months before, Duane Braeswood and his men had kidnapped the sister of a woman who worked for the head of the Senate Committee on Homeland Security. They had threatened to kill the sister if the woman, Leah Carlisle, didn’t cooperate with them. Once Leah was in their power, they had killed her sister and held Leah hostage for six months. Search Team Seven had rescued her in the same raid in which Gus had been killed. “They know that most people will do almost anything to save their loved ones, more than they would do, even, to save themselves.”

  “But I’m not your loved one,” Andrea said. “I’m just an acquaintance you had lunch with.”

  “No. But I’m not going to turn my back on you when you need my help.” And he cared about her. And Ian, too. In the short time he had known them, they had worked their way into a corner of his heart.

  She looked away. “I don’t have anyone else I can call,” she said. “Not anyone who would be safe. If you can pretend to be my boyfriend until we get through this...” She let her voice trail away, as if she thought she were asking too much.

  “I’m not going to leave your side until we’re through this.” He gripped her shoulder again. “You’ve got to be strong now. For Ian.”

  She sat up straighter and took a ragged breath. “What do we do now?” she asked.

  “Can you get ten thousand dollars together?”

  “I can take it out of my savings as soon as the bank opens in the morning.”

  “Let’s wait until the kidnappers call with instructions. Right now, you can’t stay here tonight.”

  “No.” She hugged her arms across her chest and shivered.

  He turned to Chelsea. “What about you?”

  “I want to go home to my husband. I haven’t told him about any of this yet. I’d rather do it face-to-face.”