Love Inspired Suspense May 2015 #2

by Susan Sleeman

  “Yes, I need to—”

  “The local police have him. I was told he was being brought back to the kennel.”

  “Told by whom?” she asked. Agent DeMarco was saying all the right things, but she didn’t know him, hadn’t seen any identification, still wasn’t a hundred percent convinced he was who he said he was.

  “Chief Kent Andrews. He’ll probably be here shortly. He’s still overseeing the scene.”

  “I’d like to speak with him.” She and Kent went back a couple of years. She often worked with the Maryland State Police K-9 team, correcting training issues with both the dogs and their handlers in an unofficial capacity.

  “You will, but I need to ask you a few questions first.”

  “How about you show me some ID? Then you can ask your questions.”

  *

  The request didn’t surprise Grayson. He’d been told that Laney knew her way around law enforcement and that she wasn’t someone who’d blindly follow orders. While working with the state K-9 team as a dog trainer, her skills with animals and the trainees alike had garnered the respect of the police chief and his men. More than that, Grayson got the distinct impression that Kent Andrews really liked Laney as a person and wasn’t surprised at all that she would put herself in danger to help another.

  “Sure.” Grayson fished his ID out of his pocket, handed it to her.

  She studied it, her wavy hair sliding across her cheeks and hiding her expression. She didn’t trust him. That much was obvious, but she finally handed the ID back. “What do you want to know?” she asked.

  “Everything,” he responded, taking a small notepad and pen from his jacket pocket. “All the details of what happened tonight. What you saw. Who you saw. Don’t leave anything out. Even the smallest detail could be important.”

  “I was on my way back from Davidsonville Park with Murphy when I saw her.”

  “Was she alone?”

  “Yes. She was walking by herself. I always hate seeing that. I can’t even count the number of kids my team and I have searched for who were out by themselves when they disappeared.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and frowned. “Sorry, I’m getting off track. This headache…” She shook her head slightly and winced.

  “Want me to call the nurse and get you something for the pain?” He would, but he didn’t want to. He needed her as clear-headed as she could be.

  She must have sensed that. She rested her head on the pillow. “That would be nice, but I’m not sure I’ll be any good to anyone filled with a bunch of painkillers.”

  “Don’t suffer for your cause, Laney. If you need pain medication, take it.”

  She smiled at that, a real smile that brightened her eyes and somehow made the smattering of freckles on her cheeks and nose more noticeable. She was pretty in a girl-next-door kind of way. He tried to imagine her taking on a guy with a gun. Couldn’t quite do it. “I hate taking narcotics,” she muttered. “I’ll ask for Tylenol later.”

  He wasn’t going to argue with her. “You saw the girl walking alone,” he prompted her.

  “Yes. I was headed home. A van was coming toward me in the opposite direction. We passed the girl at nearly the same time.”

  “Passed her?” He’d assumed she’d driven up as the girl was being abducted.

  “Yes. The van made me think of the news reports of other abductions in the area. I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the van U-turn. I did the same.” Laney looked away as if unable to meet his gaze. “Unfortunately, it reached her first. She was texting and didn’t even see them coming.”

  “Could you see the color of the van?”

  “Not initially, but I got a good look at it when I rammed it with my jeep. It was a dark charcoal gray. My front fender probably scraped off some of the paint. It will have a fresh dent on the front passenger side…” Laney’s voice faltered.

  “Did you see the person who grabbed her? Can you describe him?” he asked, every cell in his body waiting for the answer. If she saw the guy, if she had a description, if there was DNA on the gun, they’d finally have something to go on.

  “I had a pretty clear view. There were streetlights and the headlights from my Jeep.”

  “Tell me what you remember. Don’t hold anything back.” Grayson urged.

  “He was about six-foot-one with the build of an ex–football player—beefy but not in great shape anymore. His hair was dark brown and cropped close, like a military cut. He was wearing jeans with a black hooded sweatshirt and black work boots. He had brown eyes and an olive complexion. I saw part of a tattoo on the back of his neck, sticking out from the collar of his sweatshirt, but I didn’t get a good look at it.” She paused, frowned. “He wasn’t alone. There was another guy in the van. He came out to help. He was shorter—I’d guess about five-foot-ten. Thin—like a runner’s build. His hair was light brown, nose slightly crooked. He was the one with the gun.”

  Grayson scribbled notes furiously. “What about their ages?”

  “Early to mid-thirties. Both of them.”

  “Did either speak?”

  “Both did, but they didn’t call each other by name.”

  Too bad. That would have been another lead to follow.

  “What about accents?”

  “None that I could distinguish.”

  “Did the girl seem to know her kidnappers?”

  “If she knew them, it didn’t show. As far as I could tell, she was an arbitrary target, but the way the van was parked would have made it nearly impossible for anyone on the street to see the kidnappers. It seemed random…but not.”

  “How so?”

  “Like they were trolling the streets looking for someone, but once they picked a target their actions were deliberate—no hesitation—like they’d done the same thing before. If I hadn’t been there, the girl—”

  “Olivia Henley. She’s thirteen. She was on her way home from her weekly music lesson. Her parents reported her missing shortly after the joggers found you.” He wanted Laney to have a name to go with the face. He wanted her to know that there was a family who was missing a child. Not because he wanted her to feel guilty or obligated, but because he wanted her to understand how serious things were, how imperative it was that she cooperate.

  “Olivia,” she repeated quietly. “If I hadn’t been there, she would have disappeared, and no one would have known what happened.” She paused, her face so pale, he thought she might lose consciousness again. “If only I had done something differently, maybe she wouldn’t have been taken.”

  “You did what you could, which is more than most would.”

  “But it wasn’t enough, was it?” She leveled her gaze at him, surprising him with the depth of anger he saw reflected in her eyes. “That little girl is gone, Agent DeMarco. Her bed will be empty tonight.”

  Grayson recognized and understood her frustration. So many children went missing every day, and not all of them would make it home. He knew that better than most. “Not because of you, Laney. Because of the kidnappers.”

  “That’s no consolation to her parents.” Laney closed her eyes. “I wish I could have saved her.”

  “You still might be able to. If you’re up to it, I’d like you to meet with a sketch arti—”

  “I’m up to it. Let’s go.” Before the words were out of her mouth, she was up from bed, the white cotton sheet draped around her shoulders like a cape as she wobbled toward the door, the IV pole trailing along behind her.

  “I didn’t mean now,” he said, taking three long strides to beat her to the door and slapping his palm against it so that she couldn’t open it. “And I didn’t mean you should walk out of here with an IV line attached to your arm, either.”

  “Then bring the sketch artist here.” She turned to face him, swaying a little in the process. “The sooner you have an image of these guys, the sooner everyone can be on the lookout for them. If you really think Olivia can be saved, there’s no time to lose.”

  She was right, of course
. About all of it. There was only one problem with her plan, and it was a big one.

  “We’re not bringing the sketch artist here,” he said, leading her back toward the bed. “You’d better lie down before you fall down.”

  She dropped into the chair instead, her face ashen, her eyes a dark emerald green against the pallor. “Why not bring the sketch artist here?” Her voice had lost some of its strength, but she hadn’t lost any of her determination. “We’re wasting time talking when we could be—”

  “As far as the kidnappers know, you’re dead, Laney,” he said, cutting her off.

  “What?”

  “Dead. Deceased. Gone.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I know what you meant, Agent. I want to know why they think I’m dead.”

  “You were shot. Murphy might have distracted the shooter, but you went down. You were bleeding enough to make anyone think you’d been mortally wounded. The joggers who found you were a couple of teenage girls. They panicked, called 911 and reported a body. No one knows who you are or that you survived except the first responders and the hospital staff treating you, and they’ve been asked to keep it quiet. As far as the media and the public are concerned, Jane Doe was shot and killed on Ashley Street at approximately seven-thirty this evening. I’d like to keep your identity quiet for as long as possible.”

  Laney frowned. “Protecting my identity is the last thing we need to worry about.”

  “I disagree.”

  “Maybe you should explain why.”

  Grayson hesitated. Andrews had assured him that Laney was as good as they came, loyal and trustworthy. Even so, Grayson was reluctant to divulge too much. He was used to working alone. Putting his trust in God and his own abilities above all else. He had this one perfect lead, and he didn’t want anything to keep it from panning out. “For now, I need you to trust that I’m making the best decisions I can for you and Olivia.”

  “For now,” Laney agreed, struggling to her feet. “But you need to know that I’m not going to spend much time sitting around this hospital room while you make decisions for me. That’s not the way I work.”

  She jabbed the call button on the bed railing, and he had visions of her walking out of the hospital in the mint-green hospital gown, the bandage on her forehead a glaring testimony to her injury. If the kidnappers were hanging around hoping to hear rumors confirming Jane Doe’s death, they might catch a glimpse of Laney and follow her home. That was the last thing Grayson wanted.

  He was all too aware that his biggest hope just might lie on the slender shoulders of Laney Kensington. If she could identify the kidnappers, he would be one step closer to saving Olivia—and the other children. He needed her help. And to get it, he had to give her some measure of trust.

  “Then tell me how you do work,” he offered. “And, let’s see what kind of a compromise we can reach.”

  “I’m not looking for compromise. I need to know what’s going on. Let’s start with what you’ve got on these kidnappings.”

  It went against his nature to give her the information. He’d been keeping everything close to the vest. The less media coverage about the kidnappings, the better, as far as he was concerned. He was closing in on the perps. He could feel it, and he didn’t want to risk scaring them off. He needed them to feel comfortable and confident. Their cockiness would be key to bringing them down.

  On the other hand, he couldn’t risk having Laney go maverick on him. If what the police chief had said about her was true, she knew enough about search and rescue and about police work to be dangerous. He had no doubt that she understood she could walk out of the hospital and away from him altogether. He had nothing on her and no legal means to keep her where she was. And if the kidnappers caught even a glimpse of her, the damage would be done. She’d gotten a good look at the kidnappers. He could only assume they’d gotten a good look at her, too. Once they knew she was alive, how quickly could they find her if they put their minds to it?

  “Okay,” he finally said. “Just have a seat and I’ll tell you as much as I can.”

  She hesitated, her face drawn. Finally she complied, dropping back into the chair and fixing all of her attention on him.

  “Well?” she prodded.

  He pulled a chair over and sat.

  They were knee to knee, the fabric of his pants brushing against the sheet she’d wrapped herself in, the IV pole just to the side of her chair. She looked young and vulnerable, her life way too easy to snuff out. That thought brought memories of another time, and for a moment, Grayson was in different hospital room, looking into another pale face. He hadn’t been able to save Andrea, but he was going to do everything in his power to make sure Laney survived.

  THREE

  “What I am about to tell you is sensitive,” Agent DeMarco said. “I need your word that you’ll keep it confidential.”

  “Of course,” Laney agreed.

  “Good, because you’re the only witness to a kidnapping that is connected to the abduction of two other children over the past six weeks.”

  “That’s not a secret, Agent. It’s been in the news for a few weeks.” In fact, those abductions—one outside of DC and the other in Annapolis—had been nagging at her when she saw the van on Ashley Street.

  “There have also been similar clusters of child abductions in two other states.”

  She definitely hadn’t heard that before. “How many children are we talking about?”

  “Thirteen others, so far. Not including the three from this area.”

  “Sixteen kids missing? I’d think that would be all over the news.”

  “It has been. Regional news only. The first seven disappeared from the Los Angeles area over a four-month period. The next six disappeared from the Boston vicinity in just under three months. In many cases, there were reports of a dark van in the area around the time of the abductions.”

  “Just like the van tonight.”

  He nodded. “Your description is the most detailed, but other witnesses mentioned a dark panel van. Unfortunately, no one has seen the driver. You’re the first witness we have who’s seen everything—the van, the missing child, the kidnappers. It’s the break I’ve been waiting for, and I don’t want anything to jeopardize it. We need to keep the fact that you survived quiet for as long as possible. The less the kidnappers realize we know, the easier it will be to close in on them.”

  “I understand. I won’t tell anyone.”

  “It’s not as simple as that. The kidnappers are aware that you were shot. They could have followed the ambulance to the hospital. They could be waiting around, hoping to hear some information that will confirm your death or refute it.”

  “Why would they bother? I saw them, but I don’t know who they are.”

  “You’ve worked with law enforcement for years, Laney. You understand how this works. They tried to silence you to keep you from reporting what you witnessed. If they see that they failed, they may try again.”

  “But is sticking around to kill me really worth the risk when they could just skip town with the kids and disappear?” That’s what she thought they’d do, but she wasn’t sure how clear her thinking was. Her head ached so badly, she just wanted to close her eyes.

  “This trafficking ring is extensive,” Agent DeMarco explained. “We’ve had reports that the children are being transported overseas and sold into slavery. This is a multitier operation that isn’t just being run here in the United States. There are kids missing in Europe, in Canada, in Asia, and each time, the kidnappings occur in clusters. Five, six, seven kids from a region go missing, and then nothing.”

  “Except families left with broken hearts and no answers,” Laney murmured, the thought of all those kids, all those parents and siblings, all those empty bedrooms and empty hearts making her heart ache and head pound even more.

  “Right.” Agent DeMarco leaned forward, and Laney could see the black rim around his blue irises, the dark stubble on his chin. He had a tiny scar at the corne
r of his left brow and a larger one close to his hairline. He looked tough and determined, and for some reason she found that reassuring.

  “Olivia’s abduction makes the third in this area,” Agent DeMarco continued, “but if their pattern holds, they plan to target more from the surrounding area before moving the kids.”

  “It seems a safer bet for them to cut their losses and move on,” she said doubtfully.

  “We’re talking money, Laney. A lot of it. Money is a great motivator. It can turn ordinary men into extraordinary criminals.”

  “And kidnappers into murderers?”

  “That, too.” He stood and paced across the room. “This is a business for them, with schedules to keep and deliveries to make. I’m certain the children are being held somewhere while they wait for prearranged transport out of the country. Moving them to another location would also risk exposure. You were shot tonight because they can’t afford any witnesses. They need to buy time to get their quota of children ready for delivery. With you dead or incapacitated, the immediate threat of exposure is gone.”

  “So as long as they believe I died, it’s business as usual.”

  Agent DeMarco nodded, returning to his chair, and leveling his gaze on her. “The longer it takes for the kidnappers to realize you survived, the better it will be for everyone.”

  “Not for Olivia,” she pointed out, that image—the one of the girl, her eyes wide, begging for help—filling her mind again. She’d failed to save her, and that knowledge was worse than the pain in her head, worse than the nausea. “She’s terrified and alone. She doesn’t care who knows what. All she cares about is getting home.”

  “You’re wrong. It does matter for Olivia,” Agent DeMarco responded. “There’s a chance that we can reunite Olivia with her family, but only if the kidnappers aren’t scared into moving early. All we have to do is find Olivia’s kidnappers, and we’ll find her. We’ll find them all.”

  His words made her heart jump, and she was almost ready to spring up from the chair and start looking in every place they could possibly be. “Then why are we sitting here? Why aren’t we out searching for them?”