Raven shivered. She’d lived in the cold and the dark for more than an entire week. She didn’t lose track of time because Hanes didn’t let her. Each morning, his voice had trickled in—disembodied and, more disappointed than pleased—to announce just how long her family had been under his control. Then he’d toss in a half-empty bottle of water and disappear again.
Over the course of those almost nine days, Raven had had no illusions about what was coming. She’d been well aware that the whisper of day fifteen meant her brother had been captured and that her father was undoubtedly dead. On day seventeen, when she knew her mother was gone, too—she’d wept so hard that her lungs burned and her body ached and she doubted that she’d even make it to her own, predetermined date of expiry. But for some reason, she’d still tried to survive. She’d tried to chew through the bonds on her hands, cutting her lips horribly in the process. Attempted to climb up and out. She’d begged and pleaded and bargained. All her futile fight to escape had earned her was hurt. Plenty of pain and suffering. Torn-off fingernails and a broken foot. Countless bruises. Gashes that eventually needed a total of eighty-three stitches. She was starving and half-dehydrated and so delirious than when the ninth day of captivity came, she simply assumed that she was dead already.
But then came Lucien.
His voice—strong and reassuring and not Hanes—had cut through the dark and freed her. He’d called her by her name and told her to hang on. A dream taking over from a nightmare.
Raven didn’t realize she’d closed her eyes until Lucien spoke, his words sliding into the fog of memories, and pulling her out, just as they had three years earlier.
“We don’t have to do this,” he told her gently.
She dragged her lids open and stared down at the words. She started to say that they did have to. For Jim and Juanita, and for every other person who might come into contact with the man who murdered her family. But as she looked at the timeline again, she saw something she hadn’t noticed the first time around. Under the little list, Lucien had added another word.
HOURS?
Raven jerked her attention up to the detective. “You think he’s speeding it up.”
“With Hanes’s preference for order, I think there’s a strong possibility that he’s adjusted his pattern. Made it syncopated. Here. Let me show you.”
He dragged the paper toward himself and made a couple more marks on the pad. But before he even finished writing, the next piece of Hanes’s pattern slammed into Raven head. It was like a physical assault. Her brain reverberated like she’d been struck with something hard, and it nearly took away her breath.
“Their daughter.” Her voice was so low that she could barely hear it herself, and Lucien clearly didn’t hear it at all, because he’d started talking again.
“So we have to work slightly backward,” he was saying. “But since we know his wife couldn’t be found after about eleven this morning, we can guess that Jim was taken quite early. Probably seven or so, which fits with when Juanita last saw him, too.”
Raven was barely listening. She was too busy thinking about the photograph on Jim’s desk. A young, blonde woman with a crooked smile. She was roughly the same age as Raven, and had recently finished medical school somewhere down in the United States, then bought herself a house locally. Jim was so proud of her. What was her name? It seemed imperative to remember.
Samantha? No. That wasn’t right. Sandra? No. Not it, either.
Lucien at last noticed that she wasn’t paying attention. “Hey. You still with me?”
“You have to call it in, Lucien,” she urged, ignoring his question.
“What?”
“Their daughter,” she said again, this time loudly. “If Georges Hanes took Jim at seven this morning, he’ll be after her by four o’clock. That’s less than an hour from now, Lucien.”
God. What is her name? Sarah?
“Sally!” she gasped abruptly.
“I’m sure the guys at the station have got it under control,” Lucien replied, his voice infused with both confidence and reassurance. “With Hanes’s involvement, they would’ve contacted the family first thing.”
“I was Sally,” Raven told him.
And she knew the statement was enough, because he stopped arguing, grabbed his phone from his pocket and dialed a number without another word.
* * *
As the line rang on the other end, Lucien was tense. He thought he shouldn’t be. The VPD were thorough. Sergeant Gray would’ve followed up with the Ricksons’ children immediately. He would’ve ensured that both the daughter and son—assuming there was one of each, as per Hanes’s pattern—were under close watch. Except for some reason, knowing all of that didn’t ease the tightness in his jaw. By the time his boss’s voice mail picked up on the fifth ring, Lucien was holding the phone so hard it stung. He slammed his forefinger to the screen without leaving a message.
Raven spoke up right away, her voice wavering. “No answer?”
Lucien refused to let her see any of his own concern, and he kept his reply on the lighter side. “As much as I’d love to believe the sergeant’s at my beck and call, I’m sure he thinks otherwise.”
“But you’re going to try someone else, right?” Her eyes were pinched in a way that made him sure she was holding in tears.
“I’ll give Dispatch a call right away, sweetheart.” The endearment slipped out before he could stop it, but if Raven noticed, she didn’t say.
She just gave him a quick nod. “Hurry, Lucien. Please.”
He turned his attention back to the phone and hit the second number on speed dial. This time, the call was answered quickly.
“This is Dispatch,” said a perky, female voice on the other end.
“Is that Geraldine?” Lucien greeted, relieved to have reached someone he knew well enough that he wouldn’t have to offer a big song and dance in exchange for information. “It’s Lucien Match here.”
“Detective! I heard you were on vacation! You calling in while you’re sipping a mai tai somewhere?”
“Hardly.”
“Yeah,” Geraldine replied ruefully. “I guess I would’ve been surprised if you’d said yes to that. What can I do for you, Detective?”
“You in the loop about this deal out at the cemetery?” he asked.
“The Hanes thing? Yeah, I know a little bit. Everyone on shift does.”
“What I’m trying to figure out is who was assigned to contact the family. Specifically Sally Rickson, the daughter. Any way you can get me that info?”
“Yeah, just a quick sec.” The sound of a keyboard clacking carried through the line. “You worked the original case on this one, didn’t you?”
“I did,” Lucien replied.
“I remember the girl. The one you saved. She was the same age as my daughter. Pretty. Not too tough looking. But she had to be, to come through that ordeal in one piece. What was her name? Rachel?”
“Raven,” he corrected automatically, then glanced her direction.
He expected to find her attention on him and the call, but her eyes were pointed at the window, her face pale. Her lower lip was pulled in under the upper one, and she held her hands clasped tightly together in her lap. Lucien had enough experience with the victims of violent crime to recognize the signs of imminent collapse.
If she has to go through this a second time, she won’t come out in one piece again.
The thought hit him like a punch.
He didn’t know how true it was. He sure as hell didn’t want to assume that Raven lacked the strength to overcome more adversity. But a person could only have so much resilience. They could lose only so much before they hit a breaking point.
“Detective?” The dispatcher’s voice jerked him back to the phone conversation.
He cleared his throat. “You got something for me, Geraldine?”
“Sure do. Looks like Sergeant Gray was in attendance at Sally Rickson’s home.”
“I tried Gray on his cell already. Who was he with?”
“Um. Let’s see.” There was another quick clack. “Detective Singh, and Constables Friesen and Lewis. They’ve got one patrol car, plus the sergeant’s vehicle out. You want me to try their radios?”
“Please.”
Lucien waited, strumming his fingers impatiently on his thigh as silence filled the air. He wanted to reach for Raven. To pull her in and offer her reassurance. But the desire to do so had nothing to do with maintaining a professional calm, and he wasn’t sure he could pretend that it did.
How did I keep it under wraps those other two months?
Right then, it didn’t feel like it would’ve been possible. Every time he looked at her, the emotion crept in a little stronger. It hadn’t even been a day, and already it wanted to overwhelm him. It made his chest ache. He couldn’t possibly have been numb to it before, could he?
Without meaning to, he let his gaze slip back to her again. She was watching him now, her oh-so-blue eyes trained on his face. Her expression was as worried as it had been a minute earlier, but there was still hope underneath. She believed in him, and instead of making him feel more pressure to deliver, it filled his rib cage with warmth. The need to drag her into his arms grew again. He wanted her close. Closer than close. Flush against him, her scent filling her nose, her warmth seeping into him. He wanted to taste her lips again, and not feel like he needed to apologize for it, or excuse it. He started to pull the phone away from his ear, but Geraldine cut in once again, forcibly reminding him why he couldn’t give in to his urge.
“All right,” the dispatcher said. “Sorry about the delay. Had a hard time getting anyone, but I finally got in touch with Constable Lewis, and the news isn’t good.”
Lucien did his best to keep the blast of nerves to himself, eyeing Rave as he said, “Hit me with it.”
“The uniforms picked Ms. Rickson up from a shift at the hospital and escorted her in for questioning. She agreed to waiting things out in a secure location, but requested to grab a few things from home. The uniforms took her to her apartment, where she disappeared from her bedroom.”
“From her bedroom?” Lucien repeated, his puzzlement temporarily overriding his deep concern.
“The uniforms were equally confused. And this is where it goes from bad to worse. Lewis said that in retrospect, she thinks someone was in Ms. Rickson’s room when they arrived. The consensus is that the culprit dragged her into the closet, held her there until her MIA status was noticed, then used the ensuing chaos to take her away from the scene.” As Geraldine explained, her voice lost any and all hints of its perkiness. “Clever son-of-you-know-what, isn’t he?”
“Clever,” Lucien agreed. “And sick.”
“No doubt.”
“Any news on where the sergeant is at the moment?”
“According to Lewis, he took a team out to canvass Ms. Rickson’s neighborhood,” the dispatcher stated. “You want Lewis’s direct line?”
“Please.”
“Got a pen?”
Lucien reached for the notepad and paper, and as he finished scrawling out the number, his eyes landed on Raven once again. It was obvious that she’d heard some—if not all—of what he’d just been told. Every ounce of color was gone from her cheeks. She was swaying a little in the seat. He signed off as quickly as politeness would allow, then reached for her hand.
“It’s going to be all right,” he promised.
Raven shook her head. “You don’t have to say that just to make me feel better.”
“Have I ever done that?”
“Yes.”
“What? When?”
“Every time we’ve ever been faced with a dangerous or frightening situation. So. A lot over the two months we lived together.” She smiled for the barest second before her mouth drooped again. “She’s got to be so scared.”
Lucien debated refuting the statement, but there wasn’t much point. No one would know better than Raven did just how Sally Rickson was feeling.
“You know that first and foremost, I’m a cop,” he said. “And cops don’t give out false promises. So every reassuring thing I’ve ever said to you has been either the truth, or something I believed to be completely true.”
Instead of brightening at all, Raven looked even more despondent. She actually pulled her hand away, and dropped her eyes, too.
Surprised, Lucien spoke up right away. “Hey. What did I say wrong?”
“Do you seriously not—no, I guess not.” Her blue gaze came up, and she let out a sigh. “You’re right. You’re an amazing detective. And if you really believe you can save them from Hanes, then I believe you can, too.”
Her words had an edge, and he couldn’t quite pinpoint the source. It was an edge he didn’t like. His fingers shot out on their own, and brushed over her chin—as if they were trying to wipe away the unidentified undertone—and for a second, she leaned into the touch. Then she gave her body a small shake and pulled away again.
“You said you were going to ask for some digital files to be sent over?” Now her voice was cool, and Lucien liked that even less. He wanted to demand to know what was going on in her head. She didn’t give him a chance.
“We’re running out of time,” she said. “If we’re using your theory about the shortened pattern, then we’re at hour nine already.”
Lucien wanted to argue, but he couldn’t. She was right. It was an extraordinarily small window, and their task was a daunting one. Only four hours until things escalated again. So he set aside his personal needs in favor of his professional obligations, and nodded instead.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll fire off a text to Sergeant Gray and ask him to call me as soon as he can. I want to know that status of the Ricksons’ son, too. And in the meantime, let me grab the old laptop from the desk in the office, and we’ll see what the station’s given us.”
Relief flooded Raven’s face. “Okay.”
He fought both a desire to touch her face again, and the bit of resentment that reared up at not being able to do it, then pushed to his feet and slipped out of the room.
Chapter 8
As much as she wanted to, Raven didn’t let herself sink into two minutes of sadness while Lucien dug out the laptop. She didn’t allow herself to wonder why he’d left the computer there at all, or to think about the fact that it might be another sign of some kind, or to get sucked back into wondering why he’d bought the house in the first place. Instead, she seized on his words—cop, first and foremost—and tried to apply them to her own thought process. She might’ve preferred to find something else at the top of Lucien’s priority list, but at the moment, his sentiment was appropriate. Jim and Juanita—and now Sally, too—needed to be put ahead of all else. Above emotions and what-ifs and regrets.
Raven stood up from the table and moved restlessly from the kitchen to the living room, her mind working.
So what’s the first thing I would do if I were a cop? The answer came almost as quickly as the question formed. Find Jim and Juanita’s son.
But as far as she was aware, the Ricksons didn’t have a son. Or at least they’d never mentioned one.
Raven paused her pacing, realizing that thought probably should’ve come up earlier. She’d been too overwhelmed by everything going on to pause and note it.
But they must have one, or someone else would’ve said something. The police would definitely have mentioned it.
A throat clear and Lucien’s gruff voice drew Raven’s attention away from thoughts.
“That was always one of your favorites,” he said with a little nod toward her hands.
She cast a glance down and saw that she’d unconsciously lifted up a small soapstone carving from a little set that rested on a shelf bes
ide the TV. It was a wolf, smooth and vaguely warm under her touch. There were very few personal decorative items in the former safe house, but this was one of them. And Lucien was right; it was a favorite. Not because it stood out from the other seven that sat there—two ravens, two whales, two seals and a second wolf—but because she knew he’d picked it out. He’d told her how he thought it was unfair that the wolf be alone. And even though he’d laughed as he said it, Raven had gotten the feeling that underneath his sheepish humor, he’d meant it, too.
She gave the little ornament a squeeze and brought her gaze up to Lucien again. He was still staring down, and Raven let herself have an indulgent moment of breathtaking appreciation. He was truly the best-looking man she’d ever met. From the top of his six-foot-two frame—capped with his gray-dusted, otherwise-dark hair—to the bottom of his sock-clad feet, there wasn’t a bit of him that didn’t deserve a second glance. His shoulders were wide and strong, and perfectly filled out the charcoal-gray shirt he wore. His waist was narrow, his hips lean and his legs visibly powerful underneath his athletic pants.
The temperature in the room seemed to spike by a hundred degrees, and a little voice in Raven’s head pointed out that she’d clearly been crazy to brush off his comforting touch a few minutes earlier.
“Not my best look, I guess,” he said, noting her attention and gesturing to his sports gear. “Didn’t have time to change.”
“No. You look good. Um. Fine, I mean.” Raven’s face was already warm from the fact that she’d been caught ogling, and it heated even more at her awkward fumbling of words. “And we match, right?”
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