Secrets Boxset: A Riveting Kidnapping Mystery Collection

by J. S. Donovan

  “I can’t take that,” Arden said. “I broke my promise when I sent you off alone.”

  “You did what you thought was best for Jessica.” He put the money in her hand. “Take it.”

  Not wanting to turn down a blessing, Arden put it down on the desk. She didn’t feel comfortable holding that much cash. “How is she?”

  A sobering expression fell over Joe’s face. “What that man did to her…” He faced Arden with his haunted eyes. “You know the last thing he said to me before he passed out?”

  Arden shook her head.

  “He said that she had multiple bidders contacting him that very day,” Joe said.

  “Evil exists,” Arden replied. “Only light can beat darkness.”

  “Someone has to stop them,” Joe replied. “No compromise.”

  Arden sat at the edge of her desk. “Lord willing, I’ll keep hunting them until there’s no one left.”

  Joe put aside his glass. “Let me help.”

  Arden gave him a serious look. “Joe, go home. Raise your daughter. Not everyone is called to this life. Be glad you aren’t.”

  “Called or not,” Joe said, “I’m not giving up.” A passion burned in his eyes. “Let me join you, Arden. For Jessica’s sake and every other girl that’s lost in this.”

  Arden could see his fire. She thought long and hard about dragging him into her world. But, she already knew her answer.

  Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story!

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  The Vanishing of The Georgia Rose: Book 1

  1

  Star Fall

  Eleven-year-old Scarlet Gales held her dying grandmother’s veiny hand.

  A tear trickled down the elderly woman’s scrunched face right before she passed on. It was a peaceful death, like she’d fallen asleep after a life full of well-lived years.

  Scarlet’s adorable face conveyed a bittersweet sadness that only few actors of her caliber could achieve.

  The screen faded to black.

  Silence.

  Like thunder, applause erupted throughout the Hyatt’s Swan conference hall.

  The lights returned as Director Holland Docus, Producer Garold Grey, and Assistant Director Karla Lyndale hiked their way onto the stage.

  Holland raised his champagne flute as the applause died down. “Thank you all for a wonderful evening.”

  Rows of actors, executive producers, and other above-the-line investors sat around tables. Seated at a table front and center, Charles and Gracie Gales held each other’s hand. They were a picture-perfect couple in their late thirties. Charles’s golden-brown Ivy League hair was professionally trimmed, he was outfitted in a tailored tuxedo, and he sported a proud, fatherly smile. His wife Gracie had the grace of proper Southern belle. A dark blue dress conformed to the shape of her slender body. Her beautiful golden hair perfectly accentuated her blemish-free face.

  Director Holland Docus smiled widely. He had white hair with a part on the side, a checkered sports coat, and dark rimmed glasses. “Nothing in Broken Roses would’ve been possible without your hard work, belief that television could change lives and, of course, our budding star. Come up here, Scarlet.”

  The crowd applauded.

  The young starlet plopped down from her chair. A dazzling red dress and low crimson heels matched her name. Foundation and blush painted her cute face. Her curled, cherry-blonde curls bounced as she walked onstage. Her grin was perfectly practiced, with an adorable dimple on her right cheek. She stopped next to the director.

  Holland put his hand on her shoulder. “Tonight is just as much a celebration of our show as it is of this young lady’s accomplishments. Her performance over the last two years has brought millions to tears, and her dedication to her character opened the way for her to be the youngest recipient of an Emmy. Everyone, let us give a round of applause for our leading lady, Scarlet!”

  The crowd clapped.

  Scarlet held her perfectly practiced smile. She recognized almost every face in the room, and they all knew each other. Even at her age, she understood the whole purpose of the gathering was to dress up, drink alcohol, and pat each other on the back.

  Scarlet took the microphone. She spoke with a mature yet relatable tone. “Thank you. My father always says a show is only as good as its weakest link, but Broken Roses doesn’t have one. We all did a fantastic job and we should all be very proud. I can’t wait to work with you next season.”

  The applause rose again as Scarlet handed the microphone back to the director. He acknowledged some key investors. Scarlet stood by, pretending not to be bored out of her mind. She was more interested by everyone’s choice of fashion than the words that were said. The speech dragged on and eventually the crowd was released to socialize as they pleased.

  Scarlet stayed close to her parents most of the night. Various old men and women complimented her with gentle handshakes and grins that were a little too familiar. All the attention made her nervous. When on camera, she didn’t mind because everything was rehearsed, but personal interaction was chaotic and random. Thankfully her parents had drilled her on how to react to every situation. She could pick up on emotions quickly and could match the appropriate response depending on tone and context. Like most acting, it was all about cause and effect. Her winning the Emmy was no mistake, either. She wasn’t a natural-born talent; she was a product of years of programming that had her questioning the authentic nature of herself and those around her. She tried not to think too much about it. Her agent said she was too young to be depressed.

  The dinner party went on for hours, and her parents always stuck to the bitter end. They wanted to talk and listen to as many people as possible. It was their diligence that got Scarlet her job in the first place.

  Seated, she rested her chin in her palms. Her feet swayed lazily under the table. Oddly, she thought of insects. Father had let her watch the Discovery Channel the other day, and she couldn't get the creepy crawlies out of her mind. Truth be told, she would’ve loved to wash away her pretty make-up and run through the woods or jump in mud. Her parents would never allow it, but a girl could dream.

  She noticed something in the corner of her eye. She looked past the cleared-off plates and saw a folded napkin. The words “Hide and seek?” were written on the front.

  A mischievous smile curved up Scarlet’s face. She snatched the napkin up and looked around the room. Most of the people had cleared out and she didn’t recall seeing any other children around here. Intrigued by her mysterious suitor, Scarlet opened up the napkin. The word “Stairs” was written within.

  Scarlet pulled at her father’s sleeve as he talked to an elderly couple. Charles glared at her. Scarlet thought she would have better luck with her mother.

  Gracie replied, “Not now, dear.”

  Scarlet’s countenance went from frustrated to sympathetic hopelessness. It was the perfect reaction for drawing attention, but no one noticed her.

  After growing tired of waiting for someone to feel sorry for her, Scarlet quietly slipped out of her seat and walked away from the table. Her little heart raced as she got farther from her parents. She looked back. They were too engaged to notice h
er absence.

  Scarlet slipped into the long hallway outside the conference room.

  Keeping the note crumbled in her hand, she followed the sign leading to the stairs. She pushed against the long bar on the door. Her little heart swelled as she entered the stairwell. She was unsure who waited for her and what they had to say…

  Charles and Gracie were finishing their conversation when they noticed that their daughter was gone.

  Charles sighed. “Restroom, probably.”

  “I’ll go,” Gracie replied. She excused herself from the conversation and wandered down the hall. She entered the ladies’ room. “Scarlet?”

  All of the stalls were empty.

  Her chest tightened. She reminded herself not to get too worked up.

  She walked down the hallway and started toward the elevator, but Scarlet wasn’t there either. She went to the emergency stairway. Empty.

  “Scarlet, baby, where are you?” Her voice echoed down the shaft.

  Gracie’s world spun.

  She grabbed ahold of the handlebar to keep herself from passing out. After she caught her breath, she hurried back to Charles.

  He noticed the worry on her face. “What happened? Where is she?”

  “She’s…” Gracie choked on the words. Her mind went a million different places. “She’s gone, Charles.”

  Her husband didn’t understand.

  “I checked everywhere,” Gracie’s eyes watered.

  “Downstairs?” Charles asked.

  “No, but--”

  Charles scowled and jogged out of the room.

  Gracie followed after him, but her heels left her at a major disadvantage.

  They rushed to the lobby and asked everyone at the front desk. No one had seen her. The couple looked around frantically, enlisting the help of the staff and anyone else around.

  But it was all for naught.

  Scarlet Gales was gone.

  2

  The Catch

  Boots splashed in water, breaking the reflection of the moon.

  Arden Briar, thirty-six years old, dashed down the alley. Clad in black, the P.I. moved with speed and finesse. A black cap held snug over her short red hair. Freckles spotted her pale face. Her eyes were full of determination. She kept two fingers on her earpiece. “See him?”

  Static affected Joe’s reply. “Fifth and Grey.”

  “Got it.” Arden hung a sharp right. Dumpster trash and a bed made out of cardboard lined the sides of the dank passageway. A chain-link fence divided the alley. Arden ran at it, then jumped and latched on to its diamond pattern. The cold, wet metal dug into her palms as she quickly scrambled over to the other side and dropped down.

  She jogged to the entrance of the sidewalk and into the traffic-jammed road. Though the rain had stopped, loads of pedestrians hid under their umbrellas. Like another face in the crowd, she spotted the Indian-American janitor blending into the mass of people.

  Arden rested a palm on the corner of a building, and caught her breath. She returned to her normal walking pace. Like mist through the cracked door, she slipped through the masses. Her eyes stayed trained on her target despite the innumerable distractions.

  Down the road, she saw a muscular man dressed in an unzipped hoodie, plaid shirt, dark jeans, and scuffed boots. His full beard connected with his buzz cut. His brows were pointed and made him look naturally angry. He spoke into his Bluetooth. “You on the street?”

  “Yep. I already have eyes on you,” Arden replied as she weaved through the crowd.

  The muscular man glanced over at her.

  “I see you,” Joe replied.

  From the opposite side of the road, he moved in pace with the janitor. Suddenly, Jackson, their target, caught a glimpse of Joe. He paused. His face turned pale. He started sprinting. Keeping his eyes on Joe, he slammed into a woman in front of him. They tumbled into the street. Car horns blasted. The two of them were nearly pancaked. Jackson scrambled to his feet.

  “Jig’s up,” Joe said through the earpiece.

  “You think?” Arden replied sarcastically and started to run after Jackson.

  Used the chaos to his advantage, Joe cut through slow-moving traffic as Jackson entered a bookstore.

  Arden spoke in a commanding voice. “Go around. I’ll flush him out.”

  “10-4.”

  Joe nodded at her as they swiftly crossed paths. He ran into the alley while Arden bolted into the bookstore.

  The dusty smell of ancient literature bombarded her senses. A mix of hipster youth and academic adults wandered the aisles. Arden slowed down, trying not to make a scene. She navigated the labyrinth of shelves. Some books were so tightly packed together there was scarcely room to breathe. Others stood in loose stacks on the floor. Through one of the gaps on the bookshelf, she saw the target heading to the back of the store. Arden reached the end of the shelf she was behind just in time to see Jackson pass through the Employees Only door.

  The clerk shouted at him, “Hey!”

  Arden dashed past the clerk and followed the target through the door. Her feet quickly took her up the set of stairs and onto the roof. Skyscrapers and other massive buildings reached into the skyline in every direction. The sounds of traffic billowed up from the street.

  The target reached the edge of the building and stopped. He ran both hands up his scalp and mumbled to himself in great frustration.

  Arden quietly made her way to him.

  “... oh, no, no, no… How could they know? There’s no way…”

  Arden got about five yards away when the man quickly turned to her. His sweaty face turned ghastly pale. He quickly drew a pocketknife. The blade glinted in the moonlight. “S-stay back. I’m warning you!”

  Arden showed him her open palms. “I just want to talk to you, Jackson.”

  “I said stay back!” The knife trembled in his hand. Perspiration spotted his broad forehead.

  Arden carefully approached as if nearing a skittish cat. Every step was heart-aching and precise. Jackson inched back. It was like they were dancing. Arden would take a step forward and the man would back up closer to the edge.

  Too busy looking at Arden, Jackson nearly stepped off the building. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Arden replied. “Is that what you said to Riley?”

  Jackson’s mood changed from desperate to terrified. “How…”

  Arden kept moving toward him. She kept her focus on the knife’s point. “You think you could take a little girl and not leave a trail? C’mon, Jackson. You might be able to divert the police, but not me.”

  “There’s no way you could’ve found me, I--” He stopped himself before he said anything to further condemn him. Tears welled in his eyes and he glanced over his shoulder. There was an adjacent building just a little shorter than the bookshop. He would have to clear the whole alley to make it over.

  “You won’t make that,” Arden warned. She was almost close enough to disarm him.

  Jackson quickly turned his back to her.

  “Jackson, wait!” she shouted.

  The desperate man leapt.

  His feet kicked in the air as his eyes stayed aimed for the next building. After clearing a few feet, he realizing he wasn’t jumping. He was falling. A glass-shattering screech erupted from his mouth as he plummeted into the alley below.

  A loud metallic bang sounded as he hit a dumpster and his body flopped on the ruthless concrete.

  Arden ran to the edge of the building. A cool breeze brushed against her shocked face as she watched the man desperately drag his body across the damp ground. Tears smeared his cheeks as he tried to stand, but his ankle gave way. A sharp whistle stopped him in his tracks.

  Horrified, he slowly turned his head to a dark shadow in the alley. All that was visible were the toes of muddy black combat boots. The whistling continued its jolly tune.

  Joe stepped out of the shadows. His widow’s peak was sharp and pointed. Deep creases etched his forehead. His haunted dark eyes grew hu
ngry when they fell on Jackson.

  Jackson fanatically looked around for his knife, but it was lost during the fall. He glanced back at his twisted ankle and was crushed with hopelessness. His attention turned to Joe. “You can’t do this. I-i-it’s against the law.”

  Joe glared at him apathetically.

  Jackson whimpered. “Please, I--”

  Joe’s large hard reached down, grabbed the man by the front of his shirt, and lifted him up. He slammed his back against the dumpster. “You have one chance to answer this the right way. Where is Lily Collins?”

  “It’s Riley,” Arden said from behind him.

  Her hands were sore from sliding down a pipe on the side of the building. Street cars passed by, but no people. They didn’t have long if they wanted to get this done before the police arrived.

  Jackson wept. “She’s… She’s…”

  Joe slammed him against the dumpster again. “Speak up.”

  Jackson couldn’t keep his composure. Drool and spit and tears wetted his face. “1823 Candlelight Ave. The bus.”

  Arden put it into her GPS. It was about a thirty-minute drive outside of Atlanta.

  Jackson turned his bloodshot, desperate gaze up at Joe. “Forgive me. Forgive me, please. Please.”

  Like the shadow of death, darkness fell over Joe’s face.

  “Forgive me,” Jackson pleaded. “Please. Please…”

  Joe tightened his grip and pulled Jackson closer.

  Arden put a hand on Joe’s shoulder. He glanced back at her. Arden shook her head.

  Joe slammed the man’s back against the dumpster one last time and dropped him. Jackson sank to the alley floor and sobbed.

  Joe loomed over him.

  Arden dialed a number.

  When Derrick picked up on the other end of the line, Arden said, “Broken wing beside Oswald’s Books. Lost dove on 1823 Candlelight Ave.”

  “Loud and clear,” Derrick replied. “The ETA on wing is four. Dove is still pending.”