She grabbed her coat off the rack by the door and surreptitiously dropped one of her mittens on her way out. It was the best she could do on short notice.
Markus herded her into the back seat of what looked like a rental sedan, where he zip-tied her hands together in front of her. Sheesh. He didn’t think much of her survival skills if that was all he did to her. But she wasn’t about to complain.
He drove away from the house, and she sat quietly in the backseat, trying to figure out where he was headed. Cell phone coverage out here could be spotty. They went around the city center of Braxville on country roads and appeared to head generally east. She dared not wait any longer to call for help. She reached into her front jeans pocket surreptitiously and pulled out her phone.
It was hard to type while covering its lighted face with one zip-tied hand and trying to press letter keys with the other. It was painstaking work, but she finally typed out a message to Reese.
Kidnapped by Markus. Heading eastish in gray sedan. Not hurt.
* * *
Reese looked away from the window impatiently as his cell phone vibrated. “Take over watching the entrance,” he told the Kansas City detective at the other window in the cramped office. They’d set up a surveillance hide on the freeport across the street from this warehouse’s front offices. He didn’t love the sharp angle to the front door from here, but this building had a second floor that lifted them above street traffic and parked cars.
Darkness was falling and streetlights threw dull pools of light on the slushy pavement. The lights were off in the office, of course, so he stepped back from his window perch to pull out his cell phone.
Shielding it with his hand, he opened the text from Yvette, smiling already.
And then he read her message.
Had he not had so many years of experience on the force, he’d have dropped the phone in his panic. As it was, he yelled, “Come here, Pat! Oh, my God. Call the SWAT task force commander. And the FBI while you’re at it.”
“What the hell?” the other cop said.
It was easier to shove the cell phone at the guy than try to explain.
“Oh, shit,” the other cop responded. “I’ll call the hostage-negotiation guys, too.”
Ohgod ohgod ohgod. Reese paced the office they’d commandeered for this operation as frantically as a caged tiger.
Belatedly, it dawned on him that he should text her back. Let her know he’d received her message. But what if an incoming text made noise? Got her in trouble? Worse, what if Markus turned off her phone?
Pat poked his head into the room. “Come with me. We’re shifting this operation to the SWAT command center, now that we know where Dexter is. What’s the woman’s phone number so we can get a GPS location on it and track it?”
He rattled off Yvette’s phone number quickly as he all but ran from the building. He jumped into the unmarked car with the Kansas City cop, who blessedly drove like Yvette’s life depended on it across town to police headquarters.
Thankfully, it took about two minutes to bring the SWAT operators on call up to full speed. This was not their first rodeo. They called in a full SWAT team and began preparing a briefing for them.
In about two more minutes, a red blip popped up on a large wall monitor. Someone superimposed a road map of Kansas on the screen, and it became clear quickly that Markus and Yvette were headed this way.
Unable to wait any longer for the process to unfold, he asked the SWAT team commander, “Now that we’ve got positive ID on the vehicle, can I text her back? Let her know we’re on our way?”
He waited through a brief, agonizing conference among the tactical experts.
One of them turned to Reese. “She’s a cop, is she?”
“Forensic scientist for a police department.”
“Close enough. She the type to panic?”
“Not at all,” he answered firmly.
“Okay. Tell her we’re tracking her and then ask her to delete the text conversation.”
“Got it.”
He texted quickly, We’re tracking you and need you to delete all my texts after you read them. He hesitated for a moment and then typed quickly, I love you. I promise you’ll be safe. ALL the law enforcement types are here. Hang tough and keep him as calm as possible.
He waited three minutes or so for a response but got none. He hoped she’d gotten his message and merely wasn’t in a position to respond right now. And then he prayed. He’d found her so recently. He couldn’t lose her, now. In what universe would that be fair or right?
When he was sure Yvette wasn’t going to respond immediately, he placed a quick phone call to Jordana.
“Hey, Reese. What’s up?”
“We’ve got a situation. Markus has surfaced. He apparently went to my cabin and kidnapped Yvette. She’s texting me from a car he’s driving toward Kansas City, as we speak.”
Jordana swore colorfully, which was wildly unlike her. “What can I do?” she demanded urgently.
“Pray. If they’re headed for the freeport they’ll arrive in about an hour and a half. I’ll update you as I can. SWAT’s gearing up, and the FBI’s on scene. She’ll be okay. I promise.”
Jordana said soberly, “You can’t promise that, and you know it. But if anyone can make sure she comes through this safely, it’ll be you. Take care of my baby sister, Reese.”
“You know I’d give my life for her.”
“Yeah. I do. How are you holding up?”
“I’m on the ragged edge,” he confessed. “This is way too much like the last time.”
“You mean when Christine was taken hostage?”
“Yes.” He shuddered at the memory of his partner’s lifeless, bullet-riddled body lying in a pool of blood beside the corpse of the man who’d killed her. An image of Yvette dead the same way flashed through his head and he nearly lost it. His breathing sped up until he felt lightheaded and nauseated.
“I can hear you hyperventilating, Reese. Breathe, buddy. Yvette’s smart, levelheaded and resourceful. She won’t do anything stupid and heroic like Christine tried to do.”
Jordana knew the details of his first partner’s death at the hands of a deranged criminal with a bag full of weapons and ammo. The man had been trying to achieve suicide by cop, and had taken Christine Crocker hostage to draw as many police as possible to his home. When he’d tried to shoot at the police outside the home he’d holed up in with her, she’d leaped at him to stop him. He’d panicked and shot her. By the time police dropped the shooter, entered the home and found Christine, she’d bled out.
Reese snorted. “You know as well as I do that Yvette would do something stupid and heroic.”
“All right. Fine. She can be impulsive. But she has you to live for now.”
“Is that enough?” he asked desperately.
“It has to be. Believe in her, Reese. This time will be different. This will end well.”
“From your mouth to God’s ear,” he said fervently.
Jordana said lightly, “By the way, you two are doing a terrible job of keeping your relationship secret. It’s all over your faces any time you’re in the same room together. You two look freaking radiant, for crying out loud.”
“Uhh, I don’t know what to say.”
“You’ll need to go public sooner rather than later that you two are in love.”
“I’m totally in love with her. But I don’t know how she feels about me. I mean I know she likes me. But does she love me?”
“Oh, she’s a goner. I’ve never seen her look at another man the way she looks at you. She’s head over heels, my dude.”
How was it possible to be so elated and so panicked in the same breath? She had to be okay. She had to.
* * *
Yvette’s composure threatened to crack when the text from Reese finally came in. She read it q
uickly and then deleted it like he’d asked. The car was currently traveling a dark stretch of highway, and she was afraid the glow of her cell phone screen would be visible to Markus from the front seat, so she didn’t dare try to respond to Reese, right now.
She wasn’t surprised that Reese had called out every law enforcement agency in this part of the country the moment he got that text. She took his advice and decided to attempt to strike up a conversation with Markus. Although frankly, she was more interested in throwing him mentally off-balance than in keeping him calm. The calm ship seemed to have sailed a while ago where her father’s ex-partner was concerned.
“So, Uncle Markus. I found out today that Gwen Harrison is your biological daughter.”
The car swerved sharply and then righted itself. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I ran a DNA test on some of your hair. You and Olivia Harrison are Gwen’s biological parents. Did you know Olivia had your baby?” She was tempted to add, When you killed her, but there was no need to antagonize him that much.
“I didn’t even know the Harrison woman, let alone have a child with her.”
Riiight. Because DNA lied all the time. Not.
“Aunt Mary’s plenty pissed off about it.”
That made him squawk, “What?”
“She threatened to empty out all of your bank accounts. In fact, she might have already done it this afternoon, she was so mad.”
Markus snorted. “That bitch always thought she had me by the short hairs because of her family’s money. But she never knew I put back money for myself. Squirreled it away in accounts she didn’t even know existed. Bit by bit, I’ve wiped out that old hag.”
Hag, huh? “So, Aunt Mary isn’t the quiet, docile wife she acts like in public?”
That got Markus going but good. He ranted about his wife for most of the next hour. Long enough for her to start seeing signs for the suburbs of Kansas City.
Under the cover of his tirade about how Mary Dexter had everybody fooled, she sent another text to Reese. Approaching Kansas City. And I love you, too.
* * *
He texted her back immediately with the question that had been agreed upon would be asked the next time she contacted him. Are you in imminent danger?
Her response was fast. No.
Thank God. His legs actually felt weak with relief. He replied with, Police following you in unmarked cars. SWAT and FBI mobilized here in KC. Sit tight and don’t provoke him. Don’t be a hero.
She didn’t respond right away. A sinking feeling that she wasn’t willing to agree to that settled heavily in his gut. He tried again. Keep your head down, stay quiet, don’t do anything unpredictable. Let the professionals take care of you.
She responded right away with a single word that made him smile reluctantly. Fine.
If she was cracking jokes right now, she must not feel as if her life was in danger at the moment. That was reassuring. But still. She was the prisoner of an armed and angry man who’d killed before and could kill again.
* * *
“Did you know they arrested Fitz for the whole arsenic scandal?” she said conversationally. “And they’re questioning him about the Harrison and Crane murders. Do you think he killed those two?”
“Definitely.”
“Why, I wonder?” she asked.
“He was the one having an affair with the Harrison girl. Hell, I’ll bet he’s that Gwen girl’s father. You should test his DNA.”
Denial, much? She already had her father’s DNA profile in her database, and it hadn’t been the one that popped up as a perfect parental match to Gwen Harrison’s. But she was happy to play along with the lie if it kept Markus talking.
“Where are we headed, Uncle Markus?”
“To the Kansas City Freeport. You’re going to get my golden parachute out of storage for me, little girl. And then, I’m out of here.”
“What is this freeport place?” she asked innocently.
“Don’t play dumb with me, Yvette. You’re a cop. You know darned good and well what a freeport is.”
“I’m not a police officer—”
“Cut the crap. You swiped my puzzle box.”
“I did not! You’re the one who fished it out of your attic and then dropped it on the way out the door.”
“So,” he commented. “That was you in the attic. I thought I recognized you.”
“I knew I recognized you,” she retorted.
“You found the key, didn’t you?” he accused. “I figure it took you cops about two minutes to figure out it belongs to a safe-deposit box. But I fooled you all. It’s a freeport and not even technically US territory. You can’t touch my stuff in there.”
Far be it from her to explain to him that federal laws still applied to any facility located on US soil.
“How am I going to help you get into this freeport place?” she asked.
“Shut up. I’ll tell you what to do when we get there.”
“Sure. No problem,” she replied evenly.
As they approached the outskirts of Kansas City, she risked texting, Going to freeport. She expected Reese and company would already have anticipated that, but it didn’t hurt for them to have confirmation of Markus’s destination.
It wasn’t too much longer until they pulled up in front of a long, low building that stretched away into the darkness in both directions.
“You’re going to go inside in front of me,” he directed, “and show them the warrant I have.”
“What warrant?”
“I know a guy. He forged one for me.”
“What guy?”
“Quit interrupting. You’re gonna show the warrant and your police ID.”
“I don’t have my police ID—”
“I have it.” He held up her cute pink purse with the butterflies from the night of the mugging.
“You knocked me down in the parking lot and took my purse?” she exclaimed.
“Shut up. And don’t make me tell you to be quiet, again.” He shoved her purse at her. “Show your ID to the guy at the front desk along with the warrant. Make him unlock my storage unit for you. I couldn’t find my key in your cursed police department. Turned the place upside down, but there was no sign of it. Where’d you put it, anyway?” he asked truculently.
“It’s locked in a safe where all valuable evidence is stored.”
He swore in frustration.
He resumed giving her orders. “When the guard leaves, you’ll put everything on the table into this bag.” He lifted a large duffel bag from the front seat of the car.
The bag was clearly empty. Thank goodness. She’d been worried when she glimpsed it as she’d climbed into the car that it might have weapons inside it.
“When I have my stash, you and I will walk out of the freeport. Nice and quiet. Got it?”
“Yes. I like the nice-and-quiet part.”
“If you do anything, try anything, I’ll kill you. Understood?”
“Uncle Markus. I would never do anything to hurt you, and I can’t believe you’d do anything to hurt me,” she said in as innocent a voice as she could muster.
She climbed out of the car and waited patiently while he draped her coat over her zip-tied wrists. He grabbed her elbow and yanked her along beside him, growling, “Don’t mess this up. I’ll shoot you, and I’ll shoot the guard. His life is in your hands, Yvette.”
She refrained from looking around the parking lot. It wasn’t necessary, anyway. She could feel Reese nearby, his gaze upon her. She figured there was probably a whole SWAT team out here somewhere, too, if she knew Reese. Which meant there would be snipers covering every angle. They wouldn’t shoot until Markus did something to threaten her or the security guard inside the lobby of the freeport, or until the commander on scene gave an order to take the shot.
Her guess was they would let this play out as long as she wasn’t in immediate danger. It would help the prosecution if he took personal possession of whatever he’d stashed in the freeport. He wouldn’t be able to claim it had been planted or that it wasn’t his. Not to mention, he would need to remove whatever was in his storage unit for it technically to be on US soil.
The security guard looked up from behind a high front counter. His eyes were hard and even. She would lay odds he was an FBI agent.
Markus nudged her with his elbow. Right. She was up. An attack of nerves startled her as she opened her mouth to speak. Until now, she’d been mostly calm, feeling relatively confident that Reese would take care of her and everything would be fine.
But now, with the hard bore of Markus’s pistol jammed against her side and the security guard looking up at her intently, the reality of her danger slammed into her full force.
“May I help you?” the guard asked.
“Umm, yes. I’m, umm, from the Braxville Police Department, and I’ve got a warrant to search one of your lockers.”
Markus took her ID card from her purse and passed it over to the guard, along with the forged search warrant.
The guard looked at it for a while and passed it back to her. She started to reach for it with her tied hands, but Markus snatched it off the counter quickly.
“Do you have the key?” the guard asked.
“No, we don’t,” Markus responded for her.
“I’ll send a guy with you, then, to unlock it.” A second guard, big and fit looking and also reeking of being a federal agent, stepped out of a door behind the first guard.
“Come with me,” the second guard said.
Frantically, she tried to figure out how to signal this guard, who looked plenty big enough to take down Markus, that her captor had a gun hidden under his coat. But, with Markus’s pistol literally pressed against her side, her options were limited. Maybe when they got to the storage unit she would get an opening.
Harlequin Romantic Suspense December 2020 Box Set Page 46
