Hidden Hearts

by Marci Bolden

  She hesitated before taking what he was offering, giving herself a few seconds longer to take in more of his distress. Finally, she lifted the back flap and pulled out the contents. The photos inside caused her chest to grow tight. Fredrickson must have been following her and Jack for days.

  The pictures showed them in a pub. Leaving HEARTS. Going into Jack’s apartment building with beer and pizza. Jack leaving Holly’s house early one morning. Walking out of Susan’s office.

  But it wasn’t until the image of Jack lying with his eyes closed in a car trunk that Holly’s defenses kicked in. She tried to hide her panic as she looked at Fredrickson. Suddenly the sweaty, dirt-covered appearance of the man made sense, but Holly steeled her mind against what was obvious.

  Eva, who had been looking over Holly’s shoulder, demanded, “What have you done?”

  He ignored Eva as he stared Holly down. “At first I wanted you to know what Julia went through. How she suffered because of your failure. But after seeing the way you looked at that man, I realized killing you was too easy. No. You don’t deserve to die for what you’ve done. You deserve to know what it’s like to live. Without him.” He pointed at the photo of her walking out of HEARTS with Jack.

  He had his arm around her shoulders and they were smiling. She remembered that night. That was the night he’d taken her to his apartment with one thing on their minds. And it wasn’t the pizza and beer they’d picked up on their way to his place.

  Swallowing the horror rising in her chest, she looked at Fredrickson. “Detective Tarek has done nothing but try to help you.”

  “No. He did nothing but distract you when you were supposed to be finding my wife.”

  Eva turned to Sam, who had been watching the exchange from her desk with wide eyes. “Go get the others. Now, Sam.”

  Sam scurried off as Holly looked at the image of Jack in the trunk of a car. “This man… We aren’t married. He’s just a friend.”

  A wry laugh left him. “That’s not how a woman looks at her friend, Ms. Austin. You’re in love with him. A fool could see that.”

  “No. I barely know him. I—”

  “Bullshit!”

  Holly lifted her hands, clutching the photos in one. “Listen. I’m the one who failed.”

  “Oh, I know. I know you did. And now you’re going to get what’s coming to you. I did some research, Ms. Austin. Do you know how long it takes to suffocate to death after being buried alive? Do you know how long my wife suffered? Four hours. She was fighting for her life in that box for as long as four hours.” He stared at her for a long moment before he looked at the watch on his wrist. “When’s the last time you spoke to your boyfriend?”

  The tension in Holly exploded, and she slammed the photos onto the partition in front of Sam’s desk. “What have you done?”

  Rather than answer, Fredrickson smirked as he pulled a gun from his pocket.

  Eva lifted her hands as if that act could stop what was about to happen. “Don’t!”

  Her plea was futile. Fredrickson put the gun to his temple.

  “Four hours, Ms. Austin,” he said. A shot rang out as he fell to the floor.

  Holly stood stunned for what seemed an eternity, but it was only seconds before she pulled her phone from her pocket as Eva called 911.

  Alexa appeared, gun pulled, ready to fire back, but then her gaze fell on Fredrickson. “Oh, shit.”

  “Find his keys,” Holly said. “I think he took Jack. Go check his car.”

  “I’ll help.” Eva followed Alexa outside.

  Holly tapped the screen on her phone to call Jack. No surprise. Her call went straight to voice mail. “Hey, Jack, call me. Right now. I need to know you’re okay.”

  She hung up, not expecting the call to come, but she had to try. Her second call was to the police but not to report Fredrickson’s actions. She dialed Jason Meyer—the detective who had taken great pleasure in getting Jack suspended.

  “Meyer, it’s Holly Austin.”

  “I can’t talk right now.”

  “It’s about Jack. I think something may have happened to him.” The silence on the other end of the line added to Holly’s tension. “Meyer?”

  “I’m outside Jack’s apartment. Someone reported witnessing a kidnapping.”

  Holly closed her eyes and exhaled. “Was it Jack?”

  “The description fits. The witness said the man was hit over the head and shoved into his trunk as he was putting a bag in. Jack’s car is missing.”

  She looked at the office door when it opened.

  Alexa shook her head. “He brought Jack’s car, but he’s not in the trunk.”

  “Did you hear that?” Holly asked Meyer.

  “I got it. I’ll send someone over. What else do you know?”

  “Eric Fredrickson came into my office about ten minutes ago. He showed me some pictures of Jack and said he hoped I did better for him than I did for his wife, and then he blew his brains all over my lobby.”

  “Son of a bitch. We were trying to figure out why this guy was so careless.”

  “What time was he taken?”

  “About ten thirty.”

  Holly looked at her watch—11:58—and did her best to push the rising terror down as she did the math. He’d had plenty of time to bury Jack and get to her office to taunt her.

  She ran her hand through her hair and exhaled slowly, determined to remain calm so she could help Jack. “If Fredrickson did what I think he did, we don’t have a lot of time. Sometime in the last hour and a half, Jack was buried alive. Fredrickson said he read someone buried alive can only last about four hours, Meyer. We’re already running out of time. I’ll get my team—”

  “Hey, I’m actually the detective here, Austin. I got this. You stay put. I’ll send someone over.”

  Holly exhaled slowly. “Sorry, but I’m not sitting this one out.”

  “Austin—”

  “I’m heading to Fredrickson’s now. With any luck, Jack is there.”

  After ending the call, she noticed Rene kneeling over Fredrickson. She looked up, and Holly flinched at the look in her eyes. It wasn’t often Rene appeared shaken, but she did now.

  “His hands have blisters.”

  “From digging,” Holly whispered. She swayed as fear rolled through her. Gripping the partition to steady herself, she immediately recalled how bloodied and bruised Penelope’s hands had been from her futile attempts at saving herself. She pictured Jack screaming and clawing in the darkness, knowing he’d never escape. No one deserved to die like that, and imagining that for Jack made the world drop from beneath her.

  Rene stepped over the body and grabbed Holly’s shoulders. “Keep it together. Jack needs you.”

  She nodded and swallowed hard. Pushing away images of Jack with empty eyes and bloody hands, she inhaled deeply and forced her mind to clear. “Right. Sam, hack into the DOT and see if you can find traffic cams. Maybe the feed can lead us right to Jack. Tika, you go with Rene to Jack’s apartment. Maybe he’s asleep and didn’t hear the phone. If he isn’t there, you check his mother’s. I’ll take Alexa and head to Fredrickson’s. Eva can stay and handle the police. She was a witness to Fredrickson’s suicide. Eva, call Joshua and confirm Jack has four hours of oxygen. You all stay in touch, got it?”

  She didn’t wait for confirmation. She rushed out and yelled for Alexa to follow her.

  She was starting the engine when Alexa slammed the door. “You really think he buried him alive?”

  “I noticed how disheveled he was before he even spoke. Sweaty, dirt streaks. Rene noticed blisters on his hands. So yes, I think he buried Jack alive.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “Yeah,” Holly breathed and pressed harder on the accelerator.

  The first thing Jack noticed was the throbbing in the side of his skull. He’d definitely hit his head on something, but he couldn’t recall what. The second thing he noticed was the smell filling his senses and nearly drowning out everything else.

&nb
sp; Dirt. Wood. Sweat.

  He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to alert anyone that he was awake, as he listened for signs of his surroundings. Nothing. Silence. Absolute, unnatural, unsettling silence.

  He lifted his eyelids with caution so as to keep his conscious state a secret. At least until he realized he was surrounded by complete darkness. Not a pinpoint of light was visible. Finally, confident he wouldn’t be seen, he moved.

  His elbow struck a wall, causing a deep thunk to sound. He jerked his hand in response and found another barrier just inches above him. His heart did a funky flip-flop in his chest as he lifted his left arm and went through the same routine. Elbow against one wall. Hand hitting another.

  The space he was in couldn’t be more than two and a half feet wide, and there was just enough room above him to press his palms flat against the cool surface—which he suspected was wood based on the smell. He refused to believe what his mind was telling him and attempted to scoot down, ignoring the pain his movements sent through his head. His feet touched the bottom after sliding just a few inches. He pushed his way in the other direction until his head hit the top—maybe five or six inches. Maybe.

  A coffin. He was in a coffin.

  He tamped down the urge to panic as he recalled the scene at the park—gray skin, cloudy eyes staring at nothing, a coffin with claw marks, bloodied fingers and knuckles. He knew it wouldn’t help, knew it was a waste of oxygen and energy, but in that moment, Jack couldn’t stop himself from screaming and banging and begging for help.

  15

  Holly ignored speed limits, traffic lights, and the angry honking of other commuters as she sped to Fredrickson’s house. The tires on her sedan screeched to a halt in front of the one-story. Foregoing the legalities, she ran onto the porch and tried the door. It was open. She wasn’t expecting that. She hesitated as she looked at Alexa, who appeared just as put off by the unlocked door.

  That was too easy. Like walking into a trap. Pulling their guns from their hips, they eased into the house. After a quick glance around the living room, Holly stepped in first. “Anybody home?”

  Silence.

  “Hello?”

  Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Moving through the house—the small but tidy living room, a galley kitchen—they came to the bedrooms. The first was the master and, like the rest of the house, was clean and organized. The next room, however, caused Holly’s stomach to twist into knots. A large whiteboard—just like the one they used at HEARTS—hung on one wall. Beside images of Holly and Jack printed on regular paper, likely from the printer that sat on a small desk in the corner, was a list of almost all the places they’d visited since meeting.

  “What the hell?” Alexa breathed. She stepped to the board before looking at Holly.

  Holly swallowed. “Check the rest of the house. I’ll see if anything here indicates where he might have taken Jack.”

  Alexa disappeared, and Holly tuned out the sounds of her rushing through the house, opening and closing doors, as she looked over the images of her and Jack. The irony of the detective and the investigator being followed without realizing it wasn’t lost on Holly. One of them should have noticed at some point.

  Maybe Fredrickson was right. Maybe she had been too distracted by Jack to do her job.

  No. She refused to believe that. She’d done all she could. So had Jack. And her team.

  Pearson was to blame.

  And now, Fredrickson was to blame. And only Fredrickson.

  She scanned the images. The notes. Nothing indicated where Jack might be. She was wasting time standing there.

  She was heading toward the back door when Alexa emerged from what appeared to be the basement.

  Alexa shook her head. “Nothing. Let’s check outside.”

  “Look for any signs of a disturbance,” Holly said as she did the same. From the patio, she scanned for any obvious signs of misplaced sod but found none. There was, however, a shovel tossed aside, which made her stomach lurch. Grabbing the shovel, she started stabbing at the ground as she walked, checking for loose dirt.

  The yard wasn’t huge, but halfway through she couldn’t help but feel that she was again wasting precious time. Every breath she took was one breath closer to Jack’s last. If he was still breathing.

  She’d come to the conclusion that he wasn’t in Fredrickson’s backyard before she even made the last pass through the grass, but she couldn’t simply stop. She could be wrong. But she wasn’t. The last patch of dirt was just as hard as the rest she’d checked.

  “Damn it,” she yelled as she threw the shovel. “What did you do with him, you bastard?”

  She raked her fingers through her hair as she closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind of anxiety long enough to think. She pictured the clues she had obsessed over while working the case. Every photo. Every scrap of paper. Everything she knew about Eric Fredrickson.

  Nothing came to mind.

  She was hitting as much of a roadblock now as she’d hit while looking for Julia.

  “Check in with the office,” she said to Alexa as she walked the backyard, thinking of all the places Jack might be. She looked at the perfectly trimmed landscaping, and helplessness collapsed down on her. She’d failed her mother. She’d failed that kid in Fallujah. She’d failed so many times. And now she was about to fail Jack.

  Alexa stepped to her as she slid her phone in her pocket. “He’s not at home or his mom’s. The police said the witness accounts match Fredrickson’s description, and his car was in the parking lot at Jack’s apartment complex. Sounds like he hit Jack over the head and got him in the trunk before speeding off.”

  Putting her hands to her face, she fought to stay in control. “I don’t know what to do.” Her breath rushed from her as if she’d been sucker-punched as an image of Julia’s dead, milky eyes flashed before her. “The park. He took him to the park where Julia was found.”

  “Don’t panic,” Jack whispered. Even so, horrific images banged around in his brain, reminding him exactly how he was going to die. Even worse, he realized, was wondering if Holly was somewhere facing the same fate. Was she in a box just like this? Maybe just feet away. Had Fredrickson taken Holly, too?

  Closing his eyes, he inhaled a shaky breath. “Don’t panic.”

  Putting his palms against the wood, he pressed with all his strength, not the least bit surprised when the surface didn’t budge. He bent his knees as much as possible and tried to lift his legs at the same time he pushed with his hands. Not so much as a millimeter of movement.

  He curled his hands into fists when the urge to claw at the wood took over. That wouldn’t work. He had the images of two dead women burned into his memory to prove that wouldn’t work. But he understood completely why they’d tried.

  The air was getting thick, humid. Sweat was breaking on his brow.

  He needed fresh air. Cool air. He needed light. He needed sound. He needed to find Holly and make sure she was safe.

  He had already screamed. Had already pounded his fists on the wood. But that didn’t stop him from doing it again as fear overtook logic and the image of himself lying in the woods next to Penelope Nelson filled his mind.

  Holly jumped out of her car and ran toward the wooded area where the graves had been discovered. She doubted Fredrickson could bury Jack alive in the light of day—surely the police were still in the area—but she had no other ideas at the moment.

  “That’s a crime scene,” Alexa called as Holly slipped under the yellow police tape. “Holly! You could get arrested if you go in there!”

  She ignored Alexa’s warning and cursed as the damp leaves shifted under her feet, causing her to slide as she tried to climb a hill. Instinctively, she reached out, letting even more harsh words erupt as the branch she grasped to maintain her balance cut into her palm.

  Using the leverage and ignoring the pain, she yanked herself upright and regained her footing. Moving forward, marginally more cautious of where she was stepping, she finally stoppe
d at the graves. Three holes still clearly visible, but no sign that another grave had recently been dug and filled.

  “That doesn’t mean he isn’t here,” she whispered.

  “Hey,” a man yelled, and she was confident he was screaming at her. “Get outta there!”

  She ignored him as much as she’d ignored Alexa. She kicked at fallen leaves and twigs, looking for any sign of a newly dug grave. “Jack?” she screamed on the off chance that he could scream back. “Jack?”

  Moving farther into the woods, she searched for any evidence of a struggle—broken branches, drag marks through the mud or fallen leaves, scraps of cloth that could have gotten caught on the surrounding trees, mounds of dirt large enough to hide a body.

  Nothing. Everything looked in place—as in place as it could in a wooded area.

  She moved toward the bike path that bisected the area. Putting one hand up, she stopped two bicyclists and pulled out her phone.

  “Have you seen this man?” she asked, opening the camera app. A second later, she was showing them Jack’s image—she’d snapped the photo to put in her phone contacts so his face popped up whenever he called her.

  Neither had seen him. Nor had the next rider, or the one after that, or the joggers she stopped, or the man walking some strange mixed-breed dog that was the size of a Great Dane but had the head and curled tail of an Akita. Spinning slowly, seeing nothing but trees on either side of her, Holly exhaled slowly and finally let the sinking feeling of defeat start to settle around her.

  Alexa finally caught up to her and grabbed her arm. “Come on. Let’s head back to the office. The police are waiting for you.”

  Using her cell as they headed back to the car, she called Meyer, who answered on the second ring. “Anything?”

  “No. You?”