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“ABDUCTED HER?” IF GRINCH said Danika had been abducted, they must have seen it on the security replay from the market parking lot. Nash’s gut twisted, and it wasn’t from the flu. “When? Who?”
“The when is easy enough,” Grinch said. “Time stamp on the video said sixteen thirteen hours. She came out of City Market, loaded her bags into the car. Someone—male, estimated six-three, two-fifty grabbed her from behind. Snow made it hard to get details, and he was dressed for the weather, so height and weight estimates could be off. Shoved her into the trunk of a Ford Taurus parked alongside.”
Nash checked the time. Eighteen-twenty. Six-twenty. He and Danika had texted at three-thirty. She was finishing up at the automotive place. He pictured her doing her shopping, hurrying to get things into her car before they were covered in snow, not paying attention.
She wasn’t a trained operative. Why should he expect her to be hyper alert to her surroundings?
“You reported it to the police yet?” Nash asked. “Or to the sheriffs? They’re already working on the bomb and the vandalism. It’s probably all related. A Deputy Cochran took the reports.”
“Will verify,” Grinch said. “And to the highway patrol. I’m sure Elizabeth set things in motion after seeing the video.”
Nash fought another bout of coughing. Once he could speak, he said, “What about the Taurus? When did it get there? Do the cameras capture plates?”
“According to Elizabeth, the car appeared shortly after Danika arrived. The camera angles are hit and miss for seeing plates, and this was a miss. Between the angle, the snow and mud, it was obscured enough to make getting a read inconclusive.”
“How many Ford Tauruses can there be up here? Not exactly a mountain car, especially in winter.”
Another thought slogged its way through Nash’s brain. “If it’s a Colorado plate, that would mean someone local, not from New Mexico.”
“Because someone is from New Mexico doesn’t mean they’re driving their own car. Could be a rental. Or it could be hired help.”
“But—”
“Rambler, you’ve got to take a breath. Regroup. I know how you feel. I’ve been there. There are people who know what they’re doing, and you have to trust them to do their jobs. A kidnapping is serious business, and the authorities will be all over it. I’m sure there’s a BOLO out on the Taurus, and they’ll update as they get more information out of the databases. You can’t do anything. Yeah, it sucks, but be realistic. Until there’s a lead, you’re better off staying put. And not because you’re sick. It’s possible someone wants money. They’ll call. You should be there.”
Nash flashed to Danika’s mother. Danika had sworn her mother wouldn’t pay a dime to a kidnapper, and that nobody knew of the relationship. But people could uncover the deepest secrets.
Because Nash had no way of knowing where to start, he said, “I will. If Intel has anything, send it my way.”
“Sure thing. Do you want me to come over?”
What was he? Five? “I don’t need my hand held,” Nash grumbled. “You don’t want to catch my bug, so no, thank you.”
“Then I’ll get to work.”
“Wait,” Nash said before Grinch disconnected. “The op. T-Bone’s. Everyone okay?”
“Not in that loop, but I’ll add asking to my to do list.”
Nash thanked him and ended the call. He grabbed the printouts they’d made at Grinch’s house. The words blurred. His hands shook. He shuffled to the couch and surfed for the news.
Was an abduction of a non-local important enough to make the air? More likely it would be on the news stations’ websites. Facebook Pages. Twitter feeds. His fingers couldn’t manage the keys on his cell phone. They weren’t a lot better on his tablet, but he clenched his muscles in an attempt to quell the shivers.
They seemed to be abating, which was good. Facebook might not be the best place to start, but it was the easiest to navigate. He started with the local channel’s page. Based in Colorado Springs, the channel technically wasn’t local but that was the best he could do. Should he call in a tip?
Fire had replaced his chills. Water. His couch-side bottle was gone. He rose. The room spun. He grabbed the arm of the couch, waiting for the dizziness to pass. When it lessened, he took a step. Tried another. The room spun faster, and he collapsed onto the couch.
*****
NASH AWOKE TO THE AROMA of soup. He tried to sit up, but a hand shoved him back down. Gently. Had Danika been found? Was she back?
He blinked the room into focus. Not Danika standing above him. Elizabeth.
“Welcome back,” she said.
He pushed his fingers through his hair. Wet. Like the rest of him. Another chills-and-fever episode. “Why are you here?” He sounded like a frog on its last legs.
“You didn’t answer the phone, and Grinch said you sounded terrible when he talked to you. So I came over to help. How are you feeling?”
He did a quick assessment. “Better, actually.” He swung his legs over the side of the couch and sat. The room didn’t spin. “Fill me in.”
Her face softened. “Not a lot to tell. I got Fred’s Towing to bring Danika’s car to our house. We couldn’t leave the car in the lot, and Grinch suggested we keep it at our place, purely as a precaution. On the remote chance someone’s been following it, they won’t be happy to meet Chester and Grinch.”
“Makes sense.” His fuzz-brain hadn’t followed Elizabeth’s line of reasoning, but he’d accept what she said. “What else?”
“One minute.” Elizabeth disappeared for a moment and returned with a bottle.
He eyed her warily.
“Cough medicine. Danika had bought a bunch of sickness supplies, so I brought them over. And her purse, which has her wallet with some cash, and her phone, so it would appear her kidnapper wanted her and didn’t care about the rest.”
She poured syrupy red liquid into a tiny plastic cup and held it out. He grimaced—never did like that fake cherry flavor—but swallowed it without gagging.
“Up for soup?” she asked.
He raised a shoulder.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” She disappeared again, returned with a mug, and handed it to him.
He discovered a returning appetite, and the hot liquid soothed his throat. “Time?” Still a croak, but at least it was semi-audible.
“Almost eight.”
Nash’s heart sank. Danika had been missing for hours. What if she’d been dumped by the side of the road, off where nobody would see her? “Snow? Temp?”
Elizabeth’s concerned expression said she understood what he was asking. And why. “Off and on. About four inches, but it’s not accumulating everywhere. It was in the twenties when I came over about fifteen minutes ago.”
Danika. Every possibility churned through his brain. Abandoned. Maybe seriously injured. Hypothermic. Being so tiny, she wouldn’t last long in the cold. “Hospitals?”
“On alert. A BOLO is out on the Taurus. They cleaned up the surveillance video enough to get a partial. It’s a rental, but the cops are getting the paperwork for the renter’s information.” She rested a hand on his shoulder. “I think Blackthorne is pulling strings.”
Nash was going to owe them. Big time.
Could he keep working for them? He wasn’t whole, never would be. Did one kidney disqualify him from covert work? What if his leg never got back to normal? Would he be satisfied in another department?
Right now, he hoped he’d shaken the worst of his flu.
A song he didn’t recognize intruded.
“That’s Grinch.” Elizabeth pulled out her cell phone.
*****
DANIKA WAITED, TENSED. Listened. Attuned to every motion of the car. No sounds of a door opening. No swaying. The driver was still inside. What was he doing? Her mouth went dry. Every other part of her dripped sweat. Each second that ticked by raised her fear level toward the saturation point.
Was he going to release the trunk from inside? If he did, could she escape before he got to her?
She had no legs, no hands free to use as weapons. Could she position herself to kick him if he leaned over the trunk to pull her out? Thoughts of being abandoned in the dark trunk returned.
Had he said something? She held her breath, straining to hear over the blood rushing in her ears.
“Done.” One word. He’d sounded familiar when he’d grabbed her. She needed him to say more, give her a chance to place him.
Afraid to shift positions for fear the rocking of the car would alert him to her plan, lame as it was, she waited. Either he was going to come for her or leave her here. She didn’t know which she’d prefer.
“Affirmative,” he said.
Another one word response. Where had she heard that voice?
The car door opened. The floor beneath Danika tilted. He must be getting out. She caterpillared herself so her feet were raised toward the rear of the car. The car door slammed shut. Good. He wasn’t going to pop the trunk from inside.
She visualized how she would strike out with her feet. At best, she figured, she’d connect with his head, knocking him backward to the ground. Little hope for that. More likely, she’d be lucky to connect with any part of him, throw him off balance.
Could she even get out of the trunk with her hands and feet bound? Striking out, she feared, would only make him mad.
Muffled footfalls. Squeaky crunches. Walking across partially packed snow?
The sounds moved farther into the distance, not nearer. He was abandoning her. But leaving her in the car? Wouldn’t he need it to get away?
Or was someone else coming to pick him up? Sure would be nice if Jack Reacher was walking along this stretch of road. She almost laughed at where her brain had gone.
She listened again. No traffic sounds. Wherever they were, Jack Reacher on walkabout notwithstanding, it wasn’t likely she’d be discovered.
Where was her brain? Stuck in panic mode, obviously, further muddled by the pain in her head. How many years ago had it been since she’d done an article on a Boy Scout earning his Eagle rank? It had been one of her first stories, and she admitted she hadn’t given it her best effort.
She’d been waiting at one of his meetings to interview him about his project. Sitting in the back, hardly paying attention to the announcements, more occupied with how she could write a more important story than this one. The troop had a guest, a police officer, and he’d been impressing the boys with ways to escape if they were captured. He’d piqued her interest enough to enroll in a self-defense class. The sessions hadn’t covered escaping from being taped and cuffed, but what had risen from the recesses of her brain was when the police officer at the scout meeting had let the boys practice getting out of plastic restraints. More entertaining than practical, she’d thought at the time.
They’d used shoelaces to cut through the plastic, but with her hands behind her back, she couldn’t reach her sneakers without dislocating her shoulder. There was another way. Could she do it? The scouts had been standing, and their feet weren’t bound, but she had to try. She’d be no worse off than she was now.
Carefully, she shifted to a huddled position on her knees. Lowering her head brought another wave of pain. She tried to remember what the officer had said. The restraints should be tight. No problem there. The fastener should be at the top. Her hands were semi-numb, but she wriggled them around until she thought she had the locking mechanism in the right position.
Then, raising her arms as high as she could behind her back, she slammed her hands against her hips. Again. And again. Four times before the ties snapped.
Tears of relief streamed down her face. Drips of blood trickled down her wrists. DNA.
More DNA, she told herself as she ripped the tape from her mouth and tasted the salty, coppery blood. Her cold, numb fingers were no match for the tape at her legs, though. He’d wound too many layers.
Stop. Think.
The tape was wrapped around her jeans, not her skin. She toed off her sneakers, unfastened her jeans, and squirmed out of them. Her legs were free. And cold.
She clutched at her jeans, feeling for the tape. Working at it with her teeth, she managed a small tear. From there, it was tugging, biting, tugging, until she’d loosened enough tape to separate the legs. She worked her legs into the jeans, put her sneakers on, and waited, listening again.
Was she alone?
If her struggles hadn’t alerted her captor, her abandonment hypothesis seemed to be right.
The glowing trunk release latch which had taunted and tormented her became her lighthouse on a stormy sea. She grabbed it and yanked. The trunk popped open.
Frigid air filled her lungs. Before climbing out, she took a moment to study her surroundings. She saw no signs of car headlights, house lights, street lights. She thought of the house on Cottonwood, how it was set back from the road, how it might be invisible to someone driving by. Was there a house close enough to get to?
If her captor had stopped at this imagined house, why should she think she’d find help there?
The cold registered. Her fingertips stung. Without the engine running and the heater going, the temperature was a major issue. Her sweatshirt wasn’t going to be much protection. Her sneakers would soak through. Frostbite, maybe losing toes, was another serious consideration.
Or, she’d go hypothermic, fall asleep, and die.
Don’t go there.