“I’ve already answered this question.” Jackson Rhodes bit back impatience as he paced in front of the first-floor conference room. Seattle Police Department officers swarmed around the atrium, buzzing like bees in a hive, collecting statements from employees and vendors for the past hour. Still, they had nothing to go on. “Shouldn’t you be trying to find my daughter instead of making me repeat myself?”
“It’s important for us to go over every detail of your statement.” Detective Dowd’s flat, indifferent voice only ramped up Jackson’s anxiety. “Make sure there are no inconsistencies.”
Inconsistencies? Jackson stopped cold and glared at the detective. “What are you implying? That I might be lying about what happened?”
The detective sighed. “This is standard procedure, sir.” His gaze shifted to something over Jackson’s shoulder. “Finally,” he muttered.
Turning, Jackson spotted the FBI team crossing the atrium. Four of them, maybe more. After exchanging a few hurried words, they each took off in a different direction. One made a beeline his way, badge hooked on her waistband on the opposite hip from where her gun was holstered.
Dowd tipped his head at the statuesque woman. “You have no idea how good it is to see you.” He looked back at Jackson with relief stamped on his face. “Mr. Rhodes, this is Special Agent Madeline Striker, one of the FBI’s best kidnapping experts.”
Agent Striker proffered her hand. She was attractive with golden brown skin, long dark hair swept up in a low, loose chignon and a steely demeanor.
Jackson stepped forward, accepting her hand. Warm fingers wrapped around his and squeezed with surprising strength, sending an electric prickle down his spine. He quickly dropped his hand, ignoring the sensation that pulled him from his thoughts for a nanosecond.
“Mr. Rhodes, we’re going to do everything in our power to get your daughter back as quickly as possible.” Her confident bearing and the utter lack of pity on her face loosened the tightness in his chest.
It gave him the glimmer of hope that this nightmare might not end badly. “Thank you. Please call me Jackson.”
Another woman in her midtwenties approached them. She was younger than Agent Striker by a handful of years. Tall and slender, she greeted him with the type of worrisome expression that he was beginning to dread.
“This is my colleague, Caitlyn Yang,” Agent Striker said. “She’s our communications liaison.”
Jackson acknowledged her with a nod.
The younger woman flashed a forced smile in return and then glanced at the detective. “Thanks for the timely updates.”
“Only doing my job,” Dowd said. He looked at his notepad. “I was just about to go over Mr. Rhodes’s statement.”
“For the second time,” Jackson snapped, renewed frustration mounting inside him.
“I can’t imagine how difficult this must be for you,” Ms. Yang said. The compassion in her voice rubbed Jackson raw and it was almost more than he could bear. “Why don’t you have a seat?” she suggested, taking his elbow and gesturing to a chair.
Jackson jerked his arm away. “I don’t need to be handled.” He was an expert at managing people. Reading them during a negotiation and knowing precisely how to respond. The reversal of being on the receiving end was a pointed reminder that for the first time in his life he was completely powerless.
“I was only trying to help,” Yang said.
“The police have been here over an hour and they don’t have a single lead. Not one. More than a hundred people are out there and you mean to tell me that no one saw a damn thing? If you think trying to coddle me is helpful, you’re mistaken.”
Yang lowered her shock-filled gaze while Dowd released a heavy sigh and pursed his lips.
Jackson’s heart hammered like a brutal fist against his rib cage. “I don’t need to repeat my statement. You should be taking action. Questioning the vendors again. Scouring through the surveillance footage. Combing the streets to find my daughter!”
Instead of squandering precious time.
Time that should be spent searching for Emma.
He’d read that the first forty-eight hours were the most critical. The longer she was missing, the odds of finding her alive dwindled exponentially. The thought that his little girl might never come home again made his knees shake.
Jackson was hanging on by a thread, but he managed to push the weakness aside.
It wouldn’t do Emma any good if he broke down. He paced in the conference room, needing space to breathe, but the suffocating sensation didn’t ease.
Agent Striker gave Jackson a probing stare. Her sharp brown eyes simmered with a beguiling energy. Her unreadable expression didn’t change. She didn’t even blink.
He gritted his teeth at not having any inkling as to what she was thinking.
“Detective,” Agent Striker said, “why don’t you share his statement with Caitlyn while I take over the family support role with Mr. Rhodes.”
Dowd raised a conciliatory hand. “No arguments here.” The gray-haired man flicked his pad closed. He turned along with Yang and the two left the conference room.
“Mr. Rhodes, I assure you that neither I, nor any law enforcement officer here, have any intention of wasting your time since we have none to spare,” Agent Striker said matter-of-factly, as if reading his thoughts. “I understand the inquiry process can feel tedious, frustrating even, but it’s necessary.” Grim resolve settled across her face. “Our only goal is to find your daughter, and I give you my word, I’ll do everything possible.”
The statement broke through the haze of his panic, steadying him. This was what he needed. A solid professional unencumbered by sentimentality running the case.
“All right.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for raising my voice and trying to tell everyone how to do their job.” That was so unlike him. Not the part about issuing orders or giving constructive criticism, but losing his temper. He could be brusque at times. Never rude. “To be honest, I’m angry at myself. Emma wanted to go somewhere to see a puppy. She even asked permission the way I’d taught her.” Like a good girl following the rules. “I was distracted, told her to wait. Then the next thing I knew she was gone.” Vanished without a trace. “Turns out there wasn’t any puppy on the premises.”
“Kidnappers often entice and lure children away with the prospect of something that’s hard to resist, like going somewhere fun. Getting candy. Petting a puppy.”
“The nanny had offered to come. Had said it wouldn’t be any trouble. If only I hadn’t given Liane the day off.”
“Her last name?”
“Strothe. With an e at the end.”
Madeline withdrew a smartphone from her pocket and began typing. “How long has she been with you?”
“A little less than two years. Why? You don’t think Liane had anything to do with this, do you?”
“Why didn’t you want her to come?”
“Emma was going to be with me the entire day.” He had promised her no work under any circumstances. “I had arranged to leave early because I wanted to take her to the Space Needle, for a ride on the monorail and treat her to ice cream.” They had spent a week planning what they were going to do together. “I relish the time I have with her. Liane never takes personal days, and I didn’t see any reason to waste her free time.” All true, but there was a deeper, underlying truth he couldn’t admit out loud. On Family Day, everyone brought their kids and spouse. Not their nanny. People at ETC already thought him an elitist snob. He hadn’t wanted to perpetuate the distorted perception. “Worst-case scenario, I knew I could rely on my assistant, Brittany, to help me out, but I was foolish not to bring Liane. This might never have happened if I had.”
Damn trying to repair his image.
“This isn’t your fault, Mr. Rhodes.”
Maybe not, but it didn’t lighten the crushing weight of guilt bearing down on him. Or the simple fact that if he had paid closer attention to Emma, she’d be in his arms right now. Not missing. “It’s Jackson. Please.”
This federal agent was his best chance at getting back the most important person in the world to him. Fostering some familiarity couldn’t hurt. It might even prove beneficial.
“Call me Madeline.”
“Is Liane a suspect? I got her through a highly respected agency I’ve used for a long time. They do background checks, drug testing, the works.”
“We’ll need to question everyone who has had close contact with your daughter before we can rule them out. The nanny. Your assistant. Do you have a housekeeper? Personal chef? A driver?”
“Time is my most valuable resource, but I don’t have that kind of household staff.” He never fit in with the jet-setting, country-clubbing one percent who did. But he wanted to make sure his daughter felt at ease around anyone, whether it was in a soup kitchen or on a yacht. “I have Liane to help, I use a cleaning service and I have groceries delivered. I do the cooking for Emma and myself unless we eat out. As much as possible, I prefer to be hands-on.”
Madeline raised an eyebrow. “Considering you’re a single parent with a high-pressure position at ETC and the means to hire a personal staff, that’s commendable.”
To him, it was the least his daughter deserved. “How will you figure out who took Emma?”
“We’ll look at the evidence, compile a list of suspects and run everything to the ground,” she said. “Do you have any enemies?”
“No.”
Madeline’s eyes narrowed as though the response had been delivered too fast. Or she suspected it had been a lie. Her cell phone pinged, and she read her text message. “You were recently named CEO, a position that comes with a lot of power, money and prestige. I’m sure you didn’t achieve that without ruffling a few feathers.”
“You’re right. I didn’t get this job by trying to win a popularity contest, but you’re asking if I ruffled feathers to the point someone would want to kidnap my daughter.”
Her gaze settled hard on him. “Yes.”
Success had required making tough choices. He had bruised egos and hurt feelings during his climb up the ladder. All for the sake of business. Nothing personal, and he had always treated everyone fairly. It wasn’t as if he was a monster. “No. There’s no one.”
Doubt rocked through him. Someone had taken Emma. For every action, there was a reaction. Basic physics.
The chasm of guilt inside him deepened.
“Have you had a bad breakup recently, say within the last six months? Ended a relationship when the other person wasn’t ready to say goodbye?” Madeline asked.
Jackson scoffed. “No relationships. No dalliances. No breakups. Not even a one-night stand.” His love life had been one big black hole for four years, much less the past six months.
“Who stands the most to gain from your resignation?”
The most obvious implication hadn’t occurred to him. “The vice president. Andrew Phillips. He’s next in line. Always wanted the job.”
Madeline typed on her smartphone, again.
“Excuse me, but may I ask what’s so important on your phone?”
“I’m checking red alerts from the team, any potential suspects they come up with, and inputting what I learn in a shared document. The process is efficient and timely, but I’m still focused on everything you say.” She looked up at him. “Please continue.”
“Andrew would be the one to fill in for me. At least temporarily, until the board officially designates my replacement.” Andrew had been there at the start of Family Day. When was the last time anyone had seen him?
Jackson spun toward the atrium and scanned the crowd, looking for him.
Madeline glanced in the same direction, then caught his eye. “The kidnapper contacted you via text?”
“Yes.” Jackson nodded, recalling how terrifying it had been to receive the demand, the acknowledgment that Emma had been taken, but it had also been a relief. He had something to act on. A reason to hope there was a chance to get his daughter back. “Don’t kidnappers usually issue ransom demands through a phone call?”
“Most times, but not always. We’ll need your cell phone to trace the text.”
“My IT person, Rivka Molnar, is cracking away at that as we speak. She’s one of the best there is in the business.” As soon as Rivka had given her statement to the police and dropped her own daughter off at school, she’d gotten to work on it.
“No doubt. Nevertheless, we’ll need to have our people take a look.”
“Of course.” Surely the FBI had their own protocol and needed to verify everything.
Another ping on Madeline’s phone drew her attention to the screen. “Where can we find Ms. Molnar?”
“This floor. In a restricted area, beyond security. You need a badge to access it.”
With a nod, she began typing. “Apparently, our techie, Liam McDare, is in security now, reviewing the surveillance footage. He’ll take care of it.”
“I suppose I should contact the media, set up a press conference so I can resign publicly per the demands.” The sooner he did so, the sooner he might get his daughter back.
“I’d advise against that.” Madeline lowered her phone. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
His heart twisted into a knot. “Why? It was the one thing the kidnapper demanded.” The only thing. Not money. Not power. “My resignation in exchange for Emma’s safe return.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but Rivka darted past two police officers into the conference room.
“Jackson!” Rivka rushed to him with his cell phone in her hand.
“Agent Striker—Madeline—this is Rivka Molnar. The head of the IT department I was telling you about.”
“I traced the number,” Rivka said, cheeks flushed, stray red curls that had escaped her ponytail hanging around her face. She handed him the phone. “It was easier than I expected considering the circumstances. Almost too easy, now that I think about it.”
“I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” Riding a fresh surge of adrenaline, Jackson stepped closer. “What’s the location where the text was sent from?”
“Believe it or not, one of our remote work sites. Off I-99 across from the Duwamish Waterway.”
“What?” Jackson shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I agree, it is strange. I cloned your phone for the FBI. They have all the metadata and can monitor any further communication in real time. Liam McDare is going to have an Agent West verify the trace.”
“If Ms. Molnar missed anything,” Madeline said, “I have every confidence that between West and McDare they’ll find it. What’s the exact address of the work site?”
Questions whirled in Jackson’s mind and there was only one way to get answers. “I’m heading over there.” He started toward the atrium. “It’s less than ten minutes away. You can follow me or ride along. But don’t think of suggesting that I stay behind. Not when the text originated from ETC property and it looks as if it might’ve been an employee who has taken Emma.” The thought of such a betrayal burned his gut. “I have to go. That’s nonnegotiable.”
Madeline hurried ahead of him, bringing him to a quick stop with a raised palm. “No one can force you to stay here, but riding with us would be faster,” she said in a firm, impassive voice that he found oddly soothing. “You’ll have to stay in the vehicle while we check the facility and question employees. That’s also nonnegotiable. Can you do that, Jackson?”
He would do whatever was necessary to get his little girl back. Emma was his true north, his whole world. Without question, he would make any sacrifice to protect her. Lay down his own life in a heartbeat. Truth be told, if it came down to it, he would take a life, too. “I can.”
Madeline led the way through the atrium toward two FBI agents who were questioning the chairman and Jackson’s assistant, Brittany, separately. A succession of pings had all three agents glancing at their phones.
Both agents broke off their interviews and approached Madeline.
“Jackson Rhodes, this is Supervisory Special Agent Miguel Peters,” Madeline said, gesturing to a man with dark hair, “and Special Agent Nick James.” She indicated the other somber-looking agent as perfunctory handshakes were exchanged. “Jackson would prefer us to dispense with the formality of titles and surnames.”
“We just got the update on the location of the trace from Liam,” Miguel said to Madeline. “I’ll stay with Dash and handle things here, finish collecting statements and reviewing the surveillance footage.” He handed her car keys.
Nick’s gaze shifted to Madeline. “I’ll go with you.”
Miguel nodded. “Take Caitlyn as well and a few of the police officers standing around.”
“Jackson is also going to come,” Madeline said. “It might be useful to have him on-site.”
Miguel glanced at Jackson and looked him over a moment, then he turned back to Madeline. “If you think it’s best for him to go along, I won’t question it.”
Jackson and Madeline made their way outside the front of the building while Nick rounded up the others. Madeline climbed in behind the wheel of one of the two black SUVs that were parked near squad cars. He slid into the front passenger seat beside her.
She cranked the engine and entered the address he rattled off into the GPS.
The second Nick and Caitlyn hopped in the back of the vehicle, Madeline peeled out of the spot.
With blue-and-red lights flashing on the dash and the sirens blaring on the police cruisers that followed them, Madeline wove through traffic at a speed that had Jackson clutching the armrest.
In this situation, there was no such thing as too fast. He was relieved Madeline acted as such.
“Why do you have a remote site?” Madeline asked.
“It’s not uncommon. We have several for different reasons. Sometimes the issue is space. Out at the Duwamish site, it’s for secrecy. Top-of-the-line security. The facility has metal detectors, and no one can even bring a cell phone inside. Everyone who works there has been through the most stringent of background checks.”
Madeline’s gaze flickered to him. “What is ETC working on?”
Years of secrecy caused Jackson to hesitate. Under normal circumstances, a civilian would have to sign a nondisclosure agreement before he answered the question. Nothing about today was normal. “Cloaking technology. The team is finishing a prototype. We’re hoping to get a government contract.”
“With DARPA?” Caitlyn asked, referring to the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency.
“Yes. They deal with all the breakthrough technology for national security. We’re talking the potential for billions in profit.” Jackson had fought to expand the company, take ETC in a bold, innovative direction. Against all odds, he had scraped together the money to save the company from the brink of bankruptcy while funding the venture. “It’s my pet project. Sort of my...” He swallowed hard, nearly choking on the words sticking in his throat.
Caitlyn and Nick stared at Jackson in the rearview mirror.
“Your what?” Madeline asked.
“Everyone at the office jokes that it’s...my baby. My second child.” A cold finger ran across his heart.
Jackson clenched his hand and leaned back against the seat. He didn’t know exactly what it meant that the text had been traced to that specific location, but there was no doubt in his mind that it held horrible significance.
“Are visitors allowed inside the remote site?” Nick asked. “For deliveries? Repairs? Standard maintenance?”
Jackson looked back over the seat. “No, we have strict protocols in place. Only cleared personnel. Anyone who steps foot inside the facility has been thoroughly vetted.”
“We need to know all the employees who have access to the Duwamish site,” Madeline said. “See if any had a grievance or might be vulnerable to blackmail.”
“I’ll call Dash,” Caitlyn said, taking out her phone. She dialed and relayed the message, then listened. “Okay. Thanks.” She disconnected. “They verified the trace. The text did originate from that location. Dash said there was no attempt to mask the trail. Also, the surveillance footage inside ETC headquarters was on a loop. That’s why there’s no coverage of who took Emma.”
Something about this was wrong. The details didn’t add up. “The kidnapper was savvy enough to put our surveillance feed on a loop, but not cover their tracks of the text message?” Jackson asked.
No one said a word. They didn’t have to. The cagey looks from the others told Jackson all he needed to know. They were thinking the same thing.
Almost too easy. Rivka’s words came back in a rush, filling him with foreboding.
Madeline exited I-99 and took Alaskan Way to East Marginal. Once they made a right toward the work site, the gated facility was visible.
Alarm crept over him.
Employees were gathered outside the building in the parking lot. Twenty of them, which accounted for the entire team plus security, stood about a hundred feet from the building near the fence line.
“What in the hell?” Nick muttered.
Madeline and Jackson traded wary glances as she stopped at the entrance and rolled down the window.
Jackson leaned over and waved to the security guard. “What’s going on?”
“Mr. Rhodes.” The guard’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “The carbon monoxide alarms went off in the building. Everyone had to evacuate. I called the fire department and gas company. The SFD should be here any minute.”
Almost too easy. Now a carbon monoxide leak?
Jackson stiffened. “What if Emma is inside?” The stray thought struck him as irrational. The odds of his little girl being in there, without anyone noticing, were as slim as someone who worked at the site being the culprit. But the events of the day had already taught him anything was possible.
“Is this the only way in and out?” Madeline asked Jackson.
“Yes. Single point of entry for added security.”
Her gaze swung back to the guard. “Has anyone entered or left the premises in the past hour?”
“No, ma’am,” the guard said.
The news kept Jackson from doing something rash, like leaping from the vehicle and racing inside the building against Madeline’s instructions, though it wasn’t nearly enough to bring him a shred of relief.
“The funny thing is,” the guard added, “there’s a strange smell in the building.”
“But carbon monoxide is odorless,” Madeline said.
“That’s what makes it so weird.”
“Think this is some kind of a diversion?” Nick asked. “A slew of uncleared people are about to circumvent protocol and get access in there.”
“It’s possible,” Madeline said. “We shouldn’t rule anything out.” She looked back at the guard. “Make sure no one leaves the premises unless they’ve been cleared by the FBI or the police.”
“You’ve got it.” The armed guard buzzed them in. A second later, the heavy gate rolled opened.
They drove past the gaggle of employees, closer to the one-story building, and parked. The state-of-the-art facility was small. The east side of it was comprised of a meditation room, break room with a kitchen, gym and locker room since the team spent long days hard at work. The other half of the building—which faced the Duwamish Waterway, giving the team a western view and natural light through the privacy-tinted wall of windows—was entirely for research and development.
“Sit tight and let us handle this,” Madeline said.
Jackson nodded in reluctant agreement.
The others jumped out of the vehicle and huddled up by the open trunk.
Madeline and Nick took off their jackets and strapped on bulletproof vests while she doled out orders. “Caitlyn, have the officers help you collect statements from everyone. We’ll do a sweep inside to make sure there’s no one left.”
The communications liaison and the uniformed officers headed to the cluster of ETC employees.
Nick and Madeline both drew their weapons. As they advanced toward the building, Jackson hopped out of the SUV.
Pulse hammering, he edged forward, desperate for definitive proof as to who had taken his daughter. But he stopped, fighting against the overwhelming urge. Better to leave this part to law enforcement. Though nothing, other than finding Emma unharmed, would make this better.
Tension coiled through him, what-ifs stacking up in his mind. What if whoever had sent the text was no longer here? Or what if the trace was a dead end?
Madeline and Nick were side by side, their guns raised.
Watching the Feds draw closer, Jackson scrubbed a hand over his jaw. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. He ached to do something, other than wait, but at the same time, he couldn’t shake the sense that something about this was wrong—really, really wrong.
The two agents got within ten paces of the front door. And then...
The west side of the building exploded.