Kidnapped

  Luke retrieved it and opened it. A small white piece of paper with four numbers on it slid out. “Go to locker seventeen at the bus station. Tell me when you’re there.”

  Luke tightened his jaw to eat the words he wanted to say. This idiot had been taking him in circles for almost an hour. This was getting very old. He walked back outside to his car and put the cash on the passenger side floorboard, the sunglasses on the dashboard, and the car in gear. The bus station. Where was that?

  He picked up the map and drove to the bus station. Only four cars were in the lot. Luke parked by the front door, walked inside, and saw a wall of lockers. Number seventeen was near the floor by the exit. He knelt and wrestled with the rusted lock. The door opened and he pulled out a copy of today’s newspaper. “I’m here,” he told the guy on the phone. He hadn’t placed an age to the voice yet, but it wasn’t particularly old or young.

  “Page six, the circled ad. Go to the new Sandy Hill mall, the food court. Buy two; I’m hungry. Let me know when you’re there.”

  Luke yanked open the paper to page six and saw an ad for steak sandwiches circled. Luke stood, kicked the locker, and headed back to his car. This guy was going to make him buy him lunch out of his own pocket before he’d say where to put the ten million. Luke understood driving odd places in order to figure out how many chase vehicles were around, but this was childish. And he was getting mad.

  The new mall was miles in the other direction. Luke put the bag of money back in the car again and headed to the interstate. He pushed his speed to the edge of what traffic was flowing. Hold on, Sharon. I will deliver this and get you back, even if I have to strangle this twit through the phone.

  Labor Day shopping traffic was heavy around the mall. Luke finally found a parking place four rows down from the department store. He checked the bag to make sure it was fully closed; the last thing he needed was some curious shopper realizing he was carrying a bag of money. He slid on his sunglasses and headed into the mall. He stopped at the mall map to check directions to the food court.

  “Go right and up to the second floor. The food court is by Nordstrom,” Jackie commented in his earpiece. “They have a wonderful shoe sale going on.”

  Luke headed to the escalators. Jackie was riding in an air-conditioned van drinking a cold soda and listening in while he baked in this vest. He reached the food court, found the Steak and Co. counter, and pulled out his wallet to buy two steak sandwiches.

  He stepped away from the crowded counter. “I’m at the food court and I have your sandwiches. Where now?”

  “The Employee Only door between Steak and Co. and Taco Bell—walk through it, turn right. Open the third door on the left marked Utilities and step inside.”

  Luke’s adrenaline spiked. The trade was going down here. He shifted the phone, took a grip on the gym bag, and tried to move the sack with the sandwiches to the same hand in order to keep his gun hand free—only he couldn’t juggle the three items. No wonder he’d been told to buy the sandwiches.

  He walked through the employee door and found a concrete floor and tile hallway. He turned right, smashed the sandwich sack in his hand with the gym bag and phone, and reached for his gun. Putting his hand on the doorknob for the third door, he turned it, pushed the door open with his foot, and as the door swung open he tracked with his gun.

  It was a service utility room. A conveyor belt ran by with blue plastic bins snapped into lock points on the belt, each bin labeled for its destination restaurant. He saw a sixty-pound bag of frozen french fries flow by. The supply lift was bringing goods from the freezers and refrigerators to the various food bar storefronts. The room was empty. “I’m here.”

  “The bin for Potatoes and Co. Put in the gym bag and close the lid. Don’t forget to include the steak sandwiches.”

  “Where is Sharon?”

  “Money first. I open the bin and get the bag, then I tell you where she is.”

  Luke watched the conveyor belt for the proper bin, put in the bag and the sandwiches, and slammed the lid closed. The bin disappeared along the conveyer belt under felt strips that kept temperatures between rooms steady.

  “Nice doing business with you. Open the other phone.”

  Luke pulled it from his shirt pocket and flipped it open. The phone switched to a radio frequency and automatically connected.

  “Thank You, God,” Sharon’s soft voice echoed clearly on the line. “Who’s there? Who am I talking to?”

  Luke had to stretch out a hand to brace himself against the wall, feeling like he was having a heart attack. “It’s Luke, Sharon. And I am very relieved to hear your voice.” He slammed through the hallway. “Where are you?”

  “Benton, I think. My own car trunk. Hurry please; it’s getting hot. Is Benjamin okay?”

  “He’s great, Sharon. He’s just great. Keep talking.” He tore across the food court and took the stairs down two at a time. “How about you, are you doing okay?”

  “Just tired.”

  She sounded pretty weak, and he could hear her crying. Relief tears, those were good.

  “They were planning to kidnap my son.”

  “He ran just like you told him; he did great. Your own car, Sharon? You’re sure?”

  “It’s my own junk—four old tulip bulbs I forgot to plant, Benjamin’s baseball glove, the black shoes I meant to give Caroline . . .”

  “Is there a safety trunk lock? To keep kids from getting locked inside? Can you spring it yourself?”

  “Someone damaged it. I’ve been trying to pry through the backseat padding.”

  “Have you been in the trunk all this time? It’s Tuesday, about noon.”

  “A small room first. I couldn’t stand up in it, but they had a bed, TV, these bins filled with stuff to keep Benjamin entertained, a tiny bathroom. They moved me several hours ago.” She started coughing, the sound painful to hear.

  “Easy.”

  “I’ve screamed and pounded for attention but no one comes. I heard owls last night, and I think water is nearby, a stream maybe. It got pretty cold. I think I’m outdoors but I can’t see sunshine through the cracks around the trunk.”

  He cleared the doors to the mall and headed toward his car. “It’s sunny out right now,” Luke confirmed for her. “I’m in Sandy Hill heading toward you. It may be the Benton sheriff who reaches you first.”

  Jackie’s voice came tense over his earpiece. “Luke, she’s not in Benton like she thinks; she’s well south. Head back on I-20. I’ll try to get you the closest exit.”

  “We’re tracing your call right now, Sharon. We’ll get a fix on your location.”

  “The phone batteries are running down.”

  “We’ll just talk as long as the batteries last. We’ve already started to home in on you.”

  “I’ve got notes for Mark and Benjamin and Caroline. I wrote them the first two days and kept them folded in my pocket so I would have them with me.”

  “I know they will love to read them. Do you have any idea who did this, Sharon?”

  “One man drove my car, two men in the van, and I think I heard a different fourth voice when they were arguing as they moved me from the room to the car. They always wore ski masks.”

  “It’s good that they were careful. The ransom exchange is easier.”

  “How much?”

  “Mark thought you were worth more.”

  “That’s sweet. How much?”

  “Ten million. If they can run far enough to try to spend it.”

  Luke signaled for the interstate merge, got into the flow of traffic, and hit the police lights, dropping his foot down on the gas to jump the car through seventy and eighty before finding a cruise speed just under ninety-five. “Sharon?” She’d gotten too quiet.

  “He really put that kind of cash together?”

  “Trust me, he would have come up with a whole lot more.” Luke debated telling her what had happened but thought on the whole she’d be better with all the truth. “Mark had a car accident F
riday, serious enough that they airlifted him to Atlanta. He’s already home in Benton waiting for you with Benjamin. We think they called him to say they had you just before the accident happened. His car ended up in a pond.”

  “It’s never been smart to distract him while he’s driving.”

  Luke laughed. “I hear you.”

  Jackie’s voice broke in again on his earpiece. “Exit 161 and head toward the state park. She’s somewhere south of Billmar Road and west of Highland.” Luke eased off the gas to scan the map. That was still a huge swatch of land, not much of it developed. Cell and radio towers would be a long distance apart, making her location hard to pinpoint.

  “How’s Caroline coping?” Sharon asked.

  “Like a trouper.”

  “I’m glad. I have a—” The phone cut out briefly on her words. “Tell . . . I love them.”

  “I will. If we lose this call, know we’re coming.” He heard only static. “Sharon? Can you hear me, Sharon?”

  The call was gone.

  “Jackie?”

  “The best we can do is about a two-mile grid,” Jackie said, and Luke heard unexpected tears in her voice. “We’re about three miles south of you, triangulating the call.”

  “Two hours, Jackie. Enough men, we can search the grid and find the car within two hours. What happened at the mall?”

  “The transmitters showed the bag stopped moving. Guys started to move in, and someone pulled the fire alarm. People in the mall panicked.”

  “Let me guess, he dumped the bag.”

  “They found it in the bin you had placed it in. He must have shoved the cash into another bag, then pulled the fire alarm. There may have been a couple people splitting up the money to make it easier to carry out.”

  “They won’t get far, not with the trail they left us with this drive around.”

  “That last locker was a mistake. The bus station has a permanent guest in a homeless man, and there’s a sketch artist already working with him.”

  “How’s Caroline doing?”

  “I’m bawling, Luke,” she replied, her first words on the line. “I’ve been passing on Sharon’s words to Mark. He’s on the other line.”

  “I figured you might. Let’s meet up at—” he found a restaurant near the search area and gave directions—“and you can ride with me. Sharon will be fine, Caroline. We’ll find her.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Luke’s car idled at the junction of park roads. Caroline used binoculars to scan the area and the campsites. “There are too many back trails in this state park. She could be anywhere.”

  “Think it through; it’s not as big a search as it appears. The car will be near a camper or a tent. It won’t be off on its own where a park ranger would have noticed it as abandoned. But the site will also be somewhere that Sharon calling for help wouldn’t have attracted attention in the last day or two. That means it has to be one of the more remote sites. Eliminate clusters of campers; eliminate vehicles out on their own. You’re looking for probabilities.”

  “Let’s try the south branch of this road and go into the valley. She couldn’t see the sun but she could hear water. That suggests one of these smaller tributaries flowing into the lake.”

  “Good.”

  Luke turned that direction.

  “I want so badly to be the one to find her.”

  Luke rubbed her tense arm. “We’re close, Caroline. We’re close.”

  * * *

  “We got it!” Taylor Marsh broke in on the radio. “Two troopers just spotted Sharon’s car. It’s back on lot MA-8, one of the primitive camper sites that has a concrete pad, picnic table, and water, but no electricity or sewer. The troopers are trolling the shoreline in a fishing boat. They can see the car parked under trees, a mini motorhome on the campsite. A pickup truck and a gray sedan are also on the lot. There’s an empty boat trailer. The site looks deserted. The occupants may be out on the water, but the troopers don’t see a boat tied up nearby. It’s a high embankment; they can’t beach near the site.”

  Luke picked up the radio. “Tell them not to even try. Tell them to just keep trolling and to set up a ways down the shoreline, so they can tell us if anyone comes near the site from the water. Send two men to walk in silently and get binoculars on the site while we close the roads.”

  Luke found a place to back up, turned the car around, and drove to the closest crossroad to the campsite. He pulled in behind Marsh. As he parked and reached in the backseat for his vest, more patrol cars rolled in.

  “You have to stay here, Caroline. Stay with the deputy.”

  “I know.”

  He leaned over and hugged her. “Pray hard.”

  He got out of the car to talk to Marsh as Henry James and Jackie both arrived.

  Marsh set down his radio. “The site appears deserted. No movement in the camper windows, no sign of anyone around the lot there. And that is definitely Sharon’s car, down to the hospital decal on the back window. That truck is registered to Ronald Parks.”

  “Frank Hardin’s old pal. Which suggests Frank has indeed been here,” Jackie said for them all.

  “I hear you.” Henry looked at Luke. “How do you want to play it?”

  “Send three men to the front and three men to the rear of the camper to stop anyone who might try to exit the vehicle. Jackie and I pop the trunk of the car and get Sharon out of the line of fire, then you take down anyone in the camper. Snipers cover us.”

  Henry looked at Taylor and got a nod of agreement. “Okay. Let’s do it. Marsh, you lead the group to the front; I’ll take the rear. Let’s get the snipers in place.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Midday sun suggested siesta time as they crept through the woods to the campsite. Luke wiped sweat from his forehead and dried his gun hand again on his jeans. Sharon was in sight. Where the foliage lightened he could see the side panel and rear fender of her car. The car had been parked near the woods, making it easier to approach as they didn’t have to traverse over several feet of crushed rock.

  Henry James moved his FBI group in to cover the back of the camper. Taylor Marsh moved with his officers to the front of the camper.

  Henry nodded. Luke and Jackie crept toward Sharon’s car. The silence from the trunk both concerned and comforted him, for his biggest fear would be Sharon hearing something and calling out, unintentionally alerting anyone in that camper to their presence.

  Luke knelt by the car. “Sharon, it’s Luke. Stay real quiet. We’re popping the trunk.”

  He slid the tool into the lock and used his muscle to force the mechanism, his hand stopping upward movement as the trunk popped. “Stay still.”

  Luke lifted the lid.

  He bit back bile. His expression spooked Jackie and she rose to see into the trunk.

  It was empty.

  The wind blew small pieces of paper around inside, scrawled writing on both sides—the notes Sharon had mentioned. Luke picked them up so the wind couldn’t blow them out to the lake. All but one of the water bottles rolling around in the trunk were empty. The phone Sharon must have been using lay on the trunk mat.

  Luke lowered the trunk lid. He used the car as cover and moved with Jackie to join Henry. “She’s either in the camper, or they’ve already moved her on the water.”

  Henry quietly cursed, echoing what Luke was feeling. Taking a deep breath, he leaned around to study the camper door. “Luke, you and I, we open that door nice and quiet and go in with Marsh and his guys covering our back. My guys will force the driver and passenger doors to take the front of the vehicle.”

  “Let’s do it.”

  Luke took up position behind Henry, and they eased around to the camper door. Henry put his hands on the door and lock, Luke nodded, and Henry forced the lock and opened the door. Luke moved in.

  He recoiled at the smell and yet kept moving forward. He’d smelled that odor too many times in his life. Henry James did too, and he tightened his grip on his weapon. Luke took the tw
o steps into the camper in one big step, his weapon sweeping ahead of him.

  The first man’s body had fallen in the small aisle before the small kitchen sink and counter, a cup of coffee staining the center of the man’s shirt, his hand still loosely curled around the cup.

  Two more men were dead, one seated on the bench seat of the back table, the other the only one who looked like he’d been able to rise and attempt to react. He’d been killed by two shots, one to the face and one to the back, collapsing him across the first man’s boots.

  They were dead. Two unknown young men. Ronald Parks. And a gray backpack was sitting open on the table, stuffed with money, splattered with blood, attracting flies.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Luke stepped outside the camper, walked halfway to the car where Sharon had been, and lost it. The post he kicked splintered, the picnic table crashed to its side, and the fishing boat trailer rolled back until it hit the railroad tie marking the edge of the campsite.

  Marsh wrapped him up from behind before he could hit the grill and break his hand. “Don’t, man. It isn’t worth it.”

  “I was just talking to her!” Luke choked on the words.

  Marsh leaned on him, using his strength to stop Luke from breaking free. “You can’t help her if you lose it. Sharon will need you even more in the next few hours than she did before.”

  We were so close . . . so close.

  Luke felt the explosive emotions coming back under his control, and the fist ready to strike the grill relaxed and dropped to his side. Marsh loosened his grip and Luke took a deep breath. “I’m okay.”

  Marsh squeezed his shoulder. “We found her once; we’ll find her again. Remember that.”

  * * *

  Luke walked through the woods back to the road, trying to figure out how to tell Caroline he’d failed. She expected him to walk out with Sharon. Instead . . .

  No matter how much she braced for news, there was no way to be prepared for this. How was he going to tell Mark he was bringing back his millions but not his wife? How was he going to tell Benjamin he was coming back without his mom? And Caroline, to know her sister was gone and one real possibility was that she was dumped in the lake—Luke felt sick. Jesus, is Sharon still alive? Or was I the last one to talk with her?