“What’s that mean?” Bobby snapped out. Though the three of them were in a relationship, no one back in this department should know.
“I’m not sure myself. The three of you have always been strangely close and we hear you’ve opened a business together. Never dreamed Chantelle Shepherd would chuck in police work, let me tell you.”
“What are you suggesting?” A hard edge crept into Bobby’s voice, one he frantically subdued.
“Look, if, and forgive me, Sam, but if you’ve made moves on Bobby’s girl and it’s resulted in her wandering off—”
“It’s not like that.”
“Not at all,” Bobby added.
“So, what is it like?” Gordon fanned out the fingers of both hands. “I’m not asking and I don’t care. If Shepherd is in trouble, I want to help her. But awkward questions may arise. I need a little more than your feelings.”
Gordon only spoke the truth. The text Bobby didn’t believe Chantelle sent scorched his pocket. That would be enough to give them cause to wait a few hours.
“We can make a start on the paperwork so it’s in place when the right time comes, but that’s about the best I can do.”
Bobby nodded his agreement. Gordon was trying to help, but the idea turned Bobby cold.
Paperwork. Basic information at the top. Name, date of birth, birthplace, current and previous addresses and employers. Next, a physical description. Bobby’s throat tightened. Her habits. Did she smoke? Use drugs? Chew gum? How did she like to do her banking? Personality type. Did she suffer depression? Her beliefs, hobbies, and places she frequented. What was the last thing she was wearing? Of which he hadn’t a clue. What she should have been doing on the day she went missing. Time and location of where she was last seen. Health issues and more.
Odd, how a two-page list seemed so endless. Once they filed the report, they’d want a hairbrush or toothbrush or undergarments in case they needed DNA analysis. They’d want to delve into her calls, any computer equipment she used. There were other things on the form, including what actions the police would take, what the missing person’s family could do, advice on how to take care of himself. On eating well, taking exercise. How to judge if he needed time from work, or how to cope if it became necessary to return.
Advice on trying not to blame himself.
Only the knowledge Chantelle needed his help held him together. “There is something you can do. Two things in fact.”
“Such as?”
“We need you to check whether there’s any CCTV surveillance in the area where we believe she went missing. And, if there is, we’d like to view it.”
Gordon pursed his lips. He didn’t need to make a speech about the irregularity of Bobby’s request. How, despite Bobby still being an officer, he had no jurisdiction here, and Chantelle’s three hour absence was nothing on which to base the appeal.
“And the second thing?”
“Explain your surprise to find us at the ceremony.”
This time Gordon blinked big time. “I had no reason to know you’d be there. Why do you ask?”
“Because,” Sam chimed in, “we thought you’d invited us.”
* * * *
Pain. Pressure in her skull. Chantelle came awake, unable to open her eyes. The agony in her head made her scrunch up her face but the frown caused lightning to flash behind her eyes, so she tried to relax her expression. She made no attempt to move. Throbbing temples were enough of a warning to keep her still.
Why did her head hurt? What had happened? The day had begun back at the hotel. She recalled…Warm bed. Crisp sheets. Sam slipping out of bed and leaving her and Bobby alone. She’d told him…What? Something. The effort to remember made her frown, but the action made her ache and her head pound, though the recollection popped into her mind. She’d told Sam he didn’t need to go, and he’d said…
“This isn’t to avoid the maid. I’m happy to give you two some alone time.”
Hadn’t taken Bobby long to be all over her. A lifetime ago now. Where were they? Where was she? Chantelle opened her eyes but doing so drove a spike through both pupils so she closed them again. Had she been in an accident? She didn’t believe so, but if a car had hit her, maybe she was confused. Maybe the best, first, thing to do was a self-assessment.
She lay on her side, curled into a ball, legs drawn to her torso. Had someone put her in the position or had she moved into it? She was chilled. Maybe while unconscious she moved trying to get warm. Whatever she lay on was hard, rough, and one reason she was cold.
Chantelle touched the unknown surface. Gritty, uneven ground.
Eyelids fluttering, Chantelle tried to ease her eyes open again. Thank goodness the light here…wherever this was, was dim. Her head swam and might be part of the reason everything appeared as grey blobs. Undefined. Strange. Alien. She closed her eyes and waited a few beats before having another go. She blinked at what appeared to be a cave wall.
Chapter 5
“There’s a camera at one end of the street. That’s the best we can do.” Andrew Forbes had worked with Bobby back in the day, so, although his questions shone out from his gaze, he didn’t ask, working fast to track the closest cameras. “Got any idea of the timeframe?”
Bobby gave him an hour’s window, based on when he’d received the strange babbling text.
“Any clue what I’m searching for?”
“Maybe a van or a car.”
For the next twenty minutes Bobby and Andrew stared at camera footage, running it through a little over double speed. A single car left the street in that time and, as it paused at the junction, the shot revealed the driver to be an elderly woman. Though not impossible for her to be in on a kidnapping, the chances were slim.
“There’s no camera at the other end of the road, but…Let me see.” Andrew peered over his shoulder before gazing back at the screen. His movements suggested he did something clandestine. “Don’t suppose you will tell me what this is about.”
“Maybe some other time.” Bobby didn’t trust himself to blink. Poor Sam must be going crazy waiting for him. Gordon had allowed Bobby to view footage, but Sam was now a civilian and there Gordon’s generosity ended. “There. What’s that?”
Andrew ran the recording backward. A small van came into view. Andrew froze the frame. “It’s a Mercedes-Benz Citan, based on the Renault Kangoo.” He did a quick search online. “Bit pricey but good reviews.”
“Decent sized cargo?”
“Doesn’t say, but it’s got a low loading lip so they say the cargo bay is unimpeded. Easy load and unload.”
“What type of fuel?”
“The range covers petrol or diesel.”
“Can you get the license plate?”
“Sure.”
“Follow through?”
Andrew paused. “Got the okay to do so.”
“And the timing?”
Andrew told him. The van had left the vicinity of Chantelle’s disappearance ten minutes before the strange text. If she’d been in the van when her phone rang, had someone forced her to reply or had someone done it for her? Bobby had rang her several times since, but the call went to voice mail each time.
“Get me what you can. I need to speak with Atkins again.”
* * * *
What the hell? No way she’d fallen in a well. Besides, there was no water. A crazed vision of a collie dog rose in Chantelle’s mind, and she would have whispered, “Lassie come home,” if her voice hadn’t died on a croak.
No way she’d fallen into a cave, either. From the hotel, she’d gone onto the streets of London. More images came through. The new dress. Walking along. Heading for the station. Going somewhere. Spotting someone.
Her head hurt too much, and she had a strange taste in her mouth.
I’ve been drugged.
Though she knew it, her befuddled mind didn’t want to accept the absurd truth. How was it possible for someone to snatch her from the streets of London?
Because I went along. I
knew him.
The question was who. Why?
Her head thudded as though it conspired against her. Afraid to move in case her skull beat because of serious injury, Chantelle lay immobile and, for she knew not how long, hovered between light and darkness.
* * * *
Bobby knew Atkins better than Sam did, so he let Bobby go in alone this time. Besides, no need to make his involvement odder. Waiting wasn’t his virtue though. He’d paced.
“Ever consider rejoining the force,” one officer seated at a desk asked. He shrugged when Sam stared at him.
“We’ve never worked together.” Not as Sam recalled anyway. “How did you know I was a cop?”
“Heard someone say your name when you came in and Atkins thinks highly of you and Pooch. Heard you left because of an injury.” The guy gave Sam’s leg a nod. “Seems you’re mended. Heard you were both good cops. Detective quality.”
“I can hope.”
The man’s frown spoke of puzzlement.
“Nothing. And no thanks. I like my new life too much.” No lie, and Chantelle was a big part of his existence. Though Sam preferred men to women, he loved Chantelle. He’d once told her if something happened to Bobby, he’d still want to be with her. They were a trio and nothing would change that now. If…when the day came, whichever two were left, they’d carry on. All part of what their relationship was about—support—but not entirely. Bobby trusted Sam to take care of Chantelle. Chantelle felt the same way: she trusted Sam to take care of Bobby and right now Bobby needed him. Someone had taken his woman. Their woman. Their mate. One of their pack, for, since the change and maybe before, Sam accepted he thought of them that way now—as a pack. If the worse happened, if someone harmed her, instinct told Sam he would become feral. The need to transform, to hunt, shimmered beneath his skin. All he’d need was a push over the edge, and if Atkins could not give them something to go on, the sheer frustration and fear might be all he needed.
* * * *
My dress. It’s gone.
Fuck, she was naked. The realisation almost woke Chantelle bolt upright but, though her brain no longer tried to knock its way out of her skull, the memory of the pain when she last opened her eyes remained bright. She stayed still. Did someone watch?
She took a deep breath, but aside from cool air she picked up little odour. If anything, the place had a crisp, clean feeling, though…She tried harder. A vague hint of soil made her nostrils twitch, but no human scent came through. Something said she was alone. That being the case…
Chantelle eased her eyes open, gazing around without moving. Her head thumped a little, but the irritation lessened in seconds. She ached, but no sharp pains stabbed. Her right arm…A purple bruise formed. A memory came through of someone grabbing her as she fell and before that…something connecting with the back of her skull. A slight sweet flavour and ether smell…
What the fuck had they used to knock her out? Was it chloroform? Must be. Also explained why she recalled her skin burning. Stupid fucks. Least she’d woken up. Chloroform didn’t knock people out the way shown in most films, and unconsciousness often took five minutes or more. If they hadn’t dazed her already, she’d have fought back. She recalled doing so until…someone had tied her, using those plastic ties she would have easily snapped but by then the pain in her head…Oblivion had come as a great relief, though the incompetent idiots might have killed her by their method. The reason they’d stopped using chloroform as an anaesthetic was simple—too difficult to establish the correct dosage. Incorrect use often made the application fatal, and they’d used too much on her, kept the rag over her face in the van. Yeah, if she’d been entirely human there was every chance she’d have died.
The fact someone had knocked her out worried her. She felt around with care until she found the bump. At least her skull didn’t appear cracked as she’d feared, but still…she was strong. The force used…no one had to tell her she was concussed. A condition confirmed the moment she tried to sit.
God, she would pass out. Or be sick. Possibly both. No way to know whether her nausea was owing to the crack on the head or the drug. Again, likely both. All she wanted to do was roll over, go back to sleep. Her breathing wheezed, ever more a reason to believe if she wasn’t a supe, she’d be dead.
She waited for the bitter acidic burn in her throat to lessen. Waited until her head stopped being too heavy for her neck to support.
Bobby came to mind, but she forced the thought back. He wasn’t here to help her now. He would do everything possible, him and Sam both, but for the time being, she must rely on herself. First things first. Where was she? Was she alone at least for now?
Chantelle blinked her eyes open. Still struggling to focus she kept blinking, fighting to make sense of the black strips hanging before her eyes. Bit by bit, the truth dawned, though everything from the neck up continued to feel stuffed with cotton wool, so it took minutes for her to accept.
Chantelle gaped at the bars of her cage.
* * * *
“What did Atkins tell you?”
Though Sam kept his voice low, Bobby maintained his pace heading out of the station. The hour was late. His sense of urgency crawled over his skin like ants. He didn’t answer his mate. They were two blocks away before Bobby slowed his pace.
“Got told the usual junk. Can’t know Chantelle was in the van. No real reason to file the missing person’s report yet, though he’ll start pushing it through regardless. Told to go back to the hotel, get some sleep.”
“That’s all?” Sam’s unrestrained shock came as no surprise.
“No.” Bobby drew Sam under an awning of a shop and lowered his voice. “He’s looking into who sent the invitation in his stead. That’s something, but he won’t allow me to stay to help. Said if he does it will tarnish any investigation. Said if he finds something to enable an arrest, he doesn’t want there to be anything on the books to say I had unwarranted involvement. Gordon wants no technicalities which might set the kidnapper free. Course, you and I know—”
“It won’t be an issue.”
“Right.” Not that Bobby wanted violence, but he had to admit he was in a murdering frame of mind. “Sam, I don’t want to…” He didn’t use the word kill, but didn’t have to. “But if someone has harmed her…”
“I know. I know.”
“Atkins said we’ve walked a fine line with me viewing the surveillance footage, but says we can make up something, maybe something I noticed I needed to search for. Write up a story to cover my involvement, turn me into a witness. I’ve got to leave the rest to him.”
“But you can’t.”
Wasn’t a statement or a complaint. Sam stated the truth.
“No and Akins knows. He’s promised to work through the night.”
“I hate to say it but maybe he’s right. Maybe we should go back to the hotel.”
Bobby growled.
“I’m not saying it’ll be easy but I can’t think of a single place to start without his help and we need to be fresh to pick up her trail at the first sign of a clue.”
Though Sam spoke the truth Bobby wanted to snarl at him. “You can sleep at a time like this?”
“Maybe not, but I can shower. I can pack. I can get ready to hightail it out of here. We can hire a car, maybe extend our stay at the hotel, and we can get real food. We need the fuel.”
Bobby gritted his teeth, staring off along the street but seeing nothing. “Have I ever told you I hate it when you talk sense?”
Chapter 6
Chantelle searched for a camera. Though she failed to spot one, it didn’t mean one wasn’t present, but she didn’t think so. The light came from half a dozen battery powered lanterns. Chances were there was no electrical supply. No point to her tugging on the bars. Instinct told her they were buried deep, disappearing into the ceiling and the floor, held together with nuts and bolts at the joins—the only way to install them into solid rock. Didn’t mean she couldn’t find a way through, but this was no tim
e to test the fixtures.
Her treatment at the hands of her kidnappers had compromised her. She felt weak. She needed to heal and to appear feebler than she was. Not terribly difficult while her body fought the effects of a battering. For all she knew they might have given her something else once she lay unconscious in the van. She was in no shape to walk or run out of here, not even if she changed. Could she squeeze through the bars in dog form? The gaps appeared too narrow. Changing might hasten her recovery but if someone watched…
Chantelle nibbled her lower lip. If she squeezed out as a dog she still didn’t know where she was or what stood in the way of escape. Better to gain knowledge first. True, as a dog, she fought better with teeth and a strong jaw of a husky at her disposal, and the possibility was tempting, but caution won out as another throb passed through her temples.
She had to remember someone had brought her here for a reason, and she might yet talk her way free. Maybe they wanted a ransom, and that provided her with time, and Bobby a possible lead. Not to forget Bobby searched for her by now. He wasn’t a mere supe; he was a policeman, the combination of both was a good basis with which to start. If he came to rescue her, she needed to be rested and ready.
The bars spanned three sides, a solid rock wall at her back forming a ten-foot square. In the cage with her stood a pack of six small bottles of water. She pulled the plastic cover off, remembering to struggle with it in case someone watched, freeing one bottle after several minutes of effort that did tire her. Mindful of being nude and vulnerable, Chantelle shuffled and crawled to the rear of the cage, taking the bottles with her and placing the wall at her back. She almost yelped as she leaned against the rock, its icy bite stealing her breath. She crossed her ankles, bent her knees, and brought her legs close to her body, keeping her modesty. Not that she cared about nudity, but if her kidnapper proved to be some pervert out for cheap thrills, she refused to give him, or her, a performance. Instinct told her the chances of the person responsible for taking her by force being nothing more than a sicko, was the least of her problems.
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