by Taylor Hart
Marcella laughed again.
James’ phone pinged. He looked at it, then at the street ahead. “Ah, there’s our ride.”
He’d called an Uber, but the car that stopped in front of the light post looked so small that three people wouldn’t fit in it. Then she saw someone in the back seat. “Did you call an UberPool?” She’d heard a few horror stories about UberPool where people robbed you
“Yes.” He steered her toward the vehicle. “The café is only a few minutes away. Surely you can live without sitting next to me for that long.”
Marcella nudged him with her elbow. “Can you?”
“Maybe.” He moved to the front door. “Why don’t you take the front. I’ll climb in the back.”
“Sure.” She heaved a sigh of relief when she saw the female driver and the businessman in the back. Both looked normal.
The driver greeted them in French, and James answered. Marcella told her the destination as they pulled away from the curb.
James, who sat behind her, put his hand on her shoulder and began to rub. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation. When she opened her eyes, she frowned. This was not the way to the café. “Where are we going?”
The driver answered in broken English. “Shortcut. Uh, one-way streets.” She made a circling gesture with her finger. “We are dropping off the other man first, then taking you.”
“Right.”
“Relax, sweetheart. We’ll get there,” James said.
“I know.”
After two more turns in the wrong direction, Marcella’s heartbeat sped up and that alarm in the back of her mind started to clang. She turned to look at James. “Where are we going?”
He smiled. “Back to my place.”
Marcella had seen her dad talk to lots of people, and she always found it fascinating when he seemed to change before her eyes. As if he were two or three different people, depending on the situation.
A moment before, James had been rubbing her shoulder and she’d been imagining kissing him again. Now his entire demeanor had changed. Instead of a friendly smile, he smirked as if he knew a joke she wasn’t in on. The gleam of his eyes had turned from playful to hungry, and the rhythm of his fingers on her shoulder changed. His hand moved across her neck, and before she could lean forward, his forearm was crushing her neck.
Marcella took in a breath, preparing to scream, but a cloth that smelled both sweet and pungent covered her mouth. She automatically inhaled whatever was in it.
No!
She reached for the door handle and pulled, but nothing happened. The car turned down a small alley and the remaining sunlight disappeared. Marcella reached for the driver, but the other man in the backseat grabbed her wrist and held it fast.
Why? Why was James doing this? She thought they were in love.
Before she could find a way out of the car, the world around her spun like a top. Darkness pushed at the edges of her vision. She tried to talk. Tried to scream. Tried to claw at James’ hand, but her limbs felt like weights. And, after another few seconds, the darkness took her.
Chapter 10
Cyrus
Sweat trickled down the middle of his back, his hands were clammy, and nausea threatened his stomach. He sat in his security office, his fingers moving quickly over the screen of the phone.
Gone.
Gone.
Gone.
It hadn’t been hard to hack her social media and find @JamesKind. By all counts, there looked to be hundreds, if not thousands of DMs between this...this man and his daughter.
Anger threatened to pull him under like an anchor around his neck, freefalling into the deep recesses of the ocean, but he forced himself to remain coherent.
The Paris police had said that this was probably a kidnapping, and they’d advised him to stay in his home, with his phone, in case a ransom note arrived. He never thought he’d be praying so hard for a ransom note.
Image after image popped up in front of him of ‘James,’ or whoever this spawn of Satan really was, and the countless pictures, videos, and messages that this scum and his daughter had sent back and forth.
Mind-numbing chatter about the most intricate details of this monster’s life. Every word of it had to be lies!
A shudder ran through Cyrus. His sweet daughter had clearly been lonely. Guilt stabbed through his heart. He’d been so focused on his company and the divorce. His actions had caused her to turn to this wolf!
Marcella had shared everything about her parents, her time at school, her friends, and her feelings about the divorce.
No. No. No. As he skimmed each message, he couldn’t believe how much she’d told this man.
Everything.
They hadn’t professed love, but it practically oozed out of the screen.
His phone buzzed and he didn’t recognize the number. Maybe this was the ransom request! He took a breath, made sure his phone was set to record the conversation, and said, “Hello?”
“Mr. Black?”
Yes.” Cyrus held his phone in shaking hands.
“My name is Captain Jace Walker. Doug Rawlins called me.”
Cyrus’ anticipation wilted, and he sagged. “Doug?”
“Yes, sir. He said you could use some help.”
“I’m sorry, who are you with, exactly?”
The man hesitated. “I’m with Homeland Security in the Child Trafficking Task Force.”
“What?” Child trafficking? Cyrus must have heard that wrong.
“Yes, sir. Doug told me about your situation, and I’ve contacted someone I know with the Paris police department.”
“I’m already talking to the police.”
“Do they have you waiting for a ransom note?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t wait, or your daughter will be gone.”
Each word hammered another nail in Cyrus’ heart. “What are you talking about? They said this is probably a kidnapping.”
“Was she talking to someone online?”
Cyrus ground his teeth. “Yes.”
“Look, sir, I’m in London. I’m on my way to the airport and I should be at your place in four hours.”
Cyrus stood and began to pace. “I’m confused, why are you coming here?”
“Because there’s a good chance that your daughter has been kidnapped by a man who is going to sell her into sex trafficking.”
Cyrus slammed into an invisible wall. His eyes darted around the room, as if someone would be there to tell him this was all a joke. “Sex trafficking? Like the movie Taken?”
“Just like that.”
“That can’t be right.” Cyrus took a breath. “I’m rich. People want money.”
“Unfortunately, your daughter is worth a lot of money all on her own.”
Anger swelled in Cyrus’ chest. “Watch what you say about my daughter!”
Cap didn’t seem dissuaded. “Look, sir, I’ve worked in the Child Trafficking department for a few years. This is a classic scenario. I suggest you leverage all the goodwill you have with the Paris police and hire the best detectives you can to find all of the local pimps. If you offer a tempting enough reward for turning her in, they might give her up.”
Images of the last time Cyrus had seen Marcella pulsed through his mind. She’d held him tightly and begged him not to go. He’d had to carefully extract himself from her arms and not snap at her to not act like a child. Now all he wanted was his little girl back.
“The faster you put the word out that you’re offering a cash reward for any information about your missing daughter, or her safe return, the better chance you have of retrieving her before they smuggle her out of the country.”
Out of the country? Suddenly Cyrus couldn’t breathe. He opened the door and stumbled out into the hallway. Bile rose in his throat, but he forced it back.
“Are you listening to me?”
“Yes,” Cyrus said in a shaking voice. Tears st
reamed down his face. When had he started crying?
“I know some guys in Paris. They’re on their way to your place. I should warn you, I served with many of them in Iraq and they aren’t the type to keep things business-like. They’ll cost you a pretty penny, but they can often get results when the police can’t.”
Mercenaries? Hired assassins? Is that what the man was telling him? “I don’t care.” Nothing mattered but Marcella.
“All right. Remember, no one’s going to search for your kid like you will. Don’t accept no for an answer and don’t stop. I’ll be there in a few hours.”
Cyrus could not lose his little girl. Would not leave her to the mercy of...of what? Sexual predators? Kidnappers? The dregs of the world? The wolf that called himself James? His focus turned to the name, and he glared. “Got it.”
“Good. Hold it together for as long as you can. I’ll be there soon.”
The phone went quiet. Captain Walker had hung up.
Cyrus clutched his phone to his heaving chest. He used his other hand to steady himself on the wall.
Police. Detectives. Mercenaries. He never imagined that he would be in the middle of something like this. He never imagined that his daughter would be gone.
Gone.
The hole in his heart that had ripped open when Louis had pulled her phone out of the garbage can tore even larger and grew more jagged.
Cyrus forced his brain into action. He began sorting through the snippets of conversations he’d read on Instagram—something might give a clue as to where this wolf had taken his daughter.
Taken.
He wanted it to be a simple kidnapping for ransom, but deep down he knew. His daughter had been taken.
He didn’t think she was dead.
But he didn’t think the spawn would be giving her back, either.
Cyrus would have to go after her and save her. Somehow.
Chapter 11
Marcella
Marcella awoke with a start. A dim light shone in her eyes. She moved her arm to block the light, but instead heard a clink as something cold encircling her wrist stopped her.
Both wrists were cuffed!
She struggled to a sitting position and found herself in a small room on a mattress. She still wore the summer dress she’d put on that morning, although it smelled strange now. Each of her hands were chained to a bar at the side of the mattress. She squinted and could just make out a single door, a sink, and a chair.
A shadow occupied the chair.
A man’s voice said, “I'm glad you're awake.” It sounded like James’ voice, except his accent had changed. A new accent.
“James?” Marcella’s voice shook. “What’s going on?”
“This is the little room that I promised you. Do you like it?”
And then everything that had happened came crashing in on her— her phone, the car, the smelly cloth. “Why are you doing this?”
He leaned forward until his face came into the light. His once kind eyes were cold. He regarded her as if she were nothing more than a pretty thing on a shelf. “I thought we could use some alone time.”
She thought fast. Was he after money? Her father’s fortune had no doubt attracted him. “My Father will pay whatever you want. Especially if you don’t hurt me.”
He scoffed. “A ransom is a one-time payment.” He reached out a hand and stroked her arm.
Chills ran through her, and she jerked away a few inches. “What do you want?”
His fingers moved to her legs and followed as she scooted to the far side of the mattress. Marcella wanted to throw up at the touch. He put his hand on her thigh and smiled. “A beautiful girl like you, kept in my private collection, will fetch me a handsome sum again and again.”
Fear numbed her limbs. Her tongue felt thick as she spoke. “My father will find you.”
“I don’t think so.”
Her phone. Her father could follow her phone.
Then she remembered that she’d lost it. Or had she? Had James taken it? He must have. “What did you do with my phone?”
“It's in the garbage can at the café. SIM card destroyed. He can’t track you, sweetheart.”
A clamp fastened around her heart, and it beat so fast she thought it would burst. A heavy weight sat on her chest, making breathing all but impossible. Her hands shook, her mouth went dry, and she choked back a sob.
“Good. Let’s get the crying out of the way.” James rose. His fingers once again traced a path on her thigh. “Then we can get to the good stuff.”
She jerked away, spitting on James.
He laughed and removed his hand. He gave her an appreciative look, as if she’d just graduated from pretty to valuable. “This might be more fun than I thought.”
The light bulb dimmed. A sob escaped. Tears poured down her cheeks, and she shook so hard that the handcuffs rattled.
James patted her on the head. “Get it all out. I’ll be back in a little while.”
Marcella tried to raise her head to watch him go, but she couldn’t. Fear weighed her down. She knew her father would search for her. He would do everything in his power to find her—but without her phone, would he be able to?
As the reality and fear sank in, she started to scream.
Chapter 12
Cyrus
Present Day, Continued
Cyrus wiped the tears from his eyes and blinked. The memories would never fade. Not until he brought Marcella home. The Seine came back into focus. He didn’t know how long he’d been silent, but Cap had waited without interrupting.
“What did you have in mind?” Cyrus asked. “What you said about others?”
Cap went on as if the interruption had never happened. “I suggest we find a way to use all the tools and networks we’ve created to help other kids. Keep them from being taken. Find the predators before they pounce.”
A chill raced up Cyrus’ spine, and he looked hard at his friend. “You think we can save those children? Before they’re taken in the first place?”
Cap turned so he was leaning against the balcony, facing away from the view. “Yes. We continue searching for Marcella here in Europe while we figure out a way to protect other children, here and in the U.S.” He gave Cyrus a pained expression. “Keep people from suffering what you’ve been through.”
A fire built in Cyrus’ belly. What if he could save others? Yes. The fire spread. “Cap, if we could save even one child—one family—from this horror…” He couldn't go on.
Cap gave him a lop-sided grin. “Just one would make it worth it, but what about more? Lots more?”
Cyrus drew in a deep breath and, amid the overwhelming pain from losing his daughter, a sense of peace told him this was the right course of action. It might keep him from going insane while they searched for Marcella. “What do you have in mind?”
“You’ve been wondering what to do with your family’s farm in California. What if you put it to good use?”
Cyrus leaned back and narrowed his eyes at his friend. “What do you mean?”
“What if you use it as a training facility?” Cap paused, then snorted. “This has just been an idea I’ve had, but do you remember that old show, 21 Jump Street? The one with Johnny Depp?”
Cyrus frowned. “What in the world are you talking about?”
Cap waved a hand through the air. “The premise of that show was that young-looking undercover cops went into high schools to fight crime and, in the end, they always helped a kid or two.”
“Fight crime? Help kids? You lost me.”
“They helped kids with all sorts of problems.” Cap pointed at Cyrus. “Crack, AIDS, teenage pregnancy. Eighties and nineties stuff.”
“Still lost.”
Cap glared at him. “Will you let me finish?”
Cyrus indicated that he should continue.
“We would do something similar, but instead of cops, we get kids who have already gotten out of sex trafficking. Survivors. Young people who can pass for high school st
udents.”
The fire in Cyrus started burning again.
Cap rushed on. “We could provide therapy, teach them all kinds of physical and mental strategies to protect themselves, then train them to spot victims, all supported by your data.”
Cyrus cocked an eyebrow.
“Then we put them into high school and let them help kids who are being targeted.”
James’ face flashed in Cyrus’ mind. His words came out as a growl. “Like that animal who targeted my daughter.”
“Exactly. Give these kids the chance Marcella never had.”
The idea rattled around in Cyrus’ mind, then he let it into his heart.
This wasn’t going to replace his daughter, or stop his pain at not having found her yet, but it would give him something constructive to pour his energies into. “The idea isn’t totally crazy.”
“Nope.”
“It will take a while to get this plan to become a reality.”
“I know,” Cap said.
Cyrus’ mind caught hold of the idea and began unfolding it. “We’ll need to start a foundation, set up the training facility, find the right people to train them.” He looked at Cap. “And we’ll need someone to oversee the missions.”
Cap shrugged. “True.”
“Are you volunteering?”
“Well, it was my idea.” He tipped his head at Cyrus. “And I’d be honored.”
Cyrus grinned as chills washed over him.
Cap grinned back. “One more thing.”
“Just one?”
“There’s an old story about slaves escaping the south before the Civil War. About a star that they used to reach safety.”
Cyrus nodded. “I’ve heard it.”
“Do you know which star they followed?”
“The North Star.”
“I think we should use that as the name of our foundation,” Cap said.
“Our foundation, huh?”
“You better believe it.” Cap smiled back.
“The North Star? I like it.” Cyrus listened to the words as he said them. “Because we’d be helping children not become modern slaves?”