Code Name: Genesis

by Sawyer Bennett

  I can’t hold back the tears as I’m plunged into darkness.

  CHAPTER 27

  Kynan

  The Four Seasons is an absolute zoo when I get there. There are several police cars in front of the hotel and on the side of the employee parking lot where I pull my car around to meet Cruce. They already have yellow tape marking off the area where she was abducted. Yellow plastic cones have been placed on the ground beside her purse and cell phone. A technician is taking photos.

  Cruce meets me at my car door as I exit. I make a quick introduction between him and Saint when he joins us.

  “I am so fucking sorry,” Cruce says, and I can’t stand the remorse in his voice. It’s almost as if he doesn’t have any hope we will find her, but I’m also wise enough to know he is speaking from an emotional place just as I am.

  “Did you get anything from her phone before the police got here?” I ask.

  Nodding, Cruce pulls his own phone out. “Yeah. The text she sent you was still visible on her screen, and I took some pictures.”

  He pulls up the images, and I read the exchange Joslyn had with her stalker. My gut burns so badly I’m afraid I might double over and vomit because it was so fucking easy for him to get her. I’d never in a million years imagined he would try to trick Joslyn into voluntarily going with him.

  And that’s squarely on my fucking shoulders, not Cruce’s.

  I have to admit—he hit her right in her tender spot. Kidnapping Lynn, Harry, or her mother would have guaranteed she’d get in that car. I’m angrier with myself than I could ever be with Cruce over this happening. I should have prepared her better.

  “Kynan.” Madeline’s voice comes from behind me, and I spin around to see her bolting straight at me with Darren right behind her. Her face is red, her eyes are wet, and she looks like she is in exquisite pain. This is the face of a woman who believes her daughter could be dead.

  She throws herself in my arms. I immediately and protectively—since she is Joslyn’s mother—envelop her in a hug.

  Immediately pulling away, she starts babbling. “You have got to find her. It all happened so fast. She just went inside to use the bathroom, and I didn’t think anything of it. Cruce did, though. We followed her in, but she was just gone. She knew what she was doing. If I’d known, I would’ve stopped her.”

  Shaking my head, I give Madeline an empathetic smile. “You wouldn’t have been able to stop her. Neither could Cruce. The stalker sent her a text before she got to the hotel, and she had planned it all out. She was determined to escape and go with him. It’s nobody’s fault.”

  Except mine. I’m going to take all the blame for this one since I did not impress upon Joslyn how she should trust me and only me. It makes me wonder if the declarations we made to each other yesterday about wanting to be together are rooted in any type of reality. Shouldn’t she have trusted me without me having to tell her to do so?

  On the flip side, she was hit with a major decision and she was given no time to reason it out. I can understand that as well. Maybe I would have done the same thing in her shoes.

  I can’t worry about that now. There is still plenty of opportunity to get her back, and that’s what I’m going to do.

  I move my hands to her shoulders. “Time is of the essence, Madeline. I’m going after her right now.”

  She nods, sniffles, and lets Darren pull her into his embrace.

  I turn to Cruce and Saint. “We have no time to waste. We’ve got to move out now to catch up to the signal.”

  “Just tell us what to do,” Saint says.

  “We need to hit the road and move in different directions,” Cruce says, studying the tracking app on his phone. “With only a ten-mile radius on that signal, we have got to go now.”

  “Agreed,” I say, my eyes going back and forth between the men. “Bebe has sent each of us updated maps with individualized routes to take. When one of us connects to Joslyn’s signal, Bebe will sync the location to everyone’s maps. We’re going to discount heading south since the signal never appeared on my phone as I traveled here from Joslyn’s house.”

  “That could be because he made her ditch the earrings,” Cruce points out.

  “I know that.” My words are gruff. “But there’s only three of us and a lot of miles. We have to make an educated deduction and just work north right now.”

  “Let’s do it,” Cruce says.

  We break apart to head to our vehicles. A man I recognize as Detective Kitchner heads toward me from an unmarked patrol car. He holds a hand up and waves, indicating he wants to talk.

  I don’t have time for it. Taking three steps toward him, I say, “I don’t have time to talk to you. Joslyn has a tracking device on her body. I will have my people send you the link once we get it. If you can send patrol cars out, that would be great.”

  “I have just a few questions,” Kitchner says.

  Shaking my head, I hold up a palm to stop him. “Can’t. I’m leaving now. If you want to help, get your men out there to search for her.”

  He opens his mouth as if he wants to say something extremely important, but I turn my back on him and he doesn’t utter another word. As soon as I get in my car, I pull up the map Bebe sent me and take off.

  Bebe has me going up Highway 154, otherwise known as the San Marcos Pass Road, which ascends the northern portion of the Santa Ynez Mountains. It’s the least populated portion of the area. If this psychopath wants privacy, this is probably my best bet.

  When my phone rings, I’m startled for a moment. I see it’s Jerico calling, but I doubt he’s calling to offer sage advice or a scathingly brilliant idea on how to capture this bastard.

  He’s calling to offer moral support.

  I connect the call. “Are you calling to tell me everything is going to be all right?”

  “I would if I could, buddy,” he says. Taking a moment, he clears his throat. “I just want to let you know I’m jumping on a plane. I’ll be there soon.”

  “Nothing you can do, mate. If we find her, it’s going to have to be done quickly, before you can make it in to help.”

  “I’m not coming for her,” he says softly. “I’m coming for you. I sure as shit don’t know what’s going to happen, but I’m coming for you.”

  I’m beyond touched. If I’m possibly facing the worst outcome, which I dare not even consider at this point, there’s no one I would want by my side other than Jerico. “I could try to talk you out of this, but I know it will be useless and I don’t have time to waste. So safe travels. I’ll see you when you get here.”

  ♦

  Miraculously, it’s less than ten minutes later when my phone issues a chime, which is followed by a gloriously beautiful blinking dot on the Google map about nine miles from me.

  Joslyn.

  My phone immediately rings. When I connect it, Bebe speaks with her trademark efficiency. Of course she’s on top of the fact we have found Joslyn.

  “Kynan… I’ve got you on a conference call with both Cruce and Saint. Everybody’s phones are now synced up to her signal. Even though they are slightly out of range, they’ll be able to see it through your phone’s connection.”

  “Saint and I are adjusting course to head for the signal,” Cruce says.

  “Sounds good,” I reply. “Bebe… get up with Detective Kitchner and let him know.”

  “On it,” she replies and promptly disconnects.

  I’m left on the phone with Saint and Cruce.

  “I’m assuming it would be a waste of breath to tell you to wait for us when you get there,” Cruce says.

  “Yeah, that would be pretty stupid, mate,” I answer, and I can’t help but smile. I’m so relieved to have her signal that I’m feeling practically jubilant at this point.

  “I’m going to find her,” I tell them. “And when I do, I’m going after him. If you happen to make it there in time, I’m ordering you both to stand down. Don’t try to stop me.”

  There’s a moment of silence before
Cruce says, “Wouldn’t think of it.”

  “Saint?” I ask.

  “You’re not my boss,” he says. “Not yet, anyway. But I’ll stand down.”

  That’s good enough for me.

  I’m coming, Joslyn.

  Just hang tight.

  CHAPTER 28

  Joslyn

  My mountain home is beautiful. It’s nothing like I had ever envisioned having. When I thought about marriage and kids, I’d expected to live in a cute Victorian cottage with a white picket fence. Instead, I live in the rolling foothills under the shadow of the beautiful mountain city of Pittsburgh. In addition to the dog I’d always wanted, I’ve got two cats and a goldfish.

  Two beautiful children as well. A boy and a girl, six and eight, and I stare at them through my office window as they run around outside with our golden retriever, Lucy.

  My heart is out there—wrapped up in those kids. Miniature replicas of my husband and me.

  The crunch of gravel catches my attention, and my gaze sweeps to a long driveway that leads out to a rural road. It’s Kynan’s Jeep, and my heart sings out to the man approaching.

  The one who gave me my true happy ending.

  I push up from my desk, taking a moment to save the new song lyrics I was working on, and make my way through the house. It’s a mountain cabin built of pine and pitch, and I love it so much. It’s the first place I’ve lived in that has seemed like a true home.

  Just as I make my way onto the front porch, Kynan steps out of his Jeep. Before he can shut the door, the kids throw themselves at him.

  Strange. I know they’re my children, but I can’t recall their names. I just know I love them in a way I could never love my husband.

  Not more. Not less.

  Simply in a different way.

  Kynan’s head rises, his eyes locking with mine across the front yard. Smiling, I hurry off the porch where he reaches to pull me into the family embrace.

  He kisses my cheek and says, “I missed you today.”

  “I missed you, too.” Grinning, I give him a slight tickle on his ribs. “I have to change the air filter in the upstairs hallway, but it’s too high up.”

  Kynan frowns and shakes his head. “You don’t need my help to do that.”

  I frown right back. “Yes, I do. It’s too high for me to reach, and you need to do it.”

  “Joslyn,” he chides. “I can’t always be here to help you do things. You’re just going to have to figure it out on your own.”

  The words punch through me. For a moment, I think he’s being inconsiderate of my feelings.

  And then I realize… I can do it on my own.

  I snap wide awake, blinking into the darkness. The last of the sedative has worn away, and my mind is finally clear. Without any struggle to remember, I know I am tied to a chair in a shipping container and I’m being held at the whim of a madman.

  I also know my dream just gave me the answer to what should have been my first cognizant question upon waking up. “What the hell do I do now?”

  I have to figure out how to get out of here.

  The first and obviously the most pressing issue is the fact I’m tied to a chair. When the man had come into the container and turned on the light, I hadn’t bothered to try to see the bonds around my ankles. It feels like rope, and there’s no sense in struggling to figure it out now since it’s too dark to see anything. But my ankles can wait. I need to free my hands, so I twist my wrists and feel about with my fingertips. I’m able to touch what feels like silken rope, wrapped many times around me in several knots. There’s no way I can maneuver my hands so my fingers can work at the knots. It’s just too tight.

  My mind races, trying to remember if I ever learned anything from watching MacGyver about how to help me out of this situation. Without a paper clip, it seems hopeless.

  I’m just going to have to use brute strength and determination to get out of my restraints.

  Twisting, turning, and pulling, I use the muscles in my arms to try to wrench my wrists apart for some distance to stretch my bindings. The ropes are incredibly tight, but unless it’s my imagination, I feel like there might be some give. I envision becoming free, opening the crate, and running, running, running. My end goal is to reach somewhere safe where I can call Kynan and the police. At which point, they can arrest this bastard and free me from this nightmare.

  It’s good motivation.

  I work harder, sawing my hands back and forth as much as I can under the restraints. Before long, my skin is burning. The burn turns to true pain as I pull, struggle, and groan and grunt, tears pricking my eyes.

  “Come on, you motherfucking bastard,” I scream. The words are released into the darkness, but they give me added strength. I start to really move my wrists under the bonds. Thankfully, the pain eventually gives way to a bit of numbness, which lets me keep working hard at my task.

  Then I feel wetness.

  What is that? Water?

  No. Blood.

  I’m bleeding.

  Self-preservation kicks in. I consider stopping. Can I bleed to death?

  Of course not, Joslyn. That’s ridiculous. Keep working.

  My chest heaves with the effort. Tears flow freely down my face, a mixture of pain and frustration. I viciously twist and turn my wrists, this way and that, until there is a distinct popping sound. For a moment, I think I dislocated something. When there is no rush of pain to accompany it, I realize the ropes have loosened significantly. I think one of the loops may have slipped over a knot creating some space.

  The immediate appearance of slack in my restraints rejuvenates me, and I work even more furiously. I’m breathing so hard I’m afraid I’m going to hyperventilate, so I try to center myself. “Come on you bastard. Loosen up.”

  Suddenly, one wrist comes completely free. When I pull my arm up, a sharp stab of pain hits me in that shoulder, rushing up the side of my neck. I breathe through it, telling myself it’s nothing more than the strange position my arms have been locked in for God knows how long.

  Taking several deep breaths, I push past the hurt, moving my other wrist out of the loosened ropes. Much more slowly, I pull my arm forward, wincing through the ache in that shoulder. Rolling my head and shoulders to loosen them, I take a few more breaths.

  “Okay, Joslyn. You can do this.”

  Bending forward and leaning to the right, I work on my right ankle restraints. My fingers are slippery from the blood that coats them, and I immediately become frustrated with how tight the knots are. I break several nails trying to loosen them, and a string of curses fly out of my mouth.

  But I don’t give up. Kynan would not want me to give up.

  Time has no concept. It could’ve taken me thirty seconds or thirty minutes, but I eventually manage to pull the last rope off my ankles. I immediately lurch up from the chair, then regret it as a wave of dizziness hits me. My stomach rolls, and I sink back onto the wooden seat. I focus on the bright beam of horizontal light that represents the door out of my prison.

  Taking a deep breath, I rise slowly once more. I take a tentative step, then another, with my arms stretched in front of me until I reach the door. Remembering the switch is no more than a foot off from the hinge, I let my fingers feel around the cold metal wall until I find it. When the bulb illuminates, I take a second to issue a prayer of thanks. Then I pivot and scan the storage container, taking in everything I could not see the first time the man was here.

  The hair on the nape of my neck rises at what I see behind the chair I was tied to.

  A hospital bed pushed flush against the back wall, which is accompanied by stirrups that stand out lewdly from the bottom corners. Next to it is a surgical tray on a rolling cart. Upon the tray is a slew of metal implements—scalpels, ice picks, and pliers are only the beginning. On the wall are two wooden shelves containing a variety of sex toys, whips, and chains.

  A full-body shudder overtakes me as the magnitude of what this man intends to do to me hits. It’s a
torture I had not ever dared to imagine. A wave of sheer and utter panic to escape slices through me. I turn and bolt for the door, relieved to see the lock is a two-sided bar that just lifts up. It’s hinged through a hole in the door, meaning when I lift it from this side, it will mimic a bar on the outside. I have no clue if it’s locked, but I reach out to give it a go.

  Then I freeze. I have no clue what’s on the other side.

  It could be my attacker with that amused fucking smile on his face, just waiting for me to walk right through and into his arms.

  Spinning around, I take in the interior once more. I specifically search for my clothing, but I don’t see any of it. What I do see, though, are several weapons I can use to defend myself. I rush over to the surgical tray, immediately grabbing one of the ice picks. For some reason, I decide that’s not good enough and return it, picking up a scalpel instead. I have no experience with which to go on, but something tells me I’ll have an easier time slicing rather than stabbing.

  Just as I’m about to turn for the door, something on one of the shelves catches my eye. A Taser. I recognize it because I have one in my house. I lunge for it, grabbing the base and holding it up to the light so I can examine it.

  Yes, it will work nicely.

  I carefully push the scalpel into the front of my bra, right at the center of my chest. It’s the tightest spot that will hopefully hold the weapon in place in case I need it later. Gripping the Taser in my dominant hand, I make for the door once more.

  My fingers wrap around the iron bar that keeps the door closed. I take a deep breath, let it out slowly, and lift the bar. It screeches, metal against metal, but eventually slides free. The door pushes open just a few inches.

  I refuse to shut my eyes against the bright light because I need to be prepared in case he is nearby. I wait for several seconds, braced for him to rush me, but nothing happens. Pushing the door open a little wider, I see an expanse of forest. Mostly Coulter pines along with some oak and bay laurel.

  I take a tentative step out of the shipping container, my bare feet feeling the pinch of rocks, sticks, and the undergrowth of the forest.