The Trapped Girls Collection: Detective Grant Abduction Mysteries

by James Hunt

  There were two beds in the room, along with a divider that could be stretched to separate the two, which remained crumpled up against the wall, keeping the space open. The bed at the front of the room by the door belonged to an old woman whose face was covered by a breathing apparatus.

  Long, untamed strands of gray hair lay against her thin and withering frame. From her condition, she looked like she’d been there for some time. And the lack of cards, balloons, or personal items suggested that she hadn’t had a visitor in a very long time.

  Chase Grant watched the old woman from his chair in the back of the room, wondering who she was and what had brought her here along with the hundreds of others who were sick and dying, clinging to their final moments of life before it was over.

  Grant had never spent much time thinking about what came after death. Most of his life had been consumed with trying to prevent it from happening to others. A career in law enforcement had brought him face to face with some of the worst evil the world had to offer.

  But there was one man who trumped them all.

  Grant turned his gaze away from the old woman and back to Sam, who lay still in her own hospital bed. While she wasn’t hooked up to the same life-sustaining equipment as the old woman, she was still unconscious, as she had been since Grant had found her on their living room floor, drugged.

  The doctors had run dozens of tests, drawn blood, put her through X-rays and CAT scans, but they’d all come back clean. All they found in her system was a large dose of anesthesia, enough to knock her out for at least twelve hours. Other than the drug, Sam was perfectly healthy.

  Grant held her hand, as he’d done all through the night, feeling the warmth of her touch and hoping that she could feel his.

  The diamond on her ring finger sparkled under the false fluorescent lighting. Grant had proposed yesterday, and he had never been happier. But it never ceased to amaze him just how quickly life could change.

  Grant released Sam’s hand and rubbed the dark circles brought on from a sleepless night, then swiped his palm down his face, scratching against the rough stubble that had grown in from the day before. He stood, stiff as a board, and stretched his back, which popped like a ream of bubble wrap.

  Now forty, Grant felt every bit of his age as he paced the hospital room tile, working out the kinks that had formed overnight from the most uncomfortable chair ever made.

  With no coffee in the vicinity, Grant stepped into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. It provided a mild enough jolt to jumpstart his brain. Hunched over the sink, he gripped both sides and caught his dripping wet reflection in the mirror.

  The past twenty-four hours had added a few more wrinkles along a handsome face and sprouted more gray hairs amidst his short, jet-black hair. And despite the added pounds around his midriff, he was still able bodied and his mind sharp. And he was going to need both to catch Dennis Pullman.

  A rush of anger tensed his body, his muscles flexed as he tightened his grip on the sink. He struggled not to rip it from the wall. It was the first time in a long time that he’d been this mad.

  During his career as a detective, he’d channeled all of that anger and fear and grief into a singular purpose of catching criminals. Between his time as a homicide detective and then with Missing Persons, Grant had the highest closure rate for cases of any detective in the history of Seattle PD. But there was a price to be paid for spending so much time walking in the darkness.

  Grant had stumbled through those dark and evil places for so long that he never thought he’d find his way out again. But he was lucky enough to have people who cared about him, who loved him. They guided him out. They were the reason he wasn’t six feet under.

  Grant wiped the water from his face and then walked back over to Sam’s hospital bed. He gently held her hand again, rubbing his thumb along her smooth, tanned skin. She was one of those people who had saved him.

  After Ellen had passed, Grant never believed he’d get a second chance at finding love again, at least not like what he had with her, and while his relationship with Sam was different, he was just as happy. She provided him a future better than anything he could have hoped for.

  But while Grant had stopped lurking through dark alleys and hunting down shadowy figures, that didn’t mean evil had stopped hunting him.

  Sam groaned and fluttered her eyelids. Grant smiled, squeezing her hand as she slowly came out of her drugged and unconscious state. She grimaced, glancing around. “W-wh… Am I?”

  Grant gently pressed his palm against her head, then brushed the bangs from her face. “It’s all right. You’re safe.”

  Sam calmed at Grant’s touch, and then grabbed hold of his arm with her free hand, squeezing tight to ensure that he was still there. She frowned. “I don’t… remember anything.”

  Grant pulled the chair over and sat down, keeping hold of her hand. “Someone broke into the apartment and drugged you. I found you passed out on the kitchen floor.”

  “Oh my God.” Sam scrunched her face up like she had a headache. “I don’t remember anything other than being at home. Waiting to hear from you.” She opened her eyes and caught sight of the diamond on her hand, and then she started to cry.

  Grant leaned over and wrapped her in his arms, holding her close. “It’s okay. You’re all right.”

  She squeezed him tightly, slowly regaining control of her emotions. When she pulled away, her cheeks were red and wet, and Grant wiped away her tears.

  “I hope the answer is still a yes,” Grant said.

  Sam laughed, sniffling as she nodded. “Can’t get rid of me that easy.” She leaned back into her pillow, her blonde hair splashing vibrantly against the whiteness, a stark contrast to the woman in the bed beside them. The red in her eyes from crying brightened the blue of her irises. She flashed a smile and then reached for his hand.

  Grant drew in a breath, thankful she was awake. Because while she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on, it was her strength that kept them together. He fed off that strength. Without it, he’d fall apart.

  “So, what happened?” Sam asked.

  So much of the past twenty-four hours had been jumbled up in his mind, blurring together. Dennis Pullman, who was serving several life sentences, had managed to coordinate the abduction of three women from the inside of his maximum security prison cell. Grant had worked yesterday to retrieve the victims, and he was successful with two of them. But the third… Grant still hadn’t come to terms with what happened.

  “He escaped.” Grant leaned back in the chair and ran his fingers through his hair, adding to the messy hysteria already in place. “He had convinced a guard to help him, and then after he was out, he killed him. Along with the State Attorney General.”

  Sam bunched up the bedsheet in her fists. “Jesus.”

  Grant nodded. “The Feds are getting called in. Mocks and I have a meeting with them this morning. Chief Hofster is holding a meeting down at police headquarters.”

  It was the first time since she woke up that she looked worried. “You have to go back?”

  Grant hesitated, unsure of how much he should reveal. He’d told her everything about his past, even the darkest stuff. She was tough, but even her strength had its limits. “I have to stop him, Sam. He’s made it personal going after you.”

  “Only because you’re letting it be personal.” Sam sat up in bed, the sheet falling from the hospital gown they’d put her in. “You said it yourself that I’m fine.”

  “It’s not safe with him out there,” Grant said. “And not just for you, for everyone.”

  Sam shook her head, eyes watering up again. “This isn’t your fight, Grant. No matter what you try and tell yourself. I’m fine. I’m safe. You’re safe. We can go home. Together.”

  Grant wanted to give in, to say yes, but he couldn’t. Dennis had dirtied Grant’s hands again, and he knew the only way he was going to be able to wash them off was to catch Dennis.

  “There is a
car waiting to take you home,” Grant said, and Sam let go of his hand, the sting worse than he anticipated. “Mocks is lending two officers to stay in the apartment until we’ve caught this guy.”

  Sam looked away. “Then I guess you better get going.”

  Grant paused, wanting to tell her the truth about what happened yesterday, but he still hadn’t processed everything himself. Instead he turned for the door, knowing that the sooner he was able to find Dennis and bring him down, the faster this would be over. Then they would talk. Then he would tell her about what happened and what he’d done.

  And when he did, Grant prayed to whoever was listening that she would forgive him.

  3

  Still dressed in the clothes from yesterday, Lieutenant Susan Mullocks lay in the same position she was in when she’d come home early in the morning after staying at the hospital with Grant and Sam, on the couch of her living room.

  It had been so late when she’d gotten home that she didn’t want to wake Rick up, and she barely had enough energy to make it up the stairs. When she saw the couch, she collapsed on top of it and passed out.

  “Mommy?”

  Mocks flinched from the gentle pokes against her cheek from her two-year-old son, Chase. She cracked her eyes open and smiled. “Hey, baby.”

  Chase brightened, and then clapped his hands excitedly. “Daddy, Mommy is awake now!”

  Rick stepped into the room quickly as Mocks sat up, picked Chase up, and set him down in her lap. “Sorry, honey, I was trying to let you sleep and he snuck away from me.”

  Mocks kissed Chase’s cheek, his giggles better than her morning coffee. “That’s okay.” She balanced the boy on her knee. “He’s the best alarm clock I could have asked for.” She bounced him up and down, but Rick plucked him off and set him on the floor.

  “Why don’t you play with your toys for a minute, buddy, while I talk to Mommy,” Rick said.

  “Okay.” Chase hurried over to his toy chest, pulling out a few trucks and racing cars, which he drove wildly over the carpet, crashing them into one another, complete with sound effects.

  Rick joined Mocks on the couch. “How is she?”

  “All of her vitals are fine, and when I left, the doctors were still doing their tests.” Mocks reached for her phone, checking the time. Seven o’clock. “No texts from Grant.”

  Rick shook his head and stared at their son. “I can’t believe he got someone into their apartment.” He looked back to Mocks as Chase made the cars also have the power of flight. “The officers you had watching the building didn’t see anything?”

  “No. Whoever did it must have come through the window on the fire escape,” Mocks answered. “It can’t be seen from the road.”

  Rick nervously rubbed his hands together. “Do you think that we’re safe? I mean if he’s going after Grant, he might—”

  Mocks grabbed Rick’s hand. “We’re safe.”

  Rick raised his eyebrows. “Just like Sam was safe?”

  Mocks let go of his hand, exhausted, and rubbed her eyes. “Whatever Dennis’s vendetta, it has to do with Grant, not me. He worked the Pullman case before we were partners. I was still working my narcs beat back then.” And dealing with her own demons, which had taken a very long time to overcome.

  “Are you sure you have to go in today?” Rick rubbed her back. “You look exhausted.”

  “I’m fine,” Mocks said.

  Their silence was replaced by more playful sounds from Chase until Mocks finally stood and headed toward the staircase. “I’m going to take a shower.”

  Deep down, Mocks understood why Rick was nervous. Their past had been marked with more close calls than Mocks would have liked to admit, and every single one of them had involved Grant.

  But this was her job. Just like Rick had his duty to help people as a firefighter and EMT, she had a duty to stop criminals from wreaking havoc on the citizens of this city. And evil had just escaped from its eternal prison.

  Mocks unclipped her badge from her belt and then ran her thumb across the shield she’d proudly worn for the past eight years. Deep down she knew that she could do more, and while she had told Rick that she had come to terms with their decision last year, it wasn’t true.

  After Chase was born, Mocks had an opportunity for a lateral move into the SWAT division. It was a good resume builder, but more importantly, it allowed her to be involved in a more strategic manner with the department.

  But the position came with the obvious risks. SWAT handled situations where the certainty of gunfire was practically inevitable. There was a reason those officers were loaded down with protective gear and assault rifles.

  It was a chance for her to do some good, to enact real change and cut some of the worst crime off at its head. But no matter how many times they talked about it, they always ended up screaming at each other, and old wounds were always brought up.

  Mocks disrobed in the bedroom and then turned on the hot water. She shut the bathroom door, letting the steam from the shower fill the room. She stared down at the crook of her arm, rubbing her finger over the scars from her years as an addict. Years that were never far behind, filled with dark memories that were always shrouded in fog.

  Rick knew about her past, known all the things that she’d done when she was using. She still had nightmares that woke her up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. She still heard that little voice in her head that reminded her of just how good it felt to use. She fought those demons every day. And she’d never stop fighting them.

  The water was scalding hot by the time Mocks stepped into the shower, and she stood beneath the steady stream of water, letting it wash away the filth and fatigue of yesterday.

  Clean, Mocks turned off the water and drip dried in the shower for a little bit, enjoying the warmth of the steam that clung to her skin. She eventually pulled back the curtain and wiped away the fog of the mirror.

  Her brown hair lay plastered against her skull and fell down her back. Freckles dotted pale cheeks, which framed a pair of green eyes. She was thin, always had been, and was barely over five feet, but she’d added some muscle over the past two years and toned her body after having Chase. It helped bring her confidence back after the pregnancy.

  With her mood lifted after the shower, Mocks changed into a fresh blouse and pants, and then slipped on the shoulder holster before concealing it with a jacket. She completed the ensemble by clipping her badge back onto her belt, and then headed downstairs.

  Rick was in the kitchen helping Chase with his breakfast. When Mocks entered, neither of them acknowledged each other’s presence, both still angry from their tiff on the couch. Mocks reached for the coffee and filled her mug, then walked over to Chase and kissed him on the top of his head while he picked at his apple slices. “Love you, baby.”

  “Love you, Mommy!” Chase said, his little fist wrapped around the slice.

  Mocks waited to see if Rick would say anything, but when he kept his back to her, she only nodded. “I might be late, so I’ll call you when I have a timeline.”

  “Okay,” Rick said.

  The fight they’d had this morning was stupid, and she was now angrier over the fact that they weren’t talking more than the actual fight itself.

  Head down, muttering under her breath as she grabbed the keys from the bowl by the door, Mocks nearly missed the rectangular silver package that lay right beside the key bowl. She paused, staring at the package of strawberry-frosted Pop-Tarts, and then turned back to the kitchen, breaking into a sprint and tackling Rick in a hug.

  She squeezed hard, and Rick returned the embrace.

  “I love you,” Rick said.

  Mocks pressed her left cheek against his chest. “I love you too.”

  They kissed once more, and then Mocks finally left, munching on her processed breakfast pastry and feeling the weight of the fight lift from her shoulders. She hated it when she and Rick weren’t on good terms.

  It clouded her judgement and would have add
ed undue stress to what she knew would be an already stressful day.

  When Mocks arrived at the hospital, she parked outside the drop-off loop, flashing her badge to the parking maid so she wouldn’t get towed, and found Grant already waiting for her in the lobby.

  “How is she?” Mocks asked.

  “She’s fine,” Grant answered. “Were you able to arrange for an officer to stay with her at the apartment?”

  “Took care of it last night.” Mocks frowned. Grant was fidgety, and when he was fidgety, he had something on his mind. “You all right?”

  Grant nodded. “We should get to headquarters. I want to make sure we don’t miss the morning rundown.” He walked past her toward the car, and Mocks followed.

  4

  The inside of the Shanahan home was average, or at least that was the way Jimmy Shanahan perceived it. He had worked his entire life to provide a good home for his family and put food on the table. But with his kids gone and his wife recently retired, Jimmy was starting to regret his decision to stay on another year as a school bus driver for King County.

  Jimmy grumbled as he put on his rain slicker, then checked the weather outside as if it had changed in the ten minutes since he last looked.

  “Damn,” Jimmy groaned. “It’s pouring outside.”

  “Hey, no complaints.” Cathy Shanahan walked up behind him and planted a warm kiss on his scruffy cheek. “You’re the one who wanted to wait one more year before retiring.”

  “I know, I know.” Jimmy struggled to clasp the buttons on his coat. “Damn thing… just… won’t…” His cheeks reddened, and he gave up. “I should probably call in sick.”

  Cathy smirked, buttoning the coat for him. “Feeling a little under the weather?” With every button that Cathy clasped, the pressure around Jimmy’s midriff increased.

  “It’s raining outside,” Jimmy said.