The Trapped Girls Collection: Detective Grant Abduction Mysteries

by James Hunt

  Mocks paused, and the length of the silence caused Grant’s stomach to sour. “Grant, I’m not going to give you any more cases.”

  “What?” The gut punch was unexpected and quick. “Did the captain say something? The commissioner? If this is about running that name—”

  “No, it’s not that,” Mocks answered. “And neither the captain nor the commissioner said anything. It’s my decision.”

  Grant stood still, the shock of the statement numbing any attempt at a response. The gravel shifted beneath his feet as he spun ninety degrees, wracking his brain but coming up short. “Why?”

  “Grant, I know about your trip to the house,” Mocks answered, the words coming out with an exasperated sigh.

  “You tailed me?” Grant asked.

  “I called the hotel where you told me you were staying, and they said you never checked in! I was worried, Grant, so I had a unit drive by your old neighborhood, and they told me that you were asleep in your car. Why?”

  “I don’t know. I just—” Grant scuffed the gravel with his toe, turning in a half circle. “I didn’t want you to worry. I knew you’d start asking questions of why, and I didn’t feel like coming up with answers.”

  “It’s been six years since Ellen died, Grant,” Mocks said. “And it’s been four years since your dismissal from the department. You need to move on. You need to get out of neutral. You’re stuck.”

  “I’m not stuck.”

  “Yes, you are! Christ, Grant, you haven’t tried to get another job in a different field, you haven’t tried dating anyone—you moved away, but you never really moved on.”

  “I’m over Ellen. I’m over what happened at the department. I have moved on.”

  “No, you left, but you never moved on. There’s a difference. You shoved everything in a box and tried to forget about it. It’s not the same thing.”

  “Mocks, it’s… complicated.”

  “You don’t think I know that? You don’t think I know what it takes to move on? Grant, you know me. You know what I went through.” Grief thickened Mocks’s voice, and she struggled to keep it together. “It’s okay to ask for help.”

  “That’s what I’m doing, Mocks,” Grant said. “That’s why I want the cases.”

  “The cases are a distraction. I know addiction when I see it, Grant. And I’m not going to feed it to you anymore. I’m sorry, but I just can’t.” She sniffled. “You should listen to what Hickem told you. You’re not a detective anymore. The Dunnys aren’t your case.”

  “I know that,” Grant answered, upset with himself for making Mocks cry. “I’m sorry for leaning on you so much.”

  “Listen, I know some support groups that you can contact. I’m going to email them to you. Promise me that you’ll look at them, okay? Because if you’re not around to meet my kid, I’m going to kill you.”

  Grant smiled, nodding. “Yeah. All right. I will.”

  “I love you, Grant.”

  “Love you too, Mocks.” He ended the call and pocketed the phone. He stood outside for a long time, his gaze fixated down the road toward the Dunny house.

  Every rational part of Grant’s brain told him that Mocks was right. And if there was anyone who understood addiction, it was a former addict. But Mocks also understood the fight it took every day to quit and to stay clean. And it was a fight that Grant was losing.

  It had been almost thirty-six hours since the Dunnys were taken, and every hour that passed, every added minute where they weren’t found, was another percentage drop in the chances of ever finding them. If the family was a part of WITSEC, then that meant the people who’d taken them were most likely looking for revenge. So even if the US Marshals and the FBI were successful in their recovery, it would be more than likely that they’d only find the bodies.

  And then, after the case was over, Anna would be subjected to the courts and then pushed into a family that she didn’t know and a life that she never should have had in the first place.

  When Grant worked the missing-persons beat with Mocks, over ninety percent of their cases were children. And while most of their cases were successful, the children still had baggage. There was trauma from the abduction, and in some cases sexual abuse. Regardless of how violent or traumatic, those events followed the kids around like a disease, infecting their future with the poison of their past.

  Grant had seen it time and time again. He knew that Anna would have a better life with her parents than without. And Grant might be able to make that happen.

  Bandit came and sat next to Grant, and the pair stared down the road. Grant regarded the dog, who looked up at him with his tongue hanging out and tilting his head to the side. He knew that Mocks was right. He knew that he needed to change, and that he needed help to do it. And he would. But what he couldn’t do was stand idly by and do nothing when he damn well still had enough left in the tank to provide help. A detective’s purpose never left them, not even when they left the badge behind.

  Grant led the dog back inside and then went to his bedroom, grabbing the detective gear he retrieved earlier, and this time he took the revolver with him, tucking the holster into the belt of his jeans as he headed for the Dunnys’ house.

  Unsure if the FBI or the marshals had left behind any ghosts, Grant did a quick scan around the house before doubling back through the forest, making sure that both sides were clear before he tried to enter.

  Once he determined the coast was clear, Grant entered through the back door. He glanced down at the floor, finding the bloodstain near the back door had been cleaned up, and that the evidence markers had been removed. From the looks of it, the crime scene had been wrapped, which meant that the investigators had found everything of note they could. But Grant was there to make sure it was true.

  Grant clicked on the flashlight and scanned the rooms. He started with the parents’ room again, taking his time on this second go-around, knowing he wouldn’t get another chance. He rummaged through their belongings, thinking about their decision to leave their lives behind, starting over in a new city.

  In a way, he and the Dunnys were alike. They’d both come here to escape a past that they didn’t want to remember, and both were still hunted by the same demons they’d tried to run away from. The only difference for the Dunnys was that their demons carried guns.

  After rechecking Anna’s room, the kitchen, and finally the living room, Grant didn’t find anything that stood out to him. But as he stepped into the foyer that held the staircase to the second floor, the beam from his flashlight caught a shimmer of red on the bannister.

  The stain shared the same color as the blood on the floor, except it was lightly smudged, a smear from someone grabbing the bannister with blood on their hands.

  Grant lifted the beam of light onto the dark staircase and ascended the steps, the old wooden boards groaning on his trip upstairs.

  The second-floor space was small, the house growing narrow at the top like a boxy pyramid. The walls closed in on him as he scanned the doors and the walls with the light. There were two rooms, each on the opposite end of the narrow hallway. Grant walked toward the rear of the house, checking the back room first.

  Grant led with the light, pushing the door inward, the beam falling against a bathroom with the bare minimums. It looked as if it was never used. There was a tub-shower combo without a curtain. Grant looked inside the cabinets, finding only toilet paper and an extra bar of soap.

  He took his time checking the tile, making sure the white was bare of any more bloodstains. With the bathroom clear, Grant backed out, heading toward the front of the hallway, the flashlight leading the way. He pushed the door open, the hinges groaning as the beam highlighted a desk with papers scattered over it.

  Grant pinched the corner of one of the papers and brought it beneath the flashlight. Rows and columns of numbers stretched over the entire sheet, and the figures reached well into the tens of millions. Grant set the paper down and then picked up another one, finding a similar sheet,
the same type of large figures printed on it. Hundreds of papers just like it were scattered over the desk and on the floor.

  Filing cabinets lined the back wall, their drawers open. Some of the folders had been pulled from their slots and lay over the top of the cabinets, their contents spilled onto the carpet.

  Grant picked a few of them up and found them empty. He lingered there for a moment, trying to figure out why the investigators had cleaned up every room but this one. Clearly, the abductors were looking for something. Maybe it was a piece of evidence, but it had to have been something from the case that caused the Dunnys to be put into protective custody.

  Grant stepped back to the door, scanning the floors and walls and desk of the room with his flashlight as if it were a grid. Whoever was up here spent a lot of time combing through the files, making sure they didn’t miss what they were looking for. And with so much time spent up here, and so much of their focus on locating what they’d hoped to find, Grant was willing to bet they—

  Something flashed against the light as Grant passed by the corner leg of the desk. He quickly retraced his motion and saw another golden flash. Most of it was concealed behind the leg post of the desk, and Grant reached down and plucked it from the musty carpet, holding it up to the light.

  A cufflink. Gold. Not high end but definitely not cheap. Grant rotated it in his hands, searching for any type of mark or initials, but found none. He flipped his glove inside out and pocketed the cufflink inside in lieu of his evidence bags and then shoved it in his pocket. He checked beneath the desk for anything else but came up empty. He could see how the cufflink was missed, especially if the investigators were as consumed as the assailants were with finding whatever the Dunnys were hiding. If it was ever here in the first place.

  Grant backed out of the room, checking a few more pieces of paper, but aside from the large numbers, they provided no other pieces of information. But he had the cufflink. He might be able to pull prints off of it. It was a stretch, but it was a start.

  7

  US Marshal Samantha Cohen stood behind the one-way glass, her arms crossed and her head aching from hunger. She’d skipped lunch, and it was well past dinnertime. She always seemed to do that when she was working a case. Time moved more quickly when she was pitted against the clock. It was all consuming. It was a rush, a pain, and she loved it.

  But this was different. Her ass was in the hot seat, and judging from her ass getting chewed out yesterday by her boss’s boss, she knew she had to come through big on this one. And it wasn’t just for her career—it was for the integrity of Witness Protection. Since the program’s creation, there had never been a case where someone under their protection had been taken.

  There were only three instances in which a witness was compromised: the witness either returned home, contacted someone from their past, or returned to a life of nefarious deeds—if they had ever done them in the first place.

  Sam had been assigned the Dunnys eight months ago when Charles Dunny testified on behalf of the United States government. And during the six months since the family’s relocation, none of them had tried to return home, none of them contacted anyone from their past, and Charles Dunny had kept his nose clean. Their abduction had come out of the blue, which landed the blame on Sam’s lap, causing her bosses to breath dragon fire down her back. And she was dangerously close to burning alive.

  “This is going nowhere,” Hickem said, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “They’ve been in there for thirty minutes, and the girl’s barely said a word.”

  “Just give her time,” Sam replied, maintaining her stature as she watched the psychiatrist try and pull something out of Anna. Neither Sam nor Hickem had any luck, and the interrogator they brought in only tightened her lips. The head doctor was their last hope.

  The psychologist spread a few pictures on the table while Anna colored in a book, which consumed most of her concentration. The pink elephant that Grant had given Sam sat on the table next to her. She had hoped the animal would buy her some goodwill, but after the exchange, Anna simply squeezed the plush toy and retreated to the corner of the room. The girl had been through trauma, and Sam was out of ideas on how to break through.

  “Anna, can you do something for me?” the doctor asked.

  “What?” Anna asked, sticking her tongue out as she carefully navigated the lines of the picture.

  “I need you to look at these pictures and tell me if you recognize any of these men.” The doctor gently pushed the first photo across the table, and Anna looked up from her coloring book for just a moment then nodded.

  “He was there the other day,” Anna said, her voice almost a whisper. “When my parents were taken.”

  Hickem pushed himself off the wall, joining Sam by the window. “Holy shit, that’s one of Joza’s contacts.”

  “Shh!” Sam said, waving her hand at him as she leaned toward the speaker to make sure she didn’t miss anything.

  “And what about this person?” the doctor said.

  “Yeah, I saw him too. I think.” Anna frowned then shrugged and returned to her coloring book. “But one of them wore a mask. Bandit bit him though.”

  “Anna.” The doctor’s tone was gentle, soothing, only hardening when she wasn’t paying attention. “Anna. Anna, can you look at this again? Anna.” With the girl still unresponsive, he gently touched her arm, and Anna screamed.

  The high-pitched wail forced the doctor up from his chair, and he circled the table to try and calm her down. Anna’s cheeks were bright red, and even Sam and Hickem had to cover their ears in the next room.

  “Anna, shh, it’s all right. I’m sorry.”

  But the five-year-old jumped off the chair and then sprinted to the door, slamming her little fists against it. “I wanna go home!”

  Sam pushed past Hickem, stepped out of the room, and slid her key card through the door lock to grant her entrance. Anna turned her thrashing onto Sam’s leg, and Sam dropped to one knee. Instead of reaching for the girl’s wrists, Sam cupped Anna’s cheeks, her palms wet against the girl’s skin.

  “Anna, listen to me. You’re okay. Everything is fine.” Sam stroked the tear-soaked skin with her thumb. “Shhh. It’s okay.”

  “You promised!” Anna tried to wiggle free from Sam’s embrace, but the effort was lazy, and instead, she stomped her feet. “You promised that we would be safe!”

  Sam fought the grief growing thick in the back of her throat and forced her voice steady. “I know. I’m sorry, Anna.” She pulled Anna close, hugging her tight. “I’m so sorry.”

  Anna cried into Sam’s shoulder, eventually reciprocating the embrace. Sam stroked Anna’s hair and held her until the tears ran dry. Finally, when Anna pulled her face from Sam’s shoulder, she sniffled, wiping the trail of snot that had run from her nose and over the curve of her upper lip.

  “I miss Bandit,” Anna said.

  “I know you do, sweetheart,” Sam replied. “Here.” Sam stood, taking Anna’s hand, and brought her back to the table, where they both sat down next to the pink elephant. She stared at the toy for a moment and remembered the man who’d given it to her. “I’ll make a deal with you, okay? If you finish answering the doctor’s questions, I’ll have Mr. Grant bring Bandit over so you can see him.”

  “Can he stay forever?” Anna asked, her tone hopeful, but maintaining the puppy-dog eyes and quivering lower lip that made it hard for anyone to deny such a request.

  Sam placed her hand over Anna’s. “We’ll see.” She looked over the little girl’s head and gave a curt nod to the doctor, who rejoined them at the table. Sam got up, leaving the pair to finish their discussion, and then found Hickem behind the one-way glass, his cell phone glued to his ear, surrounded by his cronies. When he hung up, he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.

  “I just confirmed with Homeland,” Hickem said. “They said that three of Joza’s associates recently made a trip to the States.”

  Sam kept the question of why she and
her department hadn’t been notified to herself. Cross-communication between the intelligence agencies and the justice department had never been great. “When did they arrive?”

  “Three days ago,” Hickem answered. “It would have given them plenty of time to gather what supplies they needed to make the trek toward Washington.”

  “I still don’t understand how the Dunnys were even found.” Sam placed her fists on her hips and turned toward the window. “In all of our check-ups with them, they never showed any signs of making any kind of return to their previous lives. Nothing on email, phone records—it’s like Joza threw a dart on a map and it happened to land on Deville, Washington.”

  “You’d be surprised at what people are capable of hiding.” Hickem pocketed the phone and then raised an eyebrow at Sam.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You need to be careful what you tell that little girl,” Hickem answered. “Rule number one of any law enforcement officer across any department is to never promise victims anything. We are facilitators, nothing more. It’s bad enough that you already broke the second golden rule.”

  “And what’s that?” Sam asked.

  “You’re attached to that family.” Hickem crossed his arms, watching the doctor work through his questions with Anna. “They were the first case you were given to lead, weren’t they?”

  “I wasn’t aware you had access to my file,” Sam answered.

  Hickem chuckled. “I don’t need to read your file to read you, sweetheart.” He cast her a side glare, his grin curved halfway up his cheek. “You know, there was a guy I worked with a long time ago who was a lot like you. He made promises. It was personal to him. He was probably the best investigator I’d ever seen in my entire life.”

  “Too bad he’s not here,” Sam said. “Maybe he could replace you.”