The Jock and the Geek (Gone Geek Book 3)

by Sidney Bristol

  Pictures…

  Cell phones…

  Those groups Sam was always looking at…

  Sparks of an idea went off in the back of his head, an idea growing…

  Rashae was talking about something, but he couldn’t pay attention. Not when the idea was so nebulous. Unformed.

  “Monster-Go,” he blurted.

  “Oliver—what? What are you talking about?”

  “If Sam left the house, she’d have been playing the game, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And when people are playing, they take pictures. Shae, Sam showed me the groups she’s in. A lot of them. Local Monster-Go groups she was part of. Local groups. They take pictures of their captures and upload them. How do I find them?”

  “You think…?”

  “If she was playing—and since Lily transferred all her monsters—she’d probably go out. Hunting. She likes to walk and think. She’d use that time to capture more creatures. If she was going to go out, you know her. She’d go for a rare spawn spot. Somewhere there was bound to be a lot of people. She knows all the good areas. Someone might have gotten something on camera.”

  “Holy—okay. Okay. Where’s her computer? Her laptop? The pink one?”

  “Uh…I don’t know.” He turned in a circle, but the brownstone was clean. Everything in place.

  “Under the coffee table or upstairs in her room.”

  Oliver crossed to the back of the house. A pink, shiny laptop lay tucked under the coffee table on top of magazines.

  “It’s here, under the table.” He perched on the sofa, pulling the laptop out. A blanket lay rumpled on one side, and a pillow squished up at the other, as though she’d slept here. He powered the laptop on and waited for the login screen to load. “It’s password protected.”

  “Shit. I don’t know.” Rashae muttered in the background.

  What did he know about Sam?

  She liked geeky things. Blue boxes, British TV, him, her job… She was clever. She’d tie it to something obvious—to her.

  “Was the front door code for something?” he asked.

  “Duh, Sherlock Holmes?”

  “And the painting in the entry?”

  “Doctor Who. Why does she like you?”

  “I’ve got talents.”

  “Do. Not. Want. To. Know!”

  “What does she like better, Doctor Who or Sherlock Holmes?”

  “Try Sherlock, but she—she always liked Martha. Jones, try Jones.”

  “What?”

  “Just try it.”

  He plugged in the letters.

  Held his breath.

  Fuck.

  “It didn’t work.” He needed something to go right.

  “Okay, um, totally different fandom, try expelliarmus.”

  “Spell it.”

  Rashae spelled out the word and he hit enter.

  The screen flickered to life.

  “I’m going to need a lot of answers later.” He navigated to her browser and dozens of tabs opened up.

  “You’re going to need answers? You’ve been dating my sister. I get answers first. What are you finding?”

  “These are the groups. What—what should I say?” He held his hands over the keys of what appeared to be the main group for the red team in DC. It had the widest reach, the most members, likely his post would get lost in the crowd but it was still a start.

  “Sam’s life might be in danger, and you’re wondering how much of the truth you can tell people?”

  Oliver blew out a breath and started typing.

  Sam would kill him, but if this wasn’t a hoax, if someone really had her, then at least he’d have a Sam to be angry with him.

  He copied the text to the other local groups she was part of, and included a picture of her since her avatar wasn’t of her face. Even her name was obscured, probably so she could retain some privacy.

  “Well?” Rashae prompted.

  “Now—we wait.”

  “Start from the beginning. Tell me everything.”

  Fuck.

  Oliver scrubbed a hand over his face.

  He had a lot of wrongs to make right. If getting her back meant crawling on his belly, across glass, Legos, or hot coals—he’d do it. Sam was worth it.

  Sophia checked her messages, but nothing sparked her interest. Instead of staying close to the office, she’d gone remote today.

  Hugues was already trying to summon her for more ranting about results.

  No, the vote was not going to go in his favor, and she didn’t care. When the Secret Service or the police closed in on helpless Samantha Grant, it would be Hugues called in to answer some questions. Not her.

  Already her alibi was in the works. A neat little arrangement with the woman who was likely to be her next boss. And a much more forward-thinking individual.

  Leverage and blackmail were not the tools they once were. Even a year or two ago, Sophia could have done more with less, but these days she had to have so much weight to throw around. It was making her line of business more difficult to manage. People like Hugues wanted a hammer’s touch, which was well and all, but the hammers had to get heavier with each use.

  This thing with the Grant girl was such a circus. How many people were involved?

  Regardless, very soon, it would all be over. Unless the Secretary of State didn’t go looking for his youngest child. That would surprise her. Then again, this new Secretary wasn’t playing by the old rules.

  She checked her messages again.

  In fact, shouldn’t she have had some sort of alert by now? A head’s up that dirty little Oliver Falcón had read and shared her message?

  That was not to plan.

  She’d counted on Oliver acting swiftly. If he did not? Well, shit.

  Sophia wouldn’t want to be left alone with those particular men for long, were she Samantha Grant. They weren’t exactly gentlemen.

  15.

  Oliver flipped through the images Sam had left lying on the counter top, his thoughts buzzing in his head. Rashae was quiet on her end of the phone.

  “Anything yet?” she asked.

  “Whoever is doing this has to have a history of blackmail and manipulation. Of the people in these pictures…they’re not more than four years in office.” He tossed the eight by tens back down.

  “Do you know all of them?”

  “I know the major players. There’s a few in the background I don’t recognize, but I can’t know all the staff. There’s enough turnover that…” He glanced at Sam’s laptop. Several notifications had popped up since he’d focused his attention on the security footage. “Hold on.”

  “What? Talk to me!”

  “Shae, hold on. People are responding in the groups…” He arranged the windows so he could see each one simultaneously. Several names were in more than one conversation, tagging other people. One or two called the post a hoax.

  “Check her Other Messages folder, just in case.”

  He navigated to the messenger app, then a grayed out header for Other Messages.

  Two were lit up and recent.

  Oliver held his breath and clicked the first one.

  U sexy

  Not what he’d hoped for.

  He clicked through to the next and Oliver’s heart stopped.

  I got these at 10:54 this morning. I didn’t even notice the background.

  Attached were seven images.

  The focus was on the little monster creature on the forefront of the screen, but in the background, down the street—there was no mistaking Sam.

  “Shae, I’ve got something.” His hands shook so hard it took him three tries to get all the images downloaded to the laptop.

  “Oliver, talk to me.”

  “Pictures. It looks like some guys in a van stopped her on the sidewalk. It’s not in focus, but it’s something. I’m sending it to your dad now, copying the head of security.” He could lose his job for this. Timothy Grant did not appreciate anyone going over his he
ad. He—like his daughters—wanted to be in control.

  Oliver had given Mr. Grant the chance to act, to believe him, and he’d chosen not to. Timothy was a hurt man, and as Rashae liked to say, hurting people hurt people. Oliver wasn’t going to risk Sam’s safety by playing to his boss’ injured pride. They could sort it out after Sam was home.

  “Are you calling the police?” Rashae asked.

  “I think…I don’t know. Fuck it. Yes.” He clicked through to the new messages. There were more popping up than he could keep track of. More images. Photographs of the truck from different angles. Evidence. A trail. He had a lead.

  What a time to get a rare spawn down the street. The kidnappers couldn’t account for that unless they were watching one of the third party websites that traced those sort of things. There had to be a dozen different shots and angles of the kidnapping in progress. He saved and forwarded all that he could.

  Someone would recognize those men.

  That face…

  “Wait—wait a second.” He enlarged a photo.

  “Oliver! Full sentences!”

  “I think I recognize this guy.”

  “Was he at the party?”

  “No. No, he’s…he’s a driver. He drives—fuck! Who does he drive? I can picture the car. What flag is it?” Oliver covered his eyes with a hand. “Black town car, gray leather seats, too much perfume—an assistant. She’s been around for years, people talk about her. What is her name? Fuck!”

  “Calm down. Look at the pictures. The party ones. Is she in them?”

  Oliver scrambled to lay the photographs out on the counter, searching out the faces. One by one, he discarded them.

  “No, she’s not,” he said at last. Another face caught his eye, one he hadn’t been able to shake for hours that fateful night.

  “Damn it.”

  “But I know who she works for. I know who is behind it.”

  “What are you going to do to me?” Sam got the sentence out without tears, stuttering, or hyperventilating, which was a miracle in and of itself.

  The man propped her upright, then perched on the coffee table in front of her. He was…average. A little rough around the edges. He’d worn a hat earlier when he’d approached her on the street. That much she remembered. Maybe sunglasses? She couldn’t recall his face well enough, but his voice? That she did remember.

  “Nothing.” He lifted his shoulders, then a slow, stomach-churning smile spread across his face. “For now.”

  “You do realize that the Secret Service will be alerted when I don’t check in?” Yeah right, no one at Dad’s office cared where she was, so long as she didn’t cause another dustup. But this guy didn’t know that.

  “They won’t be able to find you. Means we have some time together.” He reached out, running the back of his hand over her cheek.

  Sam held her breath and didn’t look away. She wouldn’t let him see fear. How his touch made her stomach churn.

  “We’re going to have fun, you and I.” He grinned and patted her knee.

  Someone made a noise. She didn’t dare look away from the danger in front of her, but he did.

  “Yup,” he said in answer to a question she hadn’t heard, and pushed to his feet.

  She watched him go, but couldn’t see the person in the next room he was speaking to.

  There were two of them, at least. She wanted to say there’d been a third in the…van? It’d been a van, right? Two to grab her, one to drive. So where was the third?

  Think, Sam, think!

  She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, ignoring the stench clogging her nostrils. This wasn’t the time to panic. What she needed to do was evaluate her surroundings. Look for clues. What did they tell her? What could she discern from her captors actions?

  First, could she get free?

  She twisted her hands. Not handcuffs. Not metal. Rope? The feeling wasn’t quite back in her hands so she wasn’t certain, but if it was a fiber, maybe it could be broken or torn. If she could get away, maybe she could find help.

  They hadn’t gagged her. Which meant there was likely no one within shouting distance to hear her.

  And he wasn’t the least bit concerned she’d seen his face.

  Sam had sat through the same training as the rest of the family. What to do in case of an attack. What to do in case of a disaster. And what to do in case of kidnapping.

  She didn’t need the class to tell her that if her kidnapper let her see his face, she wasn’t supposed to come back from this alive.

  Oh, God.

  Her chest tightened and tears prickled her eyes.

  Oliver…

  She’d never get to make things right, to fight for what she wanted.

  Mom. Dad.

  There would be no apologies. They’d just be left in this horrible state.

  Rashae.

  She’d never know how much she meant to Sam, how much she admired and respected her older sister for being different. Unique. It was a strength Sam didn’t have.

  Lily.

  God, sometimes Sam wanted to strangle her, but Lily was the most determined, focused, and goal-driven being on the planet. Nothing stood between Lily and what she wanted. Yes, she was the obnoxiously perfect older sister, but she was Sam’s sister, and she loved her.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, embracing her fear and pain for a moment, and making herself breathe through it.

  What could she see? What could she tell about her kidnappers? She couldn’t allow herself to be paralyzed.

  Sam cleared her throat, but no one made a comment from the other room.

  The…apartment?

  What was this place?

  She twisted around.

  Behind her was a galley kitchen along one wall and a…well, it looked more like a cafeteria set up than an apartment. A break room? Several of the windows were broken and had plastic taped over them. The rest of the glass was dirty, grimy and disgusting. A lot like the rest of the space.

  Not downtown. Not anywhere near her house. So where were they?

  Far enough they would have gotten here in a few hours. Close enough to have the place set up. That left a lot of options.

  Time to test things a little.

  “Hey? Hey!” She yelled.

  No answer.

  Not that she was expecting one. That would be too convenient. Still…she had to know.

  “Is anyone listening?”

  “Yeah, and we don’t care. Scream all you like, no one can hear you.”

  That was a different man. The voice was more of a bass.

  She wasn’t in the city, was she? If no one could hear her scream…where were they?

  Oliver pulled the restaurant door open.

  “Wait, damn it. Wait, will you?” Davis was close on Oliver’s heels.

  Davis didn’t make a move to stop Oliver from charging into the quiet dining room. It’d been easy enough to identify the new ambassador’s schedule. He regularly lunched at this small, private café. Alone.

  “Sir? I’m sorry—sir?”

  Davis said something under his breath, probably a string of curses, and stopped the host in his tracks.

  Oliver zeroed in on the corner booth and the man pursuing his paper.

  “Huges Durand?” Oliver stopped at the edge of the table and imagined wrapping his hands around this man’s throat.

  The pain he’d caused. And now this? To gain—what?

  “Mr. Falcón.” Huges brows rose and he set the paper down. He blinked at Oliver, the open surprise not at all what he’d expected.

  If he was the mastermind behind Sam’s disappearance, he wasn’t prepared for this moment.

  “Would…you like a seat?” Huges gestured to the vacant seat across from him.

  Davis approached, shielding them from the rest of the dining room with his bulk.

  “He doesn’t know,” Oliver said.

  “You sure?”

  “What’s going on?” Huges turned to face them, his brow lined and
lips turning down.

  “The woman who works for you—Sophia—what do you know about her?” Oliver had assumed the ambassador would be pulling the strings, but Sophia had a much longer career in U.S. politics.

  “She is part of my transition team. Has something happened to her?”

  “Sir, if you would please come with us?” Davis gestured toward the door. “We’d like to talk to you about a matter of urgency.”

  “Of course.”

  Huges rose and proceeded them out of the café. Davis led them to the SUV he’d picked Oliver up in and retrieved the folder of evidence.

  “Earlier today this man and others abducted the Secretary of State’s daughter. He was identified as Peter Jameson, one of your drivers.”

  “Not mine. He works for—” Hughes took the photograph, his lips pressed together tightly.

  “Sir, we’d like to keep this out of the media. If you can help at all, the secretary would appreciate it.” The way Davis spoke, it was with multi-layered meaning.

  “I may have seen him driving Sophia, but he is unknown to me.” Huges handed the photograph back.

  Oliver watched the older man’s face carefully.

  Hugues wasn’t lying about the driver, and Oliver didn’t think he was involved in the kidnapping, but he wasn’t an innocent. Still, he could only focus on putting out one fire at a time. First, they found Sam. Then, he’d worry about Hugues Durand.

  “Do you know where Sophia might be?” Davis took a step forward. “Please, anything you can tell us. Peter Jameson has a very dangerous record. The secretary would appreciate any assistance you might offer.”

  “Well…she did mention going shopping…” Hugues pulled out his phone and tapped the screen. “Here’s her phone number, if it will help?”

  “It will.” Davis took the phone. “Sir? I’m going to have to ask you to come with us for now, for your own safety.”

  As if on cue, the two additional Secret Service men that’d been waiting in the wings stepped forward, ushering Hugues into a waiting car.

  It was all rather neatly done.

  “How many times have you had to do something like this?” Oliver asked.

  “More than I can admit to. Come on, the cops will be waiting by now. Things are about to move very quickly.” Davis led the way back to his SUV.