Abduction

by Wanda Dyson

“So you’re concerned for my life,” she said dryly.

  “Look, Zoe. Miss Shefford. I can’t deny that I find you attractive, but I’m not looking to get involved with anyone.”

  “That makes two of us.” She lifted her cup and took another sip, her eyes downcast.

  “Then you understand that my interest is purely in the line of duty. This man is serious about wanting you dead. I’m serious about making sure he doesn’t get what he wants.”

  “I understand completely.”

  “And I want it to stay purely business. My. . .I stepped over the line. It won’t happen again.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Good. Then why don’t you go get some sleep while I keep watch.”

  Her head jerked up. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You need to get some sleep. I’m going to sit here and read this. . .” He picked up the novel she was reading. “Wild Hearts in Paradise? No, I don’t think so.” He dropped it as if it were a snake ready to bite him. “I’ll find something to do. Go get some sleep.”

  She stood up. “Thanks.”

  “Somehow I didn’t take you for the type.”

  “What type?”

  He nodded toward the book she was picking up. “Romance, love novels, whatever they call those things.”

  “Who do you think reads them?”

  “Housewives with five kids looking for a little escapism.”

  “Everyone needs to escape once in awhile.”

  Before he could reply, she padded off down the hall with her book. As soon as he heard her bedroom door click shut, he shut off most of the lights. Then he perused her book collection and found a mystery novel that looked promising.

  Kicking off his shoes, he stretched out on the sofa with the novel and prepared for a long night.

  #

  Zoe curled up under the covers and switched off the lamp next to her bed. It was the first time all evening she felt safe in the dark.

  And it was because JJ was in her living room, keeping watch.

  She closed her eyes and yawned. If he weren’t such a jerk, he would be someone she’d want to know better. She knew what made him act that way though. His relationship issues were not insignificant. Like Macy.

  Someday he’d resolve that situation in his mind and in his heart, but until he did, he wasn’t any good for any woman.

  And certainly not for her. He’d be nothing but a heartache. And she’d be left with the scars on her heart.

  No thanks.

  She had enough of her own issues to deal with.

  She yawned again, snuggling deeper into her pillow.

  But he sure could kiss.

  chapter 19

  Sunday, April 23

  Yawning, Karen shuffled into the kitchen, flipped on the television, and started the coffee. She had barely slept for the third night in a row. And then when she did manage to drift off, nightmares of Ted drowning in a river, Jess trapped in the car, and a bloody knife on the dashboard jerked her awake in a cold sweat.

  “. . .Here’s a follow-up to Friday’s story about a car discovered in the river and the fate of its driver. Police are saying that the apparent victim is forty-six-year-old Ted Matthews, who had left home, according to his wife, to meet with the alleged kidnappers of their infant daughter.”

  Karen whirled around, spilling grounds across the counter and onto the floor.

  “The police have been dredging the river since early Friday in hopes of recovering the body, but so far the search has been fruitless. One police officer admitted that they are focusing their investigation on Karen Matthews, who they claim has been extremely uncooperative.”

  With a scream of outrage, Karen threw the coffee can at the television. “I didn’t do anything!”

  The can hit the television and bounced off, scattering black coffee grounds all over the television, counter, and floor.

  The phone rang, causing her to jump. She stared at it, debating, but the prospect that it might be her attorney drove her to it.

  “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Matthews?”

  The voice was decidedly female, driving out every hope that it was Benson. “Yes?”

  “This is Alicia DeSimone from WRRS News. Do you have. . .”

  Karen slammed down the phone and backed away from it. It started ringing again. She put her hands over her ears. “Go away. Just go away and leave me alone!”

  “Karen?” Ray was still buttoning his shirt as he hurried into the room. “What in heaven’s name is going on?”

  She looked down at the coffee grounds strewn all over the kitchen and then up at Ray, who was still trying to wake up. “Nothing. I’m sorry I woke you.”

  “You call this nothing? It looks like the Boston Tea Party but with coffee grounds.”

  “It was the news. They were blaming me, saying I killed Ted.” It was a nightmare she couldn’t wake up from.

  Ray opened his arms and swept her into a hug. “Don’t listen to the news, Sis. You know they’re just trying to beef up ratings any way they can.”

  “I didn’t kill him, Ray. I didn’t.”

  #

  Zoe awoke to find JJ sprawled on the sofa with a novel across his chest. He had one foot propped up on the arm of the sofa, the other rested on the floor. His hair was sticking up in every direction possible. Traces of a beard shadowed his face.

  And he snored.

  She wrinkled her nose, covering her mouth with her hand, trying not to laugh as he choked on a snore and shifted positions. Tiptoeing into the kitchen, she quietly emptied the coffeepot from the night before and made a fresh pot.

  While the coffee was brewing, she padded softly to the front door and retrieved the morning paper. She wondered if she would find something besides the paper on the front porch but was relieved to see that the killer had given her a night off.

  She sipped her coffee while skimming through the paper.

  “Anything interesting?” JJ scratched his stomach as he made his way groggily to the coffeepot.

  She smiled and pulled her eyes back to the paper. “Not much. The mayor wants to enlarge the playground at the park; the fire at the old warehouse was determined to be arson; and there’s a sale at Carson’s hardware.”

  “A sale on what?”

  “Power tools.”

  “I’ll have to check it out.”

  Zoe slanted him a glance and a smile. “Hey, thirty percent off—you’d better hurry.”

  “I’ll buy two of everything.” He pulled out a chair and dropped into it. “Sleep well?”

  “Yes, thank you. Like a rock. You?”

  “Good enough, all things considered.”

  “I thought you’d be up all night keeping watch.”

  “I dozed off.” He glared over at her. “You were safe enough.”

  “I wasn’t implying otherwise. Would you like some breakfast?”

  He stood up. “No. Thanks anyway.”

  “Here we go again,” she muttered as he stalked out of the kitchen. “Have a nice day,” she yelled out seconds before she heard the front door slam shut.

  After setting her coffee cup in the sink, the phone rang. “Hello?”

  Zoe stood swaying as harshly whispered words echoed in her head.

  “Weeds in the garden, so you must die. Will today be the day?”

  “No,” Zoe replied as her heart lurched in her chest. She could feel the sweat break out on her forehead, and her hands went icy cold.

  “Did you think you were safe with that nice policeman on your sofa all night?”

  “It made him feel better.”

  “I notice your mother didn’t come home again last night. Now, I wonder why.”

  “This is between you and me. It doesn’t involve her.”

  “You really are a smart woman, Zoe Shefford. How unusual. I’m going to take such delight in killing you.”

  “Like you killed Amy?”

  “Now, there was a true delight.”

  Zoe felt the tea
rs spring to her eyes. Not now. Not now. Fall apart later. Don’t let him see it bothers you. “Amy was one of a kind.”

  “No. There is one just like her. And I can’t wait to have you join her.”

  chapter 20

  Monday, April 24

  JJ shrugged out of his jacket just as the phone started ringing. Matt stood. Barone came skipping in with a smile. JJ threw up his hand, stalling the two men, and grabbed the phone. “Johnson.”

  “Hey, Johnson. It’s Tripp. Just wanted to give you the heads-up. The blood on the knife was confirmed as the same type as Ted Matthews. We’re bringing the wife in for questioning.”

  “Keep me posted.”

  “You bet.”

  Barone leaned forward. “I did a little checking on the locations of the missing girls over the years. Get this. Nearly twenty percent of the missing children came from homes that were, or are, owned or managed by Keyes Realty.”

  JJ shook his head, shrugging. “So?”

  Barone smiled smugly. “Keyes Realty. As in Keyes Shefford, father of Zoe Shefford.”

  JJ felt as if the ground beneath him had just shifted. He grabbed the edge of the desk. “Zoe’s father?”

  Barone nodded. “Do you think it’s possible that Shefford, or someone who works for him, is involved in this?”

  Matt whistled now as he pulled up a chair. “This is not good.”

  JJ continued gripping the edge of the desk, afraid his hands would start shaking if he let go. Had she conned him? Could he have been so blind?

  He managed to look up at Barone, who was eyeing him with anticipation. “See what else you can find while we check out Keyes Realty.” He turned to Matt. “Matt, see. . .”

  “Hold on, JJ. You don’t really think this man could be a viable suspect, do you? One of the kids that was killed was his own daughter.”

  “We don’t know what happened to the Shefford girl.”

  “Amy,” Matt supplied tersely.

  JJ ignored him. “The Sheffords were going through a nasty separation at the time. Suppose the father took the child as leverage and something went wrong.”

  “I don’t buy it.”

  “I didn’t ask you to. I didn’t ask you to arrest him either. But a connection like this deserves a closer look.”

  “Yeah, Keyes Shefford. I’m on it.” Matt turned on his heel and sprinted for the door.

  He was back less than five minutes later looking very grim. “Keyes Shefford has disappeared. His secretary says he called in yesterday afternoon. Said he had to go out of town for a few days and would call in for his messages. He wouldn’t tell her where he went.”

  JJ slammed his fist down on the desk.

  #

  Karen sat quietly, her hands clasped in her lap as her attorney jotted notes on his yellow legal pad.

  “We talked to his boss, who confirmed that Ted was not sent out of town on a business trip. We checked the company phone records, and Mr. Matthews did not receive any calls from outside the office any time during that day. We spoke to the cashier at the restaurant, who confirmed that you were in there Friday evening, picking up food.”

  Tripp lowered his reading glasses and peered over the top of them. “So we know that your husband was not scheduled to leave town, did not get a call from the kidnappers, and is now missing.”

  Karen looked over at her attorney, Lawrence Benson, a rail-thin man in his fifties with thick gray hair, bright blue eyes, and a thousand-watt smile.

  He patted her hand gently as he kept his eyes on Tripp. “As we explained, Mr. Matthews informed my client that he was going to meet with the kidnappers, pay the ransom, and bring their child home. If he lied to my client, that is not my client’s fault.”

  “Perhaps she can explain how a knife with her husband’s blood on it was found in her sink?”

  Benson smiled slowly, deliberately. “This is his house, too. Perhaps he was cutting something prior to leaving and nicked his finger.”

  “And the shirt with Mr. Matthews’s blood on it?”

  “Perhaps he grabbed it out of the laundry basket and wiped his blood on it, thinking it was a rag.”

  Tripp frowned, tapping his fingers on the desk. Benson tossed his legal pad back into his briefcase and closed it, snapping the locks with quiet deliberation. “You have nothing, Lieutenant Tripp. If and when you feel you have something convicting my client of a crime—you know, like a body or something—call me.”

  He stood up, taking Karen’s elbow and guiding her to her feet. “We’re leaving now, Karen. They don’t have anything to hold you.”

  Tripp stood up, glaring. “We have a missing husband, an abandoned car, a bloody knife, and blood on the wife’s clothes. I’d say we have something.”

  “You have nothing, Tripp. You know it and I know it.”

  “The cashier at the restaurant said that Mrs. Matthews was quite upset when she came in, obviously crying.”

  Benson narrowed his eyes, leaning forward, forcing Tripp to move back. “Her child is missing. She believes her husband has gone to meet with kidnappers. She is facing hours of sitting around wringing her hands waiting for her husband to return safe and sound with their child. In the meantime, the police haven’t done squat to find her daughter. Don’t you think the woman has something to be upset about?”

  Tripp growled.

  “Let’s go, Karen.”

  Karen let Benson guide her from the interview room, her heart pounding. Ted was missing, presumed dead, and they thought she’d done it. Her daughter was missing, and they thought she was responsible for that, too. How much worse could things get?

  Suddenly she gasped. “What if he was killed, Mr. Benson? What if he was taking the money to someone? Maybe the people who have Jessica did call Friday. Maybe they contacted him while he was out to lunch or something. Maybe they followed him, contacted him there so there was no record of a call into his office. Maybe when he met them with the money, they took it all and killed him. Oh, no. Oh, my God. They’ve killed my husband and my daughter. Oh, God. What am I going to do?”

  “Calm down.”

  “Maybe he’s still okay. Maybe the kidnappers just want more money. Maybe they’ll contact me.”

  Benson looked skeptical as he glanced over at her. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

  Karen leaned against the seat as he shut her door. His skepticism was palpable. Definite. There would be no ransom. He believed Ted was dead. She just wasn’t ready to accept that. Her whole life had collapsed in two weeks. Two weeks ago today, Jessica was taken. Fourteen days later her husband was also missing and the police thought she was guilty of murder.

  “God, what have you done to me?” she whispered.

  Benson opened his door and climbed in. “Did you say something?”

  Karen shook her head and turned to stare out the window, fighting back the tears.

  #

  Business was slow at her mother’s boutique and Zoe was bored. She wandered around the store, straightening the same racks over and over, mindlessly fingering the silks and cashmeres.

  She had promised her mother to open the store for a few hours every day, and it had seemed like a small concession at the time. Now she wished she’d convinced her mother to close for a few days.

  Zoe glanced at her watch. One forty-five. She’d sold $225 worth of clothes. Barely enough to cover payroll, taxes, rent, and electricity.

  Hanging the closed sign, she locked the door, grabbed her purse, and set the alarm before slipping out the back exit.

  When she got home, Zoe put a load of wash in the machine, straightened the kitchen, swept the deck, and stretched out on a deck lounge to read. Minutes later, she was fast asleep.

  #

  Zoe clawed at the weight pressing down on her face, suffocating her. She tried to move. Tried to fight. Panic ripped through her. She struggled to open her eyes. To see death. To face it.

  He’d managed to get to her. But how? She hadn’t suspected he’d come during the day. Darkness s
wirled in her like dancers in a macabre death march.

  Forcing her mind to slow down, she lurched forward.

  Gasping for air, Zoe stared at the long shadows stretching across the deck. Whirling around, she searched for her attacker.

  Her book lay on the deck, its pages fluttering. The wind chimes stirred softly, tinkling as the soft scent of roses drifted on the breeze. Somewhere in the yard, a bird whistled to its mate.

  A dream. It had only been a dream. Sweat ran down her face and neck. Her shirt was drenched. Burying her face in her hands, she concentrated on breathing. On letting her lungs fill and empty without fear. No one was suffocating her. She wasn’t going to die. She wasn’t. . .

  Pictures flickered through her mind like a slide show gone crazy. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to capture one of the images and hold it. Stone wall. Hold it. Ivy. Hold it. Emily. Where are you, Emily? Her mind and thoughts reached out like a hand, stretching out to touch, to hold. The images slipped through her fingers like water, flowing out and away.

  But it was enough. Zoe jumped up and ran inside, grabbing the phone off the wall. Quickly she dialed. Then waited.

  “Detective. . .”

  “I need Johnson,” she sputtered, cutting the woman off. “This is Zoe Shefford. I need to talk to Detective Johnson right away.”

  “Hold on.”

  Zoe’s knees rocked beneath her as she waited impatiently to hear his familiar voice.

  “Detective John—”

  “This is Zoe. I know where Emily is!”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Zoe slammed down the phone and scrambled into the bedroom. She rushed to change into jeans and sneakers, exchanging her sweat-drenched shirt for a pullover. Grabbing her hair, she tied it back quickly with a scrunchie and rushed to the front door. JJ wasn’t there yet.

  She began to pace. Another five minutes passed. She grabbed her purse and stepped outside, locking the door behind her. She paced up and down her driveway. She had made one full trip up and back when JJ whipped his Cherokee into the driveway and screeched to a halt.