by Irene Hannon
"Yeah" Nick tried to swallow past his fear. Failed. "Someone abducted Rachel in the hotel parking lot. We need to swing by her house and pick up some items for the K-9 unit"
"You have a key?"
"No. But she mentioned once that she keeps one under the birdbath in her backyard"
They were treading on tricky legal ground by entering Rachel's house. Nick knew that, and was glad Mark didn't make an issue of it. The paperwork and red tape to "legalize" their entry would take time they might not have. Besides, Rachel had told him once that the key was for emergencies.
He figured this qualified.
At her house, Nick didn't waste a second as he went about his task in a methodical, efficient manner. He tried not to picture her warm, intelligent eyes and the auburn highlights in her hair as he stripped the case off her pillow. Tried to ignore the faint floral scent that was all Rachel as he grabbed a few pieces of clothing from drawers and closets. Tried not to remember their impromptu Valentine's dinner as he stowed the items in a plastic bag he found in her kitchen from the Italian restaurant that had supplied their entree that night.
Most of all, he tried to stop the parade of grisly scenarios parading through his brain.
But he couldn't stop the tremors that shook his hands.
And as he rejoined Mark in the car and they sped toward the hotel, Nick sent another silent plea heavenward.
Please, Lord, keep Rachel safe until we find her.
The darkness was absolute.
The cold was brutal.
The throbbing pain in her head was excruciating.
But she was alive.
For now.
Fighting her way back to consciousness, Rachel tried to take inventory and get her bearings.
She was lying on what felt like a hard-packed dirt floor. Her shaking fingers confirmed that with a quick exploration of the uneven, textured surface. She must be in the small shed she'd noticed in the clearing.
And the handcuffs were gone. That was good news. But her coat was missing too.
Relief gave way to renewed panic.
With temperatures in the teens and slated to fall into the single digits before a new day dawned, she doubted she would survive the night without her coat. She had to find a way out.
On her hands and knees, Rachel explored the small space. Eight-by-ten, she estimated. Empty except for a small, sharp rock in one corner. Her coat and shoes had vanished.
Using the wall for support, Rachel pulled herself to her feet, trying to maintain her balance. Even without the blow to her head, her equilibrium would be off in the disorienting, silent darkness. Nevertheless, she worked her way around the walls, every inch of her body aching, her throat raw as she swallowed. The structure seemed to be constructed of concrete blocks. No windows. One heavy wooden door that gave slightly but was obviously locked.
A wave of despair swept over her, but she wrestled it into submission. She should be grateful. The woman could have killed her. This was a reprieve. Another chance to escape.
If she didn't panic.
If she didn't die of hypothermia first.
She had to find a way to stay warm until Nick found her. And he would. She knew that with absolute conviction.
What she didn't know was if he would arrive in time.
But she would do her part. She would buy herself every possible minute.
Shivers convulsed her, and she wrapped her arms around her body, trying to conserve warmth. Shivering was good, though. Hadn't she read somewhere once that shivering increased heat production? For a while, anyway.
The important thing was to keep moving. Stay active. Not enough to break a sweat, however. She seemed to recall that there was a connection between dehydration and hypothermia. But active enough to generate some heat.
And while she was generating heat, she might as well do it in some activity that would also help her get out of this icebox. So ... okay ... maybe she could work on the door hinges with the sharp rock she'd felt on the floor. Perhaps dig out the wood around the plates, loosen them. Yes, that was good. It was a plan. And plans kept you focused.
As Rachel eased down again to her hands and knees to search for the rock, the cross around her neck swung forward. Sitting back on her heels, she gripped it in her cold fingers and tried to recall the Bible verse the minister had preached on-was it only this morning? It seemed days ago. It had been a message about God being a person's rock and salvation. About how he was the soul's source of rest and hope. And that if you believed in him, you wouldn't be disturbed.
Nick believed. And it showed in his demeanor. He projected a quiet, inner peace, a confidence about his place in the world. It was clear he was comfortable with himself and his relationship with God.
Another shiver convulsed her. Perhaps she should follow his example. Put her trust in God. She would do her best to find a way out of this. That was her nature. Besides, wasn't there an old adage about God helping those who help themselves? But if she tried and failed, she needed to accept that as God's will.
And be grateful he'd graced her life with a wonderful man and a newfound sister, if only for a short time.
"Is that a shiver, honey? Want me to crank up the heater?"
Rebecca turned up the collar of her coat and stuck her hands in the pockets, twisting around to check on Bridget, who was asleep in her car seat. Despite the toasty air, she felt chilled to the bone.
"No, that's okay. How much longer to St. Louis?"
"About an hour. Want to stop and get some food?"
"No. I'm too nervous to eat:"
"I'm sure the FBI will walk us through what to expect at the press conference tomorrow"
"I'm not worried about that"
"Then what's wrong?"
Rebecca stared out the car window into the darkness. "I don't know:"
"Maybe it's stress. And lack of sleep. These past few weeks have been rough"
"No. This just started. About the time we left home" Another shiver rippled through her and she fidgeted in her seat. "I think I'll call Rachel."
Silence fell as Rebecca dug her cell phone out of her purse and tapped in Rachel's number. Already, she knew it by heart.
After four rings, the answering machine kicked in.
Another shiver swept over her.
Followed by another surge of uneasiness.
And then she knew.
"Colin. . " Panic tightened her voice. "Rachel's in trouble. I have to call Nick:"
She could feel Colin's scrutiny in the dark as she fumbled for her purse and groped inside for Nick's card.
"Honey ... are you sure? It's Sunday night"
"Yes. I told you what Rachel and I talked about the night we met. I had headaches and limped as a child when she was going through surgery for injuries from the accident. Rachel, who never gets sick, had to take off work with what she thought was an intestinal bug both days I was in labor with the girls. She's been unsettled since the day Megan was kidnapped. We have some kind of connection, Colin. I can't explain it, but it's real. I know she's in danger."
"Okay. Then go ahead and call Nick"
Rebecca lifted the phone to her ear. "I already did"
The dead-end street where Rachel had disappeared lived up to that description. Nick raked his fingers through his hair in disgust and surveyed the upscale lane of stately brick homes. The FBI's investigation had yielded nothing. The K-9 unit had picked up Rachel's scent and led them to the end of the street, but the trail ended there. More agents had shown up, and they'd canvassed the neighborhood, assisted by the local police. They'd drawn a zero too. None of the residents had seen or heard a thing. The Evidence Response Team was on-site, but to the naked eye there was little to recover. And if any trace evidence was discovered, the analysis wouldn't happen fast enough to help them find Rachel.
Alive, anyway.
The knot in his gut tightened.
Lord, please give us a break here.
"Ellen's here" Mark passed on the news as
he joined them.
"Is the press already on this?"
"Yeah. And one of them talked to the doorman, who mentioned Rachel's name. Now that there's a link to the kidnapping, they're all over this. Ellen's polishing the formal comments that were supposed to be given tomorrow. Marty talked to Chicago, and they agreed we should move on this tonight, in light of the new development. The SAC up there is going to hold a press conference at the same time and read the same statement. My guess is Rachel's photo will be all over the ten o'clock news"
Good. Now that Rachel had been snatched, there was no point in waiting to reveal the connection between Rachel and Rebecca. They needed leads. Fast. If Rachel's picture was circulated, maybe someone who'd seen her would call.
"We need to keep the K-9 unit on. . " His BlackBerry began to vibrate, and he pulled it out. "Bradley"
"Nick, it's Rebecca O'Neil:"
"Rebecca." He exchanged a look with Mark. He'd been putting off this call, hoping to have better news to pass on. "I knew you were on your way down. I was going to call you at the hotel in about an hour. I have some-"
"Nick." At her abrupt interruption, he frowned. "Look, I know this is going to sound weird, but I'm convinced Rachel is in trouble. I can feel it"
His antennas went up and he motioned for Mark to stick close. "Tell me about it." He wanted to hear what Rebecca had to say before her impressions were adulterated by his news.
"For the past four hours or so, I've been very uneasy. Colin thought I might be nervous about the press conference tomorrow, but it's more than that, Nick. And the other thing is, I'm freezing. I can't stop shivering, and Colin has the heater cranked all the way up. Wherever Rachel is, she's really cold:' Her words came out shaky, and she took a deep breath. "Now I know how Rachel must have felt when she brought you the doll. It sounds crazy, doesn't it?"
A few weeks ago he would have said yes. He'd always based his investigative work on facts, not feelings. But he'd learned a thing or two since then.
"Not anymore. I now have a healthy respect for twin telepathy." He swallowed, and his grip on the BlackBerry tightened. "Your feelings are valid, Rebecca. I knew you were already en route or I would have called sooner. Rachel has been abducted"
He heard her gasp. "I was afraid it was something like that:" Her words grew muffled as she relayed the news to Colin. "What happened?"
Nick filled her in. "When will you be here?"
"In less than an hour. Who did this, Nick? Is it Megan's kidnapper?"
"We don't know. And the abductor was too bundled up for us to make a visual ID. Is there anything else you can tell me that might help us pinpoint Rachel's location? Like whether she's inside or outside?"
"No. Just the coldness. Wherever she is, there's no heat. Nick, it's supposed to get down to single digits tonight!"
He heard the panic in her voice. Felt it in his gut. Did his best to respond in a calm tone. "I know. We're working as fast as we can. We hope the press coverage after our statement will generate some leads. I'll call you with any developments, okay?"
"Okay. But Nick ... please find her. I don't want to lose the sister I just discovered" She choked on the last word.
"I don't want to lose her either, Rebecca." His own voice hoarsened, and he cleared his throat.
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
"Prayer would be good. And call me if you have any other feelings, okay?"
"Okay."
"I'll be in touch:" He pushed the end button and slipped the BlackBerry into its holder on his belt.
"What's up?" Mark asked.
"Twin telepathy again. Rebecca knew something had happened to Rachel. And that she's somewhere very cold"
"Anything more specific?"
"No. But if she's exposed to the cold, we need to work fast:"
And hope for a miracle.
Pulling into the driveway of the house Marsha shared with three other college students, Debra shut off the engine and checked her watch. Seven-forty-five. She'd told the daycare worker she'd pick up Danielle by eight, and she was early, thanks to a heavy foot on the gas pedal. She wanted her baby back in her arms as soon as possible.
Still, her hours apart from her daughter had been well spent. Rachel Sutton wouldn't be a threat to her anymore. She'd disappeared off the face of the earth, just as Megan O'Neil had. And Debra was confident she hadn't made any mistakes this time with items that could turn up later and cause problems. The psychic's coat and purse, along with the tarp and the tools, were in a place no one would ever think to look.
After checking her hair and makeup in the rearview mirror to confirm nothing was amiss, Debra forced the car door open against the frigid, blustery wind. She'd have to wrap Danielle up extra well to protect her against the foul weather. Mother Nature was a fickle thing, wreaking her fury on humans with detached abandon. Hurricanes, floods, earthquakes ... cold. All of them could kill. And the blame rested solely on the forces of nature. On an act of God, as the courts and insurance companies often referred to it.
Debra quickly traversed the short walkway to the front door and pressed the bell. She'd hated to ask Marsha to watch Danielle, but she'd had no one else to call on. And she'd needed total concentration for this afternoon's task.
But now it was time to take her baby home.
"Hi, Ms. Kraus:" Marsha was juggling Danielle on her hip as she pulled the door open. "We've been waiting for you, haven't we, sugar?" She touched the baby's nose, eliciting a giggle from the infant. "Come on in while I put her snowsuit on. It's a cold one, isn't it?"
Debra took one step in. Two other young women were lounging in a living room filled with eclectic furnishings. Debra stayed just inside the door. "I can do that:"
"I don't mind" Marsha carried the little girl into the room, forcing Debra to follow. She set Danielle on the couch and guided her arms and legs into the one-piece outfit. "Did you finish your project?"
The question puzzled Debra-until she remembered the excuse she'd given Marsha for needing her babysitting services on Sunday. An urgent project for a hot case at work that had to be completed by tomorrow morning.
"Yes. All done."
"Good. It's the pits to have to work on the weekend, isn't it? But I suppose that will be my lot too, once I get my nursing degree" She grinned, zipped up the suit, and passed Danielle to Debra. "I'll see you both tomorrow"
"Thanks for watching Danielle" Debra handed over some folded bills.
"No problem. I can always use a few extra bucks. Drive safe, okay?"
With a wave, Debra exited.
"Time to go home, sweetie, she whispered as she curved her body around the baby to protect her as much as possible from the wind. "Just me and you. Isn't that nice?"
In response, Danielle gave a soft sigh and snuggled closer.
Debra's heart melted. Anyone could see the two of them belonged together. That this was how it was supposed to be. She'd known from the day she'd seen Megan's photo and overheard Rebecca O'Neil talking about the challenges of dealing with two young children that Danielle was meant to be hers.
For a brief second today, when Rachel Sutton had talked about God, she'd had a fleeting doubt about her plan to dispose of the psychic. But it had passed quickly. She'd built a new life for herself and her baby, and she was entitled to defend that from threats. It was a mother's prerogative. Rachel shouldn't have stuck her nose in where it didn't belong. Her decision to take that doll to the FBI had prompted what followed. She had no one to blame but herself.
But that was all over now. Debra drew in a slow, calming breath as she strapped the baby into the car seat. There were no more dolls to be found. Rachel was out of the picture. There wasn't anything or anyone who could jeopardize the life she'd created.
She and her baby were safe.
"We have some breaking news on the O'Neil kidnapping:" The anchorman for the nine o'clock news picked up a piece of paper while a photo of Megan O'Neil, her mother, and a young woman at a piano flashed on the scr
een.
As the man began recounting the connection between the two women and provided details on Rachel's abduction, Allen moved closer to the TV in his bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed.
"According to the FBI profiler's evaluation of Megan O'Neil's kidnapper, the abductor is thought to be a woman in her thirties or forties who simply wanted a baby. She may be intelligent and functional in most areas of her life but could be suffering from delusional disorder. The FBI has asked that anyone with information on tonight's abduction call as soon as possible." The anchorman recited the number as it flashed across the bottom of the screen.
Without thinking, Allen grabbed a pen from the nightstand and jotted the number on a test paper he'd been grading, staring at it as the anchorman moved on to other stories.
Since reading the Tribune story earlier in the evening, he'd been unable to get thoughts of the O'Neil baby out of his mind. While he'd done his best to talk himself out of a possible connection between Debra and the kidnapping, the FBI profiler's description of the abductor fit his ex-wife. And she was in St. Louis. With a baby of unknown origin.
It was still a long shot. He knew that. And he'd be bringing all kinds of grief down on Debra if there was an innocent explanation for the coincidence.
But what if there wasn't?
What if the life of that abducted woman hung in the balance?
Could he live with himself if he remained silent, only to find out later his hunch had been right and someone had died?
In the end, Allen knew he didn't have a choice.
Praying he wasn't making a huge mistake that would embarrass everyone, he picked up the phone.
"Rebecca, why don't you lie down for a while? You could rest, even if you can't sleep. The FBI will call if there's any news"
Pacing the hotel room, Rebecca shook her head at Colin's suggestion. "I'm too restless. And too cold:" She had on two sweaters and still felt chilled. Pulling out her cell phone, she dialed Rachel's number, as she'd been doing every fifteen minutes.
"She's not going to answer, honey."
"How do you know?" Rebecca snapped, then immediately regretted her sharp response to his gentle comment. "Sorry." She tucked her hair behind her ear and wrapped her arms around herself. "I keep thinking maybe, if she's unconscious, she might come to and answer. It's the only thing I can do, Colin. I know it's not much, but it's better than sitting around waiting"