Missing Person: A Riveting Kidnapping Mystery- Book 1

by James Hunt

  “It’s all right,” Grant said.

  Charles tried to speak, but when he couldn’t find the words, he motioned Grant closer and then whispered in his ear. It was a message for his family, and when he was done and he pulled back, tears dripped down his face. “I don’t want to die.” The time ticked below twenty seconds. “Please don’t let me die.”

  As the clock wound down, ticking below fifteen seconds, Charles repeated the words more frantically, keeping his hold on Grant.

  “I’m sorry.” Grant ripped his hand free from Charles’s death grip and then backtracked, his eyes falling from the doomed father’s face to the clock on his chest, which ticked at the ten-second mark. “I’m sorry, Charles.” Grant turned on his heel and sprinted toward the door then burst out into the sunlight to see dozens of rifles were trained on him. “Get back! Get down!” He waved his arms, and when he reached the blockade of vehicles that surrounded the house, a blast of heat hit his back, and the explosion rocked the house.

  Grant skidded over the hoods of the cars seconds after the blast had died down, and he landed hard on his shoulder on the pavement as other heads and bodies turned from the blast. When it was done, Grant lingered on the blacktop for a moment, a dull throb in his shoulder as the world around him exploded like the house he’d just escaped.

  “Grant!” Hickem was in his ear, screaming and patting his shoulder. “Grant! Are you okay? What the hell happened in there?”

  Slowly, Grant positioned his hands and feet beneath him, a tingling vibration sending waves from the back of his head all the way to his fingertips. His ears were ringing a little, and when he finally stood upright, he had to use the car behind him to keep from falling down.

  “We need a medic over here!” Hickem yelled, waving his big arms at the ambulances down the street, and a team of SWAT members stormed into the house to examine the charred wreckage of whatever remained.

  Hickem kept his hand on Grant’s shoulder, keeping him upright until a paramedic was able to take over, flashing a light in Grant’s eyes and asking him questions like his name and the day of the week, all of which Grant answered correctly.

  “We should get him to the hospital and run some additional tests.” The medic pocketed the flashlight and removed the blood-pressure wrap from Grant’s arm, but Grant shook his head.

  “No, I need to get back to Seattle.” Grant pushed himself off the car and made it one step before Hickem pulled him back.

  “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell happened inside that house.”

  Grant winced, a sharp pain piercing the top of his head. “He was tied up.”

  “Who? Copella?”

  “Yeah.” Grant rubbed the top of his head ferociously, and the pain eased. “There was a bunch of C-4 strapped around the legs of the chair, and there was a timer.” Grant moved his hand across his chest and then shut his eyes. “There wasn’t enough time, but he told me—Gah!” What felt like an axe to the head trying to slice his skull in two brought both hands to the sides of his head to keep it together.

  “All right, yeah, you’re going to the hospital,” the medic said.

  But as the medical officer tried to move Grant, he remembered what Charles Copella had told him, and what he needed to tell his family. “I have to get to Seattle. I have to tell them.”

  “Grant— Grant, stop it!” Hickem used his size and strength to keep Grant still and then pinned him back up against the car. “What did he say? Was it about Joza? Was it about Links? What did he tell you?”

  Grant locked eyes with Hickem, Charles Copella’s words rattling around in his head. “It was for his family. He… He knew what was happening. He knew he wouldn’t survive, and he wanted them to know how… how he felt.”

  Disappointed, Hickem let Grant go and paced in a tight circle. “God dammit!” He turned to one of his men. “I want an APB out for Nathan Links. He couldn’t have gotten far, not with his office in Washington. At the very least, he’ll know he can’t leave the country.”

  Grant turned toward the wreckage of the house, firefighters already on scene to try to extinguish the small fires that had sprouted around the explosion. A column of smoke stretched toward the blue sky, and Grant followed it all the way to the top, before following it back down to the house.

  He knew there wouldn’t be anything left to find of Charles Copella. His family would bury an empty coffin. And he would have to deliver a dying father’s final message. Like an angel of death, Grant would only bring more pain to an already grieving family.

  13

  The time between getting on the helicopter with Hickem and returning to Seattle had been erased from Grant’s memory. The only good news that he heard was about Sam. Bruised ribs, nothing broken, and no vital damage to any of her organs. But the doctors were quick to point out that she was lucky the bullet hadn’t gone any further, or she could have been looking at a broken sternum.

  Still dressed in his tactical uniform, Grant entered the marshal building, Hickem helping to direct him toward the room where Mary and Anna were waiting for him. He floated through the halls, dreading the conversation he was forced to take part in.

  Covered in grime and smut from the explosion that killed Charles, Grant paused at the door before entering the office where Mary and Anna were huddled together. He saw the pair through the window in the door. Anna was in her mother’s lap, face pressed firmly against her chest, with Mary stroking her daughter’s hair with her one good hand.

  As an outsider looking in, Grant didn’t want to open the door. It wasn’t because he was afraid to deliver the news of her husband. Someone had already informed them about that. Nor was it because of the message that Charles Copella bequeathed upon him to carry on to his family. It was simply because the pair of girls inside that room were peaceful. It was one of those quiet moments between loved ones, where the outside world dissolved and the only thing that mattered was the person that you were with. Those were moments, no matter the circumstances, that you wanted to have last forever. Grant didn’t want to enter the room because with his presence, that moment would end. But he also knew that he couldn’t hold off on telling them. It was like ripping off a Band-Aid. Better to do it quickly.

  Mary lifted her head toward Grant at the sound of the door opening, but Anna kept her face buried in her mother’s shirt. She didn’t smile at Grant when he entered. She didn’t offer an expression of any kind. She was stoic. And it chilled Grant down to his bones.

  Grant said nothing as he sat down in a chair across the table. For a long time, the only noise in the room was the hum of the lights and the sniffles from Anna as she occasionally adjusted herself in her mother’s lap. And then, when Grant’s mouth wasn’t so dry, he broke his silence.

  “I must have been in this situation a hundred times when I worked Homicide,” Grant said, his hands clasped together on the cold surface of the metal table. “But this one is different, because I didn’t know the victims like I know you.”

  Mary kissed the top of Anna’s head, no longer even looking at Grant.

  “I was there right before,” Grant said, knowing that Mary would be able to fill in the blanks without him. “He wanted me to tell you something. To the both of you. He wanted you to know that—”

  “You promised.” Anna quickly removed her face from her mother’s shirt, her cheeks red and wet from crying. “You told me you would bring my dad home. You promised me that you would.” Her mouth widened in preparation for her crying, her lips downturned and her eyes reddening with tears. “You promised!”

  Grant kept quiet as Anna slammed her face back into her mother’s shirt, sobbing as Mary tried to soothe her child, stroking her hair, and kissing her forehead. And finally that stoic expression faded, and the lines of anger appeared on her face. It wasn’t a direct loathing of Grant himself. He knew that Mary understood none of this was his fault. If anything, she and Anna were alive because of him. But the anger had to be directed somewhere, and Grant was in
her line of sight.

  “Get on with it,” Mary said. “What did he say? What did Charles tell you before he died?” She choked on the last word.

  Grant nodded, knowing that the words didn’t matter, because they were coming from him. Not from a husband or a father. “He wanted both of you to know how much he loved you. He wanted to make sure you understood just how important you were. And he wanted you to remember that summer on Long Island and that trip down to Florida. He’ll miss you both terribly, and he’s glad you’re safe. He says that you’ll both be safe forever now.”

  Anna cried harder, and Mary released a few tears, and the pair held onto one another tightly. Grant stood and left, receiving no thanks or apologies, and understanding the reason for both.

  When he stepped into the hallway, Multz was there waiting for him. He glanced back into the room, finding the mother and daughter still holding onto one another. He suspected they’d be like that for a long time.

  “Charles told me he gave up the codes to the accounts,” Grant said. “Have they been accessed yet?”

  Multz’s voice cracked as he answered. “No.”

  Grant nodded, thinking to himself, his brain so preoccupied with the case that he didn’t notice Multz’s hesitation. “They’re probably looking for a safe way to transfer the money. That much cash with that much heat on it is bound to—”

  “Grant,” Multz said. “I received a call while you were gone. I didn’t want to tell you over the radio because—” He sighed, running his fingers through the flattop of grey and white. “Because I thought it best that you hear it in person.”

  Grant took a step back, bracing for the news, and unprepared for the response.

  “It’s about Lieutenant Mullocks,” Multz said, speaking slowly. “She was attacked at her home. We don’t know where she is, or her condition, but we believe that she was taken by Joza because of her connection to the case.”

  Grant’s shoulder thudded against the wall as his knees buckled. Multz grabbed hold of Grant to help keep him upright.

  “Because of me,” Grant whispered, his mouth dry, but his eyes watering.

  “C’mon,” Multz said, giving Grant a tug down the hall. “You need to sit down.”

  But Grant reclaimed his arm, stumbling backward. “You said she was taken because of her connection to the case.” Grant shook his head, remembering what Links had told him over the phone, that he would be reaching out to him again. “She was taken because of me.”

  “Grant, you need to take a minute and—”

  “Where’s Rick?” At first Multz remained quiet, but then Grant took an aggressive step toward him. “Where is he?”

  “Upstairs. Interrogation room seven. But, Grant, you can’t—”

  But Grant had already turned away, ignoring Multz’s pleas to stop. When he turned the corner of the hall, he glanced down at his watch, the timer still running. But Charles’s death closed the case on the Copellas. He stopped the timer and was about to restart again out of habit, but he froze.

  What he would have to do next, the road that he would be forced to travel, he couldn’t treat this as just another abduction case. Because this wasn’t about time anymore, it was about survival. It was about doing whatever was necessary to bring Mocks and her child back alive.

  To the left in his peripheral he spied a trash can, and he walked over, a rage simmering beneath the self-loathing and the guilt over his closest friend’s abduction. It was that earth-scorching, apocalyptic fire that consumed everything. It was a fire he hadn’t let loose since Ellen’s death, and it nearly killed him. But as he made his walk toward Rick and his judgement, he found that shroud of apathy fall over him. His life didn’t matter anymore. It didn’t matter how many people had to die to bring Mocks back. He wasn’t going to fail. And he didn’t need a fucking watch to tell him that.

  Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story!

  Writing has always been a passion of mine and it’s incredibly gratifying and rewarding whenever you give me an opportunity to let you escape from your everyday surroundings and entertain the world that is your imagination.

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  Again, thank you so much for letting me into your world. I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I did writing it!

  The Mystery Continues with Book 2- Click Here!

  Former Seattle Police Detective Chase Grant finds himself thrust back into a game he never thought he’d have to play again. Every step brings him closer to an end he’s ill-prepared to confront. And while stakes are life and death, he’s hoping his life is the only one that’s taken.

  The Mystery Continues with Book 2- Click Here!

  The Mystery Continues with Book 2- Click Here!

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