The Taking of Carly Bradford

by Richards, Ramona

  He nodded, but instead crossed to her rapidly. “My men are circling around.” He dropped to one knee and took her hands in his. “How are you doing?”

  Tyler’s grip was warm and comforting, and more of the tension eased out of her body. She nodded. “I’m okay.” At his look of doubt, she looked down at their hands and realized he could feel her trembling. “Shaky, but okay. The adrenaline.”

  “Any idea what set off the alarm?”

  She shook her head, but Maggie’s “Not yet” caused them both to turn. Emerging from the hall, Maggie pressed David’s body against hers, and he murmured softly into her shoulder as his thumb found his mouth. “We haven’t had time to search the house, but it’s not that big. I bet anyone trying to get in ran off when the alarm sounded.”

  “No doubt.”

  “Maggie.” Fletcher came back in, his gun still in one hand. He pointed toward the backyard. “We can’t see anyone out back, and the writers are starting to gather. Can you talk to them, get them to go back to their cabins? Tyler’s men are still out there.”

  Tyler stood. “We need to search the house.”

  Fletcher nodded at him. “True. You start with that wing.” He hesitated, then lovingly touched David’s back as he spoke again to Maggie. “You’re probably safer with the deputies. Stay with one of them until I give the all clear.”

  And with that, Dee was alone again, as Tyler disappeared down the hallway where her bedroom was, and Fletcher searched the rooms on the opposite side of the great room. She curled up in the chair again and pulled a lush throw from across the back down onto her legs. Despite the warmth of the weather, she felt chilled.

  Maggie was right; searching the house shouldn’t take long. While larger than any home Dee had ever lived in, the retreat’s lodge had been designed for comfort and practicality, not luxury. The large great room was both living and dining room, with a sitting area near a fireplace at the front and a dining table that sat sixteen at the back. A kitchen with an open counter was located on the south side, and two hallways on opposite sides led to four rooms each. In addition to the kitchen, on the south hallway were Maggie’s office, her and Fletcher’s bedroom, and David’s nursery. Three rooms on the north hall were all bedrooms, two for guests and one for the groundskeeper—a woman named Julie, who kept to herself so completely that the writers only saw her at dinner. The fourth room was a laundry open to all the residents.

  The steps leading downstairs also led off the north hallway. The game room downstairs held a bar, pool table, and video games, as well as the only television set at the retreat. A narrow loft over the great room held a public computer with Internet access and research materials.

  Both men returned quickly, and Tyler glanced once at Dee, then spoke to Fletcher in low tones. The older man turned and went out the front door as Tyler returned, sitting in the chair closest to Dee.

  “Dee, did you hear anything before the alarm went off?”

  She searched his face, suspicious. “Why?”

  Tyler stared down at his hands for a moment, clenching them into fists once, then relaxing. He inhaled deeply, then looked at her again. “The window in your room has been tampered with, as if someone tried to pry it open from the outside. Apparently, when that didn’t succeed, they risked the back door. That’s what set off the alarm.”

  An icy wave of fear flooded over Dee, and she clutched the throw tighter. “Why? Why me?”

  Tyler closed his hands over hers and leaned closer, his voice tender and low. “I don’t know. There’s a possibility this is random, just coincidence. You had the bedroom on the front. It’s the window closest to the ground.”

  Watching Tyler’s face, feeling the heat of his hands on hers, a tenuous sense of peace settled over her. “You don’t believe that it’s unrelated, do you?”

  He hesitated, then shook his head. “No. I’m not a fan of coincidences of any kind, and there’s never been a break-in here.”

  Her mouth twisted. “A burglar would have to be an idiot to try here. Fletcher’s armed, and the writers prowl the grounds at all hours of the night when their writing isn’t going well. But I still don’t get why he would come after me.”

  “Maybe he thought you still had the shoes.”

  “But—”

  Tyler’s grip tightened around her fingers. “Don’t try to make sense of it right now. It’s still too early to reason it through. Not enough evidence.”

  Fletcher stepped back through the front door and motioned for Tyler.

  “I’ll be right back,” he whispered as he stood. The two men conferred in soft voices that made it impossible for her to understand the words.

  Instead, Dee watched Tyler, trying to figure out why the fear that had swarmed over her, the darkness that remained a threat just at the edge of her awareness, slipped away whenever he came near. That didn’t make sense either. Nothing did, and her thoughts swirled in a fog again, frustrating her. These painkillers! She looked down and fingered her bandages lightly, testing the pain, and found her wounds still tender to the touch. She knew she should continue the pills, at least through tomorrow, but she hated being like this, dazed and foggy. From the moment she’d realized the shoes were Carly’s, she’d felt the drive to do something. Help. That feeling hadn’t gone away, not even after the attack, the drugs.

  I want to talk to the Bradfords.

  Dee took a deep breath and pushed the throw aside and stood up.

  Tyler appeared at her side instantly, taking her arm. “What are you doing?”

  “I want to talk to the Bradfords.”

  Tyler stood quite still for a moment, his eyes widening for a moment, then narrowing. Clearly, that was not what he’d expected her to say. He studied her, then licked his lips. “Dee, it’s close to midnight. I hope they’re asleep.”

  She shook her head once, ignoring a sudden pain in her left cheek. “They won’t be. This is when it wakes you up. Always.”

  It. The grief. The fear. The scant remaining hope. The nightmares. The chasm of loss.

  He didn’t ask. In fact, he nodded slightly and stood straighter, as if he understood. But he didn’t relent. “But they need each other, not to be interrupted when it’s the rawest.”

  Dee stared, her breath caught in her throat. He did get it. She exhaled slowly. “Then tomorrow.”

  He nodded. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Right now, we have some crime scene details to take care of. We could move you and Maggie to a hotel, but I think you’ll be safer here. Obviously, reaction to intruders here is pretty swift and thorough. We’re moving you across the hall so you can rest while we finish.”

  “And the window is higher off the ground.”

  He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “It has its advantages.”

  Dee put one hand on his arm. “Tyler, whatever it is I’m afraid of, it’s not a person. Not really.”

  He nodded, then reached up and gently touched her cheek. “I know. If it were, you would have dropped the shoes.”

  Safe.

  She’d been attacked, drugged, and had her temporary “home” violated. Yet for the first time in three years, Dee Kelley felt the fear truly slip away, not just a feeling that was held at bay for a moment, still looking over her shoulder. In this man’s presence, looking into his eyes, it dissipated, like fog in the glare of the morning sun.

  With Tyler, she was safe.

  SIX

  Carly watched the moonlight creep slowly across her window, unable to go back to sleep. Her captor had returned almost an hour ago, the rage in full flower, and the screams, thuds and crashes echoed through the overhead vent and shook the ceiling. Carly had waited, fear freezing her to the bed, for the sound of boots on the stairs, but they never came. Even though the silence had lasted a long time, Carly couldn’t sleep.

  Cool white light filled the room, and she looked around, once again, at her strange prison. The window, barely eight inches high and a foot wide, let in the only light from outside. The room, though s
potless and neatly decorated, smelled damp and a bit moldy. The walls were painted a delicate lavender, and the white bed and dresser were the perfect size for a young girl. A toy box sat in one corner, loaded down with dolls and other playthings, but Carly had not touched them, much to the dismay of her captor.

  A child’s desk in the corner under the ceiling vent still held art supplies, but Carly hadn’t touched them in several days. She’d drawn a few pictures in the beginning, but her captor took them away, acting proud of them, which made Carly feel even worse. She wasn’t about to do anything that made her captor happy.

  Her dinner tray still sat on the dresser, forgotten in her captor’s rush to get out of the house tonight. An old black-and-white television sat next to the tray, but it barely picked up two local channels. Boring.

  Less boring were the books that filled a small case near the dresser. They were as old as the toys, but Carly knew some of the titles, and her mother had read several to her when she was younger. These helped. The Secret Garden. Anne of Green Gables. Big Red. Queenie Peavy. Several Nancy Drew books. These reminded her that kids in trouble usually got out of it.

  Carly swallowed. She had to get out of it, too. She stood up on the bed and stepped up on the headboard, careful with her balance. She’d figured out that if she braced one hand on the wall and grabbed the window frame with the other, she could tiptoe high enough to see out the window. She wasn’t strong enough to stay in that position long, but at least she could see out sometimes.

  The window looked out on a large yard, and tonight the bright moon turned the bushes and trees into hulking towers casting black shadows over the lawn. The glittering eyes of a cat shone from beneath one of the bushes as it hunted.

  Carly’s muscles trembled from the strain, and she dropped back down on the bed. Her mind wandered to the books again. I’m a princess who’s been captured, but who will rescue me? Or how do I rescue myself?

  She got up, snapped on the lamp near the bed, and went to the bookcase.

  Tyler punched his pillow again, but his restlessness bit deep. The red numbers on his bedside clock constantly reminded him of how close dawn was and how far away any semblance of sleep. He had finally left the lodge house around three, just as Wayne had finished his work outside. Photographs and fingerprints had been taken, as well as one cast of a footprint, which Fletcher and Wayne both said looked a lot like one they had found near the site of Dee’s attack.

  His frustration at his inability to see the clear path of this crime—starting with the motive for it—had intensified today to the point of anger. He’d even woken Rick Davis out of a deep sleep to ask for his help tonight, only to find out that Rick and his team had moved on to another case. No help for now. They were on their own for a few days, possibly weeks. The hard truth was that there were too many missing kids and not enough law enforcement. Even the FBI was stretched thin. Civilian groups, many of whom ran predator or missing child Web sites, helped, but not this time. Every tip, every hint, led only to a dead end.

  He rolled over on his back and stared at the ceiling. Patty glared at him, then hopped off the foot of the bed and stretched out under the window.

  “Lord,” he muttered, “this is impossible.”

  Unbidden, a memory flashed through his mind, the look on Dee’s face when she announced, “I want to talk to the Bradfords.” His heart had ached when he first saw her, covered in bandages and folded in on herself in that chair, like a wounded animal trying to hide from a predator. Yet every time he touched her tonight, Dee had seemed to “unfold” emotionally a bit, more and more, until she had made that pronouncement.

  So maybe this wasn’t going to be the psychological setback for her that he had feared.

  “Lord, help us both.”

  And while Tyler believed with all his heart that prayer would be answered, right now he couldn’t see how that answer would come. “Just have to trust,” he said, swinging his legs off the bed. Couldn’t sleep; might as well work. He dressed, fed a confused Patty, then headed out to his car. The clock on the wall behind Sally’s head had just clicked past five when he let himself in the front door.

  She stifled a yawn. “Couldn’t sleep?”

  He shook his head. “Too wound up. You go on home. Mom will be in soon. I’ll catch the phones if they ring before that.” Tyler’s mother, Peg, handled the dispatch and receptionist work during the first shift, just as she had for the past twenty years.

  Sally stood up, glad for the relief. “Thanks. They’ve been quiet since you and Wayne left.”

  “Thanks. Get some rest.”

  Tyler went into the bull pen to make coffee, then took a hot cup into his office. He closed the door and sat down, staring at the phone. It was too early to call anyone. Besides, calling the Bradfords with anything but good news made his gut ache and burn. Since the main search had been called off, Nancy and Jack had disappeared behind the walls of their big house and hadn’t talked to anyone, even close friends. It irked every last nerve that he could no longer justify the expense of an extensive search, and he’d contemplated suggesting to them that they hire Fletcher as a private detective.

  Tyler knew Fletcher could find a black cat at midnight, if he set his mind to it. The man’s fifteen years with the NYPD had given him a wealth of experience and a network of crime scene experts that would do anything for him. Fletcher had been visiting his best friend, Aaron Jackson, two years ago, when Aaron was murdered. Fletcher investigated—and solved—the crime. In the process, he’d fallen hard for Maggie and had eventually moved to Mercer and married her. To Tyler’s great relief, Fletcher often worked with him and the Mercer PD as a consultant.

  Fletcher, however, had preferred working with the PD privately on this one. His reasoning was simple: “You’re doing everything possible with the case. The FBI couldn’t find anything. I can’t add to that now. Carly is either already dead, or she’ll be alive for a while longer. We’ll keep working at the top of our game.”

  “He thinks this is local,” Tyler muttered, picking up the picture of Carly from his desk. “Please let her be alive.”

  Reluctantly, Tyler set the picture aside and turned to his computer. He started his usual morning routine, although today he began a few hours earlier than normal. The Mercer PD had set up a Web site for tips, as had the Bradfords, both emphasizing the $100,000 reward her parents had put up for finding her and smaller rewards for information. The local media had kept Carly’s story on the front pages of their sites, encouraging tips in their comment sections. He went through his e-mail for updates from volunteer armchair detectives in all the surrounding states and Canada. Finally, he searched for her name on the Internet, wading through pages of junk for any clue.

  Nothing. One more day of nothing. Nothing!

  He tipped his cup, which had long since been empty and cold, to double check for any last drops of caffeine. With a sigh, he stood and went for more. It was almost 8:30, and a second pot had already been brewed, filling the room with the stimulating aroma. Peg had settled in up front, and two of his officers greeted him as they prepped for their shift, making small talk about their nights and their anticipations for the weekend. One of them inquired about the alarm, and Tyler filled them in, asking them, as he did every morning, to be alert for signs of Carly.

  Returning to his office with his coffee, he sank into his chair. When, Lord, did looking for a missing child become part of our morning routine? He rubbed his eyes, knowing his call couldn’t wait. He reached for the receiver. Help me, Father, he thought, as he punched in a telephone number he knew by heart. He waited as the phone rang, two…three…four times. Under his desk, his right leg began to bounce, a gesture that was part tension relief, part anxiety. When the Bradfords’ answering machine picked up, he hesitated. This was not information to leave on a machine. He took a deep breath as the beep sounded.

  “Jack, Nancy, this is Tyler Madison. Would you please—”

  “Tyler! Jack here. Hang on, hang on, let me
cut this thing off.” Sounds of scrambling echoed hollowly in Tyler’s ear, then the sounds of the open line softened. “Tyler, do you have news? Anything?”

  Tyler pressed a fist down on his leg to stop the bouncing. “Maybe. Could I come out to see you later this morning? I need to ask you some questions.”

  “Of course!” Jack paused and cleared his throat. His voice dropped in tone. “Yes. Nancy’s still asleep, but she’ll be up shortly. She’s…she’s not sleeping at night, so the doctor has put her on a sedative. It’s not good, Tyler. I think it’ll help to see you. Talk to you about Carly again.”

  Tyler squeezed his eyes shut. Please don’t get your hopes up again. “I hope so. I’m going to bring Fletcher with me. That okay?” Jack and Fletcher had gotten to know each other fairly well during the initial stages of the search. With a new baby in the house, Fletcher now shared every parent’s fear of a missing child, a fear that had turned to truth with the Bradfords. Fletcher had been on the scene every day.

  “Sure.”

  “Give us about an hour. See you then.” Tyler eased the receiver back into its cradle and released a breath he had not realized he’d been holding. He placed his palms flat on the desk and forced himself to stand, whispering as he did so. “Okay, God, keep Your hands on us. I really don’t want to hurt the Bradfords anymore than they already have been. Ready to keep me from falling on my face?”

  A soft knock on his door got his attention, then Peg stuck her head in. “Fletcher’s here. Dee’s with him. He took her into interrogation room one, if you want to join in.”

  Tyler moved from behind the desk. “Good idea.” He took a right turn out of his office and walked the five feet or so to the next room. While they still needed to get her statement about yesterday, he’d hoped she would rest this morning, and he had said so last night to Fletcher. Plus, he didn’t look forward to explaining to Dee that she couldn’t go with them to the Bradfords. Obviously, Fletcher had had no success keeping her at the retreat, which surprised Tyler. He’d seen Fletcher interrogate people before, and he knew how persuasive the detective could be.