“So you can go to the Abbey and have Q come up? Nice try.”
She shot me a withering look, then stared out the window. The sun was still above the horizon; daylight was lasting longer. It seemed a promising omen.
I checked for Luke. He was a few car lengths ahead in the fast lane. I changed lanes and sped up. Soon I was going near eighty. My father says I have a heavy foot; in my defense, I think it’s a waste of time and space not to fly down the highway as fast as reasonably possible.
By the time we were a few miles from the turnoff for Lake Geneva, the clouds that had been following us all day became tinged with pink and gold, and the sky turned that beautiful shade of dusky violet that ushers in twilight.
I thought about cooking dinner, then decided we should go to Jimmy Saclarides’ family’s restaurant. His mother and aunt ran the place and their reasonably priced Greek food came with crazy big portions. I started dreaming about spinach and feta spanakopita, and the fish spread that tastes like salty caviar whose name I can never remember. And lamb: roasted or skewered and marinated with lemon, rosemary, and who knows what else. My mouth was watering. I’d even pick up the tab.
I looked for Luke again but didn’t see him. He must be already barreling down Route 50. I checked my rear view. About a mile back was a vehicle with flashing lights on its roof. The Illinois State Police. They were as bad as the cops in my village when it came to ticketing speeders. I’d been stopped more than once. I had to slow down.
I glanced over at Rachel. She was asleep. The candle she was burning at both ends was probably just a stump. I fixed my eyes on the rear view. The red and blue flashing lights were gaining. It didn’t appear as if the cops were cruising for speeders but rather had a specific mission. I switched lanes to let them pass and made sure I wasn’t going over sixty-five.
But the cruiser switched lanes too and positioned itself directly behind my Camry. The glare from the lights obscured the vehicle itself, but I could see the silhouette of a man at the wheel, and it looked like he was wearing the unique, wide-brimmed hat of a state trooper. A campaign hat, they call it.
It wasn’t until the crackle from the microphone was followed by an amplified order that my stomach clenched.
“Camry with Illinois plates, pull over. Now.”
Rachel came awake, stretched her arms, and looked out her side-view mirror.
“What’s going on, Mom?”
“I was speeding, damn it.”
She twisted around. I checked the rear view again. The cruiser was only about fifty feet behind us. The flashing lights still masked the vehicle and its occupants.
“Mom, that doesn’t look like a police car.”
“What are you saying, Rachel?”
“Don’t turn around, but it kind of looks like a regular car except for the lights.”
“But they have that microphone thing, and they just ordered me to pull over. They have to be official.”
“I don’t know,” Rachel said. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”
“We have to.”
“Don’t you remember all those warnings on the news about fake cops and the fact that women shouldn’t stop if they’re alone on the road and it’s dark? Even if there is a rotating light?”
“First off, it’s not that dark. Yet. Second, we’re not alone on the road. And third, when did you start watching the news?”
She shook her head.
Again, the amplified voice. “Pull over. State police.”
I looked over at Rachel. “See?”
Rachel blew out a breath. She had a point. But so did I. Even if they weren’t in a patrol car, they were still official; undercover cops maybe. And it wasn’t dark; it was dusk. And Luke was—well, he wasn’t in sight. I didn’t have a choice. Trying to outrun the cops, the feds, or whoever they were was a bad idea. I slowed and eventually pulled onto the shoulder.
The vehicle behind us did too. What happened next was in such an accelerated and compressed blur of time, I felt as if we’d entered a space warp. The instant I came to a stop on the shoulder, the cruiser pulled around and wedged itself in front of the Camry, blocking my ability to slide back into traffic. Then a second car I hadn’t noticed replaced the cruiser behind us. Three men including the driver jumped out of that car. Two men got out of the car in front. Too late I realized the “cruiser” wasn’t a patrol car at all. It was just a four-door sedan. And none of the sedan’s occupants wore the khaki uniform of a state trooper. Except for the campaign hat on the driver’s head, they wore jeans, sweatshirts, and parkas. Rachel was right.
I jerked the wheel and gunned the engine in an attempt to get back on the highway, but they had me penned in. The passing traffic slowed, but no one stopped, probably figuring, as I would have, that this was none of their business. I considered rolling down my window and yelling for help anyway, but I didn’t have time. I shouted to Rachel to find my cell and call the police.
While she was rummaging in my purse, one of the men started to pound on Rachel’s window and motioned for us to roll it down. I shook my head. He pulled something out of his jacket. A pistol. He aimed it through the window at Rachel. I froze. Again he motioned for me to roll down the windows. This time I did.
A second man appeared on Rachel’s side of the Camry, brandishing a second pistol. He went to the backseat window and fired a shot into the glass. It shattered, flinging shards and splinters of glass across the backseat.
“Cover your head!” I screamed to Rachel.
She did, but the man in the back was able to reach in the window and grabbed her hair.
“Unlock the doors,” he ordered.
“No. I’m calling the police!”
“Mom…they’re hurting me!” Rachel cried in a panic-stricken yelp.
Suddenly a third man appeared at my window, also holding a gun. He pointed it at me. I unlocked the doors. The one outside Rachel’s door opened it, the man in back released her hair, and both men pulled Rachel out of the car. She screamed.
So did I.
“Mama! Stop them!”
But the man on my side of the Camry climbed into the backseat, pressed me against the seat of the car, and grabbed me in a choke hold. I struggled to free myself but couldn’t move. “Let go!” I tried to yell, but I couldn’t breathe and the words were unintelligible even to me.
My outburst made him pin me against the seat more forcefully. While he had me hemmed in, the other two wrestled Rachel into the vehicle behind us. Only when they slammed the door did the man who’d been pinning me down release his grip. He came around to the front, opened my door, and snatched my keys out of the ignition. He raced back to the car in front, dove inside, and gunned his engine. I watched in horror as both cars screeched back into traffic and sped off with my little girl.
Chapter Fifty-seven
Thursday
I craned my neck trying to watch where they were headed, but it was getting pretty dark now, and the road was full of traffic. I couldn’t tell which pair of taillights belonged to the car that held my daughter. Ten seconds, and I’d already lost her.
Panic washed over me, bringing with it a deep sense of despair, so deep I couldn’t find bottom. Had this really just happened? I leaned my head against the steering wheel, seemingly paralyzed. Frigid air whistled through the car. I wanted to turn on the heat, but I couldn’t; the bastards had taken my keys. Which also included my house key, the key to Rachel’s apartment, and the key to Luke’s place. I was stuck.
Luke. I had to call Luke. He’d know what to do. Thankfully, my bag was still crammed into the space between the front seats—they’d known exactly what they wanted when they overpowered us, and it wasn’t money. I frantically fished out my cell, trying to avoid the bits of glass that were sprayed across the seats, and snapped it on. My location didn’t matter now; they’d obviously known where I was since we left the house. How? Did Rachel leave her cell on by mistake? No. She’d handed it over to Luke. Was my cell somehow emitting signals? No. I’d jus
t turned it on. I’d have to figure it out later; I couldn’t concentrate. My hands shook as I punched in Luke’s cell.
My call went to voice mail. I slumped in defeat. He’d turned his cell off. He’d said he was going to. He was obviously still on the road, still thinking we were behind him. How could my world be ripped apart so quickly?
“Luke,” I said shakily, “call me right away. Rachel was kidnapped on 94. I—I don’t know what to do!”
I disconnected, my gut a tight knot. The assholes had to be in Wisconsin by now. Was that where they were headed? Or would they turn around on a back road and race back to Illinois? My paralysis extended to my mental faculties. I didn’t know what to do, whom to call.
The police. Of course. But which force? My village? No. It wasn’t their jurisdiction. Jimmy Saclarides in Lake Geneva? Did I even have his number? I had to call someone. Doing nothing would let them get farther away. Then I realized in my half-crazy thought process that it didn’t matter. Call 911.
A woman’s voice answered. “What’s your emergency?”
“My daughter has been kidnapped!” I shouted. “On Interstate 94. Please help me!”
The woman’s voice was calm. Even soothing. “What’s your location, sweetheart?”
“I just told you!” I screamed. How stupid was she?
“Where on 94 are you, honey?” Still calm. Rational.
“I don’t know,” I sobbed. I gazed around. Where the hell was I? Wait. I did know. “A couple of miles before the state line and the turnoff to Lake Geneva. South of Route 50. In Illinois.”
“Good girl. Wait there. Help is on the way.”
Three minutes passed. I know because I called Luke every few seconds, hung up, checked the time. I wondered whether to get out of the car, but with the onset of night, the temperature dropped, and even with the windows down, it was still warmer inside than out. I recalled there might be a blanket in the trunk, but I didn’t have a key to open it. Then I remembered the lever on the side of my seat that opened the trunk automatically. Clearly, my brain was sluggish. I pulled the lever, got out, and found the blanket. I draped it around my shoulders and climbed back into the car. Traffic was still slow, but again, no one stopped. Two more interminable minutes passed. The warp speed of the kidnapping had evaporated; now time moved in ultra-slow motion.
Night had fallen. I was alone on the highway, and my Rachel, my heart, was gone. If I didn’t have Rachel, I had nothing. My eyes grew wet. Tears rolled down my cheeks, building to a steady stream. Along with them came wracking sobs. I buried my face in my hands. I didn’t even try to stop.
Chapter Fifty-eight
Thursday
The first state trooper to show up had rosy cheeks and a sparse blond mustache and looked about sixteen. His hat was tipped back like some latter-day Lone Ranger. A heavy jacket covered most of his uniform. He’d pulled up behind me, Mars light flashing. He got out and walked over to my side of the car.
“Good evening, ma’am. May I see your license and registration?”
I lost my cool. “Are you kidding? My daughter has been kidnapped! Look—there’s her purse.” I twisted around. “And there’s her suitcase in the back! This isn’t a damn traffic stop!”
He cut me off. “Ma’am, please calm down. I need your license and registration.”
“Can’t you see we’re wasting time? They went north, but for all I know they could have turned around. Please…listen to me!” I flailed my hands wildly. An urgent energy was building inside me, an energy that had nowhere to go.
His voice grew tight. “Ma’am. I understand your distress. But before we move on, I need to confirm you are who you say you are.”
I heard Luke’s voice in my head telling me to calm down and comply. That there was no sense getting off to a bad start with the authorities, even though Baby Face barely counted as one to me. I rummaged in my glove compartment, pulled out my registration, and handed it over along with my license. “Please hurry. It’s my daughter.”
He nodded and went back to his cruiser.
I started to shiver. Traffic had thinned. Oncoming headlights winked through the dark, but they looked like they were mocking me. At least there was no snow. Where was Luke? Why hadn’t he called? More important, where was Rachel?
I forced myself to focus. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who was behind this. Stokes had practically announced his intentions when we met at Solyst’s. He’d made it clear he wanted the goddammed flash drive, and he’d get it any way he could. Kidnapping my child, the most despicable act any mother could ever imagine, was just another operational tactic for him.
Naturally, there was no way for me to get in touch with him. No phone number, no email. I’d have to wait for him to make contact. In his own good time. Christ. Slowly my panic and despair turned to anger. He’d orchestrated every move, and he’d succeeded. He must have slapped a GPS tracker on the Camry at some point and had been following me ever since. Probably at Solyst’s. I recalled how I lost sight of him for a short time after he got out of his car but before he came into the bar.
I kept fisting and releasing my hands. No way could I compete with a slick operator like Stokes. I needed someone who could stand up to the asshole. Someone who could give as well as he got. Who wouldn’t let him walk all over us more than he already had. And someone who could find Rachel and bring her back to me. Alive and safe.
I stared at the oncoming cars. That someone wasn’t going to be Luke. When he heard about this, he’d go ballistic, and rage would cloud his judgment. It might be Jimmy Saclarides—he was Lake Geneva’s chief of police—but he might not be the best person to deal with an arrogant jerk like Stokes. I needed someone—I jerked my head up. I knew the perfect candidate. Someone almost as arrogant and calculating as Stokes. I scrolled through the contacts on my phone, found who I was looking for, and punched in the number.
“Special Agent Nick LeJeune’s line…”
“Is he there?”
“He’s in the field. Who’s calling?”
“Ellie Foreman. Tell him to call me as soon as he can. It’s an emergency.”
Chapter Fifty-nine
Thursday
By the time Baby Face, whose name, I learned, was Chadwick, came back to the car, two more cruisers had pulled up on the shoulder, and a gapers delay was building on the highway.
I got out of the car and stamped my feet. Chadwick carried a thermos of coffee, which he offered me. I took it as a peace offering and gratefully accepted. An officer from the second cruiser, older and clearly more senior than Baby Face, introduced himself as Lieutenant Wickham and asked me to go over exactly what had happened. In the middle of our interview, my cell beeped. I checked caller ID. Finally. Luke.
“I’m sorry. It’s my boyfriend. He doesn’t know.”
“Make it brief,” Wickham replied.
I nodded.
“What the hell is going on, Ellie?”
Hearing his voice switched on my emotional spigot, and I wanted to cry. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Not until— No. I wouldn’t let myself think about that.
“Rachel’s been kidnapped.” My voice sounded shaky.
There was a long pause. “How?” Controlled fury lined his voice.
As I told him the story, Wickham listened too and made the occasional note. Was he trying to determine whether I’d left anything out?
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Luke, they took my little girl,” I wailed.
“Hold on, honey. I’ll be there soon.”
I disconnected. Wickham said, “Okay, first we’re going to issue a possible abduction alert. Can you describe your daughter and what she was wearing?”
Rachel had still been dressed for work when we left the house. “Jeans, one of those paisley retro vests, a blazer, black boots.” I ran a hand through my hair and paced. “She’s about five-six. Curly blond hair. Gray-blue eyes. She’s twenty-five. Slim…” I stopped abruptly. What if I never saw those
curls again? Those beautiful eyes? Terror raced up my spine, threatening to overwhelm me. I covered my head with my arms and bent over. I wanted to curl into a fetal position on the shoulder of the highway.
Wickham must have recognized the signs of shock, because he gently put an arm around my shoulders and led me to one of the cruisers.
“Why don’t you sit in here and get warm?”
I nodded unsteadily.
He picked up his radio and started to issue instructions for the alert. I sat in the backseat trembling and dazed.
My cell buzzed again. I checked the incoming number. LeJeune.
“What happened, Ellie?”
“Rachel was kidnapped.”
“Holy shit, cher. Where are you?”
“Just south of the Wisconsin state line, I think.”
“Where do you think they went?”
“I don’t know.” Somehow, through my panic-induced haze, I realized what he was really asking.
“They could be headed to Wisconsin. Across state lines.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
• • •
An hour later, it must have looked to passing drivers like we were having a tailgate party on I-94. In addition to my car, three state trooper cruisers, Luke’s pickup, LeJeune’s Spyder, and Jimmy Saclarides’ Lake Geneva police car were all parked on the shoulder. Luke had obviously called Jimmy. I got out of the cruiser and joined them.
I knew enough about law enforcement to know there could be a tussle over jurisdiction of the case. I also knew that if the kidnapping crossed state lines, it was a good bet the FBI would step in. To be honest, I was relieved to have LeJeune on my side. He might be full of himself, but I’d rather have a seasoned FBI agent than Baby Face Chadwick.
First they designated my car a crime scene. LeJeune and Jimmy conferred with the troopers. Jimmy said he could call in evidence techs from the Walworth County Sheriff’s Department, but Wickham cut in.
“Chief, that’s mighty nice of you, but the state police have an excellent crime lab. They’re already en route.”
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