Carter squinted. “Red, I told you. This wasn’t you. Someone else did it. That’s why the cruiser’s shot up. The officer came on someone carrying Lori from the house. Only thing that kept him alive was ducking behind the cruiser’s steel rims. He saw them take her. Remember me telling you this? Know who they were?”
“No.”
“You or Lori have any enemies you haven’t told me about?”
“No.”
“What about the families of those guys at Walmart?”
Red managed a step away from the hedge. “Maybe. Listen, I don’t know how much good I’m going to be. I don’t trust myself anymore.”
“You’re all we’ve got. We need you on this.”
“What do you mean I’m all you’ve got? Your guy saw them. How’d he get here so quick?”
“Got a call from your security system. But your neighbors already phoned a few minutes earlier. Saw two people in their backyard, so we had a cruiser on the way.”
Made sense, sort of. “The officer that got me in the bathroom, he did a good job. Pass that on to his boss.”
“You just did,” Carter said.
“One problem, though. We don’t have a security system.”
Carter frowned. “No?”
“You’re the detective. Figure it out.”
A man with bed-head kicked snow as he approached. Green plaid flannel pajama bottoms were too short, exposing bare ankles in Nike running shoes. A grease-smudged Carhartt jacket bulged at the pockets. A badge hung loosely from his neck. He stared at a pad of paper in his palm. “Boss, we found something.”
“Sulley, you look like hell,” Carter said.
Sulley lifted his head, one eye closed against the flashing red and blue from the cruiser’s light bar. “You said get here on the double. I did.”
He led the pair across well-trampled snow, through a side garden gate. Tracks were everywhere in the backyard. One detective was cursing as he tried to pour plaster into a footprint. Sulley stopped beneath the bedroom window and stepped into the flowerbed where Penny had planted Easter lilies in the spring. Sulley lifted a small metal canister with a gloved hand and held it out to Red.
“Found this on the ground right here, under the bedroom window.”
Red went to grab it, but Sulley yanked it back.
“Don’t touch.”
“Okay. Looks like helium. We’ve got a can like it in the garage for birthday balloons.”
Sulley lifted it over his head, studying a white sticker on its bottom. “Same idea, but not helium. Feels empty, but take a sniff near the valve.”
Red stared into the distance and inhaled. It was a familiar scent. “Smells a little like . . . citrus? Kind of like oranges. Not exactly, but something close.”
Carter took a quick sniff. “Knockout gas. Of some variety. Have it tested, but for now let’s assume that’s it. Get any prints?”
Sulley waved to a portly woman in a black police uniform as she walked by, and held the canister out to her. “Wiped clean. Not a trace. If this tank says anything, the perps didn’t leave any.” He pulled a quart-sized plastic bag from his jacket. Inside was a large needle. “Looks like the perps slid this between the seams of the window. See those gouges there? That’s what I don’t like about these sashes that tip in. Not secure.” He pointed to the heat pump next to him, hidden behind low hollies, clusters of red berries topped with snow like whipped cream on cherries. “They cut the power feed. That’s why it’s cold inside. I figure to keep the air system from coming on. Got enough gas in the room that way. Once the tank was empty, they smashed the front door.”
Carter started out the gate. “Got anything else?”
Sulley led them up the front steps. The house was full of people, some uniformed. The air stood cold, the room lifeless, despite everyone milling about. A detective with blue neoprene gloves was pulling prints off the black granite counter where they’d met with Carter a few days before. Another was picking at something with tweezers from the blue oriental rug that Lori had picked from an open-air market in Morocco. Sulley led them upstairs, past the knob at the top of the rail he had to reattach at least twice a year after Lori’d given birth to two boys. Would he see her again? He’d better give his mother a call—they would be at the hospital by now.
“Red, anything else coming back?” Carter asked.
He stumbled across the top step. “You know those nightmares where you try to wake up, but can’t? That’s what the dream was like. Seemed everything was in fast-forward.”
“Sounds like gas. Probably a chloroform derivative. Get a look at any faces?”
“No. I was lying in bed, awake, but couldn’t move. One threw Lori over his shoulder. She flopped like . . . she was dead.” Red’s eyes started to tear but he tensed his stomach so his voice held steady. “All this rage inside, but couldn’t do anything. Not even scream. The other picked me up and started out the bedroom, then dropped me. I don’t remember anything after that.”
Carter nudged Sulley’s shoulder. “Why would he drop Red? Why leave him if he wanted him?”
“Maybe that’s when our first responder showed up. He said there were three perps. One on the street in the car. That guy opened fire right away. The other two shot at him from the house.” He grimaced. “The extraction team.”
Red felt lightheaded. He leaned on the wall and rubbed an eye with his palm. “You’re making it sound like these guys were professional.”
Carter squatted next to a hall table, inspecting something on its surface. “They gassed you, breached the door, and made off with a hostage. All in . . . maybe four minutes. Professional.”
“Why?”
Carter straightened and motioned Sulley to the table. “Don’t have a motive. Just going by what I see. These guys were good.”
“Then why didn’t they get both of us?”
“Remember the cruiser out front? Lots of holes.”
Red took a step down the hallway toward the front of the house, then leaned onto the wall again.
“Bullet holes are all over the side facing the house,” Sulley said. “The guy probably dropped Red and helped cover while they all got away. Our guy tried, but he’s lucky to be alive.”
Carter pointed Sulley to a splattering of blood on the table and dots of crimson on the carpet beneath. “Our officer couldn’t pursue. Car was shot up. He called in the situation, then went inside. That’s when he found you,” he said, pointing to Red. He tapped the hall table. “Hit your skull on this when the intruder dropped you. Explains the gash in your head and the reason you don’t remember shots. You were unconscious. Woke up after the firefight, but before our officer came in.”
“What about the getaway car?” Red asked. “Anything on that?”
Carter rubbed eyebrows. “Might have a license plate if the memory stick from the cruiser’s camera is okay. Even if we run the plates, won’t turn up anything. They’ll be stolen. It was a newer model Toyota Camry, silver. Thousands of those out there. Not an accident.” He lifted his chin toward Red. “No, this isn’t the family of those guys you killed. Think hard. Who would want to do this?”
Red squatted and stared. He’d never noticed how narrow the hallway was. He glanced at the scuffed paint next to the bloody handprint left as he’d steadied himself earlier. Nomadic desert, the name of the shade. Lori was so proud of it. Sounded like such an elegant color. Now it was empty. Dry. The whole home was bare, pressing, cold as stainless steel.
Something bubbled within his belly, like nervous butterflies. A resolve. “I need to get some air.”
When he passed through the front door, he paused. Pressed his fingers against the rough, freshly splintered wood where the lock bolts had been rammed through the doorjamb. He trod out to the cruiser, riddled with bullet holes, and pressed his pinky into several. The metal was cold, hard. Flecks of paint stuck to his finger. He brushed them off into the snow.
He craned his neck backwards, the black sky a backdrop for frosted breath i
n bitter air. Tree skeletons stood gray against a faint glow, low in the east. Soon be time for the morning run. He chuckled at the absurdity of the thought. But that’s what he wanted to do. To run, to clear his head, to remember, and understand.
He started toward the other cruiser. Carter and Sulley were huddled next to it. Halfway, he stopped. Turned toward the police barricade, then squinted into a flashlight shining on his face. A dark figure stepped out of the background of the night, silhouetted by police car headlights. How long had he been standing there?
The visitor took another step forward. He heard Jim’s familiar voice. “Red. We need to talk.”
Chapter 6
Reunion
Red squinted. What the hell? Why was Jim here? The Air Force officer stepped into their company, frozen breath streaming from his nostrils. The trouser seams of his blue service dress uniform broke perfectly above his ankles. He eyeballed Red. “You look like hell.” Stuck a hand out in greeting.
Red lifted an arm, but Carter stepped between and grabbed Jim’s hand instead. “What you doing here, sir?”
Jim’s eyes stayed fixed on Red. “I need a word with my friend. In private.”
“Not now. Something’s happened. I need to—”
“This crime is beyond the capabilities of your office. It’s in Red’s best interests to come with me.”
“You’ve got no jurisdiction here,” Carter said. “I appreciate your concern, but—”
Jim’s eyes narrowed. “Detective, it’s for his own good.”
Sulley stepped forward, looking like a mall cop in pajamas. Carter squared up. “I’m in charge of the scene. You’ve got no authority.”
Red forced himself between the two and shoved each in the chest. “Stop the pissing contest and act like you give a damn!” He leaned into Jim, jabbing a finger at his nose. “Don’t try to pass off this visit like the last one. Why’re you here? Lori’s gone. Come clean or I’ll beat it out of you!”
Carter leaned against a cruiser, arms crossed. Sulley put a hand on his Taser. Jim said nothing.
Red took a step closer. Jim glanced at the reporters behind the yellow tape. “Can’t talk here. Not in front of the detective, either.”
“Why not?”
A snowflake landed on Jim’s shoulder, then melted. The tiny bead of water ran off.
Red grabbed the collar of Jim’s blue coat. “Well?”
Still nothing.
“It’s classified,” Carter muttered, staring at Jim.
“What is?” Red sneered.
Carter aimed a crossed elbow at his friend in blue. “Ask him. You were doing fine.”
Red frowned. “How you figure?”
“Easy. These kidnappers were professionals. As in well-funded, ex-military types. A wet team. Your buddy here can’t say what’s going on because it’s restricted.”
Jim’s gray eyes were in shadows. Red couldn’t make out his expression. Jim could never lie well. “That true?”
He turned and started away, slipping to a knee on a patch of ice, but straightened up. “I’ll fill you in at my office. Let’s go.”
“What the hell? Just like that?”
Jim looked back over his shoulder. “Not here, Red. Come on. We’re wasting time.”
Red stepped back. “Not without Carter.”
Jim frowned. “Why?”
“Because I don’t know who to trust. You want me? Then Carter’s coming, too. You’ve got info on Lori? He needs to know.”
Jim clenched his fists. “You don’t want the detective in on this. Trust me.”
“Trust you like what? Like I don’t see you for five years and you show up when the video goes viral? Like you show up again this morning when Lori’s been taken? Maybe you’re behind this crap. Carter’s coming.”
Jim mumbled.
“What?”
“Whatever! The detective can come. Now let’s go.” He turned and started again.
Carter pushed off the cruiser, stance wide on a patch of slick ice. “I’m not going. I’ve got charge of the scene. Can’t let you go, either.”
Red turned back. “You’re in charge of investigating Lori’s kidnapping. Jim says he’s got answers. You got no choice. Delegate.”
“Red, I should stay here. Same goes for you.”
Red’s head throbbed. “Get in the damn car, Carter!”
Carter grabbed Sulley’s arm and turned away.
Ice crackled under Red’s feet as he followed Jim in the shallow snow. A cold dampness numbed his toes. He pushed it to the same part of his mind where he crammed other distractions to be ignored. He stood, knees close to the headlights, welcoming their heat on his skin. His friend’s presence was warm, though his manner was cold as always. A figure of strength. Genuine. But now . . . How the hell had Jim known to show up this morning? Red shook damp snow from his slippers and leaned in to his old friend. “I’m gonna kill the guys who did it. Even if Lori’s alive, they’re dead.”
Jim slapped Red’s shoulder so hard his feet slid on the ice. “Only if you beat me to it.”
* * *
Lori searched for a bridle from the tack room. Where was it? The new one with blue padding across the nose. No, she hadn’t bought that one, or had she? Tony wandered down the center of the barn between stalls.
Why is he wearing those awful work boots?
Dark, hand-hewn timbers, well over a hundred years old, stood on either side of the aisle like sentinels, supporting a massive hay loft. Dizzy, she leaned on one, fingers running the gouge made by an adze near the time her great-grandfather was born. A century of horses scratching their necks made the heavy post smooth with a dark, shiny finish. The stall was neat and mucked out, as always. She inhaled air heavy with moist hay and sweaty saddle blankets.
Which horses to tack up? Tony shook his head as he leaned into every stall. Each seemed skittish, spooked at something. “Maybe bad weather’s coming,” he said.
When they reached the end of the aisle, he grasped the thick, black handle of the heavy wooden door. He set his feet, and metal wheels squeaked from the rail above as it slid open. A pale green light flooded the barn.
Lori gasped, awake, eyes opening to the same light. So heavy with sleep, she couldn’t fight the sedation. They closed again. When she awoke once more, the same pale light washed back in.
Why did Tony leave the lights on? He never does that.
She tried to wake herself, to get some water for her dry mouth, but she could barely move.
So tired.
She lifted her head but hit something soft, a few inches up. Leaning into one shoulder to see if Tony had come back to bed, she realized something was in her mouth. It was . . . what was it? Terry cloth?
Where was Tony?
She tried to shout his name, but nothing came through the gag. She looked down her cheeks and puckered. Her lips were covered with silver-gray tape. She tried to sit again but hit the same invisible softness. Tried to move her arms but they were tied to her sides—legs bound as well. Turned her head and looked down past her shoulder. Shackles clamped her wrists with a chain running under her back. Frilly lace hovered a few inches above her face. She squinted in the pale green glow.
Shit. It was the inside of a coffin.
“Tony! Tony!” she screamed, trying to push her muted voice through the gag. Straining, she twisted her arms, but the shackles only slipped down her wrists. They stopped at the base of her thumbs and dug in. The hardest kicks produced little noise. She tore at padding beneath her, then scratched at the metal skin under it, abrading her fingers on welded seams. She tried to sit, beating her forehead against the lid of the coffin until blackness descended.
Some creature snorted and kicked in its stall. Devil’s Delight, her Appaloosa mare. Why was she so spooked? Lori pulled a green apple, the favorite treat, from a warm, black wool waistcoat. Devil refused. Lori walked to the metal trash can they used as a feed bin and lifted the lid. Pale green light spilled out. She blinked hard and saw white
lace.
Still in this wretched coffin. Stabs of fear churned in her stomach, overshadowed only by her throbbing head.
Don’t panic. Not again.
She turned her head side to side, up and down. This prison smelled of a dirty fabric shop: new polyester and stale body odor. She saw now the light came from a glow stick hung next to her shoulder, like the ones she gave the kids when they went trick-or-treating.
The kids.
Where were they? Safe? Was Tony okay? Were they all in coffins, too, buried alive, with a rag choking them? She wept.
What’s going on? Who the hell is doing this? She tried to sit again, slamming the thinly padded lid so hard she saw bursts of light before her eyes. Was she buried alive? If so, why the handcuffs?
Think. She remembered tucking in Jackson under his blue Batman blanket. His eyes had already closed, his breathing deep—like the purring of a tomcat. He could fall asleep faster than anyone. Some nights he’d crawl in and be snoring before she even made it upstairs.
Must be drugged. Focus, Lori.
She’d gone to bed. Tony followed sometime after that. Had woken her with those ice-cold feet. That’s the last thing she remembered.
A horse snorted outside the coffin. A short, sharp sound.
Thank God I’m not buried! Dreaming again? No—it snorted a second time. A sign of anxiety. Hooves clattered on metal.
Must be on a steel floor. Maybe she wasn’t underground, but in a horse trailer?
A dog barked, then a different one, higher pitched. The coffin bobbed up and down slightly, with the vibrating hum of tires on a road. She listened. No seams in this pavement, no jolting potholes. The ride was smooth, the hum steady, shrill, like moving at high speed. On an interstate, but which one? Couldn’t be I-64, which was bad enough to put you in a coffin all by itself. Which interstate would be this smooth?
Her ears popped, but she hadn’t felt the coffin tilt up or down as if going over hills. Then she understood.
I’m in an airplane! She lay back on the thin pillow.
Where was she? The kids? Would she ever see any of them again? How had she let this happen?
Hold it together, for the kids, for Tony.
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