Читать книгу Kidnapped At Christmas - Maggie K. Black - Страница 12
ОглавлениеAn explosion shook the frozen air. Smoke and flame billowed upward, filling Samantha’s view. For a moment she felt rooted in place as if time had frozen around her.
Then she saw Joshua, leaping between her and the flames. He caught her in his arms and pushed her down to the ground. They landed in the snow, his body sheltering hers. Her head tucked into his neck. Debris rained down around them. The world seemed to roar with the sound of glass shattering and wood splintering.
Then the world stopped shaking and all Samantha could hear was the steady beat of Joshua’s heart and his ragged breath inches from her face.
“You okay?” he asked. His voice was gruff, but soft. He slid off her into the snow.
“Yeah, you?”
“Yeah.” He stood slowly, reached for her hand and helped her to her feet.
“Everyone okay?” Alex called. He and Zoe were running toward them.
“Yes.” Joshua let go of her hand. “Thankfully the land mine wasn’t that strong. Though I’ll have to have a word with Daniel about reinforcing his windows if he wants to convert this place into a safe house.”
Both men smiled at his weak attempt at a joke, but she could see the worry filling their eyes. A hole lay on the porch in the place where her body had been. Judging by the mass of broken glass, the land mine had launched the cement bag through the front window. A high-pitched alarm was ringing from somewhere inside the house.
“I’ll go sort out the alarm.” Zoe ran toward the back.
“Make sure the police are called, if the alarm doesn’t do that automatically,” Joshua called after her, realizing as he said it she was probably already thinking two steps ahead of him.
Alex’s eyes ran from Joshua to Samantha and back again. “I’m going to go see if I can find something to tape the window up with until we can get some new glass installed.”
He disappeared after his sister. The alarm stopped. Joshua and Samantha walked around the side of the house. Rays of winter sunlight stretched across the snow around them. They stepped through the back door and into a warm welcoming kitchen. Even the shattered window on the other side of the house couldn’t dampen its hominess—and its heat.
The clock over the stove read eight fifteen. The smell of fresh bread and unbrewed coffee grounds filled the room. She slid off his jacket and gloves. “Thank you for these. I hope you’re not frozen.”
“I’m fine. There was enough adrenaline to keep me plenty warm.” Joshua kicked off his boots and brushed the snow from his hair. It was light brown, the color of maple syrup, short on the sides as she’d expect of a soldier, but just long enough on top for someone to run their fingers through. The eyes that now searched her face were the same hazel-green as a forest pond. Muscles rippled through his shirt. But somehow they didn’t make him look hard, only strong. An old-fashioned coffeemaker stood on the counter. He filled it with water. “I was going to make myself coffee. But would you rather have tea or something like that? There’s a whole box of different colored ones around somewhere. Also, there’s fresh banana bread. I threw it in the bread maker last night.”
“Coffee is perfect, thank you.” A slight smile crossed her lips. “Your mother raised you well.”
“Nope.” His smile grew tight. “Grew up in an all-bachelor home with just my gramps and dad. But they taught me well enough.”
Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth, like she should apologize. But before she could even start to figure out what to say, he kept talking.
“The closest hospital and police station are over an hour away.” He leaned back against the counter and slid his hands into his pockets. “But Alex used to be a paramedic and Zoe’s probably giving the police directions on how to get here as we speak. Now, you said you have no idea what happened or what you’re doing here?”
“That’s right,” she said. “I’m a journalist from Toronto. My job is researching and fact-checking mostly. Making sure those hotshot Torchlight reporters can actually back up what they’re writing about with cold hard facts. I was heading into work this morning to grab a tablet when I was abducted. But I don’t remember what happened exactly and I don’t know what whoever did this to me wanted.”
Light dawned behind his eyes and with it came an almost reflexive grin that warmed something inside her.
“If you’re a reporter,” he asked, “does that mean you work with Olivia Ash?”
“Yes! Olivia is my editor at Torchlight.”
“This is her country house.” His eyes grew wider. “My friend is her husband.”
No doubt she’d feel terrified later about what that could mean about the motives of the men who’d kidnapped her. Right now, she was just too relieved to discover she was in the home of someone she already knew and trusted.
“They’re staying at their apartment in the city until the baby’s a little bigger and the roads improve,” he added. “Which you probably know given you work together. I’m just thankful that I was here, and the house wasn’t empty.”
She dropped into a chair as the sudden joy she’d been feeling evaporated just as quickly. “Yeah, me too.”
“So, I’m guessing whoever did this to you wanted to get your boss’s attention and didn’t know Olivia wouldn’t be here. Did she have you working on anything dangerous?”
“I see pretty much every story before it goes to the press,” she said, “and I fact-check all the big ones. I’m like the factual safety net for our front-line reporters. It’s my job to comb through each article and circle every fact with a red pen that a reader might question, just to make sure our backs are covered. Of course, our reporters write about everything. But in my job, almost everything I work on involves something criminal. I even built what they call an ‘intranet’ database, called ATHENA, that pulls all of our stories and background research together in one place on our online server, where only Torchlight reporters can see it. It even includes pointers on understanding human behavior, criminal pathology and body language to help reporters figure out whether or not the people they’re interviewing are telling the truth. It’s like a simplified version of the ways police detectives learn to analyze criminal traits.”
But what would police make of her inability to remember how she’d even gotten there? She couldn’t remember a single thing about how or where they’d grabbed her.
It had been the same back in college when that guy from her floor had broken in. She’d barely remembered anything afterwards. And while they’d eventually caught the culprit and he’d admitted to being high at the time, thanks to her faulty memory they’d only given him a slap on the wrist. She’d been forced to switch schools and start over.
Then, the nightmares had started.
Joshua pulled his right hand out of his pocket. There was something gold and glittering between his fingers. It was a ribbon. And with a start she realized it must’ve been the same one that her abductor had gagged her with. He looked at it carefully, holding it by the very edges.
“If you were on your way to work, it’s entirely possible they were after any Torchlight staff they could get their hands on, and you just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time,” he said. “But it’s also entirely possible this has nothing to do with the newspaper you work for and someone tried to abduct you for a completely different reason. Does this mean anything to you?”
He laid the ribbon over the table in front of her and for the first time she saw blurred streaks of what looked like Magic Marker. Between the snow and the struggle whatever had been written on the ribbon was smudged beyond recognition, except for the last two words:
always,
Magpie.
His eyebrow rose. He didn’t even have to ask the question.
“I have never heard of Magpie.” She could feel her lower lip quivering but it was more from frustration than fear. She should know. If there was someone out there upset enough at Torchlight’s reporting to abduct and threaten one of their journalists, she was exactly the one person who should already have a whole file of stories and research on them in the ATHENA database. “I have no idea who or what that is.”
“Neither have I,” he said. “Someone twisted enough to kidnap a woman and plant a land mine under her doesn’t just spring up out of nowhere. Is there anyone else you can think of who’d want to hurt you? Work situation? Family? Relationships?”
“My parents are retired and live in Montreal. They’re pretty awesome people and I can’t think of any reason why anyone would want to hurt them.” Tension pulled along her shoulder blades. She could tell he was probably trying to help but sorting out her own mind was hard enough without having someone firing questions at her. “Work is great, really. I’m probably what some people would call workaholic, but to me that’s a good thing.”
“A land mine is a very specific weapon,” he said, “and using the Christmas ribbon was very specific, as well. Someone was clearly trying to send a message. Any other problematic relationships?”
“No. No relationship problems.” Unless someone counted the fact she got completely tongue-tied every time she tried to explain to Eric that she just wasn’t hotwired to spend that much time with an enthusiastic extrovert. “Really, I’m just a happy, quiet workaholic with no enemies.”
Except the dangerous and unknown Magpie. Why don’t I know who that is?
There was a knock on the door frame. She turned. It was Alex. He glanced down at the ribbon warning lying on the table. “Sorry to interrupt. Zoe got through to the police. They’ve asked us all to stay put and to please try to keep from talking to each other about what happened until we’ve all been interviewed separately by police. I’m guessing they don’t want us colluding on one version of events or getting our stories muddied. Even accidentally.”
Yeah, that was pretty standard for police investigations.
“Thank you,” she said, finding the words totally inadequate for the situation.
“We’ve figured out Samantha’s connection to the Ashes,” Joshua said. “Samantha works for Olivia at Torchlight News. We should call Daniel and Olivia too and let them know what’s going on.”
“Good idea.” Alex sat down beside Samantha. “How are you feeling?”
“Bit shaken, but not bad. Thankfully, I wasn’t out in the cold that long before Joshua found me.”
“Can you hold out your hands for me?” Alex carefully checked her hands for frostbite. Then he slid a small flashlight out of his pocket and checked her eyes. “Any headache? Nausea?”
“No.”
Alex ran one finger slowly back and forth a few inches in front of her eyes. She followed it with her gaze. “Stomach upset? Double vision?”
“No. I’m rattled, obviously, but physically I feel fine.”
“How’s your memory?” Joshua asked. “Any short-term amnesia? Memory gaps?”
Her brain froze as she turned to look at him. Why had he asked that? Those hazel-green eyes were focused intensely onto hers. A dozen thoughts cascaded through her mind that she couldn’t figure out how exactly to turn into words.
Yes, I’m having memory gaps. Everything between the moment I realized I’d forgotten my gloves and almost arriving here in the van is a blur. It’s frustrating. It’s terrifying. The same thing happened years ago, after someone broke into my dorm room, and it was like I could only remember it in the nightmares which plagued me for months.
She broke his gaze and look down at the table. “Yes, and I know we shouldn’t talk about the details of how I was abducted or anything that’s happened until the police have questioned us. But I won’t lie. My memory is really patchy. Like I said, I don’t know how I got here.”
There was a long pause and an ache in her chest, like something inside her heart had started to open just a bit, and she was waiting for it to clang shut again.
She hadn’t admitted having memory gaps to anyone for a very long time. Not since she’d tried to report the attack in college to some very unsympathetic people in campus security.
But the very fact Joshua had asked gave her the faint hope that he might actually get it.
“It happens.” Joshua pushed off the counter. “Don’t worry. I’m sure the police will figure out what’s going on.”
No. He didn’t understand.
* * *
Early-afternoon sunlight glistened off the frost on the corner of the windshield as Joshua steered the car down the tree-lined parkway into downtown Toronto. A vicious snowstorm was scheduled for later, but for now the city seemed to sparkle in the sun. He glanced sideways at Samantha. Her face was turned toward the passenger-side window. His borrowed leather jacket enveloped her body. Something inside him ached to ask her what she was thinking.
They’d both talked briefly to Daniel and Olivia on the phone and then the police had arrived at the farmhouse before they’d even finished breakfast. Four vehicles and six officers, including a forensics team. They’d quickly taken over, questioning each of them privately and going through the scene, until finally they’d given Samantha permission to go home and allowed the others to replace the glass in the window and nail some boards over the hole in the porch.
It had been an odd, unsettling experience, standing on the sidelines, watching people in uniform do their thing. Between his training and his military service, he was used to being in the thick of it. He was comfortable there. Dad had always been a cop and had no plans to retire. Gramps had served in the military. Both had instilled in him a deep respect for authority and a strong sense of duty. It had been pretty clear by the time he reached high school that he was expected to follow in either one man’s footsteps or the other.
He didn’t imagine Gramps would’ve thought much of Ash Private Security or Daniel hiring Alex and Zoe as bodyguards. In fact, he pretty much knew what Gramps would’ve said: So, instead of having a real job, your friends are just gonna run around and play at being cops? I suppose now you’re gonna want to quit your job and join them?
Gramps had never thought much of Alex, and Joshua couldn’t even guess what he’d say about tiny, feisty Zoe protecting someone. It wasn’t that Gramps didn’t respect women. He just believed they needed caring for, and had cared deeply for the ones in his own life—and so he had been devastated when his wife had died in a traffic accident when Joshua’s dad was small. That pain had only compounded when Joshua’s dad had grown up to then marry a woman who’d abandoned her husband and child when Josh was just a toddler.
His grandfather’s voice rang in his ears. See, Joshua, losing your heart to a pretty face is always a bad idea. Beautiful women are all flash bang, but no staying power. Go meet a good, decent, steady woman, who’s not too pretty, not too fancy, not in any trouble, and happy with a calm and boring life. Trust me. The human heart is dumber than dirt when it comes to falling in love.
It had been a comfortable drive to the city despite the rambling in his brain. They’d driven more or less in silence. When they’d first gotten into his rental car, the radio had been blaring Silver Media’s early-morning radio show. The host had been loud and grating, like he’d overdosed on caffeine. But Samantha’d instantly leaned over and switched it off, which he was happy for. Since then, the car had been filled with nothing but the rumble of the engine and the tires crunching on the snow-covered road.
“Toronto police recovered my bag, by the way.” Samantha’s voice drew his attention back into the present. “An officer told me, just before they gave me permission to leave. They found it in an alley Dumpster almost halfway between my apartment and work. I also called my landlady Yvonne while you were being questioned and told her police would be stopping by. I gave the police permission to look around my apartment in case they find something there. But considering where they found my bag, police don’t think either my apartment or the office is a crime scene, and it’s most likely I was grabbed off the street. Unless someone kidnapped me elsewhere and threw my bag in a random Dumpster to confuse things.” She ran both hands through her hair. “I should’ve told you earlier, but my brain’s just been so overwhelmed it’s like I couldn’t process the information right away.”
He nodded. “That happens. Sometimes when something big happens on deployment it’s like everyone’s sleepwalking for hours afterwards. Might take days before people are able to start talking about it.”
Of course, most never talked about the hard stuff. No matter how many times they all got reminded that therapists and chaplains were available for a reason.
“I should get my bag back sometime today,” she said, “and still manage to catch a train to Montreal tonight. I was supposed to leave this morning, but the good thing about the train is I’ve got options. As long as I make it to the station by noon tomorrow I’ll make it home for Christmas Eve dinner. How about you? When do you leave?”
“I’m due back on base December twenty-seventh,” he said. “I’m going to spend Christmas morning with Alex and Zoe—probably Daniel, Olivia and the baby too—and then head up to Barrie after lunch for a really late dinner with Dad. He’s a cop and tends to work Christmas, so that the officers with young kids can be home with their families. I’ll take up a big plate of turkey leftovers for him, and we’ll celebrate together after he gets off work.”
Dad would ask him right off the bat if he’d decided whether or not to reenlist when his term was up in June. And if he said no, Dad would be expecting a pretty good answer why.
She nodded. Like he’d just answered a more important question than the one that she’d asked. “So, you don’t come from a military family?”
“My grandfather served, but when he was widowed, he transferred home to Canada to raise my father. I have such a huge amount of respect for him, for both him and my dad, in fact. Gramps used to say God put us on this planet to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. He’s the reason I enlisted.”
Lake Ontario glittered ahead through a maze of skyscrapers.
“You can get off here.” Samantha pointed to the right.
He took the exit, and drove through the quirky mishmash of shops, expensive condos and older buildings that made up downtown Toronto, following her directions until they reached a thin, standalone town house between two warehouses. The lights were off. A sign in the window read Torchlight News. He pulled into a narrow alley and parked between the garbage cans and a fire escape. His eyes scanned the silent building. “It looks closed.”
“It is closed.” She unbuckled her seat belt. “But like I told you, my laptop died so I’m going to pop in and borrow a tablet so I can keep working over the holidays.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?”
“You mean because some unknown threat that calls itself Magpie tried to kill me today?” She swiveled on the seat. “I might have data on this Magpie thing lurking in my database somewhere that could help the police catch them. Magpie has probably done this before and will do this again, if nobody stops them. I can match my experience against other crimes and maybe find a pattern. Like you just said, we have a responsibility to protect others.”
She hopped out of the car and closed the door behind her.
Yes, but in this scenario, you’re the person who needs protecting. He followed her around to the front of the building. She punched a code on the front door and it swung open. The entrance space was tiny. A door marked Publishing lay to his right. A second labeled Editorial lay dead ahead. She opened it to reveal a narrow flight of stairs.
“I hear what you’re saying,” he said. “But you’re not the authorities. You’re not the police. It’s not your job to find or stop criminals. You’re the victim.”
Samantha paused, her hand on the door leading up to the editorial offices.
“Do you have any idea what the solve rate for violent crimes is in this city?” she asked. “Sure, it’s better than a lot of places, but it’s definitely not one hundred percent. Do you know how often Torchlight journalists have given the police key information they need to make those arrests? Or the role that journalists even play in investigating crimes the police don’t have the resources or remit to investigate? My job is facts. I find them, sort them, connect them, make sense of them and see patterns. I’m good at that. So, yeah, I’m going to spend my Christmas researching crimes like the one I just survived. Even if you think I’m too useless, or helpless, or whatever it is you seem to think I am, to do my job.”
It was the longest string of words he’d heard her say since they’d met, and it had all bubbled out of her with a passion that knocked him back a step. He opened his mouth but couldn’t think of what words to say to that, so closed it again.
“What if the police never figure out who Magpie is?” she went on. “It’s not like I’ve given them much of anything to go on, except ‘Strangers grabbed me somewhere, for no apparent reason. One smelled like he smoked a lot and the other had missing teeth.’ I told you back at the house, I don’t remember being abducted. I don’t remember anything useful. I remember leaving my apartment. I know I ended up tied up in a van at Olivia’s house. The last thing Olivia needs, with a new baby! Everything else is missing. Like my brain’s ability to remember anything more than that has been broken.” A fire flashed like gold in the dark of her eyes. “But that doesn’t mean I have to just sit around now and wait for someone else to save me. You don’t get to decide I’m nothing but a helpless victim. Nobody does. Not even Magpie.”
Then before he could even think of anything else to say to all that, she turned on her heels and started up the stairs. He watched her legs disappear up the stairs but didn’t follow. She’d told him back at the house that she couldn’t remember being abducted, and he’d presumed it was just the normal haze people had when their adrenaline was pumping. Most people don’t pay attention to detail at the best of times and so tend to forget a lot.
But Samantha isn’t most people.
He sat down on the steps, stretched his legs out and dropped his head into his hands.
Dissociative amnesia. Short-term memory loss. Those were two phrases he’d heard far too many times over the years to describe the way the brain protected itself from remembering things that happened in times of intense trauma. Over the years he’d heard person after person he’d served with, and officer friends of his father’s too, describe the symptoms. They talked about “memory gaps” and “brain fog,” and the sense that certain memories had been stolen from their minds. It hadn’t even registered that’s what she’d meant when she’d told him that her memory was patchy. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how frustrated and scared she’d felt, or how insensitive he must’ve sounded. He let out a long breath and prayed, “God, please just help me figure out how to best help her.”
Then he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed Daniel.
“Hey, Josh!” Daniel whispered. “Olivia and the baby are asleep. How is everything going? Alex told me you were taking Samantha home?”
“We decided to stop at the newspaper on the way.” Joshua stood up. “Apparently she wants to pick up some kind of computer tablet thing so she can do some research on whoever this Magpie is.”
Daniel chuckled. “Yeah, Olivia predicted she would. I know we didn’t talk to Samantha long, but Olivia knows her well. Apparently, Samantha’s tenacious when it comes to collecting and understanding information.”
Joshua started up the stairs to the second floor. “I wish the police had offered her some decent ongoing protection instead of just letting her leave there with nothing but a phone number to call and a recommendation for counseling from Victim Services.”
“I’m sure the police do too,” Daniel said. “But they can’t assign an officer to every single person in trouble.” Which is where Ash Private Security came in.
“Do you have a phone number or contact details for Theresa Vaughan?” Joshua reached the landing to the second floor and found a hallway of closed doors. “Alex’s former fiancée? The therapist? Last I heard she was volunteering with Victim Services.”
“I’m pretty sure that Olivia does. Why? Do you think Samantha should talk to her?”
“Maybe.”
A crash sounded above him. A scream filled the air.
Samantha!
“Daniel!” he said. “I think we have an intruder at Torchlight. Call nine-one-one!”
He stuffed the phone in his pocket and pelted down the hallway. A second scream came from above now. This one was louder, angrier, like a wildcat fighting for its life. The door at the very end of the hall was open. He dashed through and found himself pelting up a second, narrower flight of stairs that opened into a huge, open-concept space with steeply slanted ceilings and a scattering of cluttered desks.
The image of a bird spanned the sloping wall ahead of him in dripping spray-painted strokes of black. Beneath it a graffiti artist’s signature tag read: Hermes.
Two more lines of scrawl curled in uneven strokes along the adjacent wall.
The Magpie says,
You’ve been warned.
Delete—
The words cut off in a trailing line of paint. Joshua could feel the hackles rising on the back of his neck.
Delete what?
A muffled cry came from his right. He turned. Samantha stood still in the entrance of a long narrow alcove. Instinctively his hand reached out to her, a question forming on his lips. But as he stepped toward her, the shadows shifted, and he saw why she stood frozen. A man grasped her tightly around the neck from behind. A white hoodie and a buglike painter’s respirator mask covered his face. Hermes’s arm tightened around Samantha’s neck, yanking her back in a choke hold.
