Where is she?
“Rachel? Rachel? Jay? Emily?” He called out futilely, knowing they weren’t home.
Out of sheer need to do something, Chris searched every room thoroughly. He even checked under the couches. “Yes, they’re hiding right under the couch,” he muttered sarcastically, realizing the ridiculousness of his search. Finally, he called the police.
“Fairview police department, this is Officer Ebert speaking,” said a crisp male voice.
“Hello. Is Officer Long available?” asked Chris, attempting to mask his agitated state.
“I’m sorry, sir, but Officer Long is off tonight. Can I take a message?”
“No.”
Chris abruptly hung up the phone then called the Long home and immediately had his stressed nerves grated upon by a bubbly female voice.
“Hi, you’ve reached the Long residence. Amanda speaking.”
“Is Ryan there?” he asked gruffly.
“Chris? Oh, it’s lovely to hear from you. How’s Rachel? How’re the—”
“Just get Ryan,” Chris interrupted, despite his efforts to choke back his anger.
“Oh, of course,” Amanda said in a hurt tone.
Chris was too worried about his family to be guilt-stricken over his rudeness.
Soon, Ryan Long picked up the phone. “What’s up, Chris? Amanda said you sounded worried.”
Sobs burned Chris’s throat making his voice hoarse. “I need to speak to you,” he said shortly. Then, he hung up.
I shouldn’t involve him.
The phone rang as he was returning it to its belt-clip home. His fist tightened around the phone and he stared contemptuously at it through half the happy ringtone Rachel had insisted he install. He grimaced because thinking of her hurt. His expression hardened as he opened the phone, and said, “Chris Collins speaking. What do you want?”
“Dr. Collins, you are a very hard man to get in touch with,” said a young, cheerful, and thoroughly annoying voice.
“Skip it. Where’s my family?” Instinct told him that the young man would have the answer to that question.
“Safe. Your cooperation will ensure they stay that way.”
“What does he want?” Chris managed to say through clenched teeth. He was forced to ease the locked-jaw expression a few seconds later due to pain, but his mood remained foul. He had a pretty good idea who had kidnapped Rachel and the kids, but the exact motive remained a mystery. Chris’s head pounded with fury and a galling sense of helplessness.
I told you I wanted out for good, Chris thought at his former friend.
“He needs your brand of expertise, sir,” said the enthusiastic voice.
“And …”
“And?” the voice sounded confused. “Oh! You mean the rest of the message, right? Sorry! Where is it? I just had it. Here it is. There are a few things here. Burn house, clear accounts, and meet Evan on the Brooklyn Bridge Saturday at noon.”
The line went dead.
Chris wasted no time. Furious, he spent about twenty minutes packing the essentials he would need and trying not to think of the major task ahead. Finally, he went to his bedroom closet, broke into the hidden compartment, and removed the briefcase he had never wanted to see again. He stared at the case for a few minutes, fingering the locks and frantically thinking of another way out of this situation. This was the third time packing up his life, and it was the third time too many.
I’m sorry, Rachel.
Chris’s expression settled into cool resolve. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he muttered.
The doorbell announced Ryan’s arrival. Chris mentally cursed.
Ryan, you have really bad timing.
“Chris? Are you here?” Ryan’s voice floated through the house.
Chris ran into Emily’s room, knocking over a lamp in his haste.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this, his mind cried, echoing his earlier statement. Knowing Ryan would systematically check each room, Chris waited patiently. It wasn’t long before he heard his friend’s cautious steps. Chris watched his friend from the darkest part of the room, and as soon as Ryan turned his back, Chris made his move. Three quick steps brought him within striking distance. While his left hand firmly clamped over Ryan’s mouth, his right hand squeezed a pressure point in his friend’s neck. Ryan struggled fiercely but briefly before slumping in Chris’s arms.
Sorry, Ryan.
Chris stuffed Emily’s soft nightshirt into his friend’s mouth and used the cord of her special bunny lamp to bind his hands. Next, Chris used his computer to push funds around. With that out of the way, he finished packing his suitcase and connected the last wires to the explosives embedded throughout the walls of his house. When everything was ready, he dumped Ryan behind some bushes in the backyard. His muscles ached with tension and anger fueled his steps as he walked to his car.
Two blocks from his house, Chris pulled out his other cell phone and set off the charges. His car radio was off, allowing the muffled booms to reach him. As he watched smoke and flames reach for the sky, tears for his lost peaceful life flowed freely. He stuck a piece of gum in his mouth and nearly swallowed it down the wrong tube. The mistake left him gagging and coughing for several moments. When he recovered a bit, Chris fixed his eyes on the destruction.
Rachel and the kids being taken. The house being destroyed. This is all your fault.
Negative thoughts haunted Chris the whole way to the bank. It was closed. He parked, slipped on rubber gloves, and strode to the automated telling machine. Well-placed chewing gum neutralized the hidden camera. Several minutes later, Chris returned to his car with $7,000. Sticking another piece of gum in his mouth, he roughly shoved the cash in his bag. Twelve automated telling machines later, Chris had indecent sums of cash on him. His anger finally ebbed a bit, but hate still burned in his eyes. He hated the man behind this. He hated being manipulated, and most of all, he hated his failure to bury the past.
Chapter 4
Shocking News
J. Edgar Hoover Building, FBI Headquarters
Washington, D.C.
“Did you hear the news?”
Special Agent Julie Ann Davidson looked up from a case file she was reading and eyed her partner. She didn’t like his tone. It suggested trouble, something they didn’t need to seek out. “No.” Knowing her partner would eventually elaborate, she waited patiently.
It could be a long time. Patrick Duncan usually did more listening than speaking. While this made him a good investigator, it often made him a frustrating partner. Idly, Ann picked up her lukewarm coffee and took a sip. She studied Patrick while she waited. His lean, fit frame occupied the usual spot against the right side of the threshold of her cluttered cubby hole of an office. Although quiet, Patrick could be very expressive, and at the moment a deep frown dominated his face. He cocked his jaw slightly to the right, forming the expression Ann thought of as ‘worried to the point of peeved.’
Finally, Ann couldn’t take the silence. “Are you going to tell me what’s up or am I going to have to beg?” she asked, setting the coffee down, folding her arms, and leaning back.
“You grew up out in PA, right?” Patrick asked matter-of-factly, fixing her with a very neutral gaze.
Ah, the poker face and a question; this could get interesting.
Ann’s hair bounced off her shoulders as she confirmed Patrick’s statement with a nod. She raised an eyebrow at the sudden shift in conversation.
Then, it was his turn to be confused. “I thought you never missed the six o’clock news.”
Sighing, Ann uncrossed her arms and fiddled with her coffee mug. “Not normally, but my dog is sick and was busy hacking all over my new rugs. I had to make a few phone calls and pull in a well-earned favor to get a neighbor to take him to the vet today.” She paused, reflecting on her miserable morning. “In other words, I was a little preoccupied.” She smiled somewhat grimly, feeling mild amusement duel with remembered irritation.
“
Uh-huh. You once mentioned having a close friend out there.” A distant look came over Patrick’s face. He raised a rolled newspaper and gently slapped it against his left palm.
Ann thought hard. “Martha?”
He frowned and let his gaze wander the tiny office.
“Jana?”
Still, the frown.
“Rachel?”
Patrick’s eyes snapped up to meet hers, though the frown remained fixed.
“What is it?” Ann asked, her tone now dead serious as concern replaced all traces of amusement. A detailed mental picture of her high school friend immediately came to mind. It wasn’t hard. People had always commented that Rachel and Ann could have been sisters. Except my ears are bigger, my eyes are blue instead of brown, my hair’s lighter and straighter, my complexion’s worse, my nose is funny, and—
Patrick threw the paper at her, and Ann interrupted her self-scrutiny to move her coffee out of the flight path. “It’s all over the television too.”
The paper landed in front of her with a splat. The headline read:
Suburban Home Explodes
Ann skimmed the article becoming more confused by the second.
“What’s this got to—oh.” A smaller headline caught her attention when she unfolded the paper so she could see the entire front page.
Family Vanishes
The paper had nestled a charming family photo beneath that ominous headline. Ann sucked in sharply.
Rachel.
With the same cheerful, intelligent brown eyes, flawless skin, and pleasant smile, Rachel hardly looked a day older than their senior class portraits. The way Rachel’s head was tipped toward the handsome blond man next to her indicated that he was something special to her. Ann vaguely recalled old email conversations about the ‘greatest man in the world.’
Ann didn’t get to study him too closely before Patrick said, “It’s their home too.”
“What?”
Their home exploded? That can’t be right!
Ann’s gaze fixed on the toddler and infant in the photo. Feeling the blood draining from her face, she sent up a quick prayer for the safety of Rachel’s family.
“You okay?”
“Fine,” Ann mumbled distractedly, reading the rest of the article.
“You want in?”
“Absolutely,” Ann confirmed, reaching for the spring jacket she had brought out of habit.
“Thought so. Leave your paperwork on my desk.”
***
Long Residence
Albion, Pennsylvania
It was a very long drive from Washington, D.C. to Western Pennsylvania, but thankfully, the six-plus hours of driving passed quickly. Unfortunately, the long drive gave Ann plenty of time to worry about Rachel. Actual travel time was lengthened by the need to refuel both herself and the car.
“Home sweet home,” she muttered, nearing her destination. Ann’s family actually lived in Fairview where the Collins family also resided, but Albion was only about a twenty to twenty-five minute drive away. She considered stopping by to say hello, but figured she should try to talk to Officer Long first. Then, she could check out Rachel’s wrecked house and see if there was enough time for a visit home.
Her cell phone played “It’s a Small World,” courtesy of Agent Baker being bored and somehow getting his grubby hands on her phone.
Darn, I really need to change that ringtone.
Ann fumbled for a moment, trying to dig the phone out of her purse and simultaneously stay on the road. At last, she wrestled the earpiece into position and turned her attention back to driving. “Special Agent Davidson.”
“Oh, you sound so professional!”
“Hi, mom,” Ann said wearily, rolling her eyes.
“Did you hear the news?” Carol Davidson’s tone turned somber.
“About Rachel?”
“Yes.”
“I’m on my way now.”
That piece of information took her mother by surprise. “This is your case? Oh, Julie Ann, I don’t think I like the idea of you working on it.”
“It’s not officially my case,” Ann admitted. “The Pittsburgh Field Office probably has agents on it, but Rachel’s my friend. I have to help her if I can.”
“Honey, her house exploded. This could be a very, very dangerous—”
“Mom, I’m still on the road. Got to go. Love you. I’ll call you later,” Ann said in one breath. She hung up before they could get into the much overdone ‘dangers of your job’ conversation.
Sorry, mom.
Ann immediately wanted to call her mother back and apologize, but she knew the conversation would probably end poorly again. Groaning a little, she wondered if all female law enforcement officers had overprotective mothers.
As she pulled up to a pretty two-story house late in the afternoon, a barking dog three yards over caught her attention.
Dog … dog.
“Ooohhh, crud! Danny!” Absently, Ann strode up the front walk and wrestled her phone out of its holder. Jabbing her finger at the button to ring the doorbell and mentally apologizing to her dog, Ann speed dialed her partner.
“Hi, Patrick, it’s me. No, no, I’m fine. Listen—oh you did? Really? Thanks, I owe you one.”
How does he do that? she thought, ending the call.
“Can I help you?” asked a woman, peering through the screen door.
A large German shepherd bounded up to the door and growled at Ann.
The woman held the dog by the collar, but Ann understood she had better be on her best behavior or else. She retrieved her ID badge from the depths of her suit jacket and flipped it open so the woman could get a good look at it. Maybe Ann was imagining things, but as she moved to put her phone away, the dog’s growl seemed to turn more menacing.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Long, I’m Special Agent Davidson with the FBI. I was informed that Officer Long was at home today. May I speak with him for a moment?”
“Do you have a gun?” asked a little boy, suddenly appearing beside the woman.
“Michael! Mind your manners,” said Mrs. Long, mortified.
“It’s all right,” Ann assured, smiling at the child. Leaning down so that she was closer to his eye level, Ann showed him her badge. “Yes, Michael, I carry a gun, but the badge is just as important.”
“Guns are cooler,” Michael argued.
Chuckling as she stood upright again, Ann tucked her badge away. “Agreed.”
“That’s enough, Michael. Go play,” said Mrs. Long, shooing the boy away from the door. She stepped back and motioned Ann into the house. “Please come in. I’ll go see if my husband is up for more. He’s already been questioned by the FBI, you know.”
Nodding acknowledgement, Ann looked around, a stubborn but useful habit. She smiled to see the dog sit down and watch her carefully. She held out her hands. “You’re a bit of a guard dog, I see.”
“You wanted to speak with me?” A handsome man stepped into the room. Everything about him, from the impressive physique to rigid haircut, said ‘cop’ to Ann. The only thing that surprised her was his employment by a small town in Pennsylvania rather than a big city. Red rings still marked his wrists and lower arms.
Realizing she hadn’t answered his question, Ann held out her right hand, and said, “Yes, sir. I’m Agent Davidson. I wanted to talk to you about your experiences last night.”
“Ryan Long,” he responded, shaking hands. “I spoke with the other feds already. Didn’t you read their report?” His tone conveyed equal parts confusion and doubt with more than a hint of guardedness mixed in.
Ann didn’t want to get into a discussion about her involvement in the case, but she saw no easy way out of responding to his question. “I’m from Washington. This isn’t officially my case. I’m just here as a consultant.”
A very unofficial consultant, she added silently. Ann avoided eye contact, glad when he didn’t press the point of jurisdiction.
Officer Long led Ann to a sitting room and g
estured for her to have a seat on the floral printed couch. “I’ll tell you what I told the other feds, my friends, and wrote in my official report.” He sat on a two-person settee angled to facilitate easy conversation around a coffee table.
Ann settled herself on the sofa’s edge.
“Would you like anything to drink?” asked Mrs. Long.
“No, thank you, ma’am.”
“A friend of mine, Chris Collins, called last night,” Ryan began, slowly rubbing at his temple like he had a headache.
“What time was this?”
“Around 9:30 p.m., I think. All he said was that he needed to speak with me. When no one answered the doorbell, I used my spare key to enter the house,” Long said frowning.
His wife sat next to him and gently squeezed his right arm encouragingly.
The silence stretched.
“Was Dr. Collins there?” Ann asked finally, wishing she had Patrick’s level of patience.
“No … at least, not that I saw.”
“You have doubts?”
“Someone was definitely there,” said Officer Long. “I heard a noise from the second story. I’d been off yesterday, but I always carry a spare gun so when I heard a thud I went to investigate. The first several rooms were clear. I was just ending my sweep of the upstairs when someone grabbed me from behind and knocked me out.”
Ann struggled to keep a straight face as she thought, Who’d want to take on this guy? He’s built like a professional wrestler.
“How were you knocked out?”
The man shifted uncomfortably. “Pressure point in the neck. I woke up when the explosions went off. My hands were tied behind me with a lamp cord and a shirt was stuffed in my mouth. I even had my spare gun back in the ankle holster.”
Ann furrowed her brows.
That’s strange. Who would knock him out and then return his gun?
The scenario would have struck her funny if she wasn’t chatting with a man who had clearly had a bad night. Something was definitely strange about the whole thing. After a few more questions, Ann thanked the Longs for their time and took her leave. She needed to stop by the Fairview police station to see if they’d let her look at the official reports. Then, if she had time and sufficient energy, she would stop home and try to set her mother at ease.