Kidnapped (6 page)

“Thanks, Linda. I'm at Mark's condo if you hear anything. I really appreciate it.”

Caroline hung up and looked again at her list. No matter what scenario she scripted, it didn't end in silence. There had to be a way to somehow get in touch with Mark. His Benton office automatically transferred to an answering machine with a message about being closed for Labor Day.

Feeling like she was prying into private matters, she opened drawers in Mark's desk until she found a personal address book. She started turning pages, looking for the home phone number of one of his partners.

“Mr. Jenson, it's Caroline Lane. I'm looking for Mark Falcon. Do you know what house he was looking at tonight, or how I might be able to reach him?”

“He's not in Atlanta?”

“No, and I can't raise him on the phone. It's pretty urgent.”

“He left the house about five thirty after we figured out a problem with the skylight. He mentioned he wanted to stop by the bank before closing and then needed to buy gas, but that should have taken only twenty minutes or so. He was in a hurry to get to Atlanta.”

“Do I have his phone numbers right?” She read them off her list.

“Yes. Let me try them from here. If I can't raise him, I'll make the drive back to the house and see if he had car trouble or something.”

“I'm sorry to interrupt your evening, but I really appreciate it.”

“It's no problem.”

Caroline looked at her list again. She was running out of options. Sharon and Benjamin were somewhere unreachable. Mark couldn't be found.

She taught fifth graders. She knew that Murphy's Law often happened. Their phone had been accidentally left on and the batteries were dead . . . They had remembered something left behind and went back to the house . . . There had been car trouble . . .

Mark could have easily been delayed by a conversation at the bank over a construction project. Or maybe Sharon and Mark had talked and changed their plans, intending to come into Atlanta together. Every scenario Caroline drew had someone calling to say they would be here late. She could start calling hospitals.

Jesus, what do I do? Where are they?

Caroline looked around Mark's expensive home. She was so far out of her league in this place, for this problem. It was family. She couldn't let it sit.
I'm scared now.

* * *

“This is going to be another dead end.” Luke shifted his hand on the steering wheel to hit the turn signal, taking the exit to get them off the highway and out of the bumper-to-bumper holiday traffic. The gas station off of I-20 had cars at every pump and two cars waiting in line.

“One of the leads will pan out eventually.” Jackie shuffled her paperwork and called to confirm their arrival with the coordinator assigning the leads.

“Marsh beat us here.” The state cop car was parked to the east of the gas station office, taking the space between the advertisement for tire rotations and the flashing sign for cold sodas. Luke parked beside him and waited until Jackie got out of the car, then locked the doors. He walked past a long display of windshield washer fluid on sale this Labor Day weekend, breathing in gas fumes and stale coffee.

Jackie held the door for him. “Come on.”

“I'm relishing the fact this is about the thousandth gas station we've invaded in our lives and they all look remarkably the same, down to the gum you managed to step on and are now leaving in strings behind you as you walk.”

Jackie looked down and studied the bottom of her right shoe. “Great. Why can't people just take two more steps and toss the stuff in a trash can to begin with?” She scraped what she could off on the concrete step.

Luke took hold of the door from her. “Ice. You can buy a fountain drink, pour it out because it's going to taste horrible anyway, and use the ice to freeze that gum fragment off your shoe.”

“Don't smile like that, Falcon. I could have gone off duty a while ago and saved my favorite pair of shoes, you know.”

“You could have,” Luke agreed easily, knowing it was an idle threat. Getting Jackie off this search for some reason other than her kids' soccer game or the fact her family was out of clean laundry wouldn't happen. Jackie was married and loved it, but perish the criminal who thought that would give him a little breathing room.

“I'm thinking you should just keep more shoes at the office now that you'll have a huge new office to clutter with stuff and won't have to put your extra pair in my unused bottom desk drawer.”

“You never actually put something in your desk; you just stack it on top. How you keep your house spotless and yet keep a desk like you do . . .” Jackie headed inside to find Taylor Marsh and the manager who had phoned in the tip.

Luke picked up a Tootsie Roll as he passed the candy display, offering the clerk a buck and tearing the paper as he waited for his change. Taylor was deep in debate with someone who looked like the store manager, a video punched up on the security monitor. There wasn't enough room behind that counter for the manager and three cops unless they turned the clerk into a Popsicle. He'd let Taylor and Jackie sort out the first impressions.

“How's business been tonight?” Luke asked the clerk.

“Stick around a few more hours, and maybe I won't get some flipped-out idiot trying to rip me off tonight.”

“That good, huh? You've worked this corner awhile.”

“Six years.”

Luke tugged a couple photos from his pocket. “Have you seen either of these people before?”

The clerk slid the photos over the counter to see them better. “The lady goes for two packs of cigarettes and a pint of ice cream; the guy must be pumping the gas because I would certainly remember a scowl like that. She's part of the 1 to 2 a.m. crowd. A regular. But I haven't seen her in the last couple days.”

The odds they had a photo of Frank on that security tape had just gone up considerably. Luke pocketed the photos. “Thanks.”

He walked down to where Jackie and Taylor were studying the security monitor. Buying gas at the same place was a habit even criminals had. Luke leaned against the counter to see over their shoulders. The videotape had been used so many times it was worn over and ghost images appeared in the static, but it was better than some he'd seen.

“I'm satisfied,” Taylor said, stepping back. “That's Frank.”

It wasn't a clear image, but the man shoving over his cash and impatiently running his left hand back and forth on the edge of the counter could be Frank Hardin, a tight haircut and an additional ten pounds since the last picture they had notwithstanding.

Jackie sorted security tapes for the outside cameras and popped another tape into the player. She fast-forwarded to the time index in question. “Here's another shot of him.”

The camera, which had been focused on the far bay of pumps, showed Frank walking to a compact car, circling the rear of the vehicle, and getting into the driver's seat. The image kept flickering in and out of focus as the camera kept blooming the exposure, its control chip dying. “There.” Jackie paused the video while the image was stable. “What's that license number? KV7 . . . it's fuzzy. Maybe the video guys can clean it up and get us a full plate number.”

“Maybe KN7 . . . ,” Taylor suggested. “A Toyota?”

“Yes, with some kind of luggage rack.”

“I wonder what happened to the van.” Luke looked at the time stamp, then checked the current video against his watch to make sure the camera clock was accurate. It was. “Frank was here at 6:19 tonight. He's got a full tank of gas. If we assume he's hitting the road to get out of this publicity, he won't stop again until he's at least a state away. If he's an hour plus ahead of us . . . he's still within a hundred miles of here.” Luke looked at Taylor.

“We'll saturate the interstates with patrols. If he's on side roads, we'll still need some luck.”

“Frank will likely stay on the interstate to meld into traffic,” Luke said. “Let's get this car and partial plate added to the APB while we walk the tape through the lab to get a full plate number and find out who Frank's traveling with now. Tell your guys to be careful; with two outstanding murders already to his credit, Hardin would kill a cop before he'd think about surrendering.”

“I'll pass the word that caution really means caution,” Taylor agreed. “Give me a minute to talk with dispatch. Do you want to shift manpower off the call-in leads to add coverage in this area?”

It was a hard choice. Luke shook his head. “Not yet. We need another confirmed sighting to know which direction Frank is heading. That is more critical. Jackie, make a couple calls and find out which lab can give us the fastest turn on analyzing that tape, state or federal. I'll fill up the car while we're here so we can cruise the highways for a while without stopping.”

“Will do.”

Luke dug out his car keys as he walked outside.
I'm coming for you, Hardin. This time you're not going to slip away.

He moved the car to a free pump and selected high octane. His phone rang as he removed the gas cap. Luke tugged out his phone and accepted the call as he started pumping gas. “Luke Falcon.”

“Luke, it's Caroline.”

She paused but he remained silent. Her tone sounded desperate. If he said anything, she wouldn't have enough breath to get out her next words.

“Sharon and Benjamin, Mark—they're all very late. And I can't find them.”

Chapter Five

A
s Luke paid for the gas, Jackie joined him at the counter. “What's wrong?”

Luke smoothed out his frown. “Caroline called.”

“Trouble?”

He instinctively shook his head. “No. Sharon and Mark are running late in this traffic and Caroline can't reach them.” Caroline got jumpy. After dealing with his extra careful sense of security for the last year, he couldn't blame her. If she overreacted occasionally now, it was as much his fault as hers. They were late, but—

He glanced over his shoulder at the highway. This traffic could disrupt well-laid plans in any number of ways. “I need to swing by and see her later.”

“They want the tape at the state lab, and Taylor can drop me off there. Go see Caroline while I walk this through the lab. When we have results in, I'll give you a call and you can pick me up there.”

“Thanks, Jackie.”

“No problem.” She rested her hand on his arm to pause him. “I'll have some time to kill while they work on this. If Sharon and Mark are this late—do you want me to call hospitals for you? Just to make sure nothing bad did happen?”

“I'm sure it's just traffic or car problems.”

“I'm sure it is too, but I could rule it out for you.”

Luke hesitated, then nodded. “It would be easier than Caroline listening to me make those calls an hour from now.”

“Consider the calls made. Tell Caroline hello for me.”

* * *

Nine o'clock. Caroline stirred the Italian beef since the burner had been shut off for the last hour. Wherever Sharon and Benjamin were, her nephew was probably very tired by now. The icemaker dumped ice. The sound broke the silence, startling her, and she dropped the lid against the counter.

I just want my family to walk through that door. I don't want a real-life example to illustrate what life is like in a storm, Lord. Just keep them safe and bring them here.

A very bad car accident topped her list of maybes now. She couldn't come up with good explanations at this point. Not for both Sharon and Mark being late.

Luke would know what to do. He had sounded just like he always did, as if the conversation was about everyday matters rather than her sister, her nephew, and his cousin being hours late and unreachable. She hated that calmness even as she depended on that steadiness.

Knuckles rapped against the front door. She hurried down the hall to unlock it.
Please be Sharon or Mark.

“Luke—” her hand tightened on the knob—“thank you for coming.” He leaned against the doorjamb with one hand, the edge of a frown on his brow. She stood straighter.

“Still no word?” The words were oddly gentle for him.

She shook her head. “I would have called you back. You couldn't get through to them either?”

“No.” He stepped into the condo and closed the door behind him. “You're dripping something, Caroline.”

She looked down and saw the spoon in her hand. “Oh! I was fixing dinner. Or rather I fixed dinner earlier.” She flushed and hurried back to the kitchen. She dumped the spoon in the sink, grabbed a wet rag to wipe the spots on the kitchen floor, then went to see about the hallway carpet.

* * *

Luke stepped out of Caroline's way. Her color was high and her knuckles white on the rag, her movements a bit jerky. She was attacking the carpet as if it were a grape juice stain rather than a drip.
Don't make a trivial remark next time,
he reminded himself, watching her. She finally finished and he didn't give her a chance to see another spot. He took the rag from her, stepped to the kitchen doorway, and tossed it toward the sink. “Let's go sit down.”

He didn't give her much option, walking her into the living room. He wanted to hug her, but there was so much emotion flowing off her at the moment his instincts warned him to go the other direction. Caroline sank onto the brown leather couch Mark had bought three years ago and practically got swallowed by the plush cushions.

“You can't help me if you don't calm down.”

“I
am
calm.”

“Lean back, close your eyes, take several deep breaths, and just sit there.” He'd never imagined a scenario where he'd be telling Caroline the same prescription he gave victims and witnesses. She took the order well, considering. He covered her hand with his and held it while he tugged out his phone with his other hand.