Chapter 7
Jack
For God’s sake, she left the lobby wearing a huge grin. Why the hell am I worried?
I slip off my knapsack, sit down in the lobby, and go to our phone carrier’s website. Moments later, while scrolling through her incoming calls, I stop and stare.
Fuck it all.
The smile she worewasfor me. Someone used my callerID and sure as hell lured her out of our apartment. Maybe they had a recording of my voice or just winged it with a bad connection.
Shit. Worried how I’ve already wasted too much time, I call Patten Securities and when Slate picks up, I don’t even say hello. “I’m pretty sure someone just kidnapped Blake.’
“Whoa, Jack. Backup. Where are you?”
I’m not actually certain until I glance up at the cheap desk, chandelier, and four green vinyl chairs. “In the lobby of our apartment building. Someone spoofed my callerID. She went out and never came back.”
“What time was that?”
“Five fucking hours ago.” When my heart races like this, I can’t think straight.
Slate’s all business. “I got friends at the FBI. Text me her number and we’ll trace it. What else you got?”
“I’ll call you as soon as I find anything more.” I grunt my thanks and hang up.
She could be halfway to Canada by now. Outside, I check for other cameras that might have caught her on video. I’m guessing whoever took her knew better than to park right in front of our building.
The thought of her scared and all alone comes to mind but I force it away. If I go there, I’ll be no good to her at all. With a habit learned as a kid and honed in the service, I lock out all emotions until all that’s left is the job at hand.
Immediately, smarter brain cells fire.
Blake, luv. Did you leave a clue?
Outside, I comb the curb and the sidewalk, picking up tissues and candy wrappers. Anything could be a clue. I squat near a small gold earring stuck in a crack near the curb, a miracle it didn’t fall down the sewer.
Given this new vantage point, I search until I find any street camera pointing in my direction and flash a fake badge. “NYPD, Detective Taylor. I need to see your security footage.”
A bearded millennial at the front desk shrugs, taps an address into his browser, and shoves the laptop at me. “Use the arrows to move the timeline.”
“Thanks.” I take the video to right before her phone call and play it forward.
First, a Ford truck pulls to the curb. Then, an Asian man with a scar gets out and moves out of view. When he returns, he has ahold of Blake’s arm and drags her forward. Without warning, my wife drops her purse and the contents spill on the sidewalk. When he looks down, she pulls off an earring and tosses it into the street.
Good girl.
A copy of the footage gets stored on the cloud. After emailing the link to Slate, I shove the screen in front of the guard, and point to the kidnapper. “You ever see him before?”
The kid purses his pierced lip. “No, but I recognize the woman. She lives nearby, right?”
“Yeah. That’s my wife.” My emotions must seep out onto my face because there’s pity etched in the kid’s.
“Sorry, man. Really sorry.”
I don’t respond because I’m already logging into Patten Securities. The Ford was a rental. No doubt the fuckers used fake ids but it’s the first real lead I got. When I find the company, I walk back to my building and check my watch. Another hour has passed.
I need to move a hell of a lot faster.
Slate surprises me when I enter the lobby. He grips my forearm when we shake, then introduces a tall black man with thick gray hair, standing beside him. “This is Special Agent Peter Diamond.
