Kidnapped At Christmas

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.

FOUR

Instinctively Joshua’s hands rose in front of him, hoping the universal sign of non-aggression would buy him enough time to figure out what was going on, and how to get Samantha out safely. Quickly he surveyed the room, his battle-ready gaze rapidly taking in the details. Winter light and cold air streamed through the alcove, which Joshua guessed must lead to the fire escape. The scrawl on the wall was still wet and dripping. A single overturned chair and a few papers strewn on the floor signaled a small-scale struggle. But the room hadn’t been ransacked. The mask that hid the intruder’s face was the kind of plastic respirator mask worn by graffiti street artists and people doing home repairs. Despite the heavy leather boots on the young man’s feet, the baggy hoodie covering his head implied he was a common thug, not a military operative.

“Hermes” kept one arm around Samantha’s neck. The other hand was buried in his sweatshirt pocket. Whatever that hand was holding inside the pocket, he was pushing it hard against Samantha’s side. So, Hermes had a weapon. A knife? A gun? Another explosive? Whatever it was, there was no way the man would miss hurting Samantha with it at that range, and there was no way to safely disarm him in a space that narrow.

So, Hermes. I’m guessing you didn’t expect to find anybody here and don’t have a plan.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Joshua kept his voice steady. “It’s all going to be okay and nobody needs to get hurt. Can I call you Hermes? That’s your graffiti tag, right?”

No answer. Gray eyes glanced up suspiciously over the top of the respirator mask.

Joshua risked taking a step toward him, his voice level and his hands still slightly raised. “You don’t want anybody to get hurt, do you, Hermes? You’re not a bad guy. You’re not looking for trouble. You just came here as a messenger from Magpie to paint something on the wall, right?”

With every step he could feel the empty space on his hip where his service handgun would normally be. But Canadian gun laws being what they were, even he didn’t have a permit to carry a service weapon while on home leave.

He glanced at Samantha. His eyes took in every inch of her form. Her clothes were disheveled. She hadn’t given up without a fight. But her limbs now shook. Her gaze darted around the room.

Look at me, Samantha. Please, I know your brain is going to want to switch off and let the fear take over. But fight it. Stay focused. Stay with me.

Hermes took another step backward, dragging Samantha after him by the throat.

Come on, Samantha! Please! I need your help to get us both out of here alive.

Hermes slunk deeper into the alcove, blocking out the light. Samantha’s eyes closed in what he hoped was prayer. Joshua’s silent pleading turned to prayer too. God, please help me defuse this situation! I’m going to have no choice but to rush Hermes. But if I do, I’m putting Samantha’s life in danger.

Hermes spun Samantha around sideways and for a moment seemed to get caught as he jostled for room in the narrow space. Then, with a cry, Samantha tumbled backward out the balcony door. Joshua sprinted across the room. The graffiti artist yanked a gun from his pocket and fired. Instinctively, Joshua dropped to the floor and rolled, as the sudden bang and flash seemed to fill the room. But the sound of the bullet’s impact never came. He crouched onto his toes and looked up. Hermes closed his eyes and fired again. No recoil. Joshua almost snorted. Hermes was shooting blanks. Joshua vaulted over the second desk and charged. Hermes turned on his heels and ran out the door after Samantha. But before Joshua could even reach the alcove, he heard a crash and an angry scream of pain filled the air.

Joshua ducked into the alcove, ran through and came out on a small balcony leading to a fire escape. He blinked. Hermes now lay flat on his back. Shards of pottery were strewn around him on the icy wood. Dirt covered Hermes’s body like soot. Joshua turned and saw the reason why. Samantha stood by the fallen graffiti artist. Pale sunlight fell over her face. Fierce defiance flashed in her eyes. The remains of a heavy clay vase were still clutched in her hands. A jolt rippled through Joshua’s heart like it was attached to jumper cables.

Samantha had grabbed the vase and broken it over Hermes’s head.

Sirens sounded in the distance. Samantha’s eyes snapped to Joshua’s face. “Please tell me you called nine-one-one.”

“Daniel did.”

“I’ve got the gun from him.” She held it up. “But he was just firing blanks.”

Huh. So she knew something about both guns and land mines.

Hermes was groaning. The young man pulled himself onto his hands and knees. Joshua pushed him down and pinned him with an arm against his throat.

“Who are you? What are you doing here? Who sent you? Who is Magpie?”

He yanked off the respirator mask. Frightened eyes stared up into his face. Something inside Joshua’s heart lurched. Hermes was clearly overwhelmed and terrified. Had Magpie even told him the gun was loaded with blanks? Joshua sat back on his heels, loosening the pressure on the boy’s throat. Someone that unseasoned and scared probably wasn’t going anywhere.

He turned to Samantha. “Do you have any idea who this is? Have you seen this guy before?”

“Sorry, no.”

“Is it possible he was one of the men who abducted you this morning?”

“I don’t think so. Similar age, I think. I barely saw the one guy’s face but it was very scarred and he practically reeked of tobacco. The other one definitely talked like he had teeth missing.”

“All right, I’ll watch him until the police come,” he said.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. But there was something in her voice and about the way she’d said “sorry” that made him look back at her face. It was like she was being hard on herself for not knowing more. Something inside Joshua’s chest suddenly ached to just give her a hug and tell her that everything was going to be okay. “Look, I’m sorry if I sounded insensitive earlier. But—”

Out of the corner of his eye, Joshua saw Hermes’s hand dart toward something on the ground. He spun back. But it was too late. Hermes slashed at him with a small, jagged pottery shard that just barely missed his jugular. Instinctively Joshua reared back, releasing his weight on Hermes’s body, as he lunged to grab the shard. Hermes kicked up, hard, one boot just managing to catch Joshua in the chin. Pain exploded in Joshua’s head, not enough to make him let go, but enough to let Hermes slither back on the icy wood and twist from his grasp.

“Stay back!” Joshua yelled to Samantha. He leaped to his feet. “And stay out of the way.”

But it was too late. Hermes leaped onto the fire escape and bolted down the stairs.

* * *

She watched as Joshua leaped over the ledge onto the fire escape below, skipping the first flight of stairs entirely. He pelted after Hermes. Their footsteps clanged on the metal steps. Samantha grabbed the edge of the balcony with both hands. Everything inside her wanted to chase after them. But Joshua’s words still seemed to echo around her in the frosty air. Stay back. Stay out of the way. And why would he even want her to try and help? She’d fought as hard as she could against Hermes, but he’d still overpowered her. She’d broken a vase over Hermes’s head and then he’d managed to grab a shard of it and use it as a weapon. Joshua already made it perfectly clear he doubted she could be any use at all in stopping Magpie.

He’d never understand. Joshua had height, brute strength and military training. She had two left feet and a tongue that tended to either babble or freeze. He’d probably thought her big speech on the staircase had been pretty ridiculous. But, whether he got it or not, she really had joined Torchlight to make a difference.

Hermes was still running down the fire escape. The graffiti artist might not know his way around guns, but he was wiry and fast. This probably wasn’t the first time he’d vandalized something and run from getting caught. Hermes’s feet hit the ground. He pelted across the pavement. Joshua was only a few steps behind him. In a second, he’d caught Hermes by the shoulder and swung him around. The youth thrashed. But Joshua yanked his arm back, pinning it behind his back and holding him firmly in place.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Joshua’s voice echoed in the concrete alley. “I promise you that. I’m just going to hold you until the police get here. But if you keep fighting me, I’ll be forced to tighten my grip.”

The rest of his words were swallowed up in the sound of police sirens. She stood there for a long moment, looking down at Joshua as he calmly but firmly held the squirming vandal in place. Then she turned back toward the office. Any moment now, cops would be all over the place and Torchlight News would be a crime scene. If she was ever going to take a look at what had happened with a critical, journalist’s eye, it had to be now.

Carefully, she took a methodical look at Hermes’s unloaded gun. It was a Glock. The serial number had been filed off and it looked like someone had tried to tamper with the barrel in order to make it something more dangerous than it already was. But they’d done it so badly she doubted the gun would ever be much use to someone who was actually trying to hit their target. Illegal handgun. Modified by an amateur. Loaded with blanks. It was the kind of weapon a stupid kid might use to try to intimidate someone, but never actually intend to fire. Thanks in part to Canada’s strict gun laws, Toronto police had warned recently of an increase in replica and damaged weapons being used to commit thefts. Sometimes just waving a weapon around was enough to get someone to give a thug what they wanted. Trust criminals to get creative.

But it was even more evidence Hermes had been sent as a messenger not a killer. She could almost feel her brain storing the information like memory chips sliding into mental slots.