Into Thin Air

“Yes. I was headed home. A van was coming toward me in the opposite direction. We passed the girl at nearly the same time.”

“Passed her?” He’d assumed she’d driven up as the girl was being abducted.

“Yes. The van made me think of the news reports of other abductions in the area. I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the van U-turn. I did the same.” Laney looked away as if unable to meet his gaze. “Unfortunately, it reached her first. She was texting and didn’t even see them coming.”

“Could you see the color of the van?”

“Not initially, but I got a good look at it when I rammed it with my jeep. It was a dark charcoal gray. My front fender probably scraped off some of the paint. It will have a fresh dent on the front passenger side...” Laney’s voice faltered.

“Did you see the person who grabbed her? Can you describe him?” he asked, every cell in his body waiting for the answer. If she saw the guy, if she had a description, if there was DNA on the gun, they’d finally have something to go on.

“I had a pretty clear view. There were streetlights and the headlights from my Jeep.”

“Tell me what you remember. Don’t hold anything back.” Grayson urged.

“He was about six-foot-one with the build of an ex–football player—beefy but not in great shape anymore. His hair was dark brown and cropped close, like a military cut. He was wearing jeans with a black hooded sweatshirt and black work boots. He had brown eyes and an olive complexion. I saw part of a tattoo on the back of his neck, sticking out from the collar of his sweatshirt, but I didn’t get a good look at it.” She paused, frowned. “He wasn’t alone. There was another guy in the van. He came out to help. He was shorter—I’d guess about five-foot-ten. Thin—like a runner’s build. His hair was light brown, nose slightly crooked. He was the one with the gun.”

Grayson scribbled notes furiously. “What about their ages?”

“Early to mid-thirties. Both of them.”

“Did either speak?”

“Both did, but they didn’t call each other by name.”

Too bad. That would have been another lead to follow.

“What about accents?”

“None that I could distinguish.”

“Did the girl seem to know her kidnappers?”

“If she knew them, it didn’t show. As far as I could tell, she was an arbitrary target, but the way the van was parked would have made it nearly impossible for anyone on the street to see the kidnappers. It seemed random...but not.”

“How so?”

“Like they were trolling the streets looking for someone, but once they picked a target their actions were deliberate—no hesitation—like they’d done the same thing before. If I hadn’t been there, the girl—”

“Olivia Henley. She’s thirteen. She was on her way home from her weekly music lesson. Her parents reported her missing shortly after the joggers found you.” He wanted Laney to have a name to go with the face. He wanted her to know that there was a family who was missing a child. Not because he wanted her to feel guilty or obligated, but because he wanted her to understand how serious things were, how imperative it was that she cooperate.

“Olivia,” she repeated quietly. “If I hadn’t been there, she would have disappeared, and no one would have known what happened.” She paused, her face so pale, he thought she might lose consciousness again. “If only I had done something differently, maybe she wouldn’t have been taken.”

“You did what you could, which is more than most would.”

“But it wasn’t enough, was it?” She leveled her gaze at him, surprising him with the depth of anger he saw reflected in her eyes. “That little girl is gone, Agent DeMarco. Her bed will be empty tonight.”

Grayson recognized and understood her frustration. So many children went missing every day, and not all of them would make it home. He knew that better than most. “Not because of you, Laney. Because of the kidnappers.”

“That’s no consolation to her parents.” Laney closed her eyes. “I wish I could have saved her.”

“You still might be able to. If you’re up to it, I’d like you to meet with a sketch arti—”

“I’m up to it. Let’s go.” Before the words were out of her mouth, she was up from bed, the white cotton sheet draped around her shoulders like a cape as she wobbled toward the door, the IV pole trailing along behind her.

“I didn’t mean now,” he said, taking three long strides to beat her to the door and slapping his palm against it so that she couldn’t open it. “And I didn’t mean you should walk out of here with an IV line attached to your arm, either.”

“Then bring the sketch artist here.” She turned to face him, swaying a little in the process. “The sooner you have an image of these guys, the sooner everyone can be on the lookout for them. If you really think Olivia can be saved, there’s no time to lose.”

She was right, of course. About all of it. There was only one problem with her plan, and it was a big one.

“We’re not bringing the sketch artist here,” he said, leading her back toward the bed. “You’d better lie down before you fall down.”

She dropped into the chair instead, her face ashen, her eyes a dark emerald green against the pallor. “Why not bring the sketch artist here?” Her voice had lost some of its strength, but she hadn’t lost any of her determination. “We’re wasting time talking when we could be—”

“As far as the kidnappers know, you’re dead, Laney,” he said, cutting her off.

“What?”

“Dead. Deceased. Gone.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know what you meant, Agent. I want to know why they think I’m dead.”

“You were shot. Murphy might have distracted the shooter, but you went down. You were bleeding enough to make anyone think you’d been mortally wounded. The joggers who found you were a couple of teenage girls. They panicked, called 911 and reported a body. No one knows who you are or that you survived except the first responders and the hospital staff treating you, and they’ve been asked to keep it quiet. As far as the media and the public are concerned, Jane Doe was shot and killed on Ashley Street at approximately seven-thirty this evening. I’d like to keep your identity quiet for as long as possible.”

Laney frowned. “Protecting my identity is the last thing we need to worry about.”

“I disagree.”

“Maybe you should explain why.”

Grayson hesitated. Andrews had assured him that Laney was as good as they came, loyal and trustworthy. Even so, Grayson was reluctant to divulge too much. He was used to working alone. Putting his trust in God and his own abilities above all else. He had this one perfect lead, and he didn’t want anything to keep it from panning out. “For now, I need you to trust that I’m making the best decisions I can for you and Olivia.”

“For now,” Laney agreed, struggling to her feet. “But you need to know that I’m not going to spend much time sitting around this hospital room while you make decisions for me. That’s not the way I work.”

She jabbed the call button on the bed railing, and he had visions of her walking out of the hospital in the mint-green hospital gown, the bandage on her forehead a glaring testimony to her injury. If the kidnappers were hanging around hoping to hear rumors confirming Jane Doe’s death, they might catch a glimpse of Laney and follow her home. That was the last thing Grayson wanted.

He was all too aware that his biggest hope just might lie on the slender shoulders of Laney Kensington. If she could identify the kidnappers, he would be one step closer to saving Olivia—and the other children. He needed her help. And to get it, he had to give her some measure of trust.

“Then tell me how you do work,” he offered. “And, let’s see what kind of a compromise we can reach.”

“I’m not looking for compromise. I need to know what’s going on. Let’s start with what you’ve got on these kidnappings.”

It went against his nature to give her the information. He’d been keeping everything close to the vest. The less media coverage about the kidnappings, the better, as far as he was concerned. He was closing in on the perps. He could feel it, and he didn’t want to risk scaring them off. He needed them to feel comfortable and confident. Their cockiness would be key to bringing them down.

On the other hand, he couldn’t risk having Laney go maverick on him. If what the police chief had said about her was true, she knew enough about search and rescue and about police work to be dangerous. He had no doubt that she understood she could walk out of the hospital and away from him altogether. He had nothing on her and no legal means to keep her where she was. And if the kidnappers caught even a glimpse of her, the damage would be done. She’d gotten a good look at the kidnappers. He could only assume they’d gotten a good look at her, too. Once they knew she was alive, how quickly could they find her if they put their minds to it?

“Okay,” he finally said. “Just have a seat and I’ll tell you as much as I can.”

She hesitated, her face drawn. Finally she complied, dropping back into the chair and fixing all of her attention on him.

“Well?” she prodded.

He pulled a chair over and sat.

They were knee to knee, the fabric of his pants brushing against the sheet she’d wrapped herself in, the IV pole just to the side of her chair. She looked young and vulnerable, her life way too easy to snuff out. That thought brought memories of another time, and for a moment, Grayson was in different hospital room, looking into another pale face. He hadn’t been able to save Andrea, but he was going to do everything in his power to make sure Laney survived.

THREE

“What I am about to tell you is sensitive,” Agent DeMarco said. “I need your word that you’ll keep it confidential.”

“Of course,” Laney agreed.

“Good, because you’re the only witness to a kidnapping that is connected to the abduction of two other children over the past six weeks.”

“That’s not a secret, Agent. It’s been in the news for a few weeks.” In fact, those abductions—one outside of DC and the other in Annapolis—had been nagging at her when she saw the van on Ashley Street.

“There have also been similar clusters of child abductions in two other states.”

She definitely hadn’t heard that before. “How many children are we talking about?”

“Thirteen others, so far. Not including the three from this area.”

“Sixteen kids missing? I’d think that would be all over the news.”

“It has been. Regional news only. The first seven disappeared from the Los Angeles area over a four-month period. The next six disappeared from the Boston vicinity in just under three months. In many cases, there were reports of a dark van in the area around the time of the abductions.”

“Just like the van tonight.”

He nodded. “Your description is the most detailed, but other witnesses mentioned a dark panel van. Unfortunately, no one has seen the driver. You’re the first witness we have who’s seen everything—the van, the missing child, the kidnappers. It’s the break I’ve been waiting for, and I don’t want anything to jeopardize it. We need to keep the fact that you survived quiet for as long as possible. The less the kidnappers realize we know, the easier it will be to close in on them.”

“I understand. I won’t tell anyone.”

“It’s not as simple as that. The kidnappers are aware that you were shot. They could have followed the ambulance to the hospital. They could be waiting around, hoping to hear some information that will confirm your death or refute it.”

“Why would they bother? I saw them, but I don’t know who they are.”

“You’ve worked with law enforcement for years, Laney. You understand how this works. They tried to silence you to keep you from reporting what you witnessed. If they see that they failed, they may try again.”

“But is sticking around to kill me really worth the risk when they could just skip town with the kids and disappear?” That’s what she thought they’d do, but she wasn’t sure how clear her thinking was. Her head ached so badly, she just wanted to close her eyes.

“This trafficking ring is extensive,” Agent DeMarco explained. “We’ve had reports that the children are being transported overseas and sold into slavery. This is a multi-tier operation that isn’t just being run here in the United States. There are kids missing in Europe, in Canada, in Asia, and each time, the kidnappings occur in clusters. Five, six, seven kids from a region go missing, and then nothing.”

“Except families left with broken hearts and no answers,” Laney murmured, the thought of all those kids, all those parents and siblings, all those empty bedrooms and empty hearts making her heart ache and head pound even more.

“Right.” Agent DeMarco leaned forward, and Laney could see the black rim around his blue irises, the dark stubble on his chin. He had a tiny scar at the corner of his left brow and a larger one close to his hairline. He looked tough and determined, and for some reason she found that reassuring.

“Olivia’s abduction makes the third in this area,” Agent DeMarco continued, “but if their pattern holds, they plan to target more from the surrounding area before moving the kids.”

“It seems a safer bet for them to cut their losses and move on,” she said doubtfully.

“We’re talking money, Laney. A lot of it. Money is a great motivator. It can turn ordinary men into extraordinary criminals.”

“And kidnappers into murderers?”

“That, too.” He stood and paced across the room. “This is a business for them, with schedules to keep and deliveries to make. I’m certain the children are being held somewhere while they wait for prearranged transport out of the country. Moving them to another location would also risk exposure. You were shot tonight because they can’t afford any witnesses. They need to buy time to get their quota of children ready for delivery. With you dead or incapacitated, the immediate threat of exposure is gone.”

“So as long as they believe I died, it’s business as usual.”

Agent DeMarco nodded, returning to his chair, and leveling his gaze on her. “The longer it takes for the kidnappers to realize you survived, the better it will be for everyone.”

“Not for Olivia,” she pointed out, that image—the one of the girl, her eyes wide, begging for help—filling her mind again. She’d failed to save her, and that knowledge was worse than the pain in her head, worse than the nausea. “She’s terrified and alone. She doesn’t care who knows what. All she cares about is getting home.”

“You’re wrong. It does matter for Olivia,” Agent DeMarco responded. “There’s a chance that we can reunite Olivia with her family, but only if the kidnappers aren’t scared into moving early. All we have to do is find Olivia’s kidnappers, and we’ll find her. We’ll find them all.”

His words made her heart jump, and she was almost ready to spring up from the chair and start looking in every place they could possibly be. “Then why are we sitting here? Why aren’t we out searching for them?”

“Chief Andrews said you’d ask that,” he responded, a half smile curving his lips. “He told me to assure you that he has a K-9 team working the scene.”

But Laney knew they’d not find much. Olivia had been driven off in a van. Even her retired search dog, Jax, who had been one of the best air scent dogs in the country, wouldn’t be able to pick up her scent under those circumstances.

She recognized that, but still, she wanted to be in on the action in a way she hadn’t wanted to be since the accident that took her teammates’ lives. The accident that had prompted her to leave her search-and-rescue work behind and put Jax into early retirement. The thought stole some of her energy, and she sank back against the chair. “That’s good. If there’s something to find, they’ll uncover it.”

“That’s what I’ve been told. You’ve been working with them for a while?”

She had. For nearly two years now. She volunteered her time to ensure high-drive, problem dogs were given the chance to succeed. She’d helped train several dogs that had been like Murphy—problematic but with obvious promise. Although Kent made repeated offers to make her role with the department more permanent, she was reluctant to fall back into the stressful life of a contract employee. Besides, her own clients kept her busy enough. “Unofficially. I own a private boarding and training facility in Davidsonville. Murphy is the most recent in a line of MPD K-9s I’ve worked with.”

“Murphy.” His smile broadened. “He’s quite a dog.”

“He’s quite a problem child, but we’re working on it.”

“He came through for you tonight,” he pointed out.

“Yes. Though technically, he’s supposed to leave the vehicle only on command.”

“Well, in this case, it’s a good thing he didn’t.”

“I think seeing the gun set him off. We just started working with firearms last week, and he’s making good progress.” Better than she had hoped. She was pleased at how quickly Murphy was improving after being booted out of the MPD K-9 program once. He was a little high-energy and distractible, but he possessed the important shepherd traits—intelligence and loyalty.

Agent DeMarco smiled. “Andrews and the K-9 handlers certainly seemed happy the dog came through for you.”

She forced herself out of the chair, every muscle in her body protesting. “Speaking of which, I need to talk to Kent. I don’t suppose you have my things?”

“Purse? Cell Phone? House keys?”

“Yes.”

“They’ve been collected as evidence. Your Jeep was impounded, too. And your clothes—” his gaze dropped from her face to the cotton hospital gown “—were also taken as evidence.”

“I guess I’ll be flagging a taxi in this hospital gown,” she responded. She wasn’t going to stay in the hospital any longer than necessary. Her business was thriving. That meant plenty of work to do at the kennel. She was hoping that would keep her mind off her failures. She didn’t need to spend months mourning what she hadn’t been able to do for Olivia. She’d been down that path before, and it hadn’t led to anything but misery.

“Leaving in a hospital gown isn’t going to work. It’s a surefire way to get the wrong people’s attention. When you leave, we’re going to do everything possible to make sure no one notices you.”

“That’s going to be really difficult with—”

There was a sudden commotion outside the door, a flurry of movement and voices that had Agent DeMarco pivoting toward the sound.

“Stay there,” he commanded, striding toward the door and yanking it open.

His broad back blocked Laney’s view, and she moved closer, trying to see over his shoulder. A police officer stood in the doorway, back to the room.

“Ma’am, I told you no one can enter without permission,” he said to someone Laney couldn’t see.

“Ridiculous,” a woman responded, the voice as familiar as the morning sun.

Great-Aunt Rose. Someone must have called her.

“Aunt Rose, don’t—” Laney began.

Too late. Rose somehow darted through the blockade of masculinity, slipping past the officer.

Agent DeMarco stepped to the side, letting her by. Obviously he wasn’t worried about a five-foot-nothing octogenarian. The officer, on the other hand, looked quite disgruntled.

“Do you want me to cuff you, ma’am?” he shouted.

“Don’t be silly, boy. I’m too old. You’d break my brittle wrists.” Rose smoothed loose strands of silver hair back into her neat bun, then brushed invisible lint from her beige slacks. Her gaze settled on Agent DeMarco for a moment before her focus shifted to Laney.

“You’re awake! Thank the good Lord for His mercy!” she cried, hefting an oversize bag onto the bed.

“Yeah,” the officer sputtered. “She’s awake, and I’m going to lose my job.”

“Now, why would you go and do something like that?” Aunt Rose asked, completely unfazed by the commotion she’d caused. Typical Rose. Always in the midst of trouble and never quite sure why.

“My aunt is notorious for getting what she wants,” Laney cut in. “I’m sure Chief Andrews will understand the position you were in.”

“He might, but I don’t,” the officer responded irritably. “But I guess as long as she’s your aunt, I’ll go back to my post.”

He returned to the corridor, closing the door with a little more force than necessary.

“You’ve annoyed him, Aunt Rose,” Laney said.

“And you’ve annoyed me. Getting yourself shot up and tossed into the hospital and interrupting a perfectly wonderful book club meeting,” Rose responded. She touched Laney’s cheek and shook her head. “What in the world happened? I mean, Tommy said you’d been shot...but I figured he’s so old, he probably got it wrong.”

“Tom is barely sixty, Aunt Rose, and you know it.” Laney sighed. Her aunt and the deputy chief of police Tom Wallace had never hit it off. She’d have to remember to thank him for calling Rose. The poor guy tried to avoid Rose as often as possible.

“But he acts like he’s a hundred, ’bout as fun as a stick in the mud. Remember that picnic at the kennel last year? He—”

“Aunt Rose, please. I’m not in the mood for trips down memory lane,” Laney said, her head pounding with renewed vigor.

“Are you in the mood to sit down?” Agent DeMarco asked, taking Laney’s arm and urging her to the chair she’d abandoned. “You look like you probably should.”

She settled into the chair, watching with horror as Rose peered up at Agent DeMarco. If Laney’s brain had been functioning at full capacity, she’d have found a way to refocus her aunt’s attention. As it was, all she could do was hope that Rose didn’t say anything she’d regret. Or, more to the point, that Laney would regret.

“You must be that FBI agent Tommy told me about,” Rose said with a smile.

“Yes, ma’am. Special Agent Grayson DeMarco.”

“Well, I’m too old to be remembering all those names and titles—what’s your mama call you?”

Agent DeMarco smiled at that. “She calls me Gray.”

“Well, then, Gray it is, and you can call me Rose. None of those niceties like ‘ma’am’...that just makes me feel old.” Rose plopped down in the chair Agent DeMarco had vacated only moments ago.

“How’d you get here Aunt Rose? I hope you didn’t drive,” Laney said. The thought of Rose speeding down Route 50 was not especially comforting.

“Of course not. You know my license was temporarily revoked after that unfortunate incident at Davis’s Plant Emporium. Really, I don’t understand why everyone was so upset—it was only a couple of bushes and some potted plants, after all...but that’s neither here nor there.” Rose shook her head and patting Laney’s knee. “Tommy drove me. Kent sent him to pick me up. I imagine Tommy will be along soon.” She lowered her voice to a decidedly loud whisper. “I made him drop me off at the door so no one would see us walk in together—that’s how rumors get started. Before you know it, the whole congregation will be saying I was arrested or some such nonsense.”

“Rose,” Agent DeMarco said, “did Deputy Chief Wallace explain that we need to keep the details of this situation quiet?”

“Yes, yes. He explained. No need to worry about me. My mind is a steel trap, and my lips are sealed.” Rose put a hand up as if waving away the agent’s concerns, then turned to Laney. “So, how on earth did you get yourself shot?”

Was Laney allowed to mention the kidnapping? She didn’t know, so she kept it brief. “I witnessed a crime and tried to intervene.”

“I bet you weren’t carrying that mace I gave you last Christmas, were you?” Rose frowned. “That stuff’s supposed to be powerful enough to stop a bear in its tracks. A criminal would probably have a hard time aiming at you with that in his eyes. I’ve got my can of it right in that bag. Anyone tries to come at us, I’ll take him down.”

* * *

Grayson would almost have liked to see that.

Laney’s aunt looked about as old as Methuselah, but she moved like a woman much younger. He could picture her reaching into the bag, yanking out the spray and taking down a kidnapper.