Touch & Go (Tessa Leoni, #2)(14)

“And there you have it,” Neil summarized. “Husband got Tasered, wife got ill, and teenage girl fought like a hellion, requiring not one, but two kidnappers to drag her out of her bedroom.”

“So at least three guys.”

“I wouldn’t take on Justin Denbe with only a single man in the foyer,” D.D. said.

“Okay, four guys,” Tessa granted. “So, why do you think the entire family was taken?”

Both Neil and D.D. stared at her, didn’t say a word.

“Denbe Construction hasn’t received any ransom demands, nor contact by the kidnappers of any kind,” she supplied.

D.D. arched a brow, then looked down, expression more subdued. Still, she and Neil didn’t say a word.

Tessa knew what they were thinking. Maybe she didn’t have their years working homicide, but she did have eight weeks of intensive criminology training, courtesy of Northledge Investigations. Given their elite clientele, training had included two days on kidnapping 101, covering situations both foreign and domestic. First rule of ransom cases: Kidnappers will seek to establish immediate contact. Their motivation had nothing to do with a family’s peace of mind, or expediting law enforcement’s handling of the situation. More relevantly, abduction cases involved complicated logistics. First, the taking of the subjects. Next, the transporting and hiding of said subjects. Third, the ongoing care and feeding of subjects while waiting for demands to be met.

Basically, the longer the subjects were held, the more involved the logistics became. Meaning higher risk of discovery, exposure or the subject’s untimely death, screwing up proof of life and the ability to demand a major payoff. Given that this situation involved the abduction of an entire family, logistics would be significantly complicated. Two adults and one teenager to be handled, transported, managed.

If this was a kidnapping for ransom situation, the kidnappers should be champing at the bit to make contact. Perhaps through a written note, neatly placed in front of the altar of the Denbes’ personal possessions. Or, a call easily placed to Denbe Construction’s main line. Or another call dialed straight into the home, to be picked up by the good detectives who were no doubt already working the scene.

Except—Tessa glanced at her watch—it was now nearly 11:12 A.M. Meaning most likely, the Denbe family had been kidnapped over twelve hours ago.

And they had yet to hear a thing.

“I think,” Tessa said quietly, “I should take a look at the family computer now.”





Chapter 7


THE THREE MEN IN THE WHITE CARGO VAN SLEPT. The big man reclined the front seat, the second big man reclined the passenger’s seat, and the little guy sprawled in the back, his black duffel bag serving as a makeshift pillow. Not the most comfortable positions in the world, but they had each slept in worse. In ditches in faraway lands, lying straight as corpses, arms crossed over their chests while the hot desert sun beat against their closed eyelids. Under dense green leaves, curled up with their heads upon their knees as sheets of rain poured down from soaring jungle canopies and beat incessantly against the brims of their hats. In the vast cargo hold of military planes, seated ramrod straight, shoulder harnesses digging into their necks as turbulence bobbed their exhausted heads up and down, up and down, up and down, and still, no one cracked an eye.

They were men who’d been trained to sleep when they were told and to wake when they were told. Mission first. Personal comfort second.

Which made this brief respite an unexpected treat. Z had made the call. They’d been up for the past thirty-six hours, between preparation, travel time, then deployment. By definition, those hours had been long with significant events requiring the cover of night.

Now, having successfully concluded the initial phase of operations, they were 80 percent of the way back to target, making good time, feeling comfortable with themselves, their progress, their objectives. Daylight was not an issue. At this point, they had traveled so far north, they were closer to the border of Canada than to Massachusetts. They had passed through mountains so tall and forests so wild that they had a greater chance of being spotted by a bear than a human being. Given that this far north, the bears were already holed up for the winter, they basically had minimal risk of encountering any life-forms at all.

Z had debated making one of the others, Mick or, more likely, Radar, keep watch over their charges. But, freshly drugged, they had yet to stir. Which was just as well. Missions inevitably came with parameters and one of their first parameters was to minimize physical harm to the woman and the girl, especially during transport.

Once at their destination, they would receive fresh instructions regarding the next phase of operations.

At which point their charges might or might not become fair game.

Whatever. It was not their place to reason why.

They took a job. They executed it at the highest standards of performance. Then, at least in this case, they would be paid such a f*cking shitload of money, Radar personally planned on never working again. White sandy beaches, sweet rum drinks and large-breasted women. That was his near future. Hell, maybe he’d even marry one of the large-breasted women. Have a couple of babies and settle into paradise. Fish all day, have sex with his beautiful wife all night. Sounded like a plan to him.

So when the van had first pulled over, tucking into an old campground, where it was quickly obscured by walls of dense evergreens, Radar had administered a fresh round of sedatives. For the sake of napping, fishing and large-breasted women everywhere, he’d given an extra-large dose.