A Deadly Influence (Abby Mullen Thrillers #1)(17)

“Hang on. He said they took your son. What did you say in response?”

“I . . . I wanted to . . .” Eden let out a hiccuping sob. “I wanted to speak to him. He was probably so scared.”

“Did the man let you speak to him?”

“He said Nathan was sleeping.”

So far they had no proof that Nathan was even alive. But saying he was sleeping was an unusual phrase. Usually, if the kidnappers couldn’t let the hostage talk, for whatever reason, they’d say something ambiguous like “He’s not here right now” or a similar phrase. It was possible the man had lied, but Abby believed he’d have chosen a simpler lie. It was more likely he was telling the truth, and Nathan was really sleeping—or was unconscious. Perhaps he’d been drugged.

“Did he say Nathan was sleeping?” she asked. “Did he use his name?”

“I . . . I don’t remember.”

“Okay,” Abby said. “Then what?”

“He asked for five million dollars and said they’ll kill Nathan if I don’t get it.”

“Did he say it like that?”

“I don’t remember.”

Abby gritted her teeth and then, in spite of herself, said, “Eden, I want you to focus. Focus on your core.” She repeated the words she’d heard endless times as a child. “I want you to imagine your core as a glowing light that spreads through you. It cleanses you. Breathe deeply as your core cleanses you.”

Abby felt Carver’s surprised stare boring into her, but she ignored him. Eden’s breathing became deeper, calmer.

“All your negative emotions are cleansed away. Cleansed with . . .” Abby took a breath. “Cleansed along with the germs. Your thoughts are clear.”

Eden’s body was getting lax; the trembling stopped. Sadness coursed through Abby’s body. Even after all these years, the words still held such control over this woman.

But it didn’t matter, not right now. “You asked to talk to Nathan, and he said he was sleeping. Then what did he say? What were his exact words?”

There was a long pause, and then Eden said, “He said they wanted five million dollars, or Nathan dies.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I tried to tell him I can’t get that kind of money, and he answered that I better start working on getting it. And then he hung up. I tried calling him back, but the phone was offline.”

“Your son, are you sure he didn’t say your son before hanging up, instead of Nathan?” Abby asked.

“I don’t know.” Eden’s eyes snapped open. “What does it matter?”

Perhaps it didn’t, but Abby wished she knew. If the kidnapper had said your son or the boy, it was a form of abstraction. It was a way to build an emotional detachment from his hostage, to view him less as a human and more as leverage. And it might possibly mean that the likelihood of Nathan returning unharmed was slimmer.

“It doesn’t,” she said. “But the more information we have, the better our chance to return Nathan home safely.”

“Will you?” Gabrielle asked abruptly. “Get him back home?”

It was impossible for Abby not to compare Eden’s children with her own, not to imagine herself in the same spot as Eden. Human beings always searched for connections even when there were none. She and Eden had come from the same place. Now, decades later, each had a teenage daughter and a younger son. Each of them apparently a single mother. And when Gabrielle asked her if she’d bring Nathan back home, she could almost see another reality in which Samantha asked the same question about Ben. It sent chills up her spine.

And she had only one possible answer to it. “We’ll do everything we can,” she said, catching the girl’s eyes. “I promise you that.”

The girl’s sharp stare made it clear that the vague promise did nothing to make her feel better. If anything, it made her angry—and afraid. She’d wanted to hear a confident yes.





CHAPTER 12


The rain had dwindled to a light drizzle by the time they left the station. They’d been there for hours as Eden had first looked through mug shots with no result, then described the man she’d seen to the sketch artist.

Eden appeared as if the adrenaline had worn off, her body slumped in the seat. She stared out the passenger window morosely. Gabrielle sat in the back, hands in her lap.

“How will I be able to get the money they’re asking for?” Eden asked weakly.

Abby sighed, turning on the engine. “Eden, what I’m about to say might be difficult to hear, but it’s important you understand.” She paused, giving the mother and daughter a few precious seconds to steady themselves. “Even if you had five million dollars in the bank, and you could transfer it all tomorrow, there’s no guarantee that Nathan would return home safely.”

She maneuvered the car to the road, letting her words sink in. When convincing anyone to change their point of view, silence was the most important tool. It gave them time to think about what was said, about the implications, hopes, and fears. The fast-talking salesman might get someone to buy a vacuum cleaner, but he’d never manage to coax a jumper off a building or convince a trapped robber to surrender. Abby needed to make Eden understand that this was much more complicated than a business transaction, $5 million for boy.