A Deadly Influence (Abby Mullen Thrillers #1)(36)

Gabrielle glanced at Abby fearfully. Abby mimed breathing deeply. Gabrielle blinked, then took a deep breath. “Um . . . is Nathan okay?”

Yes-or-no questions were useless, and Abby winced. She should have been ready for this, should have prepared Gabrielle like she’d prepared Eden.

“Nathan’s fine,” the man said. “How are you? I noticed you haven’t posted anything on your account.”

“You’re following my account?” Gabrielle whispered, her face twisting with horror.

“I’ve been following you from the start. Why aren’t you posting?”

Abby leaned over and whispered in Gabrielle’s ear, “Open-ended questions.”

Gabrielle let out a shuddering breath and then said, “How can I post anything on Instagram when my brother is gone? When I don’t even know if he’s okay?”

Abby nodded at her and gave her a thumbs-up. That had been a perfect response.

“Good point,” the man said. “I have a message from Nathan. Let me play it for you.”

“Can I talk to him?” Gabrielle blurted.

For a few seconds, there was no answer. Then, a child’s voice, frightened, trembling: “Hi, Mommy. Hi, Gabi.”

“Nathan,” Gabrielle sobbed. “Are you—”

“I’m fine. But I want to go home,” Nathan said. “I need to read this to you. ‘Jessica Meir and Christina Koch made the first all-female space walk.’” He spoke slowly, as if struggling with the words, fumbling at the astronauts’ names.

“What?” Gabrielle asked. “What was—”

“Like I said, he’s fine,” the metallic voice said. “I’ll send you a picture in a moment. Are you working on the ransom?”

“I don’t understand,” Gabrielle said. “Why did he say that? Can I talk to him?”

“It was a recording,” the metallic voice said. “He’s not here now. But like you heard, he wants to go home. And we are getting impatient. How are you doing with the ransom?”

Abby waved at the girl, trying to catch her attention. There were so many ways to respond to this question. Mirror his words; pose an open-ended question, a difficulty; try to make the man see things from her point of view. She should talk slower, buy some time, wait a few seconds between each sentence, watch her tone . . .

“We can’t get that amount of money!” Gabrielle shouted. “We’re trying to get it, but we can’t get so much. I need to talk to my brother. Please let me talk to him, I—”

“I don’t know how much longer I can hold my associates off,” the metallic voice said coldly. “I’m sure you don’t want your brother harmed. Do what you need to do to get that ransom. Talk to whomever you need. I’m sure you can find people who would be glad to help you. I will call soon.” The line went dead.

For a few seconds, none of them said anything; then Gabrielle whimpered, slumping against the wall, then sitting on the floor.

“I want this to be over!” she cried. “I want him back.”

The phone blipped, an incoming message. Gabrielle tapped it. It was a photo of Nathan holding a newspaper. The image of the astronauts outside the space station was on the top of the page.

“What the hell is this?” Gabrielle said. “Why would he send us this?”

“It’s proof that Nathan is alive,” Abby said. “See? He’s holding the New York Times from today.”

“But . . . that can’t be,” Eden said. She scrutinized the phone closely. “It has to be an old photo.”

“This paper is from today.” Abby pointed. “I saw this story on the news.”

“But this is Nathan’s room,” Eden said. “The photo is from Nathan’s room.”

Abby stared at her, then at the photo. She was right. Nathan’s bed stood in the background, and the same Harry Potter poster hung on the wall. Even a corner of the corkboard with the drawings. For a second, all three of them raised their eyes to the doorway. Nathan’s bedroom was just across the hall.

But of course, it was empty and dark.





CHAPTER 23


He didn’t want to be in this position. Causing Gabrielle grief, risking his own life. He was doing it all for her. In a way, she’d asked him to do it. And now she was acting like he was the bad guy.

He was the only one on her side. The only one who really gave a damn. It was easy to be a mindless sheep, one of her many followers. Liking her posts, adding the occasional bleat of a comment—Beautiful or You’re so pretty or a wordless string of emoticons.

He was more than that. He wasn’t a follower. He was part of her team.

He remembered to turn off the phone this time and remove the battery. He drove aimlessly for a while, listening to the radio, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel as he hummed along with the music.

Finally, deciding he was far enough from where he’d made the call, he parked in a parking lot and took out his other phone. The one he used only to watch her. He opened the Instagram app—still no updates. Were some followers noticing the gap? Wondering if she was okay? Gabrielle normally posted throughout the day. In the past year, she’d only skipped two days—one when she’d had that nasty flu, and the other when she’d broken up with her boyfriend. Two dark days, a void.