Czytaj książkę: «Into Thin Air»
THE ONLY WITNESS
When a child is abducted in front of Laney Kensington, she desperately tries to save the girl. But Laney is shot and left for dead; the kidnappers, their dark van and the girl long gone. FBI agent Grayson DeMarco explains she’s the only witness to a worldwide child-trafficking ring. And if the kidnappers discover she’s alive, they’ll be back to finish the job. Yet Laney is determined to find the missing children. Even if it means returning to the search and rescue work she thought she’d left behind. And Grayson is just as determined to keep his sole witness protected. Especially when evidence hints that the real threat is closer than he ever imagined…
Was someone there? Laney wondered, a chill racing up her spine.
She grabbed her cell phone, hands shaking as she found Grayson’s number and dialed. He picked up on the first ring.
“Grayson?” Laney whispered, her voice trembling. “The dogs are growling, and I thought I saw a shadow pass by my window.” She paused, listening.
“I’m on my way,” Grayson said. “Stay away from the windows. Call 9-1-1, wake up Rose and turn on every light in the house.”
“Okay, I’ll do that now…” A muffled thud interrupted her, followed by a sudden shout from down the hall.
Aunt Rose!
“Oh no,” she gasped, dropping her phone as she launched herself from the bed with a yell. “I’m coming, Aunt Rose!”
Heart in her throat, she ran toward the door, grabbing her mace from the dresser and rushing down the hall, the dogs at her heels. Flinging the guest-room door open, she barged into the room, mace at the ready, prepared for the worst.
The window was wide-open, screen missing. The curtains flapped in the breeze. Bright silver light illuminated the room.
And a man. Dressed in dark clothing and wearing a ski mask.
MARY ELLEN PORTER’s love of storytelling was solidified in fifth grade when she was selected to read her first children’s story to a group of kindergartners. From then on, she knew she’d be a writer. When not working, Mary Ellen enjoys reading and spending time with her family and search-dog-in-training. She’s a member of Chesapeake Search Dogs, a volunteer search and rescue team that helps bring the lost and missing home.
Into Thin Air
Mary Ellen Porter
MILLS & BOON
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Many are the plans in a man’s heart,
but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.
—Proverbs 19:21
To Eldridge, for always believing in me, even when I doubted myself. Your love, support and unfailing encouragement are the foundation of all my achievements.
To my children, Skylar and Trey. No mother could be more proud than I am of you; you make me smile every day. May you find God’s special purpose for your lives within your hopes and dreams.
And to my sister, Shirlee McCoy, whose ten years of persistent and “gentle” prodding resulted in this book. Smart. Talented. Tenacious. Stubborn. A definite combination for success. It’s finally my turn to say “Me, too.” Thank you for never letting me forget my dreams. This one’s for you.
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
Introduction
About the Author
Title Page
Epigraph
Dedication
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
Dear Reader
Extract
Copyright
ONE
It was a passing glimpse, no more. A young teen walking slowly along the edge of the darkening side street, a violin case tucked in the crook of her arm, her face illuminated by her cell phone screen as she furiously texted, aware of nothing but the phone in her hand.
The van made even less of an impression, the driver all but invisible as the vehicle passed Laney Kensington’s Jeep Wrangler.
Both should have been easy to ignore, but they nagged at Laney’s mind—made the hair on the back of her neck prickle. Laney told herself it was just her imagination getting the best of her—but she couldn’t simply drive on.
Call it intuition, call it divine intervention—Laney called it never wrong.
She’d never ignored it on a search. She wouldn’t ignore it now.
She glanced in the rearview mirror, pulse jumping as the van swung a wide U-turn and headed back toward the girl. Laney did the same, stepping on the gas, her Jeep surging forward.
The slowing van closed in on the girl. She finally looked up, eyes widening as a figure jumped out and sprinted toward her. The violin dropped from her arms and she tried to run.
Too little, too late.
The man was on her in a flash, hand over her mouth, dragging her toward the van. In seconds they’d be gone. One more child missing. One more family broken.
Not today. Not if Laney could help it.
Although it had been years since she’d last prayed, Laney found herself whispering a silent plea to God, begging Him for help that deep down she knew would never come. She’d learned a long time ago that the only one she could depend on was herself.
Putting her trust anywhere else was just too risky.
The van was right in front of her, and there was only one thing Laney could think to do to stop the kidnapping. She braced for impact, ramming the front of the van with her Jeep in the hope of disabling it. In the back seat, Murphy yelped at the jarring stop; there was no time to comfort the dog.
Leaping from the Jeep, Laney threw herself at the would-be kidnapper. His weight off-balance from the struggling child, he tumbled over. The girl went with him, her high-pitched scream piercing the still air. Laney snagged the girl’s hand, yanking her to her feet.
“Run!” she shouted, but the kidnapper was on his feet again, snatching a handful of the girl’s shirt and dragging her back.
“Back off!” he commanded, his voice chilling.
Laney slammed into him again, this time with so much force they all fell in a tangled mass of limbs, pushing and grabbing and struggling. The kidnapper grunted as Laney kneed him in the kidney. His grip on the girl loosened, and Laney shoved her from the heap.
But the kidnapper would not let his prey go without a fight. He reverse punched Laney, propelling her backward. She tumbled onto damp grass, her head slamming into hard earth. She had a moment of panic as blackness edged in. She could not lose consciousness. She willed herself up, lunging toward the struggling pair as they neared the van. Laney yanked the guy’s arm and slammed her foot into the back of his knee. He cursed, swinging around, the girl between them.
“I said back off!” he growled, his dark eyes filled with fury, his hand clamped firmly over the girl’s mouth.
Laney eased around so that she stood between him and the van. She saw that the girl was still fighting against his hold, but her efforts were futile. She met Laney’s eyes, the fear in her gaze something Laney knew she would never forget.
It’s okay, Laney wanted to say. He’s not going to take you. I won’t let him.
“Let her go,” Laney demanded.
“I don’t think so.” The man glanced just beyond Laney’s shoulder, a cold smile curving his lips.
The girl stilled, her eyes widening.
Laney knew without even looking that someone was behind her.
Her blood ran cold, but she turned, ready to fight as many people as it took for as long as she had to. Eventually, another car would come, someone would call the police, help would arrive. She just had to hold the kidnappers off long enough for that to happen.
A shadowy figured jumped from the van’s open door. Laney had the impression of height and weight, of dark hair and cold eyes, but it was the gun that caught and held her attention. Although the gunman was shorter and more wiry than his stocky partner, the firearm in his hand made him far more lethal.
“Don’t move,” he snapped, the gun pointed straight at Laney’s heart.
Laney stopped in her tracks, hands in the air in a display of unarmed surrender.
She wanted him to think she’d given up; she needed him off guard. She had to get the gun out of his hands, and she had to free the girl.
“Get the kid in the van before someone else comes by,” the gunman ordered his accomplice.
“What do we do with the woman?” the other man asked as he dragged the child around Laney, grunting and tightening his grip as the girl’s sneaker-clad foot caught his shin.
“Get rid of her. She’s a loose end. No witnesses, remember?” The words were spoken with cold malice that sent a wave of fear up Laney’s spine.
No cars coming, nothing to hide behind. No matter what direction Laney ran, a bullet could easily find her. If the girl was going to survive, if Laney was going to, the gunman had to be taken down. Laney braced herself for action, waiting for an opening that she was afraid wouldn’t come.
Please, she prayed silently. Just give me a chance.
The girl grunted, trying to scream against the hand pressed to her face. They were close to the van door, so close that Laney knew it was just a matter of seconds before the girl was shoved in.
“Bite him!” she yelled.
“Shut up!” the gunman barked, glancing over his shoulder to check on his accomplice’s progress. That was the opening Laney needed. She threw herself at his gun hand. He cursed, the gun dropping to the ground. They both reached for it, Laney’s fingers brushing cold metal, victory right beneath her palm. He slammed his fist into her jaw and she flew back, her grip on the gun lost in a wave of shocking pain. A dog growled, the harsh sound mixing with the frantic rush of Laney’s pulse.
Murphy! She’d not given him the release command, yet he raced toward them, teeth bared.
The man raised the gun. Laney tried to scramble out of the way as he pulled the trigger. Hot pain seared through her temple, and she fell, Murphy’s well-muscled body the last thing she saw as she sank into darkness.
* * *
Grayson DeMarco rushed through Anne Arundel Medical Center’s fluorescently lit hallway, scanning the staff and visitors moving through the corridor. He’d been working this case for almost a year. He’d dogged every lead to every dead end, traveling from California to Boston and down to Baltimore, and he’d always been a few steps behind, a few days too late.
Sixteen children abducted. Four states. Not one single break.
Until tonight.
Finally the abductors had made a mistake.
A young girl was missing. The police had received her parents’ frantic call less than thirty minutes after a woman had been found shot and unconscious on the sidewalk, a violin case and cell phone lying on the grass near her. The case had the missing girl’s name on it.
Grayson had been called immediately, state PD moving quickly. They felt the pressure, too; they could see the tally of the area’s missing children going up.
Like Grayson, they could hear the clock ticking.
They’d found a gun at the scene, spattered with blood, lying in the small island of grass that separated the sidewalk from the street. Grayson hoped it would yield useable prints and a DNA profile that could possibly lead him one step closer to the answers he was searching for.
He prayed it would, but he wasn’t counting on it.
He’d been to the scene. He’d peered into an abandoned Jeep, lights still on, driver’s door open. He’d opened the victim’s wallet, seen her identification—Laney Kensington, five feet three inches and one hundred ten pounds. He’d gotten a good look at the German shepherd that might have been responsible for stopping the kidnappers before they were able to kill the woman. He’d pieced together an idea of what might have happened, but he needed to talk to Laney Kensington, find out what had really gone down, how much she’d seen. More importantly, he needed to know exactly how valuable that information might be to the case he was working.
Time was of the essence if Grayson had any chance of bringing these children home.
Failure was not an option.
A police officer stood guard outside the woman’s room, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression neutral. He didn’t move as Grayson approached, didn’t acknowledge him at all until Grayson flashed his badge. “Special Agent Grayson DeMarco, FBI.”
“Detective Paul Jensen, Maryland State Police,” the detective responded. “No one’s allowed in to see the victim. If that’s why you’re here, you may as well turn around and—”
He cut the man off. “We don’t have time to play jurisdiction games, Detective. As of tonight, three kids are missing from Maryland in just under six weeks.”
“I’m well aware of that, but I have my orders, and until I hear from my supervisor that you’re approved to go in there, you’re out.”
“How about you give him a call, then?” Grayson reached past the detective and opened the door, ignoring the guy’s angry protest as he walked into the cool hospital room.
The witness lay unconscious under a mound of sheets and blankets, her dark auburn hair tangled around a face that was pale and still streaked with dried blood. Faint signs of bruising shadowed her jaw, made more evident by the harsh hospital lights. A bandage covered her temple, and an IV line snaked out from beneath the sheets. She appeared delicate, almost fragile, not at all what he was expecting given her part in the events of the night. Fortunately, as fragile as she appeared, the bullet had merely grazed her temple and she would eventually make a full recovery.
Unfortunately, Grayson didn’t have the luxury of waiting for her to heal. He needed to speak to her. The sooner the better.
He moved toward the bed, trying to ignore the pine scent of floor cleaner, the harsh overhead lights, the IV line. They reminded him of things he was better off forgetting, of a time when he hadn’t been sure he could keep doing what he did.
He pulled a chair to the side of the bed and sat, glancing at Detective Jensen, who’d followed him into the room. “Aren’t you supposed to be guarding the door?”
“I’m guarding the witness, and I could force you out of here,” the detective retorted, his eyes flashing with irritation and a hint of worry.
“What would be the point? You know I’ve got jurisdiction.”
The detective offered no response. Grayson hadn’t expected him to. Policies and protocol didn’t bring abducted kids back to their parents, and wasting time fighting over jurisdiction wasn’t going to accomplish anything.
“Look,” he said, meeting the detective’s dark eyes. “I’m not here to step on toes. I’m here to find these kids. There’s still a chance we can bring them home. All of them. How about you keep that in mind?”
The guy muttered something under his breath and stalked out of the room.
That was fine with Grayson. He preferred to be alone with the witness when she woke. He wanted every bit of information she had, every minute detail. He didn’t want it second-or third-hand, didn’t want to get it after it had already been said a few times. He needed her memories fresh and clear, undiluted by time or speculation.
Laney groaned softly and began to stir. Just for a moment, Grayson felt like a voyeur. It seemed almost wrong to be sitting over her bed waiting for her to gain consciousness. She needed family or friends around her. Not a jaded FBI agent with his own agenda.
He leaned in toward Laney. Though only moments ago she had appeared to be on the verge of waking, she had grown still again.
“Laney?” he said softly. “Can you hear me?”
He leaned in closer. “Laney?”
She stirred, eyes moving rapidly behind closed lids. Was she caught in a dream, or a memory? he wondered.
“Wake up, Laney.” He reached out, resting his hand gently on her forearm.
She came up swinging, her fist grazing his chin, her eyes wild. She swung again, and Grayson did the only thing he could. He ducked.
TWO
“Calm down,” a man said, his warm fingers curved around Laney’s wrist. She tried to pull away but couldn’t quite find the strength. Her head throbbed, the pungent smell of antiseptic filled her nose, and she couldn’t manage to do more than stare into the stranger’s dark-lashed blue eyes.
Not the kidnapper’s eyes. Not the eyes of his accomplice. She wasn’t lying on the pavement in the dark. There was no Jeep. No van. No struggling young girl with terror in her eyes. Nothing but cream-colored walls and white sheets and a man who could have been anyone looking at her expectantly.
“What happened? How did I get here?” she asked, levering up on her elbows, the hospital room too bright, her heart beating an erratic cadence in her chest.
“A couple of joggers found you lying on the sidewalk,” the man responded. “Do you remember anything about tonight?”
Anything?
She remembered everything—heading home from Murphy’s training session, seeing the girl and the van, struggling and fighting and failing. Again.
“Yes,” she mumbled, willing away nausea and the deep pain of failure.
“Good.” He smiled, his expression changing from harsh and implacable to something that looked like triumph. “That’s going to help a lot.”
“Help who?” Because her actions tonight certainly hadn’t helped the girl or her family. Overwhelming sadness welled up within her, but Laney forced it back. She had to get a grip on herself. She had no idea how long she’d been unconscious, what had happened to Murphy, or most importantly, if the police even knew a child had been taken.
“I’m Special Agent Grayson DeMarco with the FBI,” the man explained. “I’m hoping you can help with a case I’m working on.”
“I’m not worried about your case, Agent DeMarco. I’m worried about the girl who was kidnapped tonight.” She shoved the sheets off her legs and sat up. Her head swam, the pain behind her eyes nearly blinding her, but she had to get to a phone. She needed to tell Police Chief Kent Andrews what had happened. They needed to start searching immediately if there was any chance to save the child. And there had to be a chance.
“The girl is my case—and several other children like her,” Agent DeMarco responded. “The local police are at the scene of the kidnapping. They’re gathering evidence and doing everything they can to locate her, but she’s not the only victim. If you’ve been watching the local news, you know that.”
Because he seemed to expect a response, Laney nodded, realizing immediately that was a mistake as pain exploded through her temple. Her stomach churned.
“Lie down.” Somehow Agent DeMarco was standing, his hands on her shoulders as he urged her back onto the pillows. “You’re not going to do anyone any good if you’re unconscious again.” The words were harsh, but his touch was light.
Laney eyed him critically. She’d been working around law enforcement—local as well as Secret Service and DEA—for much of her adult life. She knew how the agencies operated. The FBI wouldn’t be called in on an isolated, random child abduction.
“I’m fine,” she muttered, pushing the button on the bed railing until the mattress raised her to a sitting position.
“You came within an inch of dying, Laney. I wouldn’t call that fine.” He settled back into the chair, his black tactical pants, T-shirt and jacket making him look more like a mercenary than an officer of the law.
She gingerly fingered a thick bandage that covered her temple and knew Agent DeMarco was right. “Murphy must have thrown his aim off.”
“Murphy is the dog that was found at the scene?”
“Yes, I need to—”
“The local police have him. I was told he was being brought back to the kennel.”
“Told by whom?” she asked. Agent DeMarco was saying all the right things, but she didn’t know him, hadn’t seen any identification, still wasn’t a hundred percent convinced he was who he said he was.
“Chief Kent Andrews. He’ll probably be here shortly. He’s still overseeing the scene.”
“I’d like to speak with him.” She and Kent went back a couple of years. She often worked with the Maryland State Police K-9 team, correcting training issues with both the dogs and their handlers in an unofficial capacity.
“You will, but I need to ask you a few questions first.”
“How about you show me some ID? Then you can ask your questions.”
* * *
The request didn’t surprise Grayson. He’d been told that Laney knew her way around law enforcement and that she wasn’t someone who’d blindly follow orders. While working with the state K-9 team as a dog trainer, her skills with animals and the trainees alike had garnered the respect of the police chief and his men. More than that, Grayson got the distinct impression that Kent Andrews really liked Laney as a person and wasn’t surprised at all that she would put herself in danger to help another.
“Sure.” Grayson fished his ID out of his pocket, handed it to her.
She studied it, her wavy hair sliding across her cheeks and hiding her expression. She didn’t trust him. That much was obvious, but she finally handed the ID back. “What do you want to know?” she asked.
“Everything,” he responded, taking a small notepad and pen from his jacket pocket. “All the details of what happened tonight. What you saw. Who you saw. Don’t leave anything out. Even the smallest detail could be important.”
“I was on my way back from Davidsonville Park with Murphy when I saw her.”
“Was she alone?”
“Yes. She was walking by herself. I always hate seeing that. I can’t even count the number of kids my team and I have searched for who were out by themselves when they disappeared.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and frowned. “Sorry, I’m getting off track. This headache...” She shook her head slightly and winced.
“Want me to call the nurse and get you something for the pain?” He would, but he didn’t want to. He needed her as clear-headed as she could be.
She must have sensed that. She rested her head on the pillow. “That would be nice, but I’m not sure I’ll be any good to anyone filled with a bunch of painkillers.”
“Don’t suffer for your cause, Laney. If you need pain medication, take it.”
She smiled at that, a real smile that brightened her eyes and somehow made the smattering of freckles on her cheeks and nose more noticeable. She was pretty in a girl-next-door kind of way. He tried to imagine her taking on a guy with a gun. Couldn’t quite do it. “I hate taking narcotics,” she muttered. “I’ll ask for Tylenol later.”
He wasn’t going to argue with her. “You saw the girl walking alone,” he prompted her.
“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.”
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