Taken Hostage Page 4

  “Let me see the note.”

  Regan’s voice tightened. “I need to tell you something first.”

  She stood without glancing back at him, walked to the front closet and pulled out the cooler she’d tucked into the corner under her full-length coats.

  “What’s in there?” His voice was already full of suspicion.

  “The modified polio virus. Your sister’s cure.”

  “All of it?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Yes, all of it. Those were the instructions. We only manufacture enough for a few patients at a time. I stole it from the hospital early this morning. This is what the kidnappers want for Olivia’s life. This is what the ransom note is asking me to exchange her for.”

  Colby leaned back into the sofa, somewhat deflated. “So you’re not going to give them an alternative—something they believe could be the virus.”

  “I won’t do anything that will risk Olivia’s life.”

  Colby raised his hands in disbelief. “But you’re risking everyone else’s life—everyone who is hoping that their lives could be saved by what’s in those vials.”

  “She’s my daughter,” Regan cried. “I’m hoping I can somehow get Olivia back without giving up my life’s work—and so many people’s hope at a full life.”

  “What was your plan, exactly?”

  She shrugged and took a seat opposite him in a gray chair, holding the cooler on her lap.

  The look on his face—contemplative. For several minutes he looked everywhere but at her. Was he considering dropping his offer? What would she do then?

  “Do you understand how serious this is?” he finally asked her.

  “Of course—”

  “Not just for Olivia and your nanny, but for you, as well. For your professional career?”

  The ends of her fingers tingled and she gripped the cooler tighter. “What do you expect me to do? Give it back before Olivia’s safe?”

  “Regan, did the hospital give you permission to take what’s in that cooler?”

  He was driving straight at the matter—with a red-hot poker. She shook her head.

  “You’ve stolen hospital property. You’ve abandoned your patients. Your professional livelihood is at risk—I’d say holding on by a thread at this point.”

  Her throat ached and she swallowed heavily. Of course, he was right. But what would her life be worth if her daughter was dead? Losing her medical license was the least of her concerns.

  “Will you still help me? Or are you going to turn me in?”

  Colby straightened and leaned toward her. “You’re trying to save Olivia. I’m trying to save Sam. But helping you may not accomplish my goal. The cure may be lost.”

  There it was. Men had a bottom line that seemed to always align against her interests. Of course, it had been too much to hope for. A knight in shining armor. Someone she could trust to help her sort through this mess. What was he trying to do, exactly? Force her to do something she wasn’t willing to do—give him the one thing that would save Olivia? What would he do—take the cooler from her and return it to the hospital?

  One thing she’d stopped doing a long time ago was begging a man to help her solve her problems. If he volunteered—great, but she wasn’t going to grovel. She had done enough of that toward the end of her marriage and all she’d gotten was an ex-husband who’d abandoned his daughter and two sets of grandparents who wouldn’t give her the time of day.

  “I’m not giving this to you to give back to the hospital. So, if you’ve decided not to help me then you need to leave.”

  Colby captured her eyes with his, a prison of blue that was somehow comforting. “Show me the ransom note. I need to know exactly what it says.”

  * * *

  Regan’s fingers trembled as she pulled the card from the envelope and handed it to him. It was simple in its request. The cure for Olivia. The exchange to happen in relatively wooded area at a park nearby.

  Colby placed the note back in the envelope. “Why do you think they want this so badly? I mean, enough to take your daughter? It’s a very extreme measure. Why not just break into the hospital and grab it? Or pay someone at your lab a nice sum of money to merely give them a sample. Isn’t it fairly easy to replicate?”

  “Not as easy as you might think.”

  “I think the more important question is who wants it. Do you have any idea?” Colby asked.

  “Desperate people will do desperate things.”

  “Of course, but what does that mean in this context?”

  “Could be other patients. Parents of patients. I haven’t considered this treatment yet for pediatric patients but I’ve been getting inundated with requests from parents to try it on their children.”

  Colby shook his head. “This is beyond a group of desperate parents. There’s nothing else you can think of?”

  She paused a little too long before saying, “I’m in the dark as much as you are.”

  There was something there he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Deception took all kinds of forms. Bald-faced lying was one of them and her statement didn’t rise to that level. However, denial was just as powerful, and he wondered if there was something in her past she didn’t recognize as a threat or didn’t want to confess to him as a possible scenario.

  Trust. She didn’t trust him enough—not yet.

  “How did they get into the house?”

  “When I came home, the door to the garage was definitely beat up.”

  “Show me.”

  He followed her slim frame through the kitchen to the laundry room. Definitely seemed like a last stand had taken place in the small room. Though somewhat picked up, soap crystals crushed under his boots as he examined the door. It was marred as she said—as if someone had put their weight against the door, through whatever means necessary, to keep it from opening. He grabbed a T-shirt from the laundry basket and opened the door. The doorjamb appeared untouched. Not pried open.

  “Does your nanny leave the garage door open?”

  “Her name’s Polina. And of course not.”

  When he crossed the threshold into her home, the front door seemed untouched, as well. “Are there any broken windows? Other doors that lead into your home?”

  “No broken windows. There’s only one other door that leads inside from the backyard.”

  He followed her there, as well. Same story. Different door. The intruders hadn’t pried their way in.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  “If it’s not Polina’s habit to keep the garage door open, then I would imagine she keeps the door leading from the garage unlocked. Most people do. Which means they opened the garage door to gain entry into the house.”

  “How would they do that?”

  “There are devices that can mimic a garage door signal. They’re not that hard to find...” His voice dropped. This whole scenario of hers didn’t add up. A group of desperate family members coming together to kidnap a child for a cure. Wouldn’t they also need the hand that delivered it? “Take me through the rest of the house.”

  The main level left convincing evidence of a home invasion. He took in the desk—the drawers opened with such force that the wood had fractured. File folders open on the desk. Some with knife slits through the middle.

  “Did you keep any information about the virus here?”

  “No. Only at the lab and...”

  “And?” Colby pressured.

  “It’s not important to what’s happened here.”

  Colby let the comment slide but her refusal to expand added to his level of belief that she wasn’t fully disclosing her thoughts on what had happened.

  “Anything upstairs?”

  “It looked undisturbed.”

  “Let’s have a look, a
nyway. Now that you’ve passed the initial shock you might see something that you hadn’t noticed before.”

  Upstairs, they stood in the middle of Olivia’s room, seemingly undisturbed.

  “Do you notice anything?” Regan asked.

  Colby couldn’t push the thought from his head. If they were prepared to hold Olivia for ransom, and they were professionals, wouldn’t they plan for some contingencies? Unless they thought Regan would capitulate immediately and she’d have her daughter back tomorrow night. Two days to accomplish what they’d ask for. But what if she hadn’t?

  “Look through her clothes. Do you see anything missing?”

  Regan opened Olivia’s closet and first peered up. “Her suitcase is missing.”

  Colby motioned to her dresser. “How much clothing?”

  She stepped over to the dresser and paused, her fingers clutched on the knobs of the top drawer. “What does it mean if her clothes are gone?”

  “It would probably be a good sign. That they were wanting to provide for her needs and not just wanting to...”

  Regan nodded. Colby didn’t need to speak out loud what both of them knew. She pulled the top drawer open, snapped it closed, and then yanked open the other drawers. After pushing them all closed, she turned around and fell against the dresser, her hands covering her eyes.

  Colby didn’t know the right response. Women crying always befuddled him and the two of them had been thrust together into a situation that required emotional comfort but needed logistical thought. They had to be strong. To think first. Plan.

  But something within him, something that had been missing since his wife’s death, stirred briefly and he raised his hand to place it on her shoulder.

  She dropped her hands and so did he before he made a gesture that might be misinterpreted.

  “Many of her clothes are missing.”

  Colby peered at the bottom of the closet. There was an empty basket. He didn’t see another clothes hamper. That meant the empty drawers would be a good indication of how much they’d taken.

  “What’s left of her clothes? Are they still folded on the inside?” Colby asked.

  “Yes, why?”

  “It makes me think Polina packed the suitcase, then, and not the intruders just riffling through in a hurry to grab a few things to tide them over.”

  “Then Polina should have clothes missing, as well?”

  “Let’s check.”

  Before leaving Olivia’s room, Colby peered out her window, which gave a front view of the street. The roads were empty. No signs of a vehicle he would consider suspicious for surveillance. Then again, why would they need to watch Regan when they controlled her by having the one thing she considered most precious?

  Inside Polina’s room a different story had been written. Her suitcase remained in the closet. Her drawers appeared full. A small amount of clothing was in the laundry basket at the bottom of the bed.

  “What do you think it means?” Regan asked.

  Even though they both knew.

  Things didn’t look good for Polina’s survivability.

  “Let’s go back downstairs. Look at the note again. Develop our game plan.”

  Once downstairs, Colby grabbed the note and sat on the couch. Regan sat next to him, peering over his shoulder as he examined the contents. Her closeness made it difficult to concentrate and he scooted a few inches away from her.

  “First thing, we can’t operate out of your house. Once the hospital discovers the virus is gone, the cops are going to be on your tail.”

  “It will probably be more than the local police,” Regan said.

  Colby turned to Regan. “Meaning?”

  “I think the hospital would potentially report it to Homeland Security.”

  “It’s not a lethal virus. Right?”

  “Right. But that doesn’t mean...”

  “Mean what? It’s like there’s something you don’t want to say. Whatever you’re thinking, you need to say it. Keeping something hidden from me won’t help us solve this.”

  “Viruses can always potentially be manipulated into something more virulent. Or, at least, someone could try.”

  Colby’s chest tightened. That had to be it. Definitely a more plausible explanation than her rogue desperate parent theory. There was more there. He was sure of it. But for now, if that was all she was willing to disclose, he’d go with it.

  What it meant? That their enemy could be that much more nefarious.

  “We need to find a hotel somewhere close to this park. Scope it out tonight before the drop-off tomorrow.”

  “I need to exchange these vials for something completely benign. I need to protect what’s here.”

  “So you never intended to give it to them? Why take it?”

  “Don’t you think it was wise to make them believe I was somewhat complying with their plan?”

  “Probably.”

  “However, if it comes down to Olivia’s life, I can’t say I won’t choose that path.”

  Tears flowed down her cheeks, and this time he couldn’t help himself. He reached up and thumbed them off her face. Heat raced up his arm from that one touch. “Let’s not think worst-case scenario. Not yet. We need to keep our heads in the game.” Did he say that for her benefit?

  Or more for his own?

  “I know someone with a private lab who wouldn’t ask too many questions if I asked him to store it. He could at least give me something that resembled what’s in the cooler.”

  “Vial wise or biologically, as well?”

  “Both.”

  She picked up her cell phone. Colby snatched it from her hand. “You can’t use this.” He powered it down. “And I probably shouldn’t use mine.”

  “How would they know you’re helping me?”

  “It’s not going to be a reach. I stormed out of the hospital saying I was going to look for you. We need to assume the authorities know we’re together—and that mind-set will hopefully prevent us from leaving clues behind. Do you have cash on hand?”

  “Not much. A couple hundred dollars at most.”

  At least Colby planned for such contingencies such as needing to be on the run or at least off grid for a period of time. “Don’t worry. I’ve got some additional resources we can tap into.”

  A car door slammed. Both of them sat up straighter.

  “Are you expecting someone?” Colby asked.

  Regan shook her head.

  Colby motioned her down onto the floor. He then army-crawled to the front window, lifted the lower edge of the curtain and peered out.

  A nondescript black SUV. One man stood by it—dressed in tactical gear.

  Not good.

  He turned back to Regan. “We need to go, now.” His voice was low but with as much urgency as he could muster without yelling at her.

  She scrambled toward the cooler and picked it up, grabbing her purse that sat next to it.

  “Back door?” he whispered.

  She motioned to the back of the house. They crawled to the door together. He looked through the window. Didn’t see anyone...not yet, at least. There was a wooded lot just beyond her property. That was where he’d hidden his motorcycle. Probably not the best mode of transportation but easy to conceal, which was why he’d chosen it—not imagining he’d be pulling Regan behind him for an escape. He merely hadn’t wanted her to see him coming.

  “We need to run for those trees as fast as we can.”

  He saw Regan glance down at her shoes. Modest high heels, but high heels nonetheless. He thought about asking her to take them off but she was likely comfortable in them and she’d need the barrier to keep her running across rocks and sticks. “You’ll be fine. Just keep your head low.”

  He motioned her to the side, unlo
cked the dead bolt and opened the door an inch. Nothing happened, which hopefully meant they’d beaten them to the back door.

  The doorbell rang, followed by three successive knocks. “Dr. Lockhart! I’m with the military! We have a few questions for you!”

  Colby grabbed her arm. “On three.”

  FIVE

  Before Colby could begin to count, Regan heard the tinkling of breaking glass followed by an eardrum-rupturing explosion. Abandoning the count, Colby pushed her forward, and Regan lost her footing, tumbling forward and losing her grip on the cooler. He snatched it up and grabbed her hand, pulling her to a standing position.

  “Run!”

  They ran pell-mell into the tree line, Colby holding the cooler with one hand and Regan’s hand with the other. She gripped her purse against her shoulder with her other arm. He wove through the trees like an expert off-trail skier, pulling her behind him. A canister landed in front of them, Colby immediately picked it up and chucked it to the side. It began to smoke in the distance.

  Tear gas.

  Bullets tore through branches and leaves rained down on their heads. Colby pulled her down into the underbrush, dirt flying into her face as he positioned himself prone and looked into the wake from where they had come.

  Two men were stalking them, walking forward slowly. They were off to the right and the direction they were heading had them in a trajectory that wouldn’t intercept where they were hiding. However, if they moved, they would certainly alert them to their presence. Colby fingered through the dead leaves and produced a fragmented bit of black plastic.

  “Rubber bullets,” he whispered.

  Regan nodded. From her years of physician training, she knew rubber bullets were less lethal but could still produce significant injury if the victim was hit the right way. However, the tear gas and use of less lethal ammunitions meant these men were more interested in detaining them than in killing them.

  Regan reached for the cooler and pulled it close to her body. The two men continued to veer right, in the direction of the spent tear gas canister, when another man broached the tree line.