Stolen(5)

“You’re right, I wasn’t sent by the Bureau.” Jasper rolled the word around on his tongue, seeming pleased to be speaking their language. “My employer asked me to FaceTime him as soon as you arrived.”

Spense said nothing while Jasper put the call through and handed him the cell. The man who appeared on the screen was immediately recognizable.

“Agent Spenser, Dr. Cassidy, I’m Whit Chaucer.”

“Senator,” they answered in unison.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of sending a driver to take you to the task-force meeting.”

“That wasn’t necessary, but thank you,” Spense said, annoyed that local law enforcement had given the senator their flight information. He knew the Bureau’s Denver field office would never have done so.

“I’m incredibly grateful you two agreed to join the team. I’ve arranged to have Mr. Crawford at your disposal for as long as you need him.”

Spense had no intention of letting the senator’s personal spy chauffeur them around, and he was about to say so when Caity jumped in. “That’s very kind, but we won’t be able to take you up on that offer. We need to be ready to go on a moment’s notice.”

“Crawford can be ready on a moment’s notice.” Senator Whit Chaucer was used to getting his way. Spense understood the man was high on the food chain, but the last thing they needed was the father of the missing girl trying to call the shots.

“We’re grateful for the lift today, but in the future, the Bureau will provide a car for us,” Spense said with finality.

The senator nodded. The close camera angle accentuated his bloodshot eyes, haloed with purpled rims as though he’d cried all night. Worry had drilled the expression lines on his face into deep trenches, giving him a very different look than the man Spense had seen on television stumping for the senate. Spense wished he could reassure him that Laura would be okay, but platitudes weren’t an option for those charged with telling the truth. The best he could offer up was a sympathetic look.

He could hardly blame the guy for trying to take control in a situation that would make anyone feel helpless. If Spense’s loved one were missing, he’d probably be barking orders and refusing to take “no” for an answer—even though he certainly knew better. He chose his next words carefully, mindful not to mention Laura’s name in public. “I hope you understand, sir. It’s just that we’ve got the best chance of bringing her home safely if you steer clear and let us do our jobs.”

“Of course,” Chaucer said. “But if you change your minds, the offer stands. Meanwhile, I’ll let you get to your meeting. And it goes without saying, I’m at your disposal whenever you’re ready for me.”

It was a good sign the senator had the self-restraint not to intrude on the upcoming task-force meeting, even though he could’ve easily exerted his influence to be present. Maybe he planned to let them do their job without interfering after all, which was a smart play if he wanted his daughter back alive. After a polite good-bye, Spense disconnected the call, and then he and Caity followed Crawford to a limo with blacked-out windows.

Crawford swung the bags into the trunk while Spense opened the rear passenger door for Caity to get in first. He saw her shoulders stiffen, and when he touched the small of her back, felt resistance. She let out a quick breath before climbing in. Spense followed, then grunted aloud. He wasn’t fond of surprises. And there, waiting in the limo, was a big one.





Chapter 4





Afternoon

Somewhere in the Rocky Mountains



This wasn’t the first time Laura had awakened with a pounding head and a hole in her memory. The sun, peeking beneath her eyelids, carried a glow that told her she’d slept past noon—and that was no first either. But the deep ache in her bones, the shredded feeling in her stomach, like someone had taken a potato peeler to its lining, was beyond anything she’d experienced before. Her mouth was so dry she barely had the saliva to swallow, and when she attempted to do so, she gagged on her own bile. This was shaping up to be one mother of a blackout.

Hang on. Breathe.

Once the nausea passed, she braced herself on her elbows, lifted her shoulders, opened her eyes fully, and cried out—the noise screeching violently out of her chest as if propelled by a demon. She’d been expecting to find herself in bed, sheets tangled about her feet, or maybe kicked to the floor. A single worn sheet did cover the lower half of her body, but she wasn’t in her bed. Instead, she lay naked on a cold floor surrounded by a pool of foul-smelling liquid.