Chapter 18 Chapter 18

Chapter 18 Chapter 18
~EIGHTEEN~

The police turned our home into a command center. Detective Morrison arrived within the hour, along with FBI agents since this was now a kidnapping case. They set up equipment to trace any calls that came in, interviewed me repeatedly about any possible suspects, and searched every inch of our property for clues.

"Miss Blake, I need you to think very carefully," Detective Morrison said, his voice gentle but urgent. "Is there anyone—anyone at all—who might have a grudge against you or Mr. Harris?"

"We've been through this," I said, exhaustion and fear making me snap. "Victoria is in jail. Richard is in jail. Jake left town. Catherine Reynolds swore her family wasn't involved. I don't know who else it could be!"

"What about business rivals?" an FBI agent named Collins asked. "Anyone who lost money when Mr. Harris took back control of Norex?"

"There were a few disgruntled investors," Rick said. He'd arrived as soon as he heard the news. "But nobody who would resort to kidnapping."

"We need a list of names anyway," Agent Collins said. "Everyone who might have any motive, no matter how unlikely."

As they continued their investigation, I sat on the couch, my hands on my swollen belly, trying not to panic. But it was impossible. Declan was out there somewhere, possibly hurt, possibly in danger, and I was helpless to do anything.

"The babies are going to be okay," Dr. Chen said softly. She'd come to the house to check on me after hearing what happened. "Your vitals are stable. But Miss Blake, you need to try to stay calm. I know that's nearly impossible right now, but for the babies' sake—"

"How am I supposed to stay calm?" I demanded. "The father of my children has been kidnapped by some psychopath, and I don't even know if he's alive!"

"I understand," Dr. Chen said. "But stress can trigger premature labor, and at twenty-seven weeks, that's still very risky. Is there anything I can do to help you feel more comfortable?"

"Find Declan," I said, my voice breaking. "That's the only thing that will help."

Sarah arrived around dawn, having driven through the night from her parents' house upstate where she'd been visiting.

"Oh, Anita," she said, wrapping me in a careful hug. "This is a nightmare."

"I don't understand," I whispered. "Who would do this? And why?"

"We'll figure it out," Sarah promised, though she sounded as scared as I felt.

The call came at 10:47 AM, exactly twelve hours after Declan had been taken.

The police had expected it, had prepared for it, but my hands still shook as I answered the phone they'd given me—one that was wired to their tracing equipment.

"Hello?" I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Hello, Anita." The voice was distorted, run through some kind of voice changer. "I assume the police are listening in. That's fine. Let them hear this."

"Where's Declan?" I demanded. "If you've hurt him—"

"He's alive. For now," the voice interrupted. "Whether he stays that way depends entirely on you."

"What do you want?" I asked. "Money? I'll pay anything—"

"I don't want your money," the voice said with a harsh laugh. "I want justice."

"Justice for what? What did we do to you?"

"You destroyed someone I loved," the voice said. "Someone precious and irreplaceable. And now you're going to know what that feels like."

My mind raced. Who had we destroyed? Victoria was alive, just in prison. Richard was alive, also in prison. Jake was alive and living somewhere else.

"I don't understand," I said. "Who did we destroy?"

"Figure it out," the voice said. "You have forty-eight hours. If you can't figure out who I am and what you did, Declan Harris dies. The clock starts now."

The line went dead.

I looked at Detective Morrison desperately. "Did you trace it?"

"It came from another burner phone," he said grimly. "Location services were disabled. But we have voice analysis running on the recording. Maybe we can figure out who it is from their speech patterns."

"Forty-eight hours," I said numbly. "That's all we have."

"Then we need to work fast," Agent Collins said. "Let's review everything again. Every person you've had contact with over the past six months. Every possible connection."

For the next several hours, we went through everything. The police created a massive board with photos and connecting lines, like something out of a crime show.

Victoria Laurence—in prison, but could have accomplices.

Richard Harris—also in prison, also could have accomplices.

Jake Turner—whereabouts unknown.

Patricia Turner—deceased.

Catherine Reynolds—Victoria's mother, claimed to want nothing to do with the situation.

Various business rivals and former Norex employees who'd been fired or lost money.

"Wait," I said suddenly, staring at Patricia Turner's name. "Patricia is dead, but she has other family, right? Jake's father? Siblings?"

"Jake's father died years ago," Rick said. "But Patricia did have a sister. Linda Turner. She and Patricia were very close."

"Where is Linda Turner now?" Detective Morrison asked.

Rick pulled out his phone and started searching. "According to social media... she lives in upstate New York. Runs a small antique shop."

"Upstate New York," Agent Collins repeated. "That's only a few hours from here. Close enough to have been sending those threatening texts and surveilling your house."

"Do we have a photo of her?" I asked.

Rick found one on Facebook and showed it to me. Linda Turner was a woman in her sixties, with kind eyes and a gentle smile. She looked nothing like a kidnapper.

"She looks so normal," I said.

"Most criminals do," Detective Morrison said. "That's what makes them dangerous."

Within an hour, FBI agents had descended on Linda Turner's antique shop, only to find it closed. Her house was empty too, with signs that she'd left in a hurry.

"We found something," Agent Collins said, showing me photos from Linda's house. "Pictures of you and Declan, printed articles about Patricia's death, and a journal filled with entries about revenge."

He showed me a page from the journal. The handwriting was shaky, emotional:

"They killed my sister. That monster Declan Harris and his whore destroyed Patricia's life, drove her to desperate measures, and when she tried to fight back, they had her murdered. Victoria Laurence pulled the trigger, but the Harris boy is just as guilty. He needs to pay. They both need to pay. An eye for an eye. A life for a life."

"She thinks we killed Patricia," I realized. "She doesn't believe that Victoria and Richard did it."

"Grief can make people believe what they want to believe," Agent Collins said. "And Linda Turner has convinced herself that you and Declan are responsible for her sister's death."

"So where would she take him?" I asked. "If you were Linda Turner, where would you go?"

Everyone started brainstorming. Her antique shop? Too public. Her house? Too obvious. A storage unit? Possible, but they were already checking those.

Then Sarah spoke up quietly. "Didn't Patricia and Linda inherit a family cabin when their parents died? I remember Jake mentioning it once. He said his mom and his aunt used to go there every summer."

"Where?" Detective Morrison demanded.

"Somewhere in the Adirondacks, I think," Sarah said. "I don't know the exact location."

"I'll find it," Rick said, already typing on his laptop. "Property records, tax documents, something will have the address."

It took twenty precious minutes, but Rick finally found it. "Got it. It's registered under their maiden name—Linda and Patricia Winters. The cabin is on Lake George, about three hours north of here."

"Let's move," Agent Collins ordered.

"I'm coming with you," I said immediately.

"Miss Blake, you can't," Detective Morrison said. "You're twenty-seven weeks pregnant and on bed rest. It's too dangerous."

"My fiancé's life is at stake," I said firmly. "I'm coming."

"Anita, please," Dr. Chen interjected. "Think about the babies. The stress, the travel—"

"I'm thinking about their father," I interrupted. "They need him as much as they need me. If there's even a chance I can help get him back safely, I have to try."

Dr. Chen looked at me for a long moment, then sighed. "If you're determined to go, then I'm coming too. Someone needs to monitor you medically."

"This is highly irregular," Agent Collins protested.

"So is everything else about this situation," I shot back. "I'm going. End of discussion."

Thirty minutes later, we were in a convoy heading north—FBI vehicles, police cars, Dr. Chen's car with me lying in the back seat, and an ambulance following just in case.

The drive seemed to take forever. Every mile closer to that cabin was a mile closer to Declan, but also potentially a mile closer to tragedy.

"What if we're wrong?" I asked Sarah, who was sitting beside me. "What if he's not even there?"

"Then we keep looking," Sarah said firmly. "But I think you're right. This Linda Turner—if she really blames you for her sister's death, she'd want to take Declan somewhere meaningful. Somewhere connected to Patricia."

As we got closer, Agent Collins radioed back. "We're going to need to approach carefully. If Linda Turner is unstable and armed, she might hurt Mr. Harris if she feels cornered."

"So what's the plan?" I asked.

"The plan is for trained law enforcement to handle this while you stay a safe distance away," Detective Morrison said firmly.

But I knew I couldn't just sit in a car while Declan was in danger.

We stopped about a half-mile from the cabin. The FBI team geared up, checking weapons and putting on tactical vests.

"There's one vehicle in the driveway," an agent reported, looking through binoculars. "Matches the description of Linda Turner's car."

"Any sign of Mr. Harris?" Agent Collins asked.

"Negative. But there's smoke coming from the chimney, so someone's inside."

"Let's move in," Agent Collins ordered. "Quietly. I want eyes on the situation before we make contact."

As the tactical team moved toward the cabin, I sat in the back of Dr. Chen's car, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.

"Your blood pressure is elevated," Dr. Chen said, checking me with a portable monitor. "Anita, I need you to try to calm down."

"How?" I asked, my voice breaking. "The man I love is in that cabin with a woman who wants him dead. How am I supposed to be calm?"

"Because your babies need you to be," Dr. Chen said gently. "And because Declan needs you to stay healthy so you're here when he comes back."

When, not if. I appreciated her optimism, even if I couldn't quite share it.

The radio crackled. "We have visual on the interior. One female subject, matches Linda Turner's description. One male subject, appears to be Mr. Harris, bound to a chair. No visible weapons, but subject is positioned between us and Harris. Requesting permission to breach."

"Standby," Agent Collins said. Then, to my surprise, he turned to me. "Miss Blake, would you be willing to try talking to her?"

"What? Why?"

"Because Linda Turner thinks she's avenging her sister," Agent Collins explained. "She might respond to you in a way she wouldn't respond to law enforcement. You could appeal to her sense of family, make her see that more violence won't bring Patricia back."

"But what if it makes things worse?" I asked.

"It's a risk," he admitted. "But we're running out of time and options. It's your choice."

I looked at Dr. Chen, who looked worried but nodded. "If you stay in the car and do this over a phone connection, I think you'll be okay."

"Give me the phone," I said to Agent Collins.

He set up a call to a phone inside the cabin. We could hear it ringing through the radio feed.

Finally, a woman's voice answered. "Hello?"

"Linda Turner?" I said, my voice shaking. "This is Anita Blake."

There was a sharp intake of breath. "You. You have some nerve calling me."

"I know you're angry," I said. "I know you think Declan and I are responsible for your sister's death. But Linda, we're not. Victoria Laurence killed Patricia, not us."

"Victoria Laurence wouldn't have been anywhere near my sister if not for you," Linda spat. "You're the one who came between her son and his mother. You're the one who drove Patricia to desperate measures."

"Patricia abused her son for years," I said, trying to keep my voice calm. "She tried to have me killed. She wasn't a good person, Linda."

"She was my sister!" Linda shouted. "And yes, she made mistakes, but she didn't deserve to die for them!"

"No, she didn't," I agreed. "Victoria Laurence made that choice, not us. And Linda, killing Declan won't bring Patricia back. It will just create more victims, more families torn apart by grief."

"I don't care," Linda said, but I could hear the tears in her voice. "I don't care about anything anymore. Patricia was all I had."

"That's not true," I said gently. "You have your life, your antique shop, your friends. You have a future ahead of you. Don't throw it away for revenge that won't change anything."

"It will make me feel better," Linda said bitterly.

"For how long?" I challenged. "An hour? A day? And then what? You'll be in prison, and Patricia will still be gone, and nothing will have changed except more lives will be destroyed."

There was silence on the line.

"Linda," I said softly, "I'm pregnant with twins. They're going to be born in a few months. They deserve to know their father. Please don't take that away from them. Please don't make them grow up without a dad the way Jake grew up with an abusive mother."

More silence.

Then, quietly: "You're pregnant?"

"Twenty-seven weeks," I said. "High-risk pregnancy. I'm on bed rest, but I came here anyway because I love Declan that much. These babies need their father. I need him."

I heard Linda crying on the other end of the line.

"I'm so tired," she said finally. "So tired of being angry and hurt and alone."

"Then stop," I said. "Let Declan go. Come out peacefully. Get help. Find a way to honor your sister's memory that doesn't involve more violence."

"How?" Linda asked, sounding lost. "How do I live with this pain?"

"One day at a time," I said. "With therapy, with support, with time. It won't ever stop hurting completely, but it will get easier. I promise."

The line went quiet for what felt like an eternity.

Then: "Okay."

"Okay?" I repeated, hardly daring to believe it.

"Okay, I'll let him go," Linda said. "I'm coming out. Please don't shoot me."

Through the radio feed, I heard agents confirming the situation. The front door of the cabin opened, and Linda Turner walked out with her hands raised, tears streaming down her face.

Agents rushed past her into the cabin.

"We have Mr. Harris," came the report. "He's alive. Injured but alive. Requesting medical assistance."

I was already scrambling out of the car before Dr. Chen could stop me.

"Anita, no! You need to—"

But I was running—well, waddling as fast as a twenty-seven-week pregnant woman could—toward that cabin.

I saw them carrying Declan out. His face was bruised, his wrists were bloody from where he'd been tied up, but he was conscious and he was alive.

"Anita," he said when he saw me, his voice hoarse. "You shouldn't be here. The babies—"

"Are fine," I said, reaching him and carefully touching his face. "We're all fine now."

The paramedics loaded him into an ambulance, and Dr. Chen helped me climb in beside him.

"What happened?" I asked as they cleaned his wounds. "Are you okay?"

"She didn't really want to kill me," Declan said. "She just wanted someone to blame, someone to be angry at. She spent the whole time talking about her sister, about how they grew up together, about all the memories they shared. She's just a broken woman who lost the person she loved most."

"That doesn't excuse kidnapping you," I said firmly.

"No," he agreed. "But I understand it. Grief makes people do crazy things."

As the ambulance raced toward the nearest hospital—Dr. Chen wanted both of us checked out thoroughly—I held Declan's hand and thanked every god I could think of that he was safe.

"I thought I'd lost you," I whispered.

"Never," he said, squeezing my hand. "I'll always find my way back to you and our babies. Always."

The doctors checked us both out. Declan had some bruises and rope burns, but nothing serious. I had elevated blood pressure and some early contractions, but Dr. Chen managed to stop them with medication.

"You're very lucky," she told me sternly. "Another few hours of this stress, and we might have been delivering babies three months early."

"I know," I said sheepishly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Dr. Chen said, her expression softening. "Be grateful. And now, back to bed rest. Strict bed rest. No more adventures."

"No more adventures," I agreed readily.

Two days later, we were back home. Linda Turner was in custody, facing kidnapping charges. But I'd asked the prosecutor to consider her mental state when charging her—she wasn't evil, just broken by grief.

"You're too forgiving," Rick said when I told him. "She could have killed Declan."

"But she didn't," I said. "And adding more tragedy to this situation won't help anyone."

That night, as Declan and I l
ay in bed together, he placed his hand on my belly and felt our babies kicking.

"We're going to be okay," he said. "All four of us."

"I know," I said. "Finally, I really believe that."

But at 3 AM, I woke up to a sound that made my blood run cold.

Someone was trying to open our bedroom window.