Retribution
© 2015 by Lynette Eason
Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
Ebook edition created 2015
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any meansâfor example, electronic, photocopy, recordingâwithout the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4412-2712-6
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Published in association with Tamela Hancock Murray, The Steve Laube Agency, 5025 N. Central Ave., #635, Phoenix, AZ 85012.
For Jesus.
Sixteen-year-old Meg felt the hair on the back of her neck prick to attention. She looked around the student parking lot and shivered, even though she'd worked up a good sweat at basketball practice. Her coach had kept her late, wanting her to run the two new plays with him. As point guard, she had to know and call each play.
Staying late was fine. Only she hated walking to her car in the dark. January in the south meant cold, early nights. Meg took a deep breath and sent a text to her mother.
M:
On the way home. I'm hungry. What's for dinner?
The parking lot lights cast shadows that made her want to jump out of her skin. Instead, she stuck her phone in the back pocket of her shorts and reached for her keys. She opened the driver's door.
A low scrape to her left made her flinch. A figure stepped around the corner of the building. Meg's heart leapt. She wove the keys through her fingers and slid in the seat to slam the door.
A hard hand stopped it. “Meg?”
She jerked and stifled a scream. Then she recognized Tanner. She placed a hand over her pounding heart. “Oh my gosh, you scared me to death. What are you doing?”
“Waiting for you.”
“Well, I've got to go. Mom's waiting on me for dinner. Can we catch up tomorrow?”
“I'm sorry. Tomorrow will be too late.”
“Too late forâ” A fine mist caught her in the face. She gasped and stared up at the guy she'd thought was her friend. “Tan?”
He simply watched as her world faded and went black.
Jillian Brady glanced at the clock. She'd gotten Meg's text thirty minutes ago. The girl should have been home by now.
J:
Meg. Where r u?
Almost immediately, she got a reply.
M:
Meg won't be coming home for dinner. Stay by ur phone.
Jillian gaped. “What?”
Detective Colton Brady, Jillian's husband, stood at the kitchen sink slicing tomatoes for the hamburgers he'd just brought in from the grill. His head snapped up. “What is it?”
“I just got the weirdestâscariestâtext from Meg. If it was even from her.” She took the phone over to him. “Look.” She held it up.
He set the knife down and dried his hands. He read, then his eyes lifted to meet hers. “I don't like that.”
“She wouldn't joke around like that. Not Meg.”
Colton walked over to the breakfast bar and picked up his cell phone.
“Who are you calling?”
“You call Meg. I'm calling the office to see if I can get a trace on Meg's phone.”
Jillian dialed her daughter's number. It went straight to voice mail. She hung up and tried again. Same thing. She grabbed her keys and purse. “I'm going to the school.”
“Hold on, I'm coming with you.”
Together, they raced out the door and climbed into Colton's truck. Jillian's worry for Meg had her distracted and praying. She looked at the text again.
M:
Meg won't be coming home for dinner. Stay by ur phone.
“Call Dominic,” she said.
“What?”
Fear for Meg gave her the shakes. She looked up at Colton. “Call Dominic. He's FBI. He deals with kidnappings all the time. Have him meet us there.”
“Kidnapping? But we don't knowâ”
“I know, Colton.” Tears welled and dripped down her cheeks and off her chin. “I know,” she whispered.
Colton swallowed hard and snatched his phone.
Colton stared at his daughter's empty car. The driver's door gaped as though mocking him.
She's not here. She's not here.
And she's not coming back anytime soon.
The keys on the ground shot fear through him. Every kidnapping he'd ever worked, every homicide he'd ever seen came back to him in a blinding rush.
All he could think was,
I'm never going to see my
daughter again
. But he'd never voice the thought. Did his best to squelch it, to push aside those statistics that taunted him. “So this is what it feels like to be on the other side,” he muttered.
Dominic Allen used a pen to lift Meg's keys from the ground and drop them into the open bag. “We'll find her.”
“What are you working on, Colton?”
He turned to find Hunter Graham, a detective with the local police force, staring at him. “You know what I'm working on. We work on cases together, remember?”
“You're not doing anything on the side?”
“No.” He placed his hands on his hips. “Nothing.” His throat tightened and his fingers curled into fists. “She's just sixteen, Hunter.”
“But she's not like any other sixteen-year-old I know. She's a fighter and she's got skills. You made sure of that.”
Colton pointed to the car. “Doesn't look like that did much good, does it?” He grabbed his head and paced to the front of the car, then back. His phone buzzed. He lifted it to his ear. “What?”
“I just sent you a text. Be waiting for the next call. And don't bother trying to trace this phone. I'm not that stupid.”
Click.
Tremors wanted to take over. Colton refused to let them. Jillian sat in the truck, her gaze vacant, staring at something he couldn't see. When his phone buzzed again with the incoming text, his thumb hovered over the touch screen. And then pressed.
A picture of Meg appeared. He sucked in a deep breath.
“What is it?” Hunter asked.
Colton flipped the phone around so he could see.
“She looks peaceful. Like she's sleeping.”
“Yeah. It doesn't look like he's hurt her and her skin is normal color.”
Meaning it wasn't gray or blue to indicate she was dead.
Colton swallowed. “Okay, she's alive.”
“What's the number? We'll trace it.”
“It's blocked. He must have used *67.”
“We can get around that. Let me take your phone and have a tech examine it.”
“No way. This is how he's going to communicate with me.” His fingers curled around the device. “It's not going anywhere.”
Hunter blew out a sigh. “All right.”
“Dominic's the lead on this anyway. Let's fill him in.”
Colton led the way over to a very tight-faced Dominic. His fear for Megan tripled. “What is it?”
“Serena called. She's on her way to the mall. A teenage girl was found behind the dumpster.”
Jillian had climbed out of the truck, feeling helpless and useless sitting there watching the action. She'd been heading toward her husband when she heard his words. She stopped and stared at Dominic. “Meg?” she whispered. Then turned and promptly lost what little she had in her stomach.
Colton strode to her and wrapped her in a tight hug. “No. We don't know that. Stop. It's not her untilâ”
“âit's her. I know. I know. You're right.” She pulled away and grabbed his hand. “Let's go.”
“Jillian, we can'tâ”
She spun on her heel and headed back to the truck. She was going straight to the crime scene and there wasn't a thing he could do about it short of handcuffing her. She climbed into the passenger seat. He shut the door and slid behind the wheel. Without a word, Colton cranked the car and pulled out of the parking lot.
“What if it's her?” Jillian whispered.
“It's not.”
Tears slid down her cheeks as she begged God to spare her child, her only child. “It's just like before.”
“What?”
“Before! When that crazy man your aunt hired took her. I can't do this again!” Another wave of nausea rolled over her. “Why her?” Colton's jaw looked like granite. She didn't expect him to answer, but still . . .
“I don't know, but we'll find her and she'll be fine.”
“Like everyone else in your family?” she exploded. “Your aunt's not fine, she's in jail. Carmen's not fine, we never see her because
she can't stand to be reminded of her parents.” Carmen, Colton's cousin who'd witnessed her mother try to kill her father. “We're not fine because the past won't let us go. And now Meg.” Her baby who still woke up screaming in the middle of the night ever since she'd been rescued seven years ago. “Seven years, Colton.”
“It's been a good seven years, Jillian, in spite of a few things.”
“Yes. Yes it has been,” she whispered. “I suppose I knew it couldn't last forever.”
He shot her a sharp look. “Stop.”
She sniffed. “I am. I am. I'm sorry. You're right.”
Darkness pressed in on her, making it hard to catch her breath. Fear, terror, and the horror of what could be happening to Meg made her want to scream. She clenched her fists and prayed.
“He called me,” Colton said. “I don't think it's her.”
“What do you mean he called you? Who is he?”
Colton handed her his phone. “Look at the first text at the top. It's a picture of her. She's asleep or unconscious, but she's not dead. I don't know who he is or what he wants.” Colton's fingers flexed around the wheel. “Right now, we're under his thumb. He's in control. Right now we can only wait.”
Jillian brought up the picture. Meg's sweet face filled the screen. Her perfection nearly made her weep. “Oh baby, where are you?” Colton's hand reached across and squeezed hers. She squeezed back. “But why? Did he say why?”
“No.”
Jillian fell silent, staring at Meg. She studied the picture, trying to see behind her, beneath her, above her. Anything that might tell her where she was.
But the picture was a close-up, Meg's dark lashes resting against her pale cheeks.
Colton pulled into the mall parking lot and headed straight for the flashing lights and crime scene tape. The officer with the crime scene logbook held up a hand and Colton flashed his badge, gave his name, and looked at Jillian. “Stay here.”
She unbuckled her seatbelt, chin quivering. “No way.”
Colton's hand shot out to stop her. “You can't go with me.” He shot a glance at the tarp-covered body. “You don't want to see this.”