Web of Secrets (Agents Under Fire) (25 page)

He reached for the hem of her shirt, and she tried to move back, but she slammed into suitcases and couldn’t move. He lifted her shirt and
tsk
ed. “You didn’t like the number, my sweet? I could have given you a different one if you’d but asked.”

She wouldn’t comment as her response would only make him mad, and she’d seen what he’d done to Molly when he’d gotten mad.

“No matter. We can replace it.” He gently pulled down her shirt.

She felt the first effects of the drug start to take hold. Since it acted so quickly, she suspected he’d roofied her. She knew she would soon feel very drunk, and it would last for up to eight hours or so. Eight hours when she’d have no idea what he was doing with her body.

She started floating, feeling as though she was rising up and out of the trunk. Eight hours like this. She started to cry. Despite being careful, despite Connor’s protection, her worst nightmare had just come true.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

TAYLOR HAD TO GET to a phone. Now! Hoping to escape via the trunk, she tossed the pizza on the driver’s seat, turned on the overhead light, and dove into the back seat. She clawed at the back cushion. It didn’t budge.

“No,” she cried out. “It has to have trunk access.”

She jerked harder. It still didn’t budge.

She moved to the other cushion. Pulled. It gave a little. She ran her hands over the top. Yes, a release. She pressed it and jerked. The trunk opened wide before her.

Good.

She wiggled inside and felt around for the release. She scraped fingers against rough metal, but finally found the lever and jerked it open. The trunk lid popped. Fresh air rushed in. She scrambled out and drew her weapon. Just because Van Gogh had driven off, that didn’t mean he hadn’t left a trap. She spotted a laptop sitting on the ground where he’d parked. Likely the computer controlling the car brakes and locks. A small device sat on top.

She ran to the computer. Using her sleeve to keep from smudging any prints, she picked up the small handheld device. It was a signal jammer, as she’d suspected. She quickly turned it off. Looked at her phone.

Yes! She had a signal.

She dialed 911. “This is FBI agent Taylor Andrews, and I need to report an abduction.” She provided details, including Zwicky’s license plate number. “This is related to an ongoing homicide investigation. As soon as you’re done dispatching patrol units, I need to be connected to Detective Connor Warren.”

“Hold on.”

Taylor knew 911 operators had to remain calm, but this one didn’t seem to be getting the seriousness of this situation.

“This is a matter of life and death.”

“I understand.”

Taylor wanted to scream at her, but she bit her lip instead and paced as she waited.

“The operator said something about an abduction,” Connor’s deep voice came barreling through the phone. “You’d better tell me Becca is with you, and she’s all right.”

Taylor explained what had happened, each word fighting the last to get out.

“Give me the address.” Fear mixed with anger darkened his tone.

She provided it. “I’m heading back to the car now.”

“I’m on my way,” he said. “And you’d better hope she’s been found by then or so help me, Taylor . . .” He hung up.

She didn’t need him to complete the sentence. She’d screwed up. She couldn’t have stopped Van Gogh, but there were other things she could have done.

“Like not let Becca get her car or stop for pizza,” she mumbled as she headed back to the car.

When she reached the vehicle, she inserted the key into the driver’s door and tried to unlock it. The locks wouldn’t budge. Van Gogh had to have modified the vehicle’s computer. If Taylor got a good look at it, maybe she could find a way to locate Van Gogh. First, she needed to secure the computer sitting on the street. She dug through Becca’s go bag for gloves and retrieved the computer. The urge to search the machine was strong, nearly overpowering her common sense.

No. Hold off.

This was a crime scene now and like any crime scene where a computer was an integral part, the machine had to be imaged first. She tucked the computer into a safe location in the trunk then called her office and requested a computer tech on scene ASAP.

She heard sirens winding closer, but she wouldn’t stand around and wait. She had to act. She drew out a flashlight and climbed back into the trunk.

Bruises would cover her body in the morning, but that was nothing compared to what Becca’s would look like after Van Gogh finished with her. Tears bit at the back of Taylor’s eyes, but she wouldn’t let them flow. If she wanted to help her fellow agent, she had to keep it together. She had computer skills and hopefully, by looking at Van Gogh’s handiwork, she’d be able to give Connor a lead by the time he arrived.

She didn’t know a lot about cars, but she suspected the computer would be accessed through the dash. She wrapped her body around the center console and shone the light under the dash. She found wires roughly secured, obviously not part of the factory install. She trailed them to a small gadget that was connected to another blinking device. She maneuvered her cell into position and snapped a few pictures.

Swirling lights suddenly twisted above her. Then a flashlight was shone into the window. She gave the officer a thumbs-up.

“Agent Andrews.” The police officer’s voice came from the trunk area. “You all right in there?”

“Fine. I’ll be right out.”

“Want me to break a window and make it easier?”

“No. We don’t want to contaminate the scene.”

“Mind my asking what you were doing under the dash?”

“Proving that Agent Lange’s car has been hacked.”

“Hacked like you hear on the news about big company computers?”

“Exactly,” Taylor replied as she maneuvered around until she was upright and could think without blood pounding in her head. She looked out the window and caught sight of a traffic camera angled at the scene.

Perfect.

She could access the camera feed on her iPad and hopefully find the lead they so desperately needed right now.

CONNOR ROARED ACROSS town, his lights and siren running. He’d never been so afraid in his life. Van Gogh had her. Becca, his Becca, and it was all his fault. Not Taylor’s, though he’d snapped at her on the phone. No, he was the one to blame. The only one. He knew better than to let Becca go with Taylor. But he’d let Becca’s unwillingness to let him help her override his common sense.

By the time he got to Becca’s car, two uniforms were there, cordoning off the area with crime-scene tape. Taylor sat in the front seat of a patrol car looking at her iPad.

Had she found a lead? He approached, and she looked up.

“Oh, good.” She climbed out, her gaze wary.

“Before you say anything,” he said, “let me apologize for going off on you when you called. You’re not to blame, and I had no right to let you have it.”

“I could have done things differently. Maybe if I had, Becca would still be here.”

“It started when I let her leave the house with you.”

“Look,” she said, “why don’t we shelve all this blame until after we get her back? Then I’ll arm-wrestle you for it.” She offered him a tight smile and her hand.

“Deal.” He shook her hand, and at that moment, he knew she’d fit in fine with the rest of Becca’s team.

Taylor pointed down the road. “There’s a traffic cam on the corner, and I’ve just pulled up the feed.” She held out her iPad and started the video.

He watched as Becca’s car came careening around the corner then suddenly slowed, as if she’d slammed on her brakes.

“This is where Van Gogh used his hack to apply her brakes.”

Her car came to a complete stop, and another sedan pulled in well back from her. She got out and walked around her car. The man in the vehicle behind leaned out and said something. She looked at him. Then, she suddenly spun and grabbed for the driver’s door. She jerked the handle, but it didn’t budge. Then she started pounding on the window.

“This is the point where she told me it was Van Gogh. He’d taken over the locks right after she got out.” Taylor shook her head. “I was too busy trying to figure out what was going on that I didn’t even notice until she tried to get back in and couldn’t.” Her voice shook with emotion.

Van Gogh stepped out, lifted a rifle, and Connor’s heart refused to beat. Connor could sense the desperation in her body language. She must have felt him coming. She backed away. Her hand went for her gun, and she took a strong shooting stance. She looked into the car, then slowly set her weapon on the ground. She’d given up. Likely to protect Taylor.

That was Becca. The person who was out to save the world, even if it meant sacrificing herself.

Van Gogh took her to the car. Connor couldn’t make out what he was doing, but he was likely handcuffing or securing her somehow. He drove off. But before he did, he paused near her car for a moment.

“I signaled to Becca that my phone wouldn’t work, and he waved to me. All calm and casual, like he was going on a date. I’ll admit, I panicked for a minute or two, but then I crawled out through the trunk and turned off the signal jammer.”

“So he blocked your signal?”

She nodded. “I found it and a computer sitting on the curb where he’d parked. I suspect it’s controlling her car’s locks and brakes. I’ve got a tech on the way to take an image of the hard drive so I can look at the data. Maybe there’ll be something else that can lead us to him.”

“This is just crazy.” Connor shook his head. “Who knew you could hack a car?”

“Cars are controlled by computers now, so they’re just as vulnerable as any computer would be. Different cars are susceptible to different hacks, depending on their computer systems.” She frowned. “Zwicky has proved his computer skills, and there’s no telling what else he’s planning to do.”

The officer’s radio squawked, and a report of finding the car about ten miles away bolstered Connor’s spirit. Then the word “abandoned” was added, and he plummeted back into despair.

“I’m heading over there,” he said to Taylor. “Want to ride along?”

“I have that tech on the way, and Henry will be here soon to process the scene. Besides, I need to make sure the car is handled properly.”

“It’s just a car.”

“A car that Van Gogh tampered with. It will be evidence when we find Becca and bring her back home. Once we’ve imaged the laptop’s drive, I’ll spend some time analyzing it and maybe we’ll find a lead on where he took her.”

“Call me if you find anything.”

“You do the same.”

Connor took off, hoping he’d have something positive to report very soon.

BECCA FELT AS IF an elephant sat on her head, and she couldn’t focus her eyes. She blinked hard. Blinked again. Everything was still fuzzy, but she heard water running in the background. Like a bathtub. She lifted her head to look around. She was in a small bedroom. A hotel room? She was lying in a bed, her arms still bound together and strapped to the bed posts. Her muscles ached from the strain. It was just like the basement, only the bed was softer than the table had been. Her ears were fine. Her stomach fine. He hadn’t hurt her. Yet.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

“Hello, my sweet,” he said, coming into the room. “I hope you had a nice rest. Now it’s time to bathe you and put on your gown. Then we can talk.”

Right, talk. As if.

“Talk about what?” she asked. Her mouth felt as if it were filled with cotton.

“Why, what you’ve been doing all these years.”

“What does that matter?”

He looked at her, that deadness in his eyes lightening. “It’s everything, Lauren. I need to know if you’re still pure, or if you’ve let a man defile you.”

“Why?” she asked and dreaded the answer.

“Because my sweet, I want you with me. But if you’re not pure, you’ll need to be cleansed.”

“Cleansed. Explain that to me.”

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it and looked up at the ceiling. “I know, Mother,” he finally said. “I get it. No one is to know about the cleansing but us, or they’ll all clamor for it.”

“Why foster girls?” she asked quickly before he clammed up completely.

He looked down on her, his eyes vacant and dark again. “You don’t know?”

She shook her head.

“I thought you understood. All of you. Forgotten like trash. So desperate for love. Thinking that what men offer is love.” He stroked her cheek with his index finger, and she forced herself not to react when she wanted to turn and bite his finger.

He withdrew his hand and curled the finger into his fist. “It’s not, you know. They don’t love you. They just want to have sex with you and then you’re impure. Then you—” He shot a quick look at the ceiling. “Yes, Mother, I know. Don’t say any more.”

“But how did you find the girls?” Becca asked, not only to know the answer, but also hoping to put off whatever plans he had in store for her.

“I’m a whiz with the computer. Once I learned how much those poor girls needed me, it wasn’t hard to hack into DHS’s database.”

Hack DHS? They hadn’t been able to find record of his employment, but the information in his office said he was a computer expert, so hacking made sense and it explained why he never had to leave home.

Becca needed more information, to learn how much he’d compromised DHS computers. She had to question him without letting him know what she was doing. “So you found the names in the foster child registry?”

“Yes, and then I researched the girls on social media.” He shook his head. “What’s with young girls today? All of them parading around half-naked and flaunting themselves in pictures. Selfies. The devil’s tool, I tell you. If this continues, I’m going to be very busy.”

“Don’t you have to work?”

He chuckled. “My stroll through DHS’s databases was very productive. Not only did I find the girls, I also discovered insurance information for all the children in the foster system. Did you know that insurance information is the next big thing in the identity theft world, even more than credit cards?” He tapped his chin. “I suppose you would know that, now wouldn’t you?”