CHAPTER ONE
It's beginning to get dark so early now, Kate Monroe thought, pining for daylight as she drove down the busy streets of Los Angeles. The November sky had been grey since morning but had now deepened to a leaden hue as twilight came on. The heavy scent of approaching rainfall hung in the air like an omen boding evil. Or an apocalypse. It was a good thing she wasn't superstitious, Kate thought to herself and smiled dryly as the first specks of a light drizzle started to come down on her front window.
As she took a right turn the main road became a less crowded street with cheap apartments lining the sidewalk. While most of the houses were small sized, there were quite a few larger ones situated more to the back with a nicely trimmed lawn and the occasional driveway in front. The sidewalks of this more suburban part of town were almost empty as people hurried to reach the well-lit shelter of home before nightfall.
Kate was one of them. She had stayed late again at the studio in downtown LA where she worked as a model. Though she was no Naomi Campbell and had no illusions of grandeur regarding her potential, she did know how to work what she had to her full advantage. Posing for shoots of a more piquant kind and the sporadic runway was what she did five days a week at Studio X. The dingy place was owned by a guy named Larry Prize who thought he was Hugh Hefner reincarnated. The fact that his business hadn't got any particular recognition after more than three years of business didn't seem to deter him from his self-promoting campaign for personal stardom.
All that was trivial to Kate, who cared only to be able to pay the rent and electricity bills at the end of the month. Weekdays, from seven to three, she worked at Studio X and every other day Larry would send her out on a photo shoot to some other sleazy studio and even sleazier photographer who, if not some self-discovered world-renowned artist, was riding high on coke and hoping to get in said model's pants. Shoots like that had a way of ending up badly. But tomorrow would be different, Kate promised herself as she took another right turn. For the first time in the two agonisingly long years she had spend at Studio X Larry had arranged for her an appointment with a real studio with a team of real artists and a real photographer who despite the obligatory ego actually knew what he was doing. Tomorrow she was going to Playboy Studio West to get her test nude shoots taken. If all went as well as planned she'd bag the deal of the century. And nothing was going to get in her way.
She thought about the two week old pile of laundry at home that she had to do tonight, and she would also have to pick up her outfit from the dry cleaner's before nine if she wanted to look the part tomorrow. Somewhere in there, she had to get dinner together too and spend some time with her son if she didn't want Lucas thinking that Mrs. Weaver, their ancient neighbour, was his actual mother. If she was lucky she'd be able to grab a couple of hours of sleep before starting another early day; she'd have to get up at five to make the drive to Santa Monica and she probably wouldn't be back until late at night, if the shoot proved successful.
If Mark is home, she thought, Lucas can stay there instead of with Mrs. Weaver. Then, she dismissed the idea as improbable. Mark was an agent of profession and a pseudo freelance fashion photographer in his spare time, which basically meant that he travelled more than he was home. His schedule was hectic and more often than not unpredictable. Just last week he'd gotten a call from a client informing him of a shoot being pushed a week ahead of schedule. That very same evening he was in a plane on his way to New York. He had intended to return on Monday but had called to say that he'd be detained for another two days. Today was Friday. It was very likely that something else had come up and that he had detoured on his way back, say, through Austin.
But, maybe Mark had returned home. Kate felt she was a lot happier thinking that maybe he was, so she clung to that thought as she drove through the last three intersections towards Huntington Street. She swore that with every single day Lucas was growing closer to the geriatric living next door and more distant with her. And she didn't want to be described with pity as that shameful young woman with the poor estranged son who had really just been an accident of a one night stand she could barely remember after a night of serious clubbing. It was something people tended to frown upon. But if she pulled off tomorrow all that would change, she promised herself.
With a sigh, she saw their apartment on the corner just ahead. She turned the car into the driveway and switched off the ignition. A few of the lights at Mrs. Weaver's were on inside, and on the doorstep was a seasonal arrangement her neighbour made every year out of cornstalks, pumpkins and Indian corn. Though the two houses were nearly identical in built they looked as different as night and day. Where Kate's house was old and rundown by age, weather and neglect, Mrs. Weaver's looked bright and new. The porch had been freshly painted only two months ago, and shiny green shutters sandwiched square white-curtained windows on both floors. The cedar siding was the colour of dusty snow. On the porch sat a couple of rocking chairs and a pretty wicker table. The house with its colonial style wraparound porch in downtown LA looked as out of place as an Amish in a metropolis would.
Kate walked up to her front door and opened it, wanting to pick up the dry cleaning first before she went to get Lucas. Tomorrow was a big day and nothing was going to ruin it, especially something like forgetting to pick up her outfit from the dry cleaner's. Kate went into the kitchen and put her bag down on the sofa. A teacup with milky fluid in it, and the tea bag squashed in the saucer, stood on the drain board as she'd left it this morning. All she'd had time for before rushing off to work. She went back down the hall to the end table crammed with mail and post-its and began to shuffle through the drawer's contents for the dry cleaner's receipt.
That is when she felt it. Something was wrong. She could sense it with every cell of her being. Some people called it instinct, others the unexplainable raising of the smalls hairs at the back of the neck. Whatever it was, Kate felt it unmistakably. The house was too quiet.
She closed the drawer and just stood there, taking in every sound and looking intently around her, hoping to catch a glimpse of something that wasn't quite right, hoping even more to find that she was just imagining it. A pile of magazines lay on the coffee table amidst an array of candles in various sizes and an empty water bottle. The blinds were closed. The remote control was still wedged in between the cushions of a sofa that was covered in old mismatched pillows. One of them had been tossed on the ground near the TV. It was still there. Nothing was out of place, yet Kate felt as if she had just entered someone else's house. Though there was nothing that she could see or hear that didn't belong, she could sense something was off.
Trying to shake off the feeling that someone had been inside her house, she grabbed the receipt, her keys and wallet and on impulse went to lock the back door. She had always made it a point to keep it locked, obviously against burglars and for insurance purposes, but she had never actually heeded her own counsel. Until now. From now on, she would always make sure the doors were safely locked. No more easy thinking that leaving it open once wasn't going to end the world, no more excuses that she would be late if she didn't leave the house right now.
The sound of the doorbell ringing interrupted Kate halfway down the hall. She frowned, glancing in the direction of the front door, wondering if Mrs. Weaver had spotted her car in the driveway and was returning Lucas. I've been gone the whole day, she thought annoyed, you'd think ten more minutes wouldn't make a difference. In an act of defiance she locked the back door first then made her way down the hall. The blinds hanging slightly askew from the window by the door were half closed and because Kate had neglected to turn on the lights inside, the street lamp filtered some light inside. Staring at the floor where the light from across the street cast the shadow of a child sized person, Kate didn't notice the person coming up behind her until a hand clamped down over her mouth and another snaked around her waist, holding onto her tight. She struggled in the grip, trying to bite through her assailant's hand, but the leather glove prevented her from breaking into the skin. Only seconds passed when she was pushed back into the darkness of the kitchen and she felt the hot breath on her ear.
"It's me. Keep quiet," the whisper was rough and urgent. "There's someone outside your house."
The hand covering her mouth began to ease away and she used that moment to suck in a deep breath. But before she could expel it in a loud scream, the hand was back, and this time it felt like she'd been pinned down by steel.
"What's wrong with you? I told you to keep quiet," he hissed.
For a beat, all she could hear was the thunder of her heart in her ears. A man. It was a man. Kate felt her heart trip. She would never be able to overpower a man, no matter how lean she was. Her breath was coming in quick. Think Kate think, she thought, desperate. She needed a plan. If she lacked in physical strength then she would need to outwit him. But this was hardly a discussion in which she could outsmart him. If only there was a way she could get to the phone, dial 911 and keep him talking, like they did in the movies. It always worked in the movies.
After a long moment during which Kate was sure she'd suffered through several heart attacks, she felt him shift his weight behind her. He was tall. His head was still very close to hers.
"Okay. I think they've gone for now. We're safe. For the moment," he said. "Can I trust you not to scream when I let you go?"
What else could she do? She nodded. Rule number one in surviving kidnappers: always try to earn their trust.
"I'm not here to hurt you, okay? If I wanted to hurt you, you wouldn't still be standing here. And I wouldn't be warning you." The words sent a chilly trickle down her spine. "I'm going to let you go now. Nice and slow."
Kate felt a blast of cold air hit the damp skin around her mouth as he removed his hand. She was breathing hard, her stomach was churning, but the adrenaline was pumping through her body like fuel. She turned to face her assailant and was met by the sight of a tall dark-haired man. He was younger than what she would have expected a burglar to be. But then she hadn't expected there to be an assailant in her house in the first place. He raised his hands in a gesture that she imagined he thought was calming.
"I'm sorry I startled you," he said, "but there was no time to exchange the conventional pleasantries. We have to leave now."
She backed up a bit, her hand on the doorway. "What are you talking about?" she managed. Damn it, her voice was shaking. Her knees were shaking. She had to get a grip. She wouldn't stand a chance otherwise.
"We have to leave the house. We have to get out of here. There's no time." He moved towards her. "I'm here to help you. Whatever happens don't look back, just run. If something should happen to me know that you can trust Evans and no one else. Do you understand?" His gaze locked on her with an intensity that made her insides squirm, "No one else. Even if they say they're from the police and have the badges to prove it. This is important, Kate. Are you listening? Don't forget this."
Her veins thumped. He knew her name. It was the previous owner's name on the mailbox, still. Not hers.
"I want you to leave." She stepped back to push open the door.
His hand shot out, gripping the handle of the door, and held it. Laser eyes pinned her through the darkness. New panic arrowed into her system.
"I will call the police if you don't leave right this minute." If he didn't kill her first. She felt a bubble of hysteria rise in her chest.
"The police might not get here in time," he said. "And they wouldn't make a damn bit of difference if they did."
A beat.
"Where's Lucas?" he asked, stepping closer.
She stumbled backward into the solid wall of the bedroom, her mind racing. Run. Just run. And yet she knew it would be hopeless. She'd never be able to reach Lucas at the neighbour's, get him to the car and get out of here. The stranger looming above her looked insane.
"Just tell me what you want. I'll give you anything." Anything but Lucas, her heart screamed.
She heard a car turn onto the gravel alongside the driveway.
Then she couldn't hear anything because her pulse was roaring, absolutely roaring, in her ears when he reached into his jacket, pulled out a gun, and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her away from the hall and out of view of the window out back.
"In about fifteen seconds a couple of men are going to knock on your door. They're going to tell you they're from the FBI and ask about your son. And you're going to tell them he's at a sleepover at his friend's house." His hot eyes pierced her through the dark room. She could barely feel his fingers gripping her arm. All she could feel was her heart nearly pounding out of her chest. "If you don't, they're going to put a bullet in your head and the only good thing about that is you won't have to know what they'll do to your son."
One car door slammed outside, then another.
Kate's face turned ghost-white as she realised that they weren't going away.
"Why should I believe you?" she whispered, and her voice wobbled even as she fought to keep some sort of control. "How do you know it isn't someone coming to sell vacuum cleaners or something?"
"Because I already know Lucas is here and you're still alive."
Her vivid brown eyes flickered with fear. Footsteps pounded on the porch steps. She swung around, her hair dancing across her shoulders. He pulled her back, bringing her frightened eyes right up close.
"Trust me," he whispered, pinning her gaze, willing her to do the right thing. And if she didn't, there wouldn't be a hell of a lot he'd be able to do to fix it. "Please." He held her gaze a beat longer, fighting through her fear. "Your son's life is in danger and I'm doing everything I can to save him."
A knock rapped on the door.
He could feel her shudder. She lifted her free hand, slapped it over her mouth for a beat as if she was fighting not to be sick or scream. He had to do some quick thinking in less than five seconds. He pulled her over to the door and positioned himself out of sight behind it. "They already know you're home. Your car is parked in the driveway," he explained when she swung terrified eyes at him. "Go open the door. You'll need to play your part. If you want to live through this you'll need to trust me."
Her shaking hand reached for the knob and she pulled it open a few scant inches.
"Can I help you?" she said. Her shoulders were straight, and even if her shaking legs wanted to collapse from under her, she wasn't going to do it. She was strong. She was a survivor. She needed to be.
"Ms. Monroe? My name is Agent Burns and this is my partner Agent Cole. We're from the FBI. May we come in?"
They were both wearing a dark suit. One of them had dark shades on. The car they'd parked on the gravel beside hers was black. Everything about them seemed to emanate darkness. Something wasn't right.
"I'm sorry. I was just on my way out. I need to pick up my dry cleaning before they close."
"This is urgent, ma'am. It's about your son. Is he here?"
"He's spending the weekend at a friend's house."
"You'll need to pick him up from there, ma'am. This can't wait. It's a matter of life or death."
"I can't pick him up. They've gone to Disneyland. They left this afternoon right after school."
A beat passed. Two. He could see the hand she'd kept on the door shaking like a leaf.
"When are they due back?"
A breeze kicked in through the open window. Leaves rustled in the trees and wind chimes tinkled from the porch.
"What is this about?"
Then a door creaked open from outside and a high-pitched voice called out loud and clear, "Kate? I thought I saw your car outside. Lucas has been fussing for half an hour now about going home. Can you take him back now?"