A/N - Hold on tight, dear readers. Things may get a little rough . . . .
Chapter 4
"I have no intention of going with you anywhere. I have someplace very important to be." Catherine stared at the gun and wished she had Vincent's ability to discern whether or not someone was lying. Would Bob Reynolds pull the trigger? She didn't know. But just the thought of Vincent brought the adrenalin to the surface. It was fight or flight time.
"So much for good intentions. I'm sorry to disrupt your busy schedule, but I'm afraid you're going to be a little late," Bob said and dragged her a step closer to the aircraft. "I'll be sure and write you a good excuse."
"No!" Realizing his intent, she struggled with all her might. With the gun in one hand, he only had one arm to hold her with. If she had room enough to move, she could use her feet. One solid roundhouse kick and she could down him. But apparently 'Bob' knew her well enough to hold her close and make that impossible. She could feel her phone buzzing in her pocket. If only she could get a message out! From the corner of her eye, she saw the chopper pilot running their way.
Catherine felt the panic rise up. Vincent! The one time she wouldn't have minded his stalking, and instead the love of her life waited for her in a suit and tie on the steps of the courthouse! What would he think when she didn't show? God only knew. The horror of that thought made her struggle more desperately. If Bob slackened his grip, she'd be free.
Her father was stronger than she realized.
"Forgive me, daughter, but this is where I take the choice away from you."
"What?" It was the last thought she had before the butt of the gun hit her in the temple.
"Help me get her into the chopper!" Bob yelled while catching her fall. He hated to have hit her, but it had been his only option. The pilot reached them then.
"Find her phone and leave it on the tarmac! Then take us out of here—pronto!"
Together, they maneuvered her into the rear seat of the helicopter and fastened her down. Then the pilot jumped up into his seat and began pressing buttons. He swung a look back as Bob climbed in next to him.
"She'll be fine. Did you get her gun?"
The pilot handed him the pistol as he readied the craft to lift.
"I didn't hit her that hard. She'll probably wake up before we get to the airport." He pulled the tranq gun out of a compartment.
The pilot looked at him, a question in his eyes.
"I'm halving the dose. I wouldn't do it at all if I had a choice."
"What are we going to do with her?"
Bob looked back at his sleeping daughter, the gentle rise of her burgeoning abdomen now blatantly obvious in the glare of afternoon sun, and felt sick. "Change of plans. We're taking her with us. I've got to get her as far from here and James Allyn as possible. Call Butler. Tell him I'm going to need a full medical crew on board the plane. Now!"
Vincent paced the hallway in front of the courthouse office. "Where is she?"
Tess pulled out her cell phone.
"Hey. You know women. They're never on time," JT said lightly. "Probably last minute wardrobe malfunction."
"She'll be here," Tess said, a deep frown on her face as she studied her phone's display.
Gabe put his cell phone away and turned around. "She's not answering her cell. I just called the office. She left some time ago, according to the clerk at the front desk."
"Maybe she got stuck in traffic?" Heather suggested, a hopeful note in her voice. "I'm sure she'll be here, Vincent."
Vincent smiled at Heather's attempt to reassure him. "Yeah."
"What's happening?" Blaise asked.
"Catherine's late," Tori whispered.
"Something wrong?"
She slid her fingers into his and looked worriedly over at Vincent. "I sincerely hope not."
"No major traffic tie-ups between here and the precinct," Tess announced, then checked her phone for other possible incidents.
JT sidled up to his best buddy. Vincent was attempting to stay calm, but he could see what it was costing him. "Don't worry," he said.
"How can I not worry, JT? It's my wedding day and I don't have a bride!" He looked at his watch and shrugged at the clerk's secretary. "She's forty-five minutes late. Maybe . . . maybe she changed her mind . . ."
Tess heard that and rushed over to him. "Listen to me." She took his face in hand and made him meet her eyes. "That woman loves you beyond everything and would never leave you at the altar, do you understand? This is not a case of cold feet. Don't even go there. Something else obviously happened to delay her. We just need to be patient." She caught Gabe's eye and nodded toward Heather. She was the one variable in this scenario who didn't comprehend all the stakes. When he came over, she pulled him aside, away from the others.
"If Catherine doesn't show in the next hour, we need to get her out of here. Can you do it?"
Gabe blanched. "Heather? How? What excuse am I going to use?"
"You're the ADA. Think of something!"
"You were the last one to see Catherine. Did she say anything to you that might be a clue as to why she isn't here?"
"No. She was just about to head out, but was waiting . . . for a call from her father." She swore.
"Demon Daddy may be involved?" JT almost squeaked as he pushed his way into the conversation. "She found him when we couldn't?"
"She hadn't heard from him before I left, but—"
"It's the only thing that makes sense." Gabe said. "I need to get back to the precinct, retrace her steps, check her cell phone records. Tess, you go to her apartment. See if you can find anything there. JT," Gabe looked over at the lonely bridegroom. "Get him back to the club and keep him calm. Maybe this whole thing is just a big misunderstanding and we'll all be back here in a couple of hours."
"If Reynolds has her—"
"For all we know, JT, she has him and just can't let us know. Let's not panic. "
"I hate to point out the obvious, but we're forgetting one important point. Vincent can track Catherine. He can find her faster than any of us."
"Frankly, in his state of mind, I'm more worried about him beasting out and going on a rampage. It wouldn't be pretty. Let's start with the obvious. We're detectives. Let's detect."
Catherine woke to a deafening roar and a splitting headache. She lifted her eyelids as the tiny craft jostled against the air currents and realized she was in the helicopter that had been awaiting her father on the rooftop. Sensing small motions would go unnoticed by the two men in front, she kept her movements to a minimum and stealthily scanned the cramped space. The pilot and her father were having a conversation, but she couldn't hear them over the roar of the rotor blades. At least they weren't paying any attention to her. She sat in the seat directly behind her father. Outside, the sun was sinking lower in the sky, but it was still light, and she could see the brilliant glimmer of light in front of them. They were heading east over water.
That told her something, but not enough. She carefully felt around her. She was belted in, but that's all. No ropes tied her hands or feet, although the butt of a tranquilizer gun was visible on the dash. She sensed the pilot about to turn her way and froze, her eyelids shut.
The helicopter jostled again and they started to bank. She risked another look. And then she saw it. Poking out of her father's jacket pocket was the small, metal vial.
There was no way she could let him release that toxin, but what could she do? She took a calming breath and rehearsed her options. There would only be one chance. The window next to her was cracked open a notch. The slider seemed in good repair but she had no real way of knowing. She wouldn't have time to grab the gun, too, but her choice was clear. She had to get rid of that vial. The lives of people she loved depended on it. She counted to three, then waited for the next bump and sprang into action.
It hurt her head to move so rapidly. She couldn't help crying out as she grabbed the vial with one hand and slid the window open with the other and threw it out.
The pilot caught the movement and flash of metal. "Hey! She's awake!" Seeing the open window, he shouted at her. "What did you just do?"
Catherine smiled. If they killed her now, at least she'd saved Vincent and Tori from whatever horrible death that toxin would induce.
Bob saw her face and immediately felt for the vial. It was gone. "What have you done?!"
"Just took the choice away from you!" she screamed.
He shot her with the tranq.
"Go, go, go!" As soon as they touched down, Bob urged them on as they ran for the stairway onto the jet, carrying Catherine's lax body upright between them. As soon as they got half-way up the stairs, he signaled to the jet pilot to get them up in the air as quickly as possible. Before the stairway was fully retracted and the door closed, they began to taxi down the tarmac.
"Don't stop for anything or anyone. Get us airborne!"
A black man approached as they scrambled for their seats. "We'll have to refuel at some point, but we can use one of our bases. Our patient, I presume?" He nodded toward the unconscious woman.
"What were you able to get?" Reynolds asked his second-in-command, ignoring the question. He checked his daughter's pulse.
"A small team, and as much equipment as we could scramble in the time available," the man confirmed.
"Soon as we're at altitude, get her in the back. We've got our work cut out for us."
"The pilot is awaiting your orders, sir."
Bob studied his daughter and frowned. "Where's Chen?"
"Chen? Somewhere in the south China sea? Cambodia, if I recall correctly."
Bob grimaced. It wasn't the best choice, but about as far in the opposite direction as he could get her. He hoped to God it was enough. "Tell Reese to take us there. Oh, and Butler?"
"Yes, sir?"
"He doesn't need to know why."
The man nodded solemnly, understanding. "Yes, sir."
A short time later, Catherine still rested peacefully on a gurney in the back of the plane.
"Where's the rest of the team?" Bob asked, scanning the three faces beside Butler. It was a skeleton crew and not the finest.
"This is all that's left," Butler said.
"Dawson?"
"Off the grid since the scattering."
Bob swore. "Too bad. We could really use his expertise about now."
Butler looked at the sleeping woman. "Memory wipe?"
"We don't have time for anything comprehensive. I need her confused, yes, but more importantly I want to implant some not-so-subtle suggestions: a vehement distrust of beasts—one in particular—among other things. Then we'll get her someplace safe and very remote."
"You're going to drop your own daughter into the middle of Indochina without a clue as to how she got there?"
Bob eyed his right-hand man. So he recognized her. "You have a better idea? She'll be as far away from television, cell towers—any and all technology—as we can get her. Chen can keep an eye on her. She's a survivor; she'll be fine, and far from my superiors' reach. If they find out what she's done, she's dead."
"And safe from the toxin, I assume, if we can re-create it."
Big if. Bob didn't know if that was even possible now, and there wasn't much time. They have to come up with something else.
"What about the fetus?" Butler asked, his voice low. "We can take it now. The partial memory wipe may even prevent her from remembering she was ever pregnant."
Bob stared at his daughter and only child—still young and vibrantly beautiful. And carrying his grandchild. No. He couldn't do it. Not that. It was one thing to kidnap her—another entirely to rip her open and take her unborn child, as hideous as that child might be. But one thing was clear—no one beyond those on the plane could know anything about who she was, what she'd done, or the baby she carried, or she'd be in real danger—and so would her child, assuming it's ever born.
He finally shook his head. "Chen can keep an eye on her until she delivers—then we'll deal with it. Just do what you must to get her out of here as quickly as possible. Every minute we're together puts her more at risk."
New York
Tracking Catherine the old-fashioned way turned out to be easier than they thought. Her car had been left on the street below one of the taller buildings in the international district. They found her cell phone on the roof near the helipad.
"Dammit! He can't track her in the air!" JT received the news with no amount of calm.
"No. But maybe we can. Aircraft leave footprints." Gabe said and got on the phone again.
"If Beasty Bob has her, then what? The man's evaded us for weeks!"
Tess tried for reason. "We found Vincent after he'd been kidnapped. We'll find Cat."
"It took three months! You think he can last that long? I'm beginning to think we need help." His eyes darted to his friend, pacing along the windows in the club.
"The guy that Vincent ran into in the hospital?" Tess asked.
JT lifted his hands. "We're out of options."
Catherine
Day 6 Since I've Been Counting
I know my name is Catherine. Beyond that, I have no idea who I am, where I am or why I'm here. I woke from a peaceful sleep to the nightmare of being pushed out of an airplane (at night!) from a low flying plane. A man named 'Chen' rescued me from my perilous parachute drop and appeared to have been expecting me, but he rarely talked and never smiled, so I can't think that we were ever friends. My head still pounds occasionally, so I assume my inability to recall recent events is due to that. I must have hit it at some point in the not-too-distant past. One side still feels tender.
After hiding my parachute, Chen provided me coarse clothing and a large straw hat, then burned my other things before dragging me across this dirt-poor countryside for days. When we neared a population center, I took my first opportunity to escape him and have been running ever since. God knows how I'll survive or where I am, but I didn't trust him. They're obviously hiding me from someone or something, but I can't tell the good guys from the bad. So I'm going it alone.
As trains filled with what looked like migrant workers passed through the town, I left him in the night, taking only this notebook and pen, and jumped onto one of them. I don't know if he'll find me, but it couldn't be an easy task, as I now look like everyone else. Well, except that I'm pregnant.
And that's the worst part of all. Because I don't even remember how I got this way.
I must be a hundred miles away from where I dropped, now, by a rough estimate of how long we traveled. For the most part, the natives have ignored me, except for one older woman who seems to take every opportunity to yell at me. She is hostile, but so far hasn't gotten physical. I don't think she likes the fact that I'm pregnant, but what can I do about it? I'm tired and I'm hungry and I don't really care.
Last night we stopped on the outskirts of another town, this one surrounded by miles and miles of rice fields. It was then I realized I may have made a big mistake. Getting away from this place will not be easy . . . .
Vincent
Vincent stood for a long time on the porch looking into the apartment. He had a key, but hadn't used it. There was something about going inside and feeling the emptiness that would make it all too real. But he'd waited long enough. She'd been gone a week. Maybe there were clues here that the others had overlooked. Twisting the key in the lock, he slowly slid the door open and stepped into the darkness. "Where are you, Catherine?"
Flipping on lights as he roamed the apartment, he scanned each room. Finally, he stood before the bedroom. Just then, he heard a noise at the front door. His first glimpse of a dark-haired, dark-eyed female with almond-shaped eyes entering the apartment had his mind playing tricks on him. Catherine! But as Heather came farther into the light, he deflated.
"Oh! I didn't realize you were here."
"Just checking on things," Vincent said.
"Oh, of course. Me, too. Actually, I came to get the last of my things. There's still no word?" She looked at him somberly.
He shook his head.
"You know, I can see you're clearly upset about my sister, and I believe you truly care about her. But don't think I don't know you've all been lying to me."
His head came up. "What?"
"I don't buy the story that Cat was suddenly pulled away on some hush-hush assignment. It sounds like a lot of bull crap to me. I'm sure they don't do that to someone on their way to their own wedding! I mean, what could be that important? I'm sorry," she said immediately, realizing how that sounded. "If you're not a part of the lies, you must be just as frustrated as I. You're a victim here, too."
So she knew they were lying to her, but at least this time she didn't blame him. It was a story for Heather's benefit, no one else. The rest of them were still in panic mode.
"I mean, they'd tell us if she was dead, wouldn't they?"
She started to crumble and Vincent pulled her into his arms. "She's not dead." His voice broke. "She can't be." After a few moments he released her and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm moving in with a friend," she sniffed. "I'm here to stay and I won't give up looking, but I . . . I need to step away from the situation. I can't just sit around and do nothing. I found a job upstate that sounds promising. If I get it, I'll take it." Her shoulders drooped. "I feel so powerless."
"I'm going to find her."
She nodded. "I believe you. If anyone can, it's you. And when you do, I'll be back. But until then . . . ."
"I understand."
She went into the second bedroom and came out with a small box of things. At the door, she reached out for him again. They held each other for a long moment before she finally let go, a glimmer of tears in her eyes.
She nodded and so did he. Words were insignificant. She handed him her key, and then she was gone.
Vincent, now emotionally distraught, headed once again to the bedroom. Their room. Where they'd loved and laughed and dreamed of a future as a normal couple. They'd come so close to having it! Suddenly, he felt exhausted beyond bearing. Where was she? And how was she? An image of Catherine, heavy with child, dared to invade his mind. He moaned and bent down onto the coverlet.
Through the layers of fabric he felt the jagged dips and angles of the shredded mattress beneath. She'd never replaced it, claiming she wouldn't know how to explain it to a moving crew—why the mattress had deep grooves carved into it on either side of center—grooves he'd made with his own nails shortly after he'd returned and didn't have the control of his animal side that he had now. Little that it mattered. Now he longed for those days.
He laid his head on the pillow and breathed in the last traces of her scent. Then curled up and cried.
Catherine
Day 14 Since I've Been Counting
There is no escape from the relentless heat, but I've found my body adjusting to it and the back-breaking labor. I seem better fed and stronger than many of the poor young women who are here. It makes me wonder, yet again, where I'm from and why they sent me here.
The daily rains bring a measure of relief from the heat, but not from the questions in my own mind: Who am I? Where am I? Who was Chen, and where was he taking me?
I don't know the language, but it sounds Chinese. I pretend to be mute and stupid— the one suggestion Chen gave me that made any kind of sense. They treat me like an outcast, but since I work hard, they tolerate me. My day is filled from sun up to sun down transplanting seedlings from one field into another. I'm beginning to hate rice.
Day 26 Since I've Been Counting
'Scolding Woman' is a constant thorn in my side. Today she knocked down my basket and made me the object of more scorn and extra vigilance by what appears to be the local overlord. I had to scramble to make up time, but I did it. I've only seen the overlord up close once. He ignores me like the others when we are all together, but I've caught him watching me at times.
The bright spot this day was when one of the younger females showed me kindness, offering a portion of her water. I think she feels sorry for me, laboring as all the rest but with my growing belly making it increasingly more difficult. I can tell she wants to ask me about the baby, but even if I could speak the language, how could I tell her what I myself don't even know?
I had a flash of memory today when a bird flew overhead startling me with its cry: running through a tunnel as an on-coming train bore down on me. And then strong arms that carried me to safety. A savior with mysterious, dark-lashed eyes. I hope tonight to dream about him again, but I have no idea if he's friend or foe.
I'm grateful for these moments to rest and eat, but they are always too short. I exist in a near constant state of exhaustion, so I will close for now and hide this small journal underneath the rock near where I sleep. There's something comforting about it, familiar. I'd like to explore that thought more, but morning comes too quickly . . . .
New York
"Daws!" Vincent pounded on the door.
"Looks like he isn't home. Maybe we should go."
"He's here. It just takes him a while. JT, this was your idea. Now you're questioning it?"
"I just don't know if exposing ourselves to ex-Muirfield people is the best route to take."
"Not all of them were Muirfield. Some may be ex-FBI."
"Whatever!"
"C'mon, JT. We need their help. We've waited too long as it is. And Catherine's trail is growing cold."
Tess was tired of the arguing; they'd been going round and round on this for days. She shoved between the men and pounded again. The door opened immediately.
"Wow. Hell-o. What can I do for you, pretty lady?"
"Daws, shut up."
"Vincent! You've brought friends?"
"Special friends. Mind if we come in?"
"Uh . . . ."
"It's okay. We're all . . . in the know."
"Oh. Right. Even Gorgeous here?" He glanced over at Tess again. "First Catherine, now this lovely lady. How many other beautiful females do you know?"
"There's another," Tess said. "But she's definitely not your type."
"And already spoken for." Vincent added.
"Bummer."
Vincent pushed through the open door. "We need to talk."
"Catherine is missing? Your Catherine? Catherine, Reynolds' daughter, who is preg—"
"Yes." Vincent cut him off. Just hearing it out loud was painful enough. "And we believe Reynolds has her. We tracked a plane out of New York, but it never showed up at its destination. He's off the grid and we're losing valuable time. Do you have anything that would help? Access to records, servers?"
"Anything related to Dear Old Bob?" JT added.
"For one thing," Dawson said, a hand to his jaw. "Reynolds never follows a flight plan he submits. That's a given. He has contacts worldwide, though, so he could have headed anywhere the wind blows."
"Great." JT threw his hands up in the air. "What did I tell you? This is a colossal waste of time."
"And you are?"
"Oh, uh. JT Forbes, bio-chemistry professor." He offered his hand, but Dawson ignored it.
"Ha!"
"Ha? What does that even mean?"
"It means, my good man, that all is not lost." Dawson pursed his lips, considering. "Reynolds has regular re-fueling stops he uses. We could check surveillance cameras in those locations—I assume you have a description of the plane?—see if we can find where it landed. Satellite footage may also be available."
"That's more than we have so far." Vincent sighed a breath of relief.
"The others are in the back room. Let me take you there and we'll see what we can do."
He led them down a hallway to another set of doors. Opening the right one, he nodded for Tess to precede him. "And what did you say your name was?"
"I didn't," she said with a smirk, and felt JT bristle beside her.
Daws took them into an inner room, this one loud with server noise. A man stepped forward.
"Kai, these are the 'friends' I told you about. They need our help." Turning to Vincent, he said, "Kai is our cultural attaché, among other things. He's an experienced field agent specializing in linguistics and martial arts."
Kai bowed but offered no hand in greeting.
"And behind him, buried in that computer, is our brilliant earth-sciences professor—"
"Sara?!" As the woman in the white lab coat turned, JT's eyes popped out of his head and he stepped forward.
"You two know each other?" Dawson asked.
"Oh, my God. JT! What are you doing here?"
"I-I could ask you the same thing!"
Vincent put a hand on JT. "Wait. This is Sara Sara? Your Sara? From the university?"
"Wait," Tess said. "Who's Sara?"
"How long have you been involved in this?" JT demanded, completely avoiding Tess's question.
Sara took off her glasses and carefully set them on the desk before replying. "Long before I met you. Reynolds tapped me as a student-intern years ago. I had debt up the ying-yang. But thanks to Dawson, here, I got out when everything fell apart. I'm primarily a researcher now.
"She's too modest. We've leaned heavily on her expertise over the years. She's also our computer guru now. Can handle just about anything we throw at her."
"Perfect. Please help us find Catherine."
Catherine
Day 42 Since I've Been Counting
I've now been here over a month. I can feel the baby moving regularly, even as I work. It is a happy feeling to me, knowing that there's someone here who belongs to only me. I pray that my baby will remain healthy and survive until delivery, even though the conditions here are hard and food is minimal. Since I can't think of escape at this point, my only goal is to make make it until then. I have no one else.
My guess is that I'm around five months along. Four more months until I have this baby. And then what?
My thoughts drift often to the father, but I can visualize no face. Is he Asian, like me? Somehow I think not. Does he wonder where I am? Does he look for me? When the questions overwhelm, I get another headache and lay them aside. I want to believe there is someone searching for me, someone who wants me back. Who cares whether I live or die. But I am afraid to believe.
My days are filled with back-breaking work, but the nights are worse. I dream. The images don't make sense: tall buildings, honking cars, a park in the snow, and a man with gruesome, animal teeth. It's always the same—different images but the same animal-man.
Did I see something I wasn't supposed to see? Someone? There are no answers; only more questions. I close my eyes and wait for morning. Then start all over again . . .
