Taken Hostage. Jordyn Redwood

was dead? Losing her medical license was the least of her concerns.

      “Will you still help me? Or are you going to turn me in?”

      Colby straightened and leaned toward her. “You’re trying to save Olivia. I’m trying to save Sam. But helping you may not accomplish my goal. The cure may be lost.”

      There it was. Men had a bottom line that seemed to always align against her interests. Of course, it had been too much to hope for. A knight in shining armor. Someone she could trust to help her sort through this mess. What was he trying to do, exactly? Force her to do something she wasn’t willing to do—give him the one thing that would save Olivia? What would he do—take the cooler from her and return it to the hospital?

      One thing she’d stopped doing a long time ago was begging a man to help her solve her problems. If he volunteered—great, but she wasn’t going to grovel. She had done enough of that toward the end of her marriage and all she’d gotten was an ex-husband who’d abandoned his daughter and two sets of grandparents who wouldn’t give her the time of day.

      “I’m not giving this to you to give back to the hospital. So, if you’ve decided not to help me then you need to leave.”

      Colby captured her eyes with his, a prison of blue that was somehow comforting. “Show me the ransom note. I need to know exactly what it says.”

      * * *

      Regan’s fingers trembled as she pulled the card from the envelope and handed it to him. It was simple in its request. The cure for Olivia. The exchange to happen in relatively wooded area at a park nearby.

      Colby placed the note back in the envelope. “Why do you think they want this so badly? I mean, enough to take your daughter? It’s a very extreme measure. Why not just break into the hospital and grab it? Or pay someone at your lab a nice sum of money to merely give them a sample. Isn’t it fairly easy to replicate?”

      “Not as easy as you might think.”

      “I think the more important question is who wants it. Do you have any idea?” Colby asked.

      “Desperate people will do desperate things.”

      “Of course, but what does that mean in this context?”

      “Could be other patients. Parents of patients. I haven’t considered this treatment yet for pediatric patients but I’ve been getting inundated with requests from parents to try it on their children.”

      Colby shook his head. “This is beyond a group of desperate parents. There’s nothing else you can think of?”

      She paused a little too long before saying, “I’m in the dark as much as you are.”

      There was something there he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Deception took all kinds of forms. Bald-faced lying was one of them and her statement didn’t rise to that level. However, denial was just as powerful, and he wondered if there was something in her past she didn’t recognize as a threat or didn’t want to confess to him as a possible scenario.

      Trust. She didn’t trust him enough—not yet.

      “How did they get into the house?”

      “When I came home, the door to the garage was definitely beat up.”

      “Show me.”

      He followed her slim frame through the kitchen to the laundry room. Definitely seemed like a last stand had taken place in the small room. Though somewhat picked up, soap crystals crushed under his boots as he examined the door. It was marred as she said—as if someone had put their weight against the door, through whatever means necessary, to keep it from opening. He grabbed a T-shirt from the laundry basket and opened the door. The doorjamb appeared untouched. Not pried open.

      “Does your nanny leave the garage door open?”

      “Her name’s Polina. And of course not.”

      When he crossed the threshold into her home, the front door seemed untouched, as well. “Are there any broken windows? Other doors that lead into your home?”

      “No broken windows. There’s only one other door that leads inside from the backyard.”

      He followed her there, as well. Same story. Different door. The intruders hadn’t pried their way in.

      “What are you thinking?” she asked.

      “If it’s not Polina’s habit to keep the garage door open, then I would imagine she keeps the door leading from the garage unlocked. Most people do. Which means they opened the garage door to gain entry into the house.”

      “How would they do that?”

      “There are devices that can mimic a garage door signal. They’re not that hard to find...” His voice dropped. This whole scenario of hers didn’t add up. A group of desperate family members coming together to kidnap a child for a cure. Wouldn’t they also need the hand that delivered it? “Take me through the rest of the house.”

      The main level left convincing evidence of a home invasion. He took in the desk—the drawers opened with such force that the wood had fractured. File folders open on the desk. Some with knife slits through the middle.

      “Did you keep any information about the virus here?”

      “No. Only at the lab and...”

      “And?” Colby pressured.

      “It’s not important to what’s happened here.”

      Colby let the comment slide but her refusal to expand added to his level of belief that she wasn’t fully disclosing her thoughts on what had happened.

      “Anything upstairs?”

      “It looked undisturbed.”

      “Let’s have a look, anyway. Now that you’ve passed the initial shock you might see something that you hadn’t noticed before.”

      Upstairs, they stood in the middle of Olivia’s room, seemingly undisturbed.

      “Do you notice anything?” Regan asked.

      Colby couldn’t push the thought from his head. If they were prepared to hold Olivia for ransom, and they were professionals, wouldn’t they plan for some contingencies? Unless they thought Regan would capitulate immediately and she’d have her daughter back tomorrow night. Two days to accomplish what they’d ask for. But what if she hadn’t?

      “Look through her clothes. Do you see anything missing?”

      Regan opened Olivia’s closet and first peered up. “Her suitcase is missing.”

      Colby motioned to her dresser. “How much clothing?”

      She stepped over to the dresser and paused, her fingers clutched on the knobs of the top drawer. “What does it mean if her clothes are gone?”

      “It would probably be a good sign. That they were wanting to provide for her needs and not just wanting to...”

      Regan nodded. Colby didn’t need to speak out loud what both of them knew. She pulled the top drawer open, snapped it closed, and then yanked open the other drawers. After pushing them all closed, she turned around and fell against the dresser, her hands covering her eyes.

      Colby didn’t know the right response. Women crying always befuddled him and the two of them had been thrust together into a situation that required emotional comfort but needed logistical thought. They had to be strong. To think first. Plan.

      But something within him, something that had been missing since his wife’s death, stirred briefly and he raised his hand to place it on her shoulder.

      She dropped her hands and so did he before he made a gesture that might be misinterpreted.

      “Many of her clothes are missing.”

      Colby peered at the bottom of the closet. There was an empty