Taken by Tuesday

His hand slid higher, his face grew dark.

Judy forced her eyes to his, clenched her back teeth together, refusing to respond.

“Is this a game, General?” Higher he went.

He loved her tension . . . enjoyed her pain.

Judy sucked in a deep breath and willed her limbs to relax. She even forced a smile past her drying tears.

His eyes searched hers and he shoved his hands between her thighs.

She squeezed her toes inside her boots and never stopped staring at his dark eyes, didn’t let him see her fear.

He jerked away, his hand leaving her only to rap his fist against her jaw. She went with the punch just as Rick had told her to. The taste of blood trickled in her mouth.

Instead of provoking another punch, she kept her eyes to the side of the room.

Mitch stood and moved back to his corner.

Dean and his posse of detectives were waking up the courier company that delivered packages in an effort to learn more about Mitch.

As they did this, Neil and Rick found a link on the game.

Dainty Destroyer was the gamer tag of a woman who called herself Michelle. Only when Neil and Rick looked over the Facebook page where Michelle spoke with Judy up until the first attack, they didn’t find any evidence that Michelle was a woman. There weren’t any pictures on the profile . . . just random postings of flowers and cats. She did respond with a comment or two on Judy’s page where Judy had posted pictures of her graduation. I didn’t know Michael Wolfe was your brother.

Judy’s response was a simple Shh, don’t mention that on the game.

“How fast can we get an ID on this person?” Rick asked Neil.

“Through the right channels? Monday?”

Rick simmered. “Through the wrong channels?”

Dennis had an earpiece in. Their resident hacker clicked away. “Working on it.”

Dean stepped up to the van. “They’re letting us in.”

Rick waved a finger in Dennis’s direction. “Keep looking.”

Rick stood shoulder to shoulder with Dean as they marched past the police line, ducked under the tape, and jogged into the building. They started at the site of the first explosion. Looked like an equipment room of some kind. Burned-out monitors, lots of trashed wires.

“Guess what this was?”

Rick glanced above him, noticed a lack of cameras, stepped outside and found a few burned-out ones. “Surveillance.”

“So the guy took out the cameras first.”

“Only he wasn’t expecting ours.”

“Right,” Dean said as they started up the main stairway. At the seventh floor, Dean gripped the banister and waved Rick along. “Go. I’ll catch up.”

Rick ran the rest of the way, felt the burn in his lungs, and ignored it as he pushed into Judy’s floor. Emergency lights were the only thing working, giving very little light to a space he’d only ever seen filled with people.

He stepped into Judy’s cubicle, stood exactly where she had when the courier approached her. Rick turned, mimicking their conversation, and stepped around the flimsy office wall and a few steps down the hall to Mr. Archer’s office.

The door was open. Rick removed a flashlight from his pocket and followed a line down the frame, noticed something lying on the floor below the jamb. He bent down, noticed a metal fragment and searched for where it originated. By the lock, the door was scarred, as was the threshold. As if the metal on the floor somehow kept the door from opening. Rick glanced around the office, noticed the package Judy had taken from their suspect.

He heard Dean sucking in a breath from outside the door. “Careful,” he warned. “Looks like the door was locked from the outside.” He shone his light on the floor for Dean to see.

While Dean investigated that, Rick walked over to the desk and laid his light to shine on the package.

It was addressed to Mr. Archer but didn’t have a return address. Using a letter opener, Rick tilted the box over and dug into the tape sealing the package.

Dean moved beside him, held his breath.

Rick opened the box, noticed several papers inside.

Before the first one slid onto the desk, he recognized a photo of Judy’s red dress . . . her hat as she ducked into the limo.

“Damn it.”

Dean used a pen on the desk and spread the images out. They were all of Judy. Several were cut up.

The phone in Rick’s ear buzzed.

He clicked on. “Talk to me.”

“We have an address.”

Rick bolted from the room.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Rick and Neil rolled up to the property that held two living spaces divided by a chain-link fence. The front house had lights blazing and evidence of children’s toys scattered in the yard. The back house, the one they focused on, appeared empty. Seconds after they skidded to a halt, Raskin and Perozo moved in behind them.

The detectives left their blue lights flashing on the car while Rick ran toward the back of the house. The place was dark, no car in the drive. Holding his weapon in front of him, Rick nodded toward the back of the structure.

Neil moved around the house.

“Back off,” Raskin told Rick, his own weapon pointed toward the ground.

In his ear, Neil said, “It’s dark back here. Don’t think he’s home.”

“Roger.” Rick ignored the detective and rapped his finger on the door. “Hey, Mitch?” Rick yelled at the closed door.

There wasn’t a response.

“Still nothing,” Neil reported. “What are the chances he booby-trapped this place?”

“What are the chances Judy’s inside?” Rick asked.

Raskin heard Rick’s question, motioned toward the front house, where a woman and a child peered through the kitchen window. “I need to get them out of there.”

Rick nodded. “Go.”

Less than a minute later, the family from the front house were shuffled away. Perozo huddled next to the neighbor’s car. “They haven’t seen him since this morning.”

She’s not here.

“Back up,” he told Neil in his mic. “Just in case.”

“We need a search warrant,” Raskin managed from the side of the front house.

Every minute Judy was missing was one too long.

“You need a search warrant.” He wiggled the handle, just in case it wasn’t locked. It was. “I don’t.” Rick lifted his foot to the door, busted through the lock. The door crashed against the frame.

When no explosion ruined what was already the worst day of his life, Rick led with his gun aimed into the room. He flipped a light switch on the wall and stopped cold.