Cassie Miles - Colorado Abduction

Sheriff Trainer had joined them. The only other person in the room was her brother. Dylan leaned against the wall by the door, near collapse.

“We’re going to play back the ransom call,” Burke said. “I want you all to listen for any sound that might give us a clue to the kidnapper’s identity or his whereabouts.”

“Wait a minute,” Sheriff Trainer said. “Didn’t you get a trace to tell us where he is?”

One of Burke’s associates, Special Agent Corelli, stepped forward. He was the technical expert, the only man in the room wearing a suit and tie. He pointed to a rectangular black box with several dials. On the screen was a map of the area. A red dot blinked on a secluded road, too small to be given a name.

Corelli pointed to the dot. “When he made the call, he was here. I’d guess that he’s on horseback or in an all-terrain vehicle.”

Dylan staggered forward and squinted at the screen. “Does he have Nicole with him?”

“Sorry,” Corelli said. “There’s no way of knowing.”

Carolyn went to her brother’s side. “Sit down, Dylan.”

“Can’t.” He stumbled back to his position against the wall. “If I sit, I’ll fall asleep.”

“That sounds like a good idea.”

“I won’t sleep until Nicole is in the bed beside me.”

A noble sentiment. But it wouldn’t do Nicole any good if he pushed himself beyond his limits and had a total breakdown.

The sheriff tilted his hat back on his head and stared at the blinking dot. Though he wasn’t holding a cigarette, Carolyn smelled the residual smoke that clung to his uniform. “Seems to me that we ought to head out in that direction.”

“He’ll be long gone,” Burke said. “He was smart enough to know that the phone call would be traced. He’s in a remote area with no witnesses. There’s no way we could have gotten there in time. He used a disposable cell phone so we can’t ID the number.”

“There are still records of those things,” the sheriff said. “We can find out where he bought it.”

“We’re running those records,” Corelli said.

Carolyn was surprised that the Delta County sheriff was so attuned to complex investigation techniques. She’d always thought the skinny, gray-haired man was a nice guy, but not particularly competent.

“The good news,” Burke said, “is that our kidnapper is still in the area. More than likely, he’s a local. Somebody you might know. That’s why I want you to listen to his voice. And the way he puts his words together.”

He pressed the playback button and Carolyn heard her own voice. She was surprised that she didn’t sound as terrified as she’d felt at the time.

“Hello, this is Carolyn Carlisle.”

“I want a million dollars.” The kidnapper spoke in a rasping, ominous, barely audible whisper. “I want it in cash.”

“You’ll have to repeat that. I can’t hear you.” She’d been stalling, doing as Burke had suggested. “Please speak up.”

“Listen hard. A million dollars. Cash. Nothing bigger than a hundred.”

“Do you have Nicole with you? I need to talk to her.”

“Pay me. Or she dies.”

On the playback Carolyn sounded confident. “Don’t you worry. You’ll get everything you want. If it’s a million dollars, you’ll get a million.” She’d been rambling, keeping him on the line. “Please let me talk to Nicole.”

“I want the money tomorrow afternoon at five.”

“It’s going to be hard to scrape that much cash together in one day.” More stalling. “Tomorrow is Saturday. And the local banks probably don’t have a million dollars on hand. We’ll have to go all the way into Denver.”

“Not my problem.”

She remembered Corelli giving her the thumbs-up signal. They had successfully made the trace.

She heard herself say, “I need proof of life.”

There was a pause. “What’s that?”

“Proof that Nicole is still alive. Let me talk to her.”

“You’ll get your proof.”

That was when he disconnected the call.

She looked into Dylan’s face. Tears streaked down his cheeks. Carolyn couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her brother cry. When she touched his arm, he collapsed against her.

“This is all going to work out,” she assured him. “I’ll take care of putting the money together.”

Burke cleared his throat. “Anybody recognize the voice?”

“Not really.” The sheriff patted the pocket in his shirt where Carolyn could see the outline of a cigarette pack. “That whisper could have been anybody. I didn’t hear an accent. He didn’t use any slang.”

“Proper language,” Burke said. “Instead of saying ‘Ain’t my problem’ he said ‘Not my problem.’ And he didn’t know what proof of life meant.”

“What does that indicate?” Carolyn asked.

“He’s not a professional kidnapper. He might not even have a criminal record.”

“Which means,” Corelli said, “that his fingerprints might not be in the system.”

Burke nodded toward the other two men, both of whom were wearing black windbreakers with FBI stenciled across the back. “Special Agent Smith and Special Agent Silverman are both trained profilers. Sheriff, they’re going to need to talk to everybody on the ranch. Starting now.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” the sheriff protested.

“The first twenty-four hours are crucial.” Burke turned to the Smith–Silverman team. “Start your interviews with the sheriff. Keep me informed.”

Carolyn could feel Dylan’s knees beginning to buckle. His body was literally giving out. Before he went limp and dragged them both to the floor, Burke came up beside her and slipped his arm around Dylan’s torso. “Let’s go, buddy. You need a rest.”

He tried to rally. “Can’t go to bed.”

“Just a catnap,” Carolyn said. “On the sofa in your office. You’ll be close.”

With Burke supporting her brother, she went down the hall, through the entryway, and took a right. The second door was Dylan’s office—a large, masculine room with a wall of books and windows that opened onto the veranda. Opposite the huge oak desk that had belonged to her father were two brown leather chairs and a matching sofa.

Burke sat Dylan on the sofa, and Carolyn peeled off his jacket. Getting his boots off was an effort but she managed. Her brother stretched out, immediately asleep. She covered him with a crocheted afghan, striped in green and brown.

Closing the door, she stepped into the hallway with Burke. “Thanks. I couldn’t have carried him by myself. Whoever said ‘He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother,’ didn’t know Dylan.”

“The Hollies,” Burke said. “They sang it.”

She leaned against the wall outside the office, allowing this moment of quiet to soothe her frazzled nerves. It was nice to be here with Burke—someone who didn’t depend on her. “I’m worried about him.”

“Dylan blames himself for what happened.” His voice was low, intimate. “He and Nicole argued before she took off.”

“I heard them.” That was less than six hours ago but it felt like an eternity. “I didn’t catch what they were saying.”

“They were trying to get pregnant. Your brother didn’t want to take time out of his schedule to see the fertility doctor. That’s why Nicole was angry.”

“Dylan told you all that?” She gazed up into his stern, craggy face. In the soft light, his features seemed warmer, more appealing. “If I can’t get him to open up to me, why would he talk to you?”

“Sometimes, it’s easier to tell your secrets to a stranger.”

Unexpectedly, he reached toward her and brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The stroke of his fingertips on her cheek set off an electric reaction that sizzled down her throat and into her chest. “You don’t seem all that strange. Actually, you’re kind of all right.”