Susan Sleeman - Christmas Conspiracy

The gun no longer at her head, Rachael arched her back and bucked.

His arm held like a vise, tightening, crushing down and bruising her flesh.

She cried out in pain and instantly hated that she’d let him know he’d hurt her.

“You wanted it this way.” He laid his gun on the mattress near Kelly’s sleeper-covered feet before using that hand to dig through his jacket pocket.

The sight of his gun lying so close to Kelly hit Rachael like a physical punch to her gut.

How had this happened? No—how had she let this happen?

As the center’s owner and director, she held the responsibility for Kelly while her mother, Pam, worked. Rachael had wanted to help Pam out today when she’d had to go to work early or risk losing her job, so Rachael had taken Kelly before the center opened. She’d thought it would be fine, but then the first teacher of the day got a flat tire, leaving Rachael alone. And now she’d failed Pam. Failed Kelly.

Rachael had to find a way to save the sweet baby.

But what could she do? She’d already tried everything she could think of. This man wanted Kelly, and he didn’t care what he had to do to get her.

Lord, please. Stop this now, she prayed. Don’t let him take Kelly.

She waited for a bit of calm, maybe peace, but none came. Nothing odd about that. She hadn’t felt true peace since she’d lost her husband and unborn child four years ago. Tears rolled down her cheeks and dropped to the crib, landing on the pastel teddy bears covering the mattress.

Kelly shifted, drawing her pudgy little legs up tighter under her body.

“I’m so sorry, Kelly,” Rachael whispered.

Her captor tightened his grip while continuing to fumble around behind her. She slowly leaned toward the crib and slid her fingers closer to the gun. Inch by inch she moved. Closer. Closer.

Almost there.

He jerked his hand free of his pocket and karate chopped her forearm. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Please don’t take Kelly,” Rachael begged as a raw ache radiated up her arm.

He ignored her again, shifted to the side, and a sharp pain pierced her arm.

What? He’d injected her with something.

“Don’t worry.” His minty fresh breath crept through her hair as he clamped his arms tighter around her. “When you wake up, I’ll be long gone. Of course, so will Kelly. Have a nice nap now.”

No! She had to get free.

She roared like a fierce mother bear with a threatened cub and put all of her strength into one last attempt. But his arms felt like bands of steel, and she couldn’t break free.

“Shh,” he said. “Just give it a few minutes and you won’t care anymore. The drug is a powerful anesthetic. Takes away all your worries and fears before you sleep. Peaceful, sweet sleep.”

Time seemed to stand still, but Rachael didn’t. She fought hard until the drug he’d put into her body sent waves of relaxation through her muscles.

She whimpered. “Please, I’ll do anything. Give you money. Anything. Don’t take Kelly.”

“Don’t fight the drug,” he said. “You’ll soon be asleep, and all of this will be over.”

Her body grew heavy, and it took effort just to keep her head up. He backed away from the crib. Her body flopped like a rag doll as he lowered her to the floor and rolled her onto her back. She had one last chance, one more to save Kelly.

Rachael dug deep, beyond the waves of comfort that were flowing through her body, and shot her arm up to jerk off his mask.

His mouth dropped open as he gaped at her in horror. He cursed, but she ignored his words and memorized every pore on his face. A wide jaw. Whiskered chin. Jet-black hair to go with his cold gray eyes. High cheekbones. A mole near his left ear. She’d never seen him before, but she’d be able to describe him to the police.

“I’ve seen you now,” she said, her words slurring. “You won’t get away with this.”

Her arm fell to the floor, and she dropped his mask.

Her mind clouded, and her strength receded. He retrieved his mask and put it back on, then continued to glare at her. Her eyes blinked closed. She forced them open. Dizziness swept in like a tidal wave. Her muscles liquefied. She felt as if her body floated toward the ceiling.

“I have no choice now,” he finally growled out. “I’ll have to kill you.”

Kill me? Okay. That was fine. Everything was fine. The peace she’d sought a moment ago descended in an ocean of joy.

Yes, this was better. Nothing was wrong. Nothing mattered.

Her head fell to the side. Her gaze caught on Kelly’s crib. Precious three-month-old Kelly. Asleep. Like the heaviness pulling Rachael down.

Kelly.

Rachael’s thoughts drifted.

Wasn’t there a reason she should be concerned about the baby?

Four years of denied sleep beckoned. Her eyelids drooped.

She lay on the floor. Blinking. Floating. Trying to remember what was happening.

As if he had all the time in the world, he sauntered toward her, his boots thumping on the floor.

Rachael tried to lift her hand. So heavy. She willed her eyes to remain open to see what he might be planning, but her eyelids closed like the lid on a casket, and soon, she knew nothing at all.

* * *

“It’s looking like the kidnapper’s really going to kill her.” Jake Marsh, commander of the First Response Squad, stared at the live video feed of director Rachael Long and the gunman in the Columbia Child Development Center.

Jake and two members of the FRS had been on their way to a tactical training session in their command truck when dispatch rerouted them to the center. Thankfully, many child care centers streamed live video so parents at work could see their children. As soon as the call came in, his team had easily accessed the feed, and they now watched the action from their command truck.

The kidnapper slipped the baby’s arms into a snowsuit then strapped her into the infant seat. Taking great care with the baby, he struggled with the straps. Jake had no children, but he knew it almost took a college degree these days to figure out how to properly use a car seat, buying the team time to intercept him.

“The director got a good look at his face before he put the mask back on, so there’s no way he’s going to let her live,” Jake said. “Too bad the camera angles aren’t giving us a look at his face, but I guess it doesn’t matter right now. We just need to get in there quickly.”

“If whatever he injected her with hasn’t already killed her.” Team sniper Brady Owens looked up from behind the video console, an ominous look on his face.

“We don’t have any time to lose,” Cash Dixon, their bomb expert, said.

Jake nodded. “We’ll proceed as if this is a hostage rescue. Cash, you remain here and monitor communications. Brady, let’s move!”

Jake charged out the door, wishing negotiators Skyler Hunter and Archer Reed were with them. As squad leader, Jake had needed to act as negotiator only twice in the six years he’d directed the team.

Well, today will be your third, and a baby’s and woman’s lives depend on you. No pressure.

He stifled his concerns and took a good look around. Not even 7:00 a.m., the sun hadn’t yet climbed into the sky. Warm light spilled from the center’s windows, sparkling off the recent snowfall, but Jake’s attention went to an empty patrol car sitting in the lot.

Brady stepped up behind him. “What’s a patrol car doing here?”

“My question exactly,” Jake replied.

“Likely some hotshot who ignored directives to stand down.”

Brady sucked in a breath. “The guy’s gonna get himself or the woman killed.”

“Just picked up the deputy on video,” Cash said over Jake’s earpiece. “He’s in the hallway outside the baby room.”