Blake Pierce - Taking

It must be nice—all that luxury on wheels.

The driver climbed down out of the vehicle. He was a nondescript but pleasant-looking man.

He looked at Brett and said …

“Hey, didn’t I see you back at the Wren’s Nest Campground?”

Now that Brett thought about it, both the man and his vehicle looked somewhat familiar from where she’d been camping the night before. He looked like a lot of the guys she’d seen in the campgrounds, older than she was and obviously better off financially. Usually, a whole family was traveling along with them.

“Maybe so,” she said.

“I’m Pete,” the man said.

“I’m Brett.”

“Nice to meet you, Brett.”

“Likewise,” Brett said. “Where are you headed?”

“The Beavertail Campground,” Pete said.

“Me too,” Brett said. “It looks to be about a ten-minute drive from here.”

Pete nodded and smiled. “Yeah, that’s what I figure.”

He walked over to the sign that said HIKING TRAIL and stood staring out into the hills for a moment.

Then he looked at Brett and said, “You look like you just came in from hiking.”

Brett knew it was a good guess, since she was still wearing her backpack.

“That’s right,” she said.

Pete squinted at her. “I might try the trail myself. Do you recommend it?”

Brett was a little startled at the question.

She said, “Um, it’s a really nice trail, but … it’s pretty late in the day, don’t you think? It’ll be getting dark soon.”

Pete sighed with disappointment.

“I guess that’s true,” he said. “Maybe I’ll come back this way tomorrow.”

He stared at the hills again for a few moments, then walked back toward his camper.

Then he turned and said to Brett, “Would you like to come inside for a beer?”

Brett was both surprised and pleased by the offer. She’d brought nothing to drink on this trip except bottled water and a few soft drinks, and a nice cold beer sounded refreshing. Besides, she’d just love to get a look at the inside of that camper.

“That would be nice,” she said.

When he escorted her inside, the camper actually looked more spacious than it had from the outside. It had a good-sized kitchen area complete with a stove, and enough bedding for more than one person—a couple with a child or two, maybe.

Nevertheless, this guy did seem to be traveling alone. Brett figured she’d get awfully spoiled, traveling alone in a camper like this. Her own vehicle wasn’t equipped with much of anything except a mattress.

Pete pointed to a door and said, “You’ve been on the road for a while. Maybe you’d like to use my bathroom.”

Brett stifled a little gasp.

A real bathroom!

Of course, it couldn’t be much bigger than a closet. But in comparison with restrooms in restaurants and gas stations and communal facilities at campgrounds, it would be a true luxury.

“Thanks!” she said.

She opened the door and stepped inside the cubicle. The door swung shut behind her, and she found herself in total darkness.

Strange, she thought.

Didn’t the bathroom at least have a window?

She fumbled around the wall next to the door, feeling for a light switch, but couldn’t find any. Anyway, should she expect there to be any electricity as long as the camper wasn’t properly hooked up to a line?

She turned to leave again, but now the door latch wouldn’t budge.

It must be broken.

She shyly called out …

“Hey, I seem to be kind of stuck.”

She got no reply.

Starting to get worried now, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone and switched on its flashlight.

As she flashed its beam around, she began to feel a touch of fear.

This wasn’t a bathroom.

Maybe it once had been, but now it was stripped of all the usual fixtures.

She was standing in a plain rectangular space, its walls and ceiling lined with small square tiles with tiny pinholes.

Acoustical tiles, she realized.

Was the room soundproofed?

Her fear grew stronger.

As her eyes adjusted, she could see that the tiles were gouged and scratched.

The walls were smeared and splattered with something red.

Blood!

When she heard the door latch start to rattle, she started screaming.

But she knew it wouldn’t do any good.

As the door began to open, Brett Parma knew she was going to die.

The enormous, ox-like man stepped up to the microphone and began to speak.

“I am honored to address …”

But his booming voice broke up into a shriek of feedback that rattled through the large auditorium.

Riley Sweeney almost jumped out of her skin at the racket.

The noise quickly faded, and a couple of seconds later she was chuckling nervously along with the rest of the FBI Academy graduates. FBI Director Bill Cormack was known to have a deep, booming, resonant voice that wreaked havoc on sound systems.

He’d be better off turning off the microphone, Riley thought.

With that gigantic voice of his, surely he could project to everyone in the audience without a lot of trouble.

But with a self-deprecating grin, Director Cormack began to speak into the microphone again, much more softly this time.

“I am honored to address this year’s graduates from the FBI Academy here in Quantico. Congratulations to all of you for rising to all the challenges of the last eighteen weeks.”

Riley was struck by those words.

Eighteen weeks!

If only I’d had a full eighteen weeks!

She’d missed nearly two weeks, chasing down a brutal killer rather than participating in classes and training exercises here on base.

Her mentor, Special Agent Jake Crivaro, had rather unceremoniously yanked her out of the Academy to work on a case in West Virginia—a truly grisly case of a killer who’d murdered his victims by wrapping them up in barbed wire.

Catching up with her studies afterward had been hard. She had envied the other students for having more time than she did for such rigorous work. But Riley knew that not all of the original 200 or so students were graduating today. Some had failed and others had dropped out.

She was proud of herself for succeeding in spite of everything.

Riley turned her attention to what Director Cormack was saying.

“I look back in awe over the journey that I and so many other agents have taken before you, and that you are about to embark upon today. I can tell you from personal experience that it’s a deeply rewarding journey—but sometimes less than a thankful one. Your selfless deeds won’t always be greeted with public gratitude.”

He paused for a moment, as if reflecting on personal experience.

Then he said, “Remember that few people outside the Bureau have much of an idea of your momentous responsibilities. You’ll be criticized for your work, your every mistake subjected to the utmost scrutiny, often in the glare of public media. When you fail to solve a crime, you’ll feel as though the whole world knows about it. When you succeed, you’ll often feel neglected and unappreciated.”

He leaned forward a little and said almost in a whisper …

“But always remember—you won’t be alone. You’re part of a family now—the proudest and most loyal and nurturing family anyone can imagine. There will always be someone here to comfort you in defeat and celebrate with you in triumph.”

Riley felt a lump form in her throat at the mention of that word …

Family.

She’d scarcely ever had a family, not since her mother had been murdered right before her eyes when she’d been just a little girl. Her father was alive—an embittered and reclusive ex-Marine who lived in the Appalachian Mountains. But she hadn’t seen him since …