Lisa Gardner - Touch & Go

“Why cut it out?” Gina asked with a frown. “Why not just toss the whole coat?”

Wyatt had to think about it. Then it came to him. “Denbe’s tied up. Hands most likely bound. Meaning, to get the coat off him, they’d first have to remove his restraints. He’s a big guy, I was told. Strong. Probably, the kidnappers didn’t want to risk it. Easier, quicker, to remove the device itself and toss it aside.”

He couldn’t help himself. He flipped the fabric back over, inspecting for droplets of blood. Hunting knife. No good reason, maybe because he was a New Hampshirite, but he pictured a hunting blade. Plunging into the blue material, ripping down. Fast, that would be the way to do it. Two tears down, one across. Slash, slash, slash.

But not a trace of blood on the surviving strip. Fast and controlled. Disciplined.

The kidnappers had discovered their mistake, but they hadn’t panicked. They’d simply taken evasive action. Fast, disciplined and smart.

It gave him a bad feeling. He turned his attention to the tread marks. Not wide, such as the kind on some of the souped-up SUVs guys drove around here, or the deeper grooves of the snow tires many would soon be sticking on their trucks to prepare for winter, but average Joe tracks. Like car tires, except given they suspected three to four kidnappers plus a family of three…cargo van. Had to be to hold a party of seven.

So a van, under the cover of night, pulling in, ripping apart a jacket, tossing the strip with the GPS device into the bushes. But why did it pull in? Because they already knew about the GPS device? Seemed unlikely to him that Justin Denbe would volunteer that kind of information. The jacket was his family’s best shot at being rescued. So maybe it had nothing to do with the coat; that came later. The kidnappers were simply taking a comfort break. Someone had to pee. Or the kidnappers needed to sleep. Or just get their bearings, check a GPS system or a map. Not much going on in this area any time of day, let alone in the small hours of the morning. Good place to pull over, maybe better secure the family, pat down pockets. Interrogate. Hand off.

That intrigued him. He glanced up at Kevin.

“I see one set of tracks. You?”

His detective walked around, took his time with it. “One set of tracks,” he agreed.

“Footprints?”

More studying. The others were fanning out, searching the bushes. Maybe the jacket wasn’t the only thing that had been tossed. And while the jacket had been discarded at the edge of the woods, in plain sight, that didn’t mean there weren’t other discoveries to be made deeper in. “Maybe some footprints,” Kevin finally called back, crouched down. “Ground’s disturbed over here, between the tracks. As if a person or persons had been milling about.”

“I’m thinking cargo van, to hold seven,” Wyatt supplied.

“Makes sense. Pulls in, parks by the edge of the woods, at least one guy gets out, comes around to the back. Fiddles around. Can’t make out individual sole patterns, though. Dirt’s too firm.”

“Guy or guys came around to the back.” Wyatt picked up the thought. “Opened the doors. Most likely, to check on their hostages, tied up and tossed on the floor.”

Kevin shrugged. Couldn’t be known or unknown at this time.

“Discovered the GPS device in the jacket,” Wyatt continued, “ripped up the coat, tossed the device in the woods. Then they continued on their way.”

Kevin straightened. “Continued north,” he added, pointing to the way the tire tracks exited the parking lot.

“Looks about right.” Wyatt reconsidered the strip of fabric, moved on to the next logical question. “Why toss the GPS device? Even discarded, it’s still traceable. Why not smash the device, render it inoperable?”

“Didn’t know how?” Kevin suggested. “Or, they didn’t care if the police traced them to this point. This area”—he waved his hands at the desolated building, deep woods—“isn’t relevant to their final destination.”

“Lets us know they’re in New Hampshire,” Wyatt said mildly.

“ Were in New Hampshire,” Kevin corrected. “Driving north, hell, they could be in Canada by now. Or have turned off toward Maine or Vermont, all easy routes from here.”

Wyatt shrugged, unconvinced. The kidnappers should’ve smashed the device. That’s what he would’ve done. Not rocket science. Just take a hammer or a rock and be done with it. Otherwise, jacket became the first bread crumb, and why leave behind a trail if you could help it? Not to mention this particular bread crumb proved the crime had crossed state lines and brought the feds into the game. Again, an unnecessary risk that could’ve easily been avoided given thirty seconds and a large rock. The discovery of the jacket seemed to imply that the kidnappers were shortsighted, but Wyatt wasn’t convinced a stupid crew could’ve abducted a family of three from downtown Boston with such precision and speed.

Meaning maybe it meant the opposite? Not that their suspects were dumb, but their suspects were so experienced, they didn’t believe having their activities traced this far hurt their efforts. They were executing according to plan, and the police discovery of a GPS device three hours north from the abduction site didn’t matter to them one way or another.

That thought, the coldness behind it combined with the kind of precision it took to effortlessly slice up a thousand-dollar jacket without any collateral damage, unsettled him.

Kevin straightened from his study of the ground. “So based on the GPS device, the missing family was here. Question is, where are they now?”

They both looked north, toward the fading tire tracks.

This time of year in northern New Hampshire, there were hundreds of shuttered campsites, boarded-up homesteads and deeply isolated mountain cabins. And the farther north you went, the better the opportunities for never being seen by another living soul.

The kidnappers didn’t need to care about one strip of material discovered in an isolated spot in central New Hampshire. Because from here on out, trying to find even three missing people in a state this rural, this wild, this mountainous…

Wyatt’s powers were considerable, his grasp of law enviable and his domain vast.

He turned toward his assembled task force; two detectives plus two deputies. Not much, but enough to get the party started.

“All right,” he informed them crisply. “Kevin, contact the media and release a description of the family. Kidnappers need fuel, need food, so in particular, follow up with truck stops, gas stations, roadside diners, all the quick in-and-out sort of joints. Jeff, you work on the vehicle, issue a BOLO for any suspicious cargo vans, and while you’re at it, request video footage from the Portsmouth tolls. Rest of you, time to bang the drums, rally the troops. We have only about three hours of daylight left. Let’s get it done.”

“At least we can assume the family is still alive,” Gina provided hopefully. “Since the kidnappers dumped only the GPS tracker and not any bodies.”

“We can assume,” Wyatt murmured. “For now.”

Chapter 11

WAKE HER UP.”

“I’m trying!”

“What’s the problem? Did you administer too much sedative?”

“No—”

“Then wake her up!”

“I…shit!”

Pain. Instantaneous. Absolute. One second, I was floating in an abyss. The next, my stomach cramped violently and I bolted upright. Going to vomit. Trying to roll onto my side, but flopping awkwardly. My hands, my arms, my shoulders burning…couldn’t move, didn’t understand. My stomach heaved more insistently. Car, I was in the back of a vehicle, going to throw up in the back of a vehicle. Instinctively, I angled my head toward fresh air, rolling toward the open cargo doors where I could just make out the rear bumper, black tennis shoes and asphalt drive.