Finding Forever by Ken Baker

Author:Ken Baker [Baker, Ken]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780762458172
Publisher: Running Press

Simone played the rest of the tape, which showed the SUV pulling out at 12:04 a.m. The resolution was too dark to make out a license plate number. Brooklyn snapped a pic of the car anyway, forwarding that to Holden as well.

“You were right, Simone,” she said, pressing Send. “That’s definitely a smoking gun.”

Simone shrieked.

Then Brooklyn heard a male voice say, “Don’t move!”

Brooklyn dropped her phone to the floor and threw her hands in front of her face. She felt a sharp stabbing pain in the nape of her neck and winced.

The man pushed her face down onto the desk. “I said, ‘Don’t move!’”

Then he swung Brooklyn around, forcing her to sit in the chair with one hand while tightly gripping a pistol in the other. Brooklyn looked up.

Pretty Boy.

The barrel shaking, he pointed the gun at her forehead. “You’ve made a very big mistake.”

Brooklyn could see Simone sprawled face down on the tile floor just behind Pretty Boy, surrounded by a mess of fallen cans and bottles. A patch of blood was growing on the back of her head.

“I wouldn’t shoot me if I were you,” Brooklyn said.

“Oh, really. Why’s that?”

“Because you’ll get caught.”

“I’m good at not getting caught. Unlike you.”

Brooklyn stared into the barrel of the gun, hoping Simone was just unconscious.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked.

“Brooklyn Brant. I’m a reporter.”

His eyes popped wide and his aim lowered toward the floor. “A reporter?”

“An investigative blogger. I cover celebrities.”

Brooklyn could see sweat beading on his forehead. He pointed the pistol back at her. “What the hell are you doing here? You’ve made a big mistake, Red.”

“I’m investigating the disappearance of Taylor Prince.” She stared coldly into his eyes, which looked less dreamy and more panicky now. She pointed with her head to the monitor behind her. “I came to see that video.”

His focus switched over to the video screen showing his image in freeze frame. He kept the gun aimed on her face.

Brooklyn didn’t dare show her nerves. A scared cop is a dead cop. “You don’t want to shoot me. It will only make things worse for you. And things are bad enough, my friend.”

“What are you talking about?” he said, refocusing on Brooklyn.

“I already sent some screenshots of you to my assistant. And like it or not, he will have you ID’d within the hour.”

“You’re lying.”

Simone groaned from the floor. She’s not dead.

“In the corner,” Pretty Boy barked, pointing to the far end of the pantry with his pistol. “And shut up.”

“Have you ever heard of false imprisonment?” Brooklyn asked, stepping backward from him with her hands up.

He looked confused, making Brooklyn realize that while he may have been pretty, he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box.

“Just sit,” he said.

Brooklyn knelt on the floor and began counting fours.

Four soup cans. Four foot taps. Four bananas. Four shelves. 1, 2, 3, 4 . . .

And praying.

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done . . .

“By the way, holding a hostage is an automatic eight-year sentence,” Brooklyn said.

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