Trapped by Chris Jordan

Author:Chris Jordan [Jordan, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

Thirty minutes later we’re checked out of Europa—thank

God for plastic—and on the road again. Even better, Randall

Shane has finally quit apologizing. Possibly because driving

requires all of his considerable concentration.

Honestly, you’d think he was piloting the space shuttle,

not a rental sedan.

The plan is, agents Healy and Salazar and the rest of the

FBI will be doing their thing while we do ours. The tribal

police have been informed of a suspected violation of federal

statute—kidnapping, abduction by force—and are expected

to cooperate in a reservation-wide manhunt for Ricky Lang

and his victims.

The arrangement is that FBI helicopters will search by air,

coordinating with the Nakosha cops below. One of the

choppers will carry a tactical assault team, who will be landed

and deployed the moment the FBI has a clear lead as to the

location.

The hunt for Kelly that started out with me alone, and then

Shane, has at long last expanded to more than two hundred

law enforcement agents, all of them focused on recovering

the captives alive.

It’s happening. The big guns are out. Part of me is jubilant,

part terrified. Bottom line, it’s a great relief to have all these

people searching for her, even if the search itself might make

the perpetrator do something drastic. Waiting has never been

a viable option, and now that we know Ricky Lang is taking

trophies, it’s even less so.

Taking trophies.

Don’t think about that. Think about Kelly, how much you

want to find her safe and sound. How good it will be when

it happens, when I have her back. Which reminds me of a line

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from a song my own mother used to love, about a mother and

child reunion. Beach Boys? Joni Mitchell? I cycle through

Mom’s favorite bands, trying to think of the song. Helps the

“taking trophy” thing recede to where it’s manageable.

We’re about fifteen minutes from the hotel, heading for a

place called Glade City, on the far end of the Everglades.

Shane wants to “run down a person of interest”—not liter-

ally, he promises—check out the owner of the truck who was

messing with the Beechcraft. He says in Glade City I can rent

an entire motel for the price of a suite at Europa. Plus we’ll

be closer to the search area, good to go when the search

teams locate my baby.

“Simon and Garfunkel,” I say suddenly.

“’Scuse me?”

“One of my mom’s favorite bands. Never mind, just

thinking.”

“Think away,” he says, concentrating on traffic. “I can

always use the extra brain power.”

My cell rings. Fern with news.

“You’ll never guess” are the first words out of her mouth.

“Jessica knows all about Kelly and Seth Manning.”

“Jess?” I say, amazed. “I thought Jess and Kelly never

talked.”

“Ancient history, apparently,” says Fern with a chuckle.

“Now they do.”

One of the great regrets of our friendship is that our daugh-

ters never clicked. Never really bonded, despite sharing a crib

for a time and having moms who lived in each other’s

pockets. Whether it’s the age difference—Jess is fifteen

months older—or a difference in personality, we never knew.

Three years hadn’t kept Fern and me apart. If anything it

made the bond stronger because I always looked up to her,

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went to her for guidance, admired her tenacity and her tough-

ness.

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