as to why I was being snatched. You’ll have to pardon me if I’m currently running a little low on trust.”
“I understand how you must feel, Mrs.—”
“Do you? Do you really? Is your husband the vice president of the United States? Is he protected by the agency that just snatched me from a crime scene for no reason that I’ve been made aware of? Is he in Iran, a country not exactly known for its hospitality toward Americans? Do you not know if your husband is injured or worse? If you can’t answer yes to any of those questions, then you actually have no fucking idea how I must feel!”
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I don’t know how you feel, but if you’d please come with us, I assure you that everything will be explained in due time.”
“Due time,” she said with a bitchy-sounding snort. “Is that agency speak for ‘when we get around to it’?”
“We’ll brief you as soon as we’re authorized to do so.”
Sam was about to give in and go into the room when she heard a shout from behind her.
“Mom!”
She spun around to see Scotty heading toward her, surrounded by his Secret Service detail. The sight of the familiar agents was welcome proof that the four who’d snatched her were legit. Her son ran into her outstretched arms.
“What’s going on?” he asked. His dark hair was damp with sweat, and his face was flushed from being outside at camp. He was wearing an orange camp T-shirt, a Feds cap and his baseball cleats.
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly, “but I’m told we’re going to be briefed soon.”
“Is it Dad? Has something happened?”
“I’m not sure. They told me he’s alive, but they haven’t said anything more than that.”
That he visibly crumpled at the news Nick was alive let her know how afraid he’d been, and for that alone, she’d never forgive the Secret Service for this stunt. It was one thing to scare the hell out of her. It was another thing altogether for them to scare the hell out of her kid. As soon as she found out what the fuck was going on, heads were going to roll.
“If you would.” Cooley again gestured to the room on the other side of the steel door.
Sam took Scotty by the hand and led him into the huge space, where there were comfortable-looking sofas, tables with books and magazines neatly arranged, and a counter with snacks and drinks on ice.
“If there’s anything in particular you need,” Cooley said, “please let one of my people know. We’ll do anything we can to ensure your comfort.”
“When will this briefing I was promised happen?”
“Shortly.”
Sensing that was the best answer she was going to get, Sam led Scotty to one of the sofas. “Let me see your phone,” she said to him when they were seated together.
While the agents conferred with each other in hushed voices, Scotty handed over his smartphone.
Sam pressed the big button and waited for it to come to life. “How do I get to the internet on this thing?”
Scotty took it back and pressed a few buttons. “That’s weird. Nothing is happening.”
“There’s no service down here,” Jackson said.
Sam blew out a deep breath full of frustration and anxiety. This was bringing back far too many unpleasant memories of being trapped in Marissa Springer’s basement, at the mercy of Lieutenant Stahl as he tortured her. Sam’s chest felt tight with growing anxiety, and she couldn’t stay seated on the sofa. She got up to pace the length of the room, examining it more thoroughly.
The walls were made of reinforced concrete and the only way in or out, that she could see, was through the secure door they’d used to enter the space. When she felt herself beginning to hyperventilate, she focused on breathing in a steady rhythm that helped to keep the panic at bay.
A low hum and a clicking noise preceded the door sliding open again.
Sam’s mouth fell open in shock when her sister Tracy was escorted in. She wore a black cape over her clothing, and her hair was full of foil packets.
“Oh my God, Sam! What the hell is this? They took me right out of the chair at the salon!”
“I wish I knew. I was grabbed from a crime scene.”
“I was on deck at camp,” Scotty said. “I missed my chance to bat.”
“So they haven’t told you anything?” Tracy asked.
“Nothing other than Nick isn’t dead.”
“You really thought he was?” Scotty asked.
Sam put her arm around him. “I didn’t know what to think when they showed up at a crime scene. I asked them straight-out if he was dead, and they said he isn’t.”
“Jesus,” Tracy muttered. “How long are they going to hold us here?”
“I have no idea. They said I’ll be briefed shortly. That’s all I know.”
A low hum and then a click had them turning toward the door as it opened to admit Sam’s other sister, Angela, her two young children, Jack and Ella, and Alex, the infant son of Sam’s colleague Sergeant Tommy “Gonzo” Gonzales. Angela babysat Alex.
Ella and Alex were crying as Angela and one of the harried-looking agents carried them into the room.
“Where are we?” Angela asked. “What’s happening?”
“No one knows,” Tracy answered as she scooped up her shell-shocked nephew Jack.
Jack wrinkled his nose. “You stink, Auntie.”
“That’s because my hair is now officially overprocessed, buddy, and it’ll probably be purple after all this.”
“Cool purple hair.”
“Glad you think so,” Tracy said. “Do you suppose they’re rounding up my family too?”
Her question was answered by the hum and click of the door opening again to admit her daughter, Brooke, who was dressed in the uniform of the restaurant where she waitressed. Two agents had her by the arms as Brooke fought them every step of the way. When she saw her mother and aunts in the room, she stopped struggling and burst into tears.
Tracy handed Jack to Sam and went to hug her daughter. “Easy, honey. It’s okay. We’re right here.”
“I was s-so scared,” Brooke said between sobs. “I didn’t know why they were taking me. I thought it was happening again.”
Sam wanted to kill someone for putting Brooke through such an ordeal when she was only beginning to truly recover from being drugged and gang-raped at a party last winter. Whoever ordered this operation would live to regret it by the time
