Page 2 of Abducted

She exhaled a pent-up breath.

She dropped onto the edge of her bed and began to undo her shoes. Her fingers stilled on the clasp of the black leather strap. Her eyes fixed on the closet door. Had she left it closed? She couldn’t remember. The room crackled with tension. Her heart beat triple time. Her breath came out in short, sharp puffs.

She rose to her feet. Sweat moistened her palms. Shoe gripped in her hand, the heel wielded like a spear, she advanced on the closet. Her hand closed around the smooth metal knob. Her pulse raged with the force of a fire hose.

She yanked the door open.

Rods and racks of clothes and shoes stared back at her like the blank eyes of the stuffed animals that crowded her dresser.

Nothing.

She released her held breath through tight, exasperated lips. The shoe dropped from her limp fingers and landed to the carpet with a soft thud.

She raked her tingling hand through her loose hair and squeezed her eyes shut.What is the matter with me?

She had been on edge for days. She needed to get her mind off of the nagging presence that plagued her. She’d call Gina. Gina always made her feel better, and it was never too late to call her. Gina would find it hilarious that she’d gone out tonight against her father’s wishes.

She didn’t like lying to him, but there was a heck of a lot less drama when she abided by his rules. At least when he thought she abided by his rules.

Edward Vanderpoel had his squeaky-clean reputation and a pristine image to uphold. Every move she made played a part. She was a grown woman, for God’s sake. At twenty-six years old, she was tired of living under his thumb and his ideals. She was single, but mostly because her father had never approved of her boyfriends. Besides, men sucked.

She worked hard; her father had never let her take their money for granted. She loved her dad dearly, and Grace, her stepmother, too, but it was past time she got her own place. With that thought firmly planted in her mind, she slipped out of her dress and pulled on a pair of light cotton pajamas.

She reached for the phone and dialed. The nights were cool at this time of year, but her suite was always too warm. She stepped into her en suite bathroom and began to remove her makeup and get ready for bed.

“Hey, girl, how was your night?” Gina’s cheery voice washed away the dark shadows.

CHAPTER 3

One locked doorstood between him and his target. It wasn’t the lock that had him concerned. It was the cameras. There was a rotating camera attached to the roof of the main house. He would have to time it perfectly. It shouldn’t take him more than ten seconds to get in, but it would be tight. He slithered across the lawn, his footsteps cushioned by the lush grass.

Edging around the corner of the guesthouse, he waited and watched the camera make its rotation, timing it. Twelve seconds. Perfect.

He had been close to snatching her in the yard, but a light had switched off in the main house. Had he moved then, she would have seen him and been able to scream loud enough to wake the neighborhood. He waited fifteen minutes after her bedroom light had turned off. Now it was time.

As soon as the camera turned toward the driveway, he made his move. He gripped a small penlight between his front teeth and pulled his lock pick set from his jacket. He inserted the two small tools. The tinkling sound of metal on metal made his movements slow and softer than they would have been.

Click.

He stepped into the dark foyer and closed the door, shutting out the eye of the camera.

If people only knew how easy it was to pick locks, even dead bolts, they wouldn’t even bother. Fact of the matter, if someone wanted in and had the skills to do so, he or she was getting in. Case in point.

He pointed the penlight to illuminate the room, and his soft-soled shoes glided over the tiled floor. He had scoped the place out for the last week and knew the basic layout of her suite.

From the foyer, he would enter the kitchen. It was on the small side, but from what he had previously observed, she wasn’t much of a cook. More of a soup-and-sandwich kind of girl. An eat-in breakfast bar separated the kitchen from the living room. Next to that was her bedroom with a large en suite bathroom.

He waited at the door. He trained his ears for any noises in case she’d gotten out of bed since he’d left his spot in the bushes. Her being drunk might pay off. She was probably passed out. He checked his watch. Nearly 1 a.m. He would have preferred to wait until he was certain she was asleep. But in less than two hours, he would be getting the call. By that time, he needed to check in at his location—with Lana Vanderpoel.

He stood tense and rigid, his feet braced apart. He stepped into the dark kitchen. His mouth went dry as he put all of his tools back into the inside pocket of his jacket. He checked to make sure the next items that he would need were easily accessible. His right pocket held a soft white rag, his left a small vial of chloroform.

Feeling the rag in his pocket, his chest constricted. He was a criminal, a goddamn sicko. What in hell was he doing? He knew he was stuck, that if he decided to leave, someone else would come and finish the job. Only they would kill her.

He took a deep breath—he didn’t have a choice.

The dark kitchen encouraged him to peer into the shadowed and uninhabited living room. The smell of toasted marshmallows—or was that vanilla?—wafted through the spic-and-span kitchen from some kind of decorative dish that was plugged in on the counter. His house usually smelled like floor cleaner after his housekeeper left. Other than that, it smelled like his gym bag or whatever food he had recently eaten. He crept across the kitchen and into the living room. He paused, only feet away from her bedroom door.

A giggle erupted.

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