Page 62 of Taken from Her
"Of course. But quickly, please. Our schedule is quite tight tonight."
They knew about Diana's operation. They'd planned this kidnapping to coincide with maximum police distraction, minimum response capability, and maximum psychological impact. Taking her while Diana was occupied with the operation would create exactly the kind of personal crisis that could compromise her professional judgment.
Lavender moved toward the dresser, ostensibly gathering clothes but actually positioning herself near the desk where she'd left the message. As she reached for a sweater, she deliberately knocked over the framed photo, sending it to the floor where the folded program became visible beneath the broken glass.
"Careful," the silver-haired man said. “You don’t want to cut yourself.”
"Sorry," Lavender replied, leaving the mess where Diana would find it. "I'm ready."
They escorted her through the main living area, past the herbs that would help Diana decode her message. Saffron remained hidden, but Basil emerged from his corner to wind around her ankles one final time, as if understanding this might be goodbye forever.
Outside, a boat waited at the dock's end—not a vehicle but marine transport that would leave no road traces and could navigate to locations inaccessible by land. Professional planning that considered every aspect of evidence collection and pursuit options.
As they helped her aboard, Lavender took one last look at the houseboat where she'd built fifteen years of life and discovered what it meant to love someone completely. The boat's engine started with a low rumble that would be lost among normal harbor sounds. As they pulled away from the dock, Lavender focused on maintaining the memory of Diana's voice promising to come back to her, no matter what.
She would hold onto that promise through whatever came next.
The boat's engine cut to silence after what felt like twenty minutes of steady travel, though Lavender couldn't be certain of time or distance in the darkness. They'd moved through Phoenix Ridge's harbor into open waters before turning towardwhat sounded like a more sheltered inlet, the echo of waves against rock walls suggesting they'd entered some kind of cove or protected waterway.
Hands helped her from the boat onto a wooden dock that creaked under multiple footsteps. There were no lights except the flashlight beams that guided their movement, but Lavender caught glimpses of industrial structures: warehouses or storage buildings that suggested commercial rather than residential use. The salt air carried chemical undertones that suggested fuel storage or maritime equipment, somewhere designed for function rather than comfort.
"Watch your step," the silver-haired man in charge said, his voice maintaining the same conversational tone he'd used in her bedroom. "The walkway can be uneven in places."
They guided her toward a building that loomed against the starless sky, its dark bulk suggesting substantial size and solid construction. No windows were visible from her angle, just concrete or metal walls that would muffle all sounds and prevent outside observation.
Inside, fluorescent lights revealed a space that had been converted from an industrial storage into something resembling an office. Folding tables displayed communication equipment and laptops, extension cords snaked across concrete floors, and camping chairs formed a rough meeting area around what looked like surveillance monitors. Temporary but organized, the kind of setup that could be dismantled quickly if necessary.
"Please sit." The silver-haired man gestured toward one of the camping chairs. "Would you like coffee? Water? We expect this conversation will take some time."
Lavender studied the space, already cataloging details that might prove useful. She’d see three people so far, but there was far more equipment—multiple workstations, extra chairs stacked against the walls, and enough surveillance gear tomonitor several locations simultaneously. This wasn’t a hastily organized kidnapping but part of a larger operation with significant resources and planning.
"Water would be fine," she said, settling into the offered chair. Accepting hospitality might humanize her in their minds while buying time to understand their capabilities and intentions.
One of the other figures—a younger woman with short blonde hair—opened a cooler and handed Lavender a bottle of water. The label showed it was a premium brand, not the cheapest option from a convenience store, a detail that suggested people with money and attention to comfort, even in temporary operational spaces.
"Now then," the silver-haired man said, pulling up a chair across from her. "Let's discuss your recent consulting work with the Phoenix Ridge Police Department."
Lavender opened the water bottle and took a small sip, using the moment to center herself. "I'm not sure what you mean by consulting."
"Community liaison, information sharing, and participation in investigative activities that have resulted in certain…inconveniences for our ongoing business operations." His tone remained pleasant, but the words carried an unmistakable threat. "Your cooperation with Chief Marten has disrupted our supply chains and partnership arrangements that took considerable time for us to establish."
Understanding dawned on her. The missing women hadn't been targeted for hate crimes but because their leadership threatened illegal activities that required secrecy and intimidation to function.
"I don't know anything about business operations," Lavender said.
"Of course not. But you know about these communication networks, community gathering places, and informal information sharing that makes certain activities more difficult to conduct." He leaned forward slightly, his engaging tone of someone accustomed to negotiation. "Your café serves as a central hub for a community that notices things, shares observations, and trusts local law enforcement more than they did six months ago."
The accuracy of his assessment made Lavender's chest tighten. He understood not just her role but how community dynamics had shifted since Diana had started working directly with informal networks. The partnership that had felt like pure positive development had apparently interfered with criminal operations that depended on community members keeping quiet about unusual activities.
"What do you want from me?"
"Temporary suspension of community liaison activities, reduced cooperation with law enforcement information requests, and some discretion regarding tonight's conversation." His smile was thin but seemingly genuine. "In exchange, your café continues operating without disruption, your community maintains its gathering spaces, and certain federal investigations lose momentum due to lack of local intelligence."
They wanted her to sabotage the collaborative approach that had become the foundation of both her relationship with Diana and the investigation's success. She was being coerced to destroy the partnership that had made both of them more effective while undermining the community trust that kept vulnerable people safe.
"And if I refuse?"
"Refusal would necessitate alternative approaches to achieving the same objectives," he replied. "Closing the café through health department violations, immigration statusreviews for several community members, and heightened scrutiny of certain business licenses that might not withstand detailed examination."
