Taken Read Free Page B

house again. Five rooms and the basement. And then if Jesse still isn’t there, she’s going to do a thing that has been forbidden to her. She’s going to use the cell phone and make the call and demand to know where her son is, and when he will be returned.
    Never call, she has been told in no uncertain terms.
    But no one can stop a mother from trying to contact her own son, can they?
    The decision to use the forbidden number gives her strength. She gets up from the couch, still holding the photo and uniform to her breast, and begins the endless circuit. Room to room, searching for her missing child.

4
the man in the mask
    “S it down, Mrs. Bickford. May I call you Kate?”
    I’m frozen. Can’t seem to move. The gun terrifies me but I can’t stop looking at it. Easier staring at the dark and shiny gun, rather than into the glittering eyes of the man in the black ski mask.
    “Obviously you’re frightened.” The voice coming out of the mask is low and smooth, with a tone of preening confidence that makes me hate him. How dare he break into our house? “It’s okay to be scared,” he continues amiably. “But if you don’t sit down in that chair I’m going to have to shoot you in the kneecap or something, and that will make things complicated. So sit down. NOW.”
    I find myself in the chair, unable to breathe, unable to stop staring at the gun, which seems to be pointing right into my eyes, or beyond my eyes, into my brain.
    “Better,” says the man in the mask.
    “Who are you?” I manage to say. “What do you want?”
    “Better and better. Take a few more deep breaths, would you, Kate? Feel better? Good. Put your hands on the arms of the chair, where I can see them. Excellent. Now, stop looking at the gun and look at me.”
    I force myself to look at the mask. I’ve seen pictures of guys dressed like this, snipers or SWAT guys or whatever. Never expected to see one of them in my own house, a living nightmare perched on my favorite chair. The mask has a big hole for the mouth, so he’s speaking clearly, unmuffled. Very white teeth. Capped or bleached, hard to say. The mouth is neither old nor young. My age, more or less.
    “Good. Better. Just try to relax and we’ll get on with business.”
    “Where’s my son?” It bursts out of me, much higher-pitched than my normal voice. As if some other, younger me is crying out.
    “Tomas? Not to worry, Mom. Tomas is in a safe place.” A sneer on the lips. Very pleased with himself. But the gun never wavers. Very steady hands. Hands that scare me almost as much as the gun. Hands that must have touched my son.
    “Where?” I demand. “Where is he?”
    “That’s enough,” he says. “No more questions.”
    “If you hurt him…! If he’s been harmed in any way…!”
    The man in the mask leans forward, bringing the gun closer. “Shut up, Kate. You want to be a good mommy? You want the kid back in one piece? Then shut up and listen.”
    I start to reply, then stop. Part of me, the small, unpanicked part, understands that I must do what he says.
    “Fine,” he says. “Very good. Must be a terrible shock, huh? Coming in and finding a stranger in your house. Hate to tell you this, but your security system sucks.” He takes a deep, satisfied breath and settles back into my chair. “Okay, you want to know what this is about? Go on, ask away.”
    “Yes. I want to know.”
    “Excellent. And you haven’t panicked yet. Which is good for both of us. Shooting you would make things ugly. Trust me, you don’t want that. What this is about, Kate, is very simple. It’s about money. Your money. Which is soon to be my money.”
    “How much?”
    “Good question,” he says, smiling with approval. “Here’s my answer. All of it. Every penny. You okay with that, Kate? Is the kid worth wiping out your bank accounts?”
    “Yes.”
    “Good answer, and I like the way you didn’t hesitate. We’re going to get along just fine, you and me. For the period of our brief