Page 62 of Booked for Kidnapping

“Why did you only have Bradley?”

Bradley’s father sighed. “There were complications with his delivery, and we were advised to avoid having future children. As I love my wife as much as I do my son, we took that seriously. I had a vasectomy a few weeks after his birth, and she underwent treatments herself. After she finished breastfeeding him, she had a partial hysterectomy to make certain there would be no risk of pregnancy. We were told in no uncertain terms a second pregnancy would likely become lethal for her and the baby. So, we plan to adopt again now that Jez is heading out the door with her attorney. We’re thinking we’ll pick up some siblings this go around, as we survived having two children under the same roof with only minimal struggle and loss of sanity. We think we’re practiced enough now to handle the mayhem.”

Oh. My eyes widened, aware I counted as the most troublesome of any children in their lives. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. You haven’t done anything wrong. The only reason we didn’t tell you was because you hadn’t asked. But, you’ll both get a rather thorough lecture on what to look out for should you decide to have children. And if you’re thinking anything self-deprecating, you’re Bradley’s perfect woman, and while you are trouble, you’re treasured trouble.”

Damn, Bradley’s father didn’t pull his punches. “I’ll try to be less trouble moving forward.”

“That’s all we could ever ask of you, although we all know you were born trouble. May you have several just like you.”

“With how we look at babies?” Bradley chuckled. “And I’m nowhere near as bad as Janette.”

“Oh, you’re bad,” Mr. Hampton muttered. “Especially around baby animals. Baby humans? You sigh. Dramatically.”

“He does not!” I eyed Bradley with interest. “Do you?”

“I might be guilty of such a thing.” Bradley shrugged. “I’m my father’s son.”

“I, too, am guilty about sighing dramatically around babies of any species. His mother is, too. Although honestly, our sighs are a bit more regretful in nature, as we probably would have had one every other year had things been different. But we’ll have to be careful about how we adopt moving forward, especially if that bill continues moving forward. Now that we’ve detoured from what’s really bothering Janette, let’s get back on subject. Yes, Janette. I was aware it was entirely possible everything you experienced in the past nine months is essentially a lie. The operation was traumatic, and I’ve already informed the doctors and therapists—and the FBI investigators I’ve been dealing with—that we will not be even considering attempting to break through whatever the illusionist did to you. It has too much risk of long-term psychological damage, more than you’re already facing.”

Well, shit. “You’ve been talking with the FBI?”

“I may have done a rather full reading when I checked your foot up to the operation. I was able to verify that you had your memories overwritten and suffer from trauma-based amnesia. Dr. Mansfield has verified your medical situation as well. There’s no point in questioning you because the entirety of your testimony is essentially compromised. You can’t tell them what happened because the evidence has been sealed or removed from your memories. With the evidence of trauma, interviewing you beyond what we’ve already done would be considered cruel and unusual punishment. They try not to do more damage to the victims than necessary. You’ll be interviewed, but it will be to have someone verify you’re speaking the truth. I’ve been verified as speaking the truth, so you’ll be questioned for maybe ten minutes and you’re done.”

“That’s it?” I blurted.

“Your testimony can’t be used in court because you’ve had your memories overwritten or erased. There are no three-storied houses anywhere here, not within walking distance of the beach. Dr. Mansfield estimated your max range, in your current health, was no more than four or five miles.”

“How many miles are we from the beach?”

“Two by the most direct route, and there are walking paths through the trees to reach the park. I suspect you were escorted to the beach and monitored from a distance. After putting that much work in on making certain you were physically healthy? Your kidnappers would not have taken risks getting you back to civilization. Once you were near the library, they probably released whatever hold they had on you so you could behave normally, although it’s likely they implanted a suggestion to request help from a trusted party. I would have presumed your parents, but I won’t lie, it was rather pleasing to see you went straight to Bradley.”

“I’m pretty happy over that myself,” Bradley stated, and he smiled at me. “You can leash me if you’d like until you’re more comfortable. I’m not going anywhere, at least intentionally.”

“Let me see if I understand this. Because of the illusionist, my testimony is so questionable they’re not even bothering?” Having been completely eliminated as an information source shocked me even more than the realization everything I’d lived for almost nine months had been a carefully constructed lie. “But why?”

“That’s what we wish we could find out.” Bradley’s father drove us back to the beach, found a spot, and parked. “We’re missing something. Why take you? If the goal was to kill Senator Westonhaus, a second bullet would have done the job rather than a complicated kidnapping. It was immaculately timed. You stayed and helped catch the goats, and the kidnappers waited until the streets started clearing out to make their hit. They made certain to have a viable escape route, likely using illusions to prevent anyone from using the street. I think you were the goal. Senator Westonhaus was just a bonus, and one they gave up at the first sign of trouble from the FBI.” Mr. Hampton grunted, killed the engine, and got out of the vehicle. “It seems I have taken us to a beach, so you’re just going to have to get out and play outside for a while before I take you to a jewelry store.”

I removed my seatbelt, got out of the vehicle, and snagged my purse. Bradley tucked the metal box containing his gun under an arm. “You can put that in the trunk,” I said.

“While I could, I am going to hit someone with it if they look at you wrong,” my fiancé informed me. “Lenard keeps trying to make me learn alternative self-defense methods. This is my latest alternative method. If I can’t readily access my firearm, I will just beat off any close-range assailants with it. The gun’ll be perfectly safe in its case, even if I fling it at someone.”

“How far can you fling your gun case?”

“A surprising distance, and if I do it right, I can make it spin on the way to my target. The corners are fairly sharp.”

Ouch. “You have my approval. Do whatever is necessary to make it hurt more if you need to use your case as a weapon.”

Bradley laughed, and he joined me, wrapping his free arm around me. “If we pretend we don’t have a babysitter here, we can take a romantic stroll along the beach.”

“I’d rather find out why your dad brought us here, although I do like the water and the idea of a nice walk.”

“That’s why I brought you here, in part,” Bradley’s father said. “I want to see the trail, where you came out at, and how easy it would have been for you to emerge relatively unnoticed, although I suspect the illusionist obscured your presence here. At that talent level, frankly, they can change reality for just about anyone using their talent.”

“Including tricking us into believing someone shot in the head hadn’t been shot at all.”

“Precisely.”