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Caleb drummed a staccato rhythm on his desk, his eyes fixed on the screen that taunted him with its refusal to yield secrets. The glare of his laptop mocked his every attempt to infiltrate Isabella’s encrypted iCloud fortress. He swore under his breath, frustration coiling in his gut like a tight spring. The digital walls stood impenetrable, yet within those walls lay the vital thread that could tie Isabella to Whitman, unraveling the entire sordid case.
“Damn it,” he muttered, slamming the laptop shut. He needed air, a momentary escape from the depressing defeat of the morning’s efforts. He’d take his lunch break outside this time, clear his head.
The chill of the outside world greeted him, a reprieve from his heated mind. He stepped over the biggest snow sludge, not wanting to get his nice shoes dirty, and walked to Subway. Nothing fancy for him. A simple sub would do.
“Turkey melt with bacon on Italian bread,” he said to the Subway employee when it was finally his turn.
He made it a meal with a Coke and two of those delicious raspberry cheesecake cookies. Unfortunately, the restaurant was packed, so he’d have to eat it at his desk after all. At least he’d gotten some fresh air, right?
The bag with his sub and cookies in one hand and his Coke in the other, Caleb stepped out onto the sidewalk. He dodged people brushing past him until the world shrunk to a pinpoint of cold, hard pressure against his back.
“Move, and you’re dead,” a voice hissed, barely above a whisper but laden with lethal intent.
A gun. His heart jackhammered and adrenaline flooded his system. He froze, breath hitching. Years of judo and kickboxing screamed within him, urging him to fight, to exploit the attacker’s balance, to break free. But even as his muscles tensed, ready to react, his mind roared louder with the knowledge that any sudden move could be his last. As fast as he was, he couldn’t outmove a gun.
“Easy, easy,” Caleb said, his voice a forced calm belying the terror snaking through his veins.
“Walk toward the black car,” the voice commanded, and Caleb obeyed. He couldn’t see the man’s face, but he knew who it was. Joey DiMartino wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him. Every instinct, every trained response to refuse to get into that car and fight his way out had to be curbed. He couldn’t risk a struggle, not when Joey’s finger twitched on the trigger with eager anticipation. It would cost Caleb his life.
“Get in.”
Caleb stared at the nondescript sedan idling at the curb, its back door ajar like the jaw of some urban predator. Fuck. He had no choice.
He stepped toward the car, his dress shoes scuffing the pavement. The interior was shrouded in shadows, a stark contrast to the vibrant chaos of the street he was being torn from. His hands trembled, betraying the fear he tried to cloak under a mask of stoicism, but he managed to get in without stumbling, even holding on to his lunch.
The door closed with a thud, sealing his fate. Seconds later, Joey—he could see his face now—slid in next to Caleb in the back seat, gun still in hand. He took Caleb’s drink with his other hand and gave it to the driver, then did the same for the bag with Caleb’s food.
“Phone. Now.” Joey stretched out his hand, waiting, unyielding.
Caleb had no issues handing over his phone. He wasn’t stupid enough to use an easy code or—worse—face ID. Joey held it in front of Caleb, muttering a curse when it didn’t unlock. “Your code.”
And so it began. Caleb took a deep breath, mentally bracing himself. “No.”
Joey’s hand was quick, the back of it striking Caleb’s cheek with such force his head whipped to the side. Pain splintered across his face, a bright flare that momentarily washed out the dread. Caleb’s eyes watered, but he set his jaw, the sting on his skin fueling his resolve.
“Your code.”
“You heard me the first time. No.”
Joey grabbed Caleb’s chin, forcing their gazes to lock. “I can make this very unpleasant for you.”
“Already is.”
Joey’s grip eased, and his face relaxed a little, almost as if he was amused. “If that’s how you wanna play it.”
“I don’t want to play at all.”
“You’ve got a wicked smart mouth on you. Won’t do you any favors.”
Caleb didn’t think that statement needed a response, so he kept silent.
“We’ll revisit this later.” Joey curled his fingers around the phone and turned it off, the screen’s glow dying. With a flick of his wrist, the dead phone disappeared into Joey’s jacket, severing Caleb’s hope of being tracked.
Caleb swallowed the metallic taste of fear and defiance on his tongue. Seconds later, Joey blindfolded him with rough fabric that bit into his skin. The sensory deprivation sent his already heightened awareness into overdrive as the vehicle pulled away from the curb. Every jolt of the car, each turn and acceleration, compounded the disorientation, twisting Caleb’s sense of time into an unending spiral.
The city traffic meant lots of stops and turns, the occasional honking car, an ambulance passing by, but then the traffic thinned, and the car’s motion lulled into a steady hum. Had they hit a highway? Caleb’s senses remained on high alert. How much time had passed? Ten minutes? Twenty?
Through the cloying thickness of fear, the scent of Joey’s aftershave wafted toward him, a stark reminder of his captor’s presence. Caleb’s heart hammered against his ribs, a relentless drumbeat echoing the dread pooling in his gut. But it wasn’t just the fear for himself that gnawed at him. It was also the thought of Roman, how he would take this, how worried he would be. And even more important, fear for Roman’s safety, which now depended on Caleb being able to resist the inevitable interrogation.
