Dead in a Week (Forensic Instincts 7)
“I’m in the middle of an investigation,” he told Danijel now. “Two of my men are in Croatia. I need you to meet with them and help them. We’re racing the clock to save a kidnapped young woman we believe is being held somewhere in your country.”
“Then I’ll be ready for them. I assume the details you’ll be providing me will be only need-to-know?”
“They will be, yes,” Aidan confirmed. “But I’ll give you everything you require to make this rescue happen. My guys on the ground will add whatever’s necessary.”
“Fine. I’m listening.”
* * *
As soon as Aidan had finished up with Danijel and emailed him photos and background information on Philip and Marc, he called Terri.
“Sorry it’s the middle of the night there,” he began. “But I need you to provide a way to transfer confidential digital files out of NanoUSA and to the kidnappers.”
“It can’t be done,” Terri replied, clearly wide awake and working. “I’ve explored the NanoUSA systems. They’re impenetrable.”
“Get creative.”
“I’ve tried. It would have to be done from the inside by someone who knows what they’re doing. Even then, it would be next to impossible.”
Aidan’s mind was racing. “Can’t you develop something that Simone can take in with her to use?”
“Simone has no knowledge of complex hardware and software security. And what do you mean by ‘develop something’? I doubt C3PO is available, and he’d be far from invisible.”
“It would have to be something more subtle.”
Terri gave an exasperated sigh. “Aidan, I’m the best there is at big systems, complex programs, and firewalls. This would require a physical component to get around their format-variant systems. I don’t do electronic gizmos.”
A slow smile spread across Aidan’s face. “You’re right,” he said. “But we both know someone who does.”
Farmhouse
Slavonia, Croatia
Tuesday, 8:45 a.m. local time
Same endless acres of land. Same cramped room. Same praying to be rescued.
Lauren had moved past tears and terror and into a faraway, surreal place where only a hollow ache remained. She lay, curled up on the bed in her assigned quarters, staring off into nothingness, unaware if it was day or night and not really caring. She was aware that nearly a week had passed since she’d been taken. And she had no idea what that meant. Did they plan to return her or kill her? Had they contacted her father? Were there some kind of negotiations going on?
Did she dare to even hope anymore?
She’d fallen into a routine. Showering in the closet-sized hall bathroom and changing into some of the new clothes she’d been provided with. Forcing herself to go to the kitchen to eat—or try to eat. She couldn’t choke down much, but she swallowed enough to sustain her. Twice, when the men who were holding her were locked away in another bedroom that was their meeting place, she’d tentatively walked around the small, starkly furnished farmhouse—with Bashkim keeping a close eye on her—and casually gazed out the windows, willing there to be some so-far-unseen landmark she could memorize to aid in her rescue.
If there ever was a rescue.
Eventually, she’d return to her room and crawl back into bed, lying there for hours. Solitude, which she normally despised, seemed to be her only friend. Any voices she heard made her heart start to pound and her body to shake. And when those voices moved away, she sagged with relief.
The lack of intrusion meant she wasn’t going to be violated or worse.
Every evening before Bashkim turned in for the night, he’d respectfully knock on the door, coming in to make sure she was well and to see if there was anything she needed to make her stay here more comfortable.
Her stay? She’d almost laughed out loud. It sounded as if she were in a quaint bed-and-breakfast, free as a bird, backpacking her way through Europe. The truth was she was a prisoner and quite possibly a soon-to-be corpse.
Last night she’d asked him about Marko. She still had nightmares about him barging in and raping her. Bashkim’s jaw had set and he’d said she didn’t need to worry, that Marko wouldn’t be back. He’d reached into his pocket, pulled out an all-too-familiar gold chain, and tossed it on the nightstand.
The message was clear. Marko was dead.
Relief flooded Lauren. She knew she should feel sickened by the fact that a man had been killed, probably brutally. She felt nothing but thankful. All she wanted was to never have to see Marko’s smug, predatory face again.