The Avenger

brick facade of the outside walls. The ivy curled charmingly over the red and gray stones toward the second floor.

During the perimeter walk Harris showed them the unlocked back door, but when they searched the house from top to bottom, they found nothing to indicate foul play. Although the bed was unkempt, nothing seemed out of place.

Only the unsecured back door.

'She would've locked up,' Jack said. He turned to Harris. 'You're sure the door was like this?'

'Yes sir, I knocked at the front and when I got no answer, I went around to the back, tried the knob first… uh, you know… I didn't want to damage Dr. Gant's… '

'Thanks, Harris, we'll take it from here,' Jack said, effectively dismissing the deputy.

Inside the house, Slater stood in the kitchen looking around thoughtfully. 'We'll do another sweep. See if we missed anything the first time through.'

'Yeah.' Jack leaned against the kitchen counter, his gun dangling by his side. What next? He holstered his weapon and noted the slight tremble of his hand. He glanced quickly at Slater. He'd noticed too.

'Don't worry. We'll find her.'

'Yeah,' Jack repeated. They'd find her, but would they find her in time? Someone had taken Livvie, but if not Ted Burrows, then who? Diego Vargas? A suspect he hadn't even thought of?

In the second sweep through the library, Jack found the evidence. The stain from the spilled wine spread across the carpet behind the desk. The long-stemmed crystal glass lay on its side, the splotch of wine a blood-red cry of warning.

Something or someone had interrupted Olivia. A phone call? She would've cleaned up the spill. A knock at the door? It had to have been the back door. Whatever it was, she'd knocked over the glass. Or dropped it. Didn't matter which, but he thought it showed that she'd been startled, not overpowered. No sign of a struggle. He'd have Slater's people print the back door, see what they found.

Jack walked to the foot of the stairs. 'Slater, down here.' The tone of his voice – loud, but calm – sounded normal. He returned to the library and stared at the ugly stain. It reminded him of the blood of the killer's victims, shocking stigmata clamoring for justice.

Slater stepped into the library at the moment the cell phone rang. He grabbed it from his waistband. 'Sheriff Slater,' he barked into the receiver. 'When? Where?' He snapped the phone shut and turned to Jack, his face solemn. 'A patrolman just found Olivia.'

Jack felt himself stagger. Not a physical movement that Slater would notice, but an internal collapse of his heart, his bones, muscles, and flesh melting with the hot pain of grief.

Slater must've read the emotion in his stance. 'No, man, she's okay. They found Livvie, not her body.'

Jack couldn't process the information. For that split second, he'd felt his world tilt and spin around, upheaved by some cosmic earthquake, and it couldn't right itself again for several long moments. He dragged in an agonizing breath, as though his ribs had been crushed and his lungs couldn't pull in the requisite air.

'I – I thought… ' Jack recovered and slowly pushed away from the desk. 'Where is she?'

'Under the Falcon Street Overpass off I-80.'

Jack worked his jaw. 'Some bastard left her there?'

Slater nodded. 'She's dressed in her underwear, cold and a little scraped up, but she's okay.'

'He took her when it was still dark.'

'Here's the thing, though. Where was Burrows? With the blonde?'

Jack nodded, thinking of the redhead in his vision.

'He didn't use all that elaborate filming equipment and his perverted video games with Olivia,' Slater pressed.

Jack echoed that line of reasoning. 'Right.'

'Who then?'

Jack turned toward the door. 'Let's find out,' he threw over his shoulder.

*

Olivia sat in the back of the ambulance, wrapped in a scratchy gray blanket. An earnest patrolman, freckled- faced with glasses and jutting ears, hovered on the periphery, waiting to get her statement. She couldn't imagine anyone she'd like less to tell what happened.

She felt stupid. Kidnapped by an ex, how cliched.

With shaky hands she took the cup of coffee the EMT handed her. Another medical attendant worked on cleaning the scrapes on her legs while a third tilted her head backward and flashed a light in first the left, then the right eye. 'Some uneven dilation,' he murmured.

Possible concussion was what he meant. She must've banged her head on the ground at some point during the abduction, either at her house or during captivity. She thought of Bill's twisted expression and possessive hands. Bastard!

She turned away from the EMT and leaned her shoulder on the edge of the open van door. A wave of nausea engulfed her right before she threw up.

Gradually, she brought her queasy stomach under control, and she found the methodical workings of the paramedics calmed her. She was safe now. She had survived and everything that could be done for her was being done. Even though the reprieve was brief and by sheer chance, Bill hadn't killed her. But she'd read in his eyes the hard knowledge that he wanted to, that he'd come close to it, and that he'd try again.

She knew that with absolute certainty. Not today or tomorrow. Maybe not even next month, but sooner or later, she'd look over her shoulder and find him stalking her. Or carelessly open her door and feel the bottom drop out of her world again.

When Jack and Slater arrived minutes later, their faces looked strained and worried with an underlying anger that unsettled her. As soon as Jack spied her, he reached her side in an instant and briefly touched her shoulder. He didn't speak, but the heat of his large hand on her bare skin made her feel safe.

After she gave a brief statement to the patrolman, Jack tried to bully her into going to the hospital, but she refused. Merely bruised, scraped, and sore, with nothing broken, she had no intention of spending wasted hours in an emergency waiting room.

'I want to go home and clean up,' she insisted, pulling the blanket closer around her.

'Ma'am, they'll want to do a rape kit,' the young EMT cautioned, his steady hazel eyes kind. 'You really should go to the hospital.'

Olivia flinched at the words and felt Jack stiffen beside her. 'It's not necessary,' she said firmly and repeated, 'I want to go home.' She clamped her teeth together to keep her jaw from quavering.

'Olivia,' Jack began.

'No!' She heard the near hysteria in the rise of her voice. She felt as though she were holding herself together with nerve and sheer will, which was ironic, she thought. She hadn't been seriously hurt, hadn't been assaulted, or…

The fragile control she'd maintained began to unravel. 'Get me out of here.'

'Okay, I'll drive you home,' Jack muttered, no doubt eyeing the stubborn set of her jaw.

Good. She wasn't the young girl he'd once known. She wouldn't be pushed around by a baby-faced EMT or a man who no longer had a real place in her life. As she eased into the truck, mindful of her sore ribs and abraded legs, she saw Slater draw Jack aside and speak quietly to him. Jack nodded once, glanced her way, and said something back.

'What did he say?' she asked suspiciously when Jack slid into the driver's seat.

'Nothing. Just business.'

Sure, she thought. Business, my ass.

'Did they find him?' She'd identified her kidnapper as her ex-husband and given the particulars. A judge had issued an arrest warrant and deputies were attempting to serve the warrant right now.

Jack shook his head. 'No luck so far. Slater's riding back in a patrol car. I'll take you home.' His eyes flashed