“Did you talk to Orson’s father this morning?” Dak’s low question competed with the intercom voice paging a doctor.
“Left a message.” She grinned. “Did you know it’s almost impossible to speak with the founder of a Fortune Five-Hundred company?”
He chuckled. “I imagine so, but I thought maybe the letters FBI might mean something.”
“Not to the receptionist who answered the phone.”
They’d spent the entire ten-minute drive discussing what she’d learned about Noelle Orson. Thanks to Orson’s business partner, whom she had been able to reach, she’d discovered a lot about the woman they were currently heading to see.
In spite of being groomed to work for her father’s company, Noelle had dropped out of college, abandoning a business degree, after only four semesters. She’d taken courses on kinesiology, and got a degree in exercise science before opening her yoga studio, which had been funded almost entirely by her father.
According to the partner, whose specialty was aerobics and strength training, everything was good. No disgruntled clients or threats, no cutthroat competitors, not even a bitter ex-boyfriend.
She’d had no idea why someone would want to abduct Orson.
Hopefully Orson herself could shed more light on the motive.
Her father’s money made a kidnap-for-ransom scheme likely, but the correct answer wasn’t always the obvious one.
A uniformed police officer leaned against the wall outside a door at the end of the hall.
Without even looking at the room number, it was obvious that was where they’d find Orson.
Sharp eyes locked on them as they approached and the officer moved to block the door. One hand rested on the butt of the gun at his hip, a not-so-subtle warning that strangers weren’t welcome.
“Agents Lakes and Taylor, FBI.” Dak’s voice came from beside her as she pulled out her badge.
The officer looked at their badges, then stood down. “Go on in. The detective’s inside.”
Of course he was. It’d been too much to hope that they could question the witness without outside interference.
A wisp of a woman turned toward them as they entered, her loud gasp echoing off the institutionalized walls.
Flares went off inside Kevyn’s mind.
That reaction… something about it felt fake and overblown. Yes, the woman had been traumatized, but there was an element, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, that didn’t feel right.
With thin fingers resting against her collarbone, like she was trying to catch her breath, Orson stared at them.
Dressed in a gray hospital gown, Orson sat on the edge of a bed, her sneakers on the floor underneath and her clothing in a sealed evidence bag beside the detective’s feet.
Rings gave her dark eyes a sunken appearance and her mussed hair had dead grass and leaves in it. Several angry scratches marred her pale face. The bony forearm poking out of the storm-cloud gray hospital gown boasted large purple bruises.
Maybe she’d been too hasty in her judgment. It looked like the woman had been through a lot.
“Ms. Orson?” Kevyn offered the gentle smile and soft tone she’d perfected during her brief stint in clinical psychology. “I’m Agent Taylor, but you can call me Kevyn if you want. This is Agent Lakes.”
Orson nodded slowly as if processing the names required more mental capacity than she possessed in her current state.
Maybe it did.
Trauma did funny things to the mind.
“Please continue.” Dak directed his attention at the detective, whose tight lips indicated his displeasure at their interruption.
The detective gave a taut nod. “We’d actually just gotten started. You made good time getting down here.”
“I appreciate you taking the time to keep us informed.” With Dak, those weren’t simply words said to make the detective feel important. Dak meant them.
His sincerity was one of the things she liked best about working with him.
The detective turned back to Orson. “So, after they shoved you into the van…”
“The man who grabbed me tied me up.” Her lower lip trembled as she held up her wrists. Rub marks chafed the delicate skin. “I thought he was going to kill me.”
The words, spoken in a wobbly voice, felt rehearsed.
Was she hearing the detachment needed for Orson to process the abduction? Or something else entirely?
“Then what happened?” The detective jotted a few notes on a notepad in his hand, even though the recorder sitting next to Orson blinked red.
“They drove around for a while. I-I don’t really know how far. It felt like forever, you know?” Orson inhaled shakily. “Then they stopped. The driver got out, but the other guy stayed in the back with me. I thought he might attack me, but he didn’t touch me.”
So the abduction hadn’t been for sexual reasons.
“Was it dark? Could you see anything outside the windows?”
“Not with the blindfold on. Didn’t I tell you that?” Orson brushed her hair back off her forehead. “They blindfolded me right after they tied me up.”
“They didn’t knock you out? Or drug you?” Dak’s tone sounded casual, but Kevyn knew the weight behind it.
The other two victims had been drugged. If she hadn’t, it raised the question of why.
Orson looked at him. “Noooo…?”
“I’m sorry.” Dak made a small sweeping gesture with his hand. “Please. Continue.”
“Is that… is that surprising?” Orson’s attention flicked between the three of them.
“Not necessarily.” Dak offered a light shrug. “Sometimes kidnappers find it easier to deal with victims that have been subdued or incapacitated, but not always. What happened next?”
“He got out. I think I was alone. I don’t know for how long, but it felt like a really long time.”
“That must have been terrifying.” Kevyn stepped closer and rested her fingers on the edge of the gurney. “Did you hear anything? Traffic, church bells, dogs barking?”
“No. Nothing at all.”
