Prologue

Trust is a funny thing. It’s fragile and indefinable, something that can’t be seen or heard or touched. Trust is something you either have, or you don’t. It can appear in an instant, and it can disappear in an instant. Trust is something that can build from something crazy, but also from something normal.

Trust is a lot like love.

So it was funny to me that someone who was so completely off-the-rocker insane, someone who should’ve been the bad guy in this story, could earn my trust even after she kidnapped me. Maybe it was because she was a girl. Maybe it was because I had this uncontrollable desire to help her in any way. I didn’t know, and I still don’t.

All I know is that trust alone is what I have to go on, now that I’m stuck here in the middle of this mess. And trust is going to have to be enough.

***

It was Blake’s idea.

I’m not sure what made him suddenly decide to hold a surprise concert in Barnsdall Park in the middle of the night, although I can understand why. Our band, 88Keys, hasn’t been in the spotlight since three months ago when Blake had turned seventeen. We were bored, simple as that. Blake even wrote a song about it, but Bruno Mars beat him to the punch with “The Lazy Song”.

I was the tweeter in our family, so as soon as Blake came up with the spontaneous idea I tweeted it to all of our fans. I got a ton of text-squeals back, which was gratifying. It was nice to know that people hung onto our every word. Blake rushed around our Los Angeles house—because we had more than one, of course—grabbing instruments and notebooks and trying to decide what clothes or sneakers he should wear.

“Rocky!” he exclaimed, running up to me and holding up two guitars— one red and one blue. “Which one should I use for the surprise concert?”

I barely had time to open my mouth before he glanced at them again and shook his head. “You’re right— they’re both too dark to play at night. I’ll get my white one. Thanks, Rocky!” And he dashed off again.

Blake was childish. It made sense, because he was the youngest in the family, so he had an excuse. He was kind of like the youth in our brotherhood, while Shane was more serious and I guess I was a mixture of both. Blake was always ready with a smile.

Shane was probably the opposite. He was sardonic, one of those dark, brooding bad boys chicks couldn’t get enough of. He didn’t talk unless he had to, but when he did it was usually with a smirk. Shane was usually the target of Blake’s infinite pranks—I think Blake was trying to draw some sort of reaction from him, but Shane was as about as expressionless as a rock.

I already had my outfit picked out. While Blake was careful about what he mixed and matched, I was more the person who would throw something on and be done with it, and that’s why I had on a black and red leather jacket, a dark red T-shirt advertising Robin, my favorite non-superhero from my current favorite TV show, Young Justice, loose jeans, and some sweet black Nike kicks. The choker necklace Mom gave me before she died hung around my neck as always. I wasn’t a sensitive person, but if one thing made me feel closer to Mom, it was music and that necklace.

Shane was ready to go, too. He chose black and silver instead of black and red, with black denim skinny jeans and silver boots. He was lounging in the kitchen with me, strumming his Solidbody electric guitar that had been custom made to fit in the crook of his elbow. Shane was the guitarist in our band. All of us could play, but he’d been playing the longest and that automatically made him better at it. Same thing with Blake and the drums, and me at piano.

I glanced at the clock on one of the kitchen’s many ovens. “Blake, it’s almost nine o’ clock!” I yelled. “We’re going to be late if you don’t haul your—”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Blake came flying down the stairs and into our kitchen. He’d kept up with the black theme, going for black and blue with a blue jacket and black jeans. He’d gone with the blue guitar again, probably deciding that it didn’t need to be seen if it matched his outfit. Blake gave us both a bright smile. “This is gonna be sick.”

I rolled my eyes and caught Shane smirking slightly as he stood and stretched. Blake bounced excitedly as he all but skipped out the door, giving the picture of our mother hanging on the wall a kiss as he went. Shane kissed his fingers and then the picture on his way out, and I did the same, lingering on her soft brown eyes and sandy blonde hair. I’d gotten most of my looks from her as the only blonde in the family. I missed her. Giving the glass another quick kiss I slipped out the door and closed it quietly behind me.

“Did you leave a note?” I asked Shane as I slipped into our silver Toyota Camry.

“Duh.”

We’d done this before; ditching our Dad and bodyguards, I mean. The most trouble we’d ever gotten into was having to run from a mob of fans, and that hasn’t happened in a while, so we were confident we didn’t need any of them. Dad meant well, but sometimes his overbearing protectiveness, just like his overbearing height, could be a little choking.

Shane drove quickly. Nine at night was cocktail time for Hollywood, so I wasn’t surprised to see the familiar LA traffic crowding the streets. Luckily for us, Barnsdall Park was only a couple of blocks from our house. It was small in the Hollywood sense, but it had a perfect field surrounded by trees that was just right for holding an impromptu concert.

“Is this solo?” Shane asked Blake.

“Yeah,” he said. “I didn’t want to bother the guys.”

Blake was talking about our other bandmates. While we were a brother band, nobody could just pull off band fame with just three people. There were five more in all— Ashton Drake on bass guitar, Karen Williams and Mark Jackson for backup vocals, Joy Hart on violin, and Jake Moore on keyboard. They came on tour with us and played when we had scheduled things, but Blake was right—they’d just be downright cranky called out in the middle of the night, no matter how close we are.

We made it to the park in minutes, and I was impressed to see how many fans actually made it out in time. There were at least a couple hundred, all crammed into the small field. Shane, Blake, and I parked our car right in front of them and they all screamed, probably recognizing us on sight. We had really dedicated fans. They even waited patiently while we got our mics and amps set up. A few minutes after that and we were all rocking out to the music.

Music has always been a big thing for my family. Back when Mom was alive, she had this guitar and she would sit us down and strum it while we made up songs about school and getting our pajamas on and stuff like that. It seems really silly now that I’m older but they were some of the best memories I had. Mom couldn't hear the music we heard since she'd been deaf since birth, but she felt the vibrations, and that was all she needed. It was a reminder to never give up even when the odds were stacked against us.

Now I could feel her all around me as I sang and danced and played my guitar. Blake was right— we really needed this. I was going crazy cooped up in the house doing nothing all month.

We were into our third song and everything was going great until the feedback came. The thing about mics and amps is that they don’t really mix very well. If you stand in the wrong spot, you get really loud, high, painful screeching from the speakers and a headache to last you a week at a time. Trained musicians who’ve been doing concerts for years know where to stand and where not to stand. Blake, Shane, and I have been doing concerts for years. We knew where to stand. There shouldn’t have been any feedback— not only that, but it definitely shouldn’t have been that loud.

I knew what the high pitched wail was but that didn’t mean I was immune to it. One minute I was rocking out and the next I was on the ground, hands clapped over my ears, eyes squeezed shut in pain. If it was bad for us it must’ve been twenty times worse for our fans. They were hearing it amplified on the speakers. Next to me, Blake writhed on the ground. His mouth was open and I think he was screaming, but I couldn’t hear a thing. My ears were ringing with a million bells, but I realized the sound had stopped. It was only a short burst of feedback— incredibly painful, but at least it didn’t last long enough to rupture my ear drums or something.

Someone grabbed my arm and I looked up, trying to focus on the hazy figure standing above me. It was a girl, I think, a girl with long, sleek black curls and headphones over her ears. I locked eyes with her for a second, and they were cold and calculating and not in the least bit fan-like. She reached for my face with a cloth and that’s when I knew I was in trouble.

***

Elsewhere

The call came at two in the morning. The man in the bed rolled over and picked it up. He hadn’t been sleeping—he rarely ever did—so it wasn’t an interruption, although it was unwelcome.

The man didn’t have to say anything, because the voice on the other end started to talk as soon as the line was picked up. “You saw on the news?”

“I don’t watch the news,” the man told him.

“You should. It would keep you up to date.”

The man blinked slowly into the darkness of the hotel bedroom he was currently staying in. “I assume you aren’t calling me at this hour to reprimand me for my lack of television use.”

There was a dry chuckle on the other end. “True enough. The girls. The boss thinks they’ve resurfaced.”

That got his attention fast. The man sat up, wide awake now. “Is he sure this time?”

“Positive. Turn on the news and you’ll know why.”

It only took a couple of seconds for the man to grab the remote and turn on the TV, switching to the local news station. A puzzled frown sat on his lips. “I don’t know. This seems a little upscale for two teenagers to pull off.”

“They’re that good,” the voice on the other end said. “That’s why he’s so sure— those girls are the only ones smart enough and ambitious enough to succeed.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Use the boy, this… Rocky Nelson. Find him and you find the girls. The boss wants them dead and the keys retrieved.”

“Understood.”

The voice on the other line hung up, and the man was left to stare at the television screen, where still shots of three teenage celebrities flashed repeatedly, the anchorwoman’s voice full of false panic and sympathy. A slow smile spread across his face.

This could be fun.

Chapter One

Once, when I was thirteen, a bunch of girls raided the boys locker room, grabbed the few of us guys that were in here, and tied us to trees. They took pictures, but that was the most harm done. We even sat down with the girls and laughed about it afterwards, getting our revenge by pelting them with water balloons. That’s probably the closest I’ve ever gotten to being kidnapped.

This was nothing like that.

I woke up abruptly, enough to make me smack the back of my head against something metal. My ears still rang from the feedback burst. Everything was disorienting and confusing, so I didn’t realize I couldn’t see at first. Then, once I got my bearings, I realized there was a cloth around my eyes.

A blindfold? I tried to reach up to take it off and discovered my wrists were handcuffed behind me. My heart rate sped up, and that’s about when I realized that whatever situation I’d gotten myself into, it could be dangerous.

Voices drifted in, assaulting my ears. It appeared to be two people— two women—

arguing. I lay still and tried to listen for words that would tell me what happened, but they were foggy, as if I couldn’t focus on the individual voices. Then, I realized with a shock that whoever was arguing was talking rapid Spanish.

“What—?” The word slipped from my mouth before I had a chance to think about what I was doing. Immediately the voices stopped, and there was a deafening silence as I waited for something to happen. Fingers closed around the blindfold and yanked it off my head.

“Ow!” I whined, blinking in the sudden light. It took me a second to focus on the girl in front of me— she had her faced pressed up so close to mine our noses were almost touching. “Whoa! Lady, space!”

She back up, and I saw her for the first time. She couldn’t have been much older than me, with copper skin and sleek black ringlets resting on her shoulders for hair. I caught a glimpse of annoyed, dark brown eyes, like crystallized chocolate, as she finally came to rest on her heels. The girl didn’t say anything, just stared until I shifted uncomfortably, looking around whatever they were keeping me in just to avoid those chocolate crystals.

It looked like the back of a van, but it must’ve been in park mode because it definitely wasn’t moving. The walls were bare and metallic, so, definitely a van. No windows except for the windshield and the side windows on the driver and passenger sides. I got my first look at the driver of the van, and then I got a real shock. It was another girl, except she was young— young like, Blake young. She was avoiding my eyes but the energy coming off of her was a lot less hostile than the girl in front of me. They were both Hispanic. But the younger girl’s hair was a lighter red-brown, although it was still dark. I assumed they were sisters, or at least related.

“So, are you fans or something?” I ventured. “Because if you wanted an autograph, all you had to do was ask.”

My voice cracked a little bit, betraying just how freaked I was about this whole situation. I had a feeling that the girls weren’t fans, which was then confirmed when the older one pulled out the unmistakable sleek form of a gun. She stopped me from scrambling into the side of the van by placing the barrel right up to the center of my forehead, execution-style. My limbs seized up and I froze, despite every nerve of my body screaming at me to move and get out of the path of the crazy homicidal kidnapper chick.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Pure, blank, white terror coursed through me, and I didn’t even know what to think, no last thoughts or words to remember me by… not that anybody would catch those last thoughts or words. I just cringed against the chilled metal of the gun, waiting for the bullet that would tear apart my skull and send me off to see my mom again.

But it never came. A good ten seconds passed before I cautiously opened my eyes again and the girl was half-glaring at me, but I could see the tiniest hint of amusement in her face. The gun was still pressed my forehead, and she kept it there until a couple more seconds had passed. Then she said, “Shut up,” and put the gun away.

The girl up front said something in Spanish, and Crazy Chick answered. Unfortunately, I couldn’t decipher what was being said— not that I’d be able to concentrate after what’d almost happened anyways— because I’d taken sign language in high school instead of the cliché Spanish everybody else took. The conversation continued like I wasn’t even there, but it wasn’t until Crazy Chick had moved up to talk to her sister or whoever she was when my body finally went limp. I had the strongest urge to cry, or have a hysterical fit, but I forced back the scream rising in my throat and tried to think through exactly what had just happened. Crazy Chick was just messing with me with the gun, but I got the feeling that she would actually shoot me if I tried anything. That was fine by me— I didn’t know how many scares it would take to send me into cardiac arrest, but one was definitely enough.

Another wave of panic surged through me. I’d been kidnapped by Spanish-speaking teenagers who definitely weren’t fans. Blake and Shane—with any luck I was the only one being held hostage and my brothers were safe, but who knew? Maybe they were terrorists sent by aliens to try to break our spirits and just wanted me to think that they were okay. Hell, what did I know? I’d been kidnapped by psycho chicks!

I took another deep breath. I was starting to freak out, and that wasn’t an option right now. Right now, I had to figure out how I was going to get out of this mess. The younger girl put the van in gear and started to back the car out, while the older girl turned back to me.

“Shut up,” she said again when I opened my mouth. I shut it with quiet annoyance. Shutting up was something I wasn’t exactly used to. Not to brag, but I was used to people hanging on my every word. I tried not to take it personally, though. She wanted me to shut up, fine.

Ten minutes later I had to press my lips together tightly to keep from saying anything. The panic had ebbed a bit, and now I was desperately curious, questions on the tip of my tongue and wild, wild theories running through my head. But Crazy Chick was staring at me again with that creepy intense look on her face. She barely blinked the entire time we’d been in the van, so I kept my eyes on my lap as I sat Indian-style, leaning against the metallic wall of the van. The younger kidnapper put the van in park and turned it off, looking at Crazy Chick. The girl jerked her head once towards the door and the driver opened it and hopped out. The door had barely closed when Crazy Chick turned back towards me and pulled out that nasty gun again.

“Out,” she said, motioning with the gun at the sliding door of the van.

I blinked at her. A thousand smart-aleck comments came to mind but I bit them back. Pissing off the crazy kidnapper was probably not the best idea. “I can’t,” I told her honestly.

A perfect eyebrow arched and disappeared into the girl’s long bangs. “Pretty sure you can.

Get out.”

Look at that, she could speak more than two words at a time. A small twinge of a Spanish accent hinted in her voice, which probably would’ve been sexy if she wasn’t holding a gun in my face and threatening my life with it.


I jingled my cuffs from behind my back and gave her a pointed look. Her eyes rolled and she reached around me and grabbed a hold of the chain between my wrists, jerking it and turning me around forcefully. I yelped and crashed backwards, almost landing in her lap, except she was already up and moving, grabbing the handle of the door and sliding it open. Then she grabbed my shoulder and hoisted me up and out. I grunted as I face-planted on the sidewalk, jarred. Definitely not my most graceful exit.

“Come on,”

Crazy Chick said, grabbing my arm and pulling me to my feet. “Inside.”

I took a look at the building. It was a small warehouse, about the size of a Safeway grocery store. Graffiti decorated the sides of it but I could never read that stuff anyways, and the whole outside was the basic definition of “run down.” The brick was falling apart at the edges and I could see broken windows. To my left, the waves broke and lapped against the sea wall, also made of brick, and it gave off the comforting, familiar smell of the salty Pacific Ocean.

The place looked deserted and would probably be a candidate for Ghost Hunters just from appearances. I looked at Crazy Chick, incredulous. “You’re kidding.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

I eyed her up and down. She didn’t look like she could kid anyone. I winced, staring up at the building, reluctant to do anything until Crazy Chick gave me a hard shove in the back and I stumbled forward a few steps.

“Will you chill?” I told her. “God, you are so violent.”

She didn’t say anything, but her face darkened as if to tell me I was pushing my luck. Good enough for me. I shut up and walked forward slowly, taking in my surroundings. To the right the street was empty and desolate, kind of sad-looking. I could tell nobody had been on it for a while because there were cracks in the street that had grass and dandelions growing in them, huge potholes, and broken glass. Trees lined the lonely road on the other side, with rows and rows of other trees behind it to form a forest. The sky above me was overcast and gray with clouds, and there was an electric smell in the air that told me a storm was coming.

I didn’t want to risk a look back, because I knew that Crazy Chick would probably just knock me out again if I annoyed her too much, but I could see the Pacific Ocean to my left and felt instantly better. We were still in California, I figured, despite not knowing how long I was out. That meant there was still hope, no matter how bleak the situation looked.

The other girl appeared around the corner of the building. I didn’t know where she went, but she gave Crazy Chick a nod and then opened one of the doors. The top hinges creaked and then the poor thing snapped, and with a moaning noise the door succumbed to gravity and fell. I cringed away, expecting it to crash to the ground, but then the bottom hinges caught and it sagged with the extra weight.

Crazy Chick grinned at me. “You scared, superstar?”

“No,” I muttered, staring cautiously at the door to see if it would hold. It did, and the younger girl walked right through it and motioned us inside. Crazy Chick shoved me again, and I followed her in.

Immediately I started to cough. Dust and grime was everywhere. My eyes watered and I leaned to the side to keep from coughing on anybody else while Crazy Chick pounded on my back, hard. Awfully considerate of her, being a psycho kidnapping criminal and all. Eventually my cough was controlled and I took to alternating between my nose and my mouth for breathing.

Crazy Chick pulled up a chair that had been sitting in the middle of the room, grabbed my shoulder, and shoved me into it. “Sit,” she said belatedly, like she was remembering her manners at the last second.

“Yeah, I got that.” The words slipped out before I had a chance to think about them. I mentally slapped my palm to my forehead. Me and my big mouth, right?

Crazy Chick arched another eyebrow, looking amused as the other girl undid one of my cuffs, slid it through one of the pegs in the back of the chair, and re-cuffed it to my wrist and locked it. I jerked the chain, just to test it, and it held fast. Awesome.

“Okay,” Crazy Chick said, finally tucking the gun into her back pocket. “Here’s how this is going to go. You’re going to stay with us for a while until your parents pay for you, and then you’re going to leave. Got it?”

I blinked at her. “This is about ransom?”

“You’re also going to shut up or I will gag you for the rest of your time here,” she said pleasantly. It was creepy, how conversational she was being, but I didn’t want to have to chew on a rag until Dad could pay, so I didn’t mention it.

“If you try to escape, I will shoot you. If you call someone, I will shoot them, and then I will make sure you die slowly and painfully and hide you where no one will ever find your body again.”

I blinked. “Um, okay. No escaping, no calling. Got it.”

She gave me a smile that held no humor or fondness. “Good boy.” Then she turned to the girl, said something in Spanish that I didn’t understand, and turned back to me. “Just do what we say and you’ll be out of here by the weekend. I’ll be back. Don’t try anything.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said dryly, watching as she strutted out of the building.

The girl pulled up a chair and sat it in backwards, leaning on the back so she could watch me. She stared, just like Crazy Chick, unblinking. I shifted, uncomfortable.

“So,” I said awkwardly. “You always go around kidnapping famous people, or is this just a new hobby for you?”

Her mouth twitched.

“I mean, I know this face is worth some money, but this is a little ridiculous.” I rolled my eyes for effect, and this time she really did smile. The smile was infectious, so I smiled back. “Good to know not all kidnappers are psychotic.”

“I’m a fan,” she admitted, and her voice was husky like Crazy Chick’s, but a lot younger-sounding. And there was that accent again, too.

“She talks!” I looked up to the ceiling as if it was the sky. “Hallelujah! I won’t be bored out of my mind!”

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “I also bake and kidnap rock stars for a living,” she said, sarcastic but light.

I shrugged. “To each his own, I guess. Err— her own? You know what I mean.”

Another eye-roll. I was scoring points with Little Miss Kidnapper.

“So, you’re a fan, huh?” I asked. “That’s cool. I would shake your hand, sign something for you, but I’m a bit tied up, so.”

“Sorry,” she said, shrugging. “My sister says it’s necessary. But yeah, I’m a fan.”

Aha! Sisters! I knew they were related. Obviously the excitement of having new information showed on my face, because the girl looked horrified that she’d blurted it out. “Please don’t tell her I said that!” she said, covering her face with her hands. “You weren’t supposed to know that.”

“My lips are sealed,” I promised her, smiling a little bit.

We settled into a comfortable silence until the girl got up to grab a small backpack on the table next to the door. Now that I was really looking, the empty warehouse wasn’t as empty as it seemed— there was a table, three chairs counting the ones me and the girl were sitting on, a cardboard box beneath the table, and a small office room in the back with glass windows. The girl walked back and sat down, unzipping the backpack and pulling out a banana.

“Hungry?” she offered, holding it out to me.

My stomach ached but held back a rumble, so I shook my head. I really was hungry, and I had no real reason to refuse the banana except for the fact that I was feeling a little rebellious. Now that Crazy Chick was gone, the terror and panic had disappeared with her. Now I was just mad. Although this girl’s company was nice enough to let me forget that.

The girl shrugged and peeled into the fruit, taking a bite and swallowing. “So,” I said, shifting in my seat. “What’s a nice girl like you doing committing a federal offense?”

Her eyes rolled again. “I see somebody’s been keeping up with cheesy kidnapping movies.”

“Guilty.”

“Well then,” she said, leaning back in the chair. “I would tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” There was a twinkle in her eye as she said it, but I got the feeling that she wasn’t exactly kidding.

I shrugged. “Fair enough. But can I at least know your name? It’s getting old, calling you “the girl” in my head all the time.”

She gave me a look, and then heaved a sigh. “Nani.”

“Nani?”

“Yeah,” Nani said, shrugging. “Like Shawnee, except with an ‘n’. Or ‘what’, in Japanese.”

“Cool,” I said, relaxing. “I’m—”

“Rocky Nelson,” she said. “I know.”

“Of course you do,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Silly me.”

Nani grinned. “Fan.”

“Got that.”

Crazy came back then, flinging the door open so hard it banged against the side of the wall. She stood in the doorway, a hammer in one hand and a screwdriver in the other. I shook my head. So that’s what she was doing— fixing the hinges on the door. This chick could do it all— fix doors, speak Spanish, kidnap rock stars… and I had a sinking suspicion that wasn’t even the half of it.

“Behaving yourself?” she asked me snarkily.

I rolled my eyes. “Like I can rebel cuffed to a chair.”

She shrugged. “Could be worse. I could be a fan, forcing you to do unspeakable things. With a camera.”

I stared at her, trying to figure out if she was messing with me again. But her glossed lips just pulled back into a mischievous smirk and she turned again to talk to her sister in Spanish. I rolled my eyes and waited for them to finish.

“You know,” I said, butting in when it looked like Crazy was pausing to take a breath, “we don’t actually have a lot of money just lying around. Most of it goes to our record label. If this is about ransom, you should know— you’re not getting millions.”

“We don’t need millions,” Nani told me. But then Crazy shot her a sharp look and her entire face flushed, embarrassed.

“They’re going to need proof that you have me,” I said stubbornly. “And cops can trace phones— or don’t you watch CSI?”

Crazy crossed her arms and looked at me thoughtfully. “You’re right.”

I opened my mouth to argue some more, and then her response caught up to me. “I am?”

“Yeah, you are.” Her chocolate crystal eyes focused on something below my face. “I wonder how many people have custom-made necklaces with “Rocky” spelled on them?”

My eyes widened and I jerked my chin down, trying to see the choker necklace around my neck. “Wait, no, please,” I said pleadingly, not even ashamed of my begging. “My mom gave this to me, you can’t just—”

Too late, her hand closed around the beads that spelled my name and yanked, hard. Pain shot up my spine as the clasp gave and suddenly Mom’s necklace, the one I never took off, was in Crazy the Kidnapper’s hand. I glared at her, royally pissed now. She was lucky that I was cuffed to this chair because if not, I would’ve been beating her senseless, girl or no girl.

“Don’t worry, Superstar,” she said, giving me another smirk. “It’s going back to your family. You’ll get it when you get back.”

When. I tried not to sag in relief. When was good. When meant they really wouldn’t hurt me if I didn’t push my luck. Crazy looked at Nani and said something in Spanish, then turned to me again.

“I’ll be right back,” she said. “You know the drill.”

I bit back the sarcastic remark that sat on the tip of my tongue and watched as she walked out the door and shut it, the new hinges and screws squeaking quietly.

Fuming, I sat in the chair and twisted my wrists, just to see if I could pull a Houdini and slip out of the cuffs. Nani sat in her chair, watching me.

“This doesn’t come easily to you, does it?” she asked suddenly. “Obeying orders.”

I gave her a look. She seriously had no clue.

Chapter Two

It was amazing how fast news traveled. Shane Nelson sat on the grass with his baby brother in his lap, staring at the flashing blue and red police lights. The cops had taken eleven minutes to reach the park, and another eight to fight through the panicked, jam packed crowd of teenaged girls to reach the brothers. Yellow tape surrounded the equipment while men in black vests scurried over the scene with cameras and lasers and other CSI things. It would’ve been cool to Shane, who was a huge technology buff, if Rocky weren’t missing.

Blake wasn’t crying but Shane could feel his little brother shaking as he held him. Shane was twenty-three, and he wasn’t really a hugger. But his brother needed this. I need this. Something this huge has never happened before— not that he knew of.

It was all so bizarre. Shane hated using the excuse, “It all happened so fast,” but this time he didn’t have a choice. He barely remembered anything after the feedback burst assaulted his ears and sent him crashing to his knees. There was one thing, though. The girl.

He didn’t remember much about her except her face. Copper skin, sleek, black hair with curls that reached down to her shoulders and eyes that looked like brown crystals glittering in the spotlights set up for the concert. The two of them had locked gazes before she ignored him, and moved on to Rocky.

That was the thing Shane hated the most about the whole thing. Why Rocky? Why was he so important to her that she would pass up Shane? Why didn’t Shane do anything to stop her from taking his brother?

He must’ve blacked out, or maybe the disorientation got to him. The next thing he knew, Rocky and the girl were gone and the fans were going crazy. He found Blake sitting on the ground staring at the trees, fists gripping the grass for dear life as sirens echoed in the background. Shane didn’t recognize the look on his face— something a cross between complete and utter anguish, horror, confusion. He was in shock, Shane knew. So he did the only thing a big brother could do in this situation, and gather him in his arms and hugged him for dear life.

He wished he could hug his other one.

“Shane!”

The sound of his name jerked him back to reality and he looked up from his position in the grass. His father was bounding towards him and pretty much shaking the ground along with him. He had closed the gap between them in seconds, crowd and all.

“Shane,” he said, and before Shane knew it he was being crushed by his father’s meaty arms, Blake sandwiched in the middle.

Hank Nelson stood at a staggering 6’6”, and ninety percent of his 210 pounds was based on solid muscle. He was a handsome man with a clean shaven face but an obvious five o’ clock shadow etching on his chin. His hair was dark and his eyes were blue, just like his eldest and youngest, and his voice was a baritone that rang over crowds of voices.

Being hugged by him was like being crushed by a polar bear.

“Don’t ever do that again!” Hank scolded his sons as he finally released them.

“Sorry,” Shane told him. Blake didn’t say anything.

Hank rubbed a hand over his face and tried not to freak out. “Forget it. I’m just glad you’re safe.”

“Rocky isn’t,” Blake said. His voice was dark and low and Shane didn’t like it one bit. “Rocky’s with that psycho girl who kidnapped him, and we just sat back on our ass and did nothing!”

“Blake Jeffery,” Hank said, using his son’s middle name. “Watch your tongue.”

“Watch my tongue?” Blake exploded. “Rocky’s out there somewhere with some kidnapper and you’re worried about me swearing?”

Shane put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, and it immediately calmed him down. Blake took a deep breath, closing his eyes, and opened them again.

“Sorry, Dad,” he said dejectedly.

Hank nodded. “I understand. How about we just go home?”

Shane and Blake nodded dutifully. Inside, Shane’s stomach was churning. His dad was handling the whole kidnapping situation a whole lot better than he was. Or than Blake was. It made him wonder if his mom would’ve been just as worried as they were, had she be alive at the time, or if she would take it stoically like his dad?

“Excuse me,” came a soft voice from behind them.

The Nelsons turned to see a short, stout man wearing a pressed suit and a tie, a small black goatee and beady eyes. He had a badge on a string that hung around his neck, and his hands were shoved in his pockets.

He wasn’t the one who talked, though. The voice belonged to the female standing next to him— and she was much nicer to look at. Auburn hair spilled out from a ponytail at the top of her head, bangs framing her face and her bright blue eyes. She had fair skin and looked considerably younger than the man standing next to her. A badge hung around her neck, resting against the white cotton material of her shirt.

“Special Agent Kate Howard, FBI,” she told them, not unkindly. “This is my partner, Special Agent Rodney Turnbow. We need to ask you some questions… if that’s okay?” She said the last part looking at the towering Hank Nelson, who had his arms crossed in a defensive gesture as he stood slightly in front of the boys.

Hank tilted his head and eyed his sons. Shane stared back at him, stoic as usual. He got that from his father. Blake, on the other hand, avoided the gazes directed at him and glared at the ground, wringing the sides of his jacket with his clenched fists. He stood next to Shane but leaned into his older brother— protective, but also to remind himself that he still had another brother to keep.

“Alright,” Hank told the agents. “But not here. Let’s go to our house.” He looked at his watch and scowled. "On second thought, can't this wait until tomorrow? It's almost one in the morning."

"Of course," Agent Howard said, tilting your head. "It would be helpful if you showed us to your home anyways, so we know where we're going."

“We will require the use of your telephone lines,” the man said, “in case the kidnappers call for a ransom.”

His voice made him instantly dislikable, if his looks and his name hadn’t already scared somebody away. A nasal tenor, it made the skin on Shane’s arms crawl and made him want to wince at the grating sound. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the man didn’t censor his words in the least bit, causing Blake to flinch violently at the words “kidnappers” and “ransom.”

Shane felt his own fists clench as he fought to keep from hitting the man for upsetting his brother. Agent Howard shot her partner a disapproving glance, and Shane immediately liked her more than Agent Turnbow. She, at least, knew how sensitive this case would be to the brothers, the fans, everyone around the world who would hear about Rocky’s kidnapping in the next twenty four hours.

Hank ignored Turnbow’s words and turned to Agent Howard. “Follow me,” he said gruffly.

Although the crowd of fans had thinned, the crowd of paparazzi took its place almost immediately. The clicks and flashes of the cameras combined with the never ending flood of shouted questions had been blocked out by Shane and Blake due to the initial shock of the kidnapping, but now they returned with full force. Shane winced and fought his way down the aisle his bodyguards made for them, ignoring the questions but not bothering to hide his face from the pictures. He knew from experience that hiding your face just spurred gossip, and that was the last thing they needed.

They got to the car unscathed. Hank chose the Range Rover—a huge, towering truck with considerably speed and efficiency. It screamed, “Get the hell out of my way” through its jet black paint and blinding headlights, especially when Hank was driving it— considering he drove like a maniac anywhere. Shane suspected this ride may be more wild than usual as his dad fought through traffic to get to the house.

He was right. Cars honked and people stuck their hands out the window, although they blurred past them so fast Shane couldn’t see exactly what they were signing. He had an idea, though. His dad usually got that reaction out of people when driving.

They pulled up to their house a few minutes later. To their credit, the agents didn’t even blink when they stepped out of their own Denali, which led Shane to believe they had handled celebrity cases on a daily basis. It was when they stepped inside, however, when they got the biggest shock.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Nelson,” Marni, their German housekeeper, said as Hank opened the door. Her accent slipped and slid, signaling how stressed she was. “He insisted.”

“Who insisted?” Hank wondered aloud, traveling down the hall to see.

"The detective," she replied, wringing her hands. "I tried to stop him, but he has he has an urgent message for you.

Hank paused and looked at her. "It's alright, Marni," he said kindly. "How about you go home and get some rest? I'll give you tomorrow off."

Her eyes grew wide. "Are you sure, Mr. Nelson?" At his nod she bowed her head. "Thank you, Mr. Nelson." And she hurried out of the house.

In their massive kitchen sat a man on a laptop. He wore a long brown trench coat and a black fedora, which would’ve looked good if not for his long, greasy brown hair that stuck out underneath. He had a strong chin and mischievous brown eyes that twinkled as he turned towards the five.

“Hello, I’m Private Detective Caleb Dawson!” he said, obnoxiously cheerful. He immediately leapt up upon seeing them enter and made a beeline towards Hank. Grabbing his hand and pumping it up and down, he grinned a toothy smile. “You must be Hank Nelson. I’ve read all about you. Of course, I had to do some research on the way up here, but I have one of those Droid thingies that let you surf the internet? Of course, this happened like an hour ago, and I was in the neighborhood, but still, do you know how hard it is to look people up and drive at the same time? Let me tell you, it’s ridicul—“

“Get the hell out of my house,” Hank growled.

Usually his voice and his size was enough to send a regular person packing for the door, but Dawson obviously wasn’t a regular person. In response, his grin got even wider, if that was possible. “No, no, I have to tell you my proposition first!” he exclaimed. “Come here, take a seat, I’ve got something to show you!”

He spotted Shane and Blake then, and his grin dropped and his eyes got wide. “Oh, gosh, you guys are 88 Keys!”

“We’re missing a member,” Shane told him, but the sarcasm in his voice did nothing to damper the detective’s enthusiasm.

“Gosh, I’ve been following you guys ever since two cases ago! See, this girl went missing and she was huge fans of yours. Found her— she’s a pretty girl, too, maybe I could hook you up? I just know she’d love to hear from you guys.” Dawson caught wind of the expressions on his audience’s faces and quickly backtracked. “Anyways, I’m here to offer my services.”

“Actually, that's what the Bureau is for.” This came from Agent Howard as she and Agent Turnbow shouldered their way up to face the detective.

“No disrespect to you, agents,” Dawson said apologetically. “I just mean, I usually handle big cases like this. And I have a high success rate! See?” He pulled a thick stack of news articles from out of nowhere and slapped it onto the marble counter top.

Hank glared at him but his eyes darted down. He had to say, the detective sure had made a name for himself. His specialty was locating missing people, and he was pretty good at it. Hank crossed his arms slowly and looked at the agents for their opinion.

Turnbow spoke up first. “I’ve heard of this clown,” he said, scowling. “His attitude is grating, but he’s good at what he does.”

Dawson beamed at the praise. “Well, you know what I like to say: humor balances out the gloom in life!” He gathered up the papers and stashed them back in his briefcase. “So! I’d like to start with your boys, if that’s alright. They did see the kidnapper, for a brief second is that correct?”

“How did you—” Blake started to say.

“We never said we would hire you,” his father interrupted, glaring at the man.

Immediately Dawson’s face fell. “You won’t regret it, sir,” he insisted. “Honest— I can work on all the smaller leads while your agents can work on the more obvious ones. That way it distracts the kidnappers and gives me a chance to work my magic!”

“Dad,” Shane said, and that’s all he had to say as his father looked back at him. Shane gave him a shrug. It couldn’t hurt. Hank sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. Suddenly he looked extremely tired.

“Okay,” he said finally. “But tomorrow. It’s almost one in the morning and my boys need to get to bed.”

Dawson lit up like a beacon. “Thank you sir, you won’t regret it!”

You said that already, Hank thought wryly, trying not to wince as the detective grabbed his hand and tried his best to pump it off. He spotted a few more words that went by so fast Hank couldn’t even catch them, and went out the door in a blur of brown and black.

The Nelsons stared after them, until Hank caught the looks of the agents still standing in his house. “That goes for you too,” he snapped. “Anything you have to ask my boys will have to wait until tomorrow. Understand?”

“Yes sir,” the two chorused. Shane wondered if it was because as agents they were naturally respectful, or if it was his father’s demanding nature. Either way, they meekly left without a word.

Hank turned to his sons. Blake looked like he was about to fall asleep on his feet, but Shane stood leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes dark and tracking his father like he usually did. “Bed,” he told them. “Now.”

Blake and Shane trudged up the stairs to their rooms, giving the picture of their mother a kiss as they went. Hank walked over and took the picture frame off the wall and sat on the couch, staring at his wife and wishing she was here to ease everyone’s minds.

He waited until the sounds of his sons’ doors shut and the click of their light switches told him they were in bed, and then curled up with the photo to let the force of the night hit him.

Chapter Three

Boredom.

I rolled my head around my shoulders to work out the kinks, wishing I could stand up. Eternity in a chair? Not fun. Nani was busy cleaning her gun— right in front of me, I might add. As if I didn’t have enough things to freak out about. In fact, I’d ticked down the line of things that occur in kidnappings that they don’t show in the movies—the extreme urge to use the bathroom, hunger pangs, ponderings on the hot psycho chick who kidnapped you, etc. —and finally came the last, biggest problem.

Boredom. I was seriously bored out of my mind. The kidnappings on TV? Action-packed, angsty, dramatic, edge-of-your-seat stunts… not like that in real life. And it was driving me crazy.

My action picked up right as I got back from the bathroom— which was really just a PortaPotty on the side of the building. As Nani was getting ready to re-cuff me to the Chair of Doom, the door front door slammed open and Crazy was standing there. Her hair was frazzled, her jacket was crooked on her shoulders, and as the light streamed in through the doorway it lit her up like a Christmas tree.

“Gun!” she shouted, and Nani immediately dropped me and grabbed the gun that was tucked into her pants, launching it across the room. Crazy caught it perfectly— okay, what the hell? Was that a stunt they practiced when they weren’t kidnapping rock stars or something?—spun on her heel, and disappeared out the door.

The unmistakable crack of a gunshot tore the question I wanted to ask right out of my mouth. Crazy appeared in the doorway and tossed the gun back to Nani. “We need to move,” she said shortly. “Now.”

That was it. I was out of there. Before I even knew what I was doing I took off towards the door, not stopping to think about how stupid I was being with Crazy still standing in the doorway. She lunged at me as I went past, grabbing onto my jacket. I felt the fabric rip and slipped out of it, leaving her with my jacket. Man, that’s one of my favorites…

Scrambling for leverage I pulled out of the doorframe. The street was ahead, so close, completely absent of cars, as usual. It was later in the evening and raining— storming, actually. The waves thundered against the wall to my right as I ran.

Both girls were shouting now, but I couldn’t understand them with the wind rushing through my ears. I ran. I ran harder than I had ever run before, which is probably why it hurt so much more when I tripped. Ouch.

Immediately they were on me again. I winced as the older girl yanked my arms back so hard I was sure she dislocated them both at the shoulder, but froze when I started to protest. The thing I’d tripped on was a body. A boy. He looked even younger than Nani. He was sprawled out unceremoniously on the pavement, head rolled to the side, eyes closed. I couldn’t see if he was breathing or not, but that bullet to the chest didn’t look promising.

“You killed him,” I whispered, feeling the click of handcuffs around my wrists again. “You actually killed him.”

Crazy hauled me up, but Nani stared back at her in concern. Obviously this came as a shock to her as well. “Maya—” she started to say.

“He’s fine,” Maya snapped. Good to put a name to the face. Maya looked back at the boy as she pushed me to the van. “He’s better than fine, actually,” she muttered. “He’ll… he’ll be better now.”

I was devastated. He looked like a kid. And she shot him. Shot him. Just like she said she’d do me. Maya grabbed the van handle and slid it open, and then shoved me inside so hard I hit the other side with my head. I ignored the bells, though, because Maya climbed into the back with me, and there was that nasty gun again. She leaned in close, so close I could see the fury in her chilling chocolate crystal eyes.

“Look,” she said, her voice low, in a seething sort of way. “I don’t care who you are. I don’t give a damn if you were the president of the United States, do you hear me? I will

shoot your ass if you try to run again. Do we understand each other?”

My brain was numb. I was still reeling from the shock of seeing someone die, dead. So, instead of a snippy comment or an eyeroll, I simply nodded, unwilling to get into it with this girl. Not now, anyways.

“Good.” Maya reached back to slide the van door closed, and paused for a second, locking gazes with me. “You’re much better off with us, anyways.”

The van door shut in my face.

I could hear the two having an argument in Spanish outside. As far as I could tell, Nani was trying to figure out why her sister shot some kid. I wanted to know, too, but I doubted they were going to tell me. I sat, still half-leaning against the wall awkwardly propped up on my elbow with my hands cuffed behind my back, and stared at the door of the van. I was in shock, I knew. My knees throbbed dully and I barely noticed them until I looked down and recognized the dark red stain of blood on my pant legs.

I shuddered.

Maya and Nani got into the van a second later and the doors slammed closed. Nani appeared by my side with a cloth. She saw my drained look and I could see her eyes grow sad. “Sorry,” she mouthed.

She pressed the cloth to my face. I wasn’t about to have a repeat of the ear splitting headache I got when I woke from that, so I let my eyes flutter and my body go limp, playing dead. Nani pulled the cloth away and climbed back into the front seat.

Maya started the car and we drove off. I was careful to keep my eyes closed and I thought my rag doll impersonation was pretty impressive, considering I’d never done it before.

“Nani,” Maya said after a while.

Nani didn’t answer. I guess she was still mad at her sister, because Maya sighed and said, “He’s not dead.”

My heart leapt into my throat. That was good, right? She must’ve been talking about the boy she shot. But why shoot him? And how did she know?

“I know,” Nani said finally. “I saw the wound. Nowhere near fatal.”

“Then why—?”

“Because you shot him in front of Rocky,” she snapped.

I tried not to feel like I was eavesdropping. Despite them being dangerous kidnappers, it went against my nature to eavesdrop— although this conversation was getting good. I prayed that they wouldn’t switch to Spanish anytime soon.

“The kid was hitting on me,” Maya grumbled. “And he wouldn’t stop. He rubbed up against me, Nani, and then he followed me. And then, when I wouldn’t give him what he wanted, he tried to kill me. What was I supposed to do?”

“Knock him out?” Nani suggested.

“He had a knife. And then he got my gun. Although he didn’t really know how to use it, I can tell you that.”

I suddenly realized how sexy her voice was, and hated myself for thinking that. Seriously, I could listen to Maya’s voice all day long… so long as she wasn’t threatening me with imminent death.

Maya abruptly swore in Spanish. That was one thing I did understand— that and everything I learned from Dora the Explorer.

“What’s wrong?” Nani asked.

“He took it,” Maya growled.

“Took what?”

They both turned to me. Good grief. Why didn’t they just tape my mouth shut while they’re at it? At least then I wouldn’t blurt things out.

Maya turned back to the road, deciding she was going to ignore me faking unconsciousness. “Your necklace,” she said simply. “Sorry. That kid grabbed it off me when he attacked me.”

Nice. She swiftly pleaded innocent and shifted blame at the same time. I wasn’t concerned about that, though. I stared at her eyes in the rear view mirror and narrowed my own. “You lost my necklace?”

Nani turned in her seat, face set in peace-keeping mode. “More likely than not someone will find that boy before he wakes up and finds your necklace. It’ll still get to your family, don’t worry.”

“So he’s not dead.” Oops, my relief was shining through there.

Maya shook her head emphatically. “I’ve been shooting my entire life. I know when I hit anything vital.”

“Wait a minute,” I said, frowning, “I must’ve ran, like, twenty yards before I tripped. Are you telling me you shot him from twenty yards away knowing where to shoot so you won’t kill him? While it was storming?”

She shrugged again. “I’m a good shot.”

Good grief. Crazy, crack shot, modest.

Of course, that did beg the question: if she could shoot so well from back there, why didn’t she shoot me like she keeps telling me she will?

“There,” Nani said suddenly. I sat up to see that she had a map in her hands, and she was pointing to a spot on the map. Unfortunately for me, I had no clue how to read maps, but I did recognize that we were still in California.

“Good,” Maya said, nodding. “Hopefully we won’t get any uninvited company again.”

Oh great. Now where were we going? Obviously the warehouse had been compromised, but what’s more secluded than a run-down building in the middle of nowhere? A tree house?

I really didn’t want to spend any time with these crazy people in a tree house.

Finally I couldn’t take it anymore. “Where are we going?” I demanded.

“Nonya,” Maya said.

I made a face. Was that Spanish or something?

Nani smiled at me in the rear view mirror. “None of your business,” she translated.

Ah. None-ya

. Funny.

The drive was short, and none of us talked. I was too on edge, despite the knowledge that the boy was alive and probably put up in a hospital by now. They had no reason to lie to me. They were crazy, not cruel. What Maya said puzzled me though. The boy hit on her but when she refused he tried to kill her? What kind of person did that? Not to mention, Maya said it nonchalantly, like something like that happened every day.

Try as I might, I couldn’t figure out who these girls were, and it was giving me another headache.

The van slowed to a stop. Maya nodded to Nani and the girl immediately hopped out. That puzzled me too. Nani had disappeared earlier with the warehouse right before we went in it. Maya turned around and climbed into the back with me, opening the van door.

All of a sudden I was mad. “Wow,” I told Maya, “you must be so proud of her.” For doing everything you say without a fight.

When she didn’t answer, I continued, “I mean, following her big sister’s footsteps and all. Shooting people without thinking about it, kidnapping rock stars—”

“That was her idea, you know,” she pointed out.

I rolled my eyes. “Oh sure, she’s in my age group. You two decide suddenly that you need money and the first thing that comes to mind is, “Let’s go kidnap Rocky Nelson!”

Maya arched an eyebrow. “Well maybe if you didn’t broadcast to the world that you would be putting on a concert without any parental supervision and made yourself so freaking easy to catch, we would’ve chosen something different.”

Ouch. She had me there. That was pretty stupid on my part. I was never taking bodyguards for granted again. I huffed in annoyance and decided not to push my luck.

Nani appeared a second later, knocking twice on the window in the front. Maya nodded and turned back to me. “Maybe this time I won’t have to shoot somebody to save your $5,000 ass,” she said snarkily.

My eyebrows shot up. Five thousand dollars? That’s it? Maybe that was the usual price for a normal person but, hello, I’m a celebrity. That little of a ransom told me they weren’t greedy— they actually needed the money.

Maya seemed to realize she’d said something wrong and sighed. “Try not to run this time, okay?” she said. “I want you out of here as much as you do.”

“I highly doubt that,” I muttered. Maya lifted up the gun— not threatening this time, just annoyed. I shut up anyways. She could always just pistol whip me or something.

To my surprise, she uncuffed my hands. As I rubbed my chafed wrists she glared at me. “Don’t yell for help,” she warned. “Don’t run. Don’t do anything except go inside, got it?”

“You’re the one with the gun,” I told her.

She didn’t seem amused by my attempt at humor. The door slid open and Maya pushed me out onto the street. The storm had passed over and the sky was broken out in purple and pinks and yellows as the sun set over the ocean in front of me. Instead of being in an abandoned town, like before, there were now rows and rows of boathouses lining the beaches and the docks. Cars rolled lazily down the street on my right. I stared longingly at them, wondering if, maybe if they saw me, they’d recognize me and take me home. The hope was short lived as Maya shoved me towards the boathouse in front of us.

This building was more like a cabin than a boathouse. There wasn’t any boat, I noted as we got inside, just an opening where water lapped at the bottom of the cover that had been put over top of it. The cover was sturdy enough that Nani was standing on top of it with her arms crossed, chair in hand. I groaned aloud.

“Sorry,” Nani told me, but she was grinning like she was enjoying this. I scowled at her and sat in the chair as Maya passed her sister the cuffs and she fastened them around my wrists.

Maya looked at her watch, which I noticed was dark blue and white and looked kind of cheap. “They probably found that kid by now,” she said. “Which means they have the necklace and it’ll make its way to your parents soon.” She looked at Nani. “How much do you think?”

“Two hours,” she said.

I looked back and forth between, completely lost. Maya put her hands on her hips, thinking about that.

“Alright,” she said finally. “It’s almost eight now, but I know he’s hungry.”

“Could we not talk about the rock star like he isn't here?” I butted in, annoyed.

Maya gave me a scowl. “Hope you like McDonald’s.”

My stomach churned at the mere mention of that nasty, greasy, icky place. I don’t usually get queasy from fast food restaurants but McDonalds was an exception. So, no, I didn’t particularly like the place, but Maya was already out the door before I could protest.

An hour and a half passed before she came back. I was falling asleep in my chair, except every time my chin hit my chest a loud, curling growl erupted from my stomach and then I was reminded of how freaking hungry I was. I estimated that I hadn’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours, and it was killing me. People actually went weeks on end without eating, using only water to survive? I wasn’t even going to last in the next hour. At the moment, I’d be glad for any food. I would eat McDonald’s without a complaint. Just as long as I got some food into my stomach as soon as Crazy walked in the door.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the way it worked. Maya did walk through the door with two bags, alright— but she had a plastic cell phone and a piece of paper in her other hand, as well as the wafting scent of stomach rebellion, in the guise of chicken nuggets and french fries. She set one of the bags down and immediately Nani dug in. She looked about as hungry as I was. Maya came up to me with the second bag and the cell phone and piece of paper and knelt before me. She pulled out a carton of chicken nuggets, and then held up the cell phone.

“You do one thing for me, and then you can eat.”

I stared at her incredulously. Do one thing for her? She was a psychopathic trigger-happy kidnapper chick. I didn’t exactly have a choice, did I? “What do I have to do?”

“You’re going to call your parents—”

“Dad,” I interrupted, getting tired of that. She arched an eyebrow at me and I flushed, looking away. “It’s just my dad.”

"Alright," she agreed. "We're going to call your dad. I want you to say everything, and I mean everything, on this paper. And then if you're a good boy, I'll let you talk with him. Only specific answers, of course."

I scowled at the 'good boy' comment. "And if I don't?"

She sat back and pulled a knife from out of nowhere, using it to feign filing her nails. "Then you won't eat," she said, shrugging like it was no big deal. "And I can take these, and the rest of the food, and eat them, since I don't want them to waste. Oh, and I'll make sure you won't eat until this entire this is over." Maya leaned forward and smiled a little bit, like she was enjoying the show she was putting on. "However long that takes."

I swallowed. Somehow I felt like her threatening to shoot me was better than her threatening to starve me. I nodded slowly, sighing. "His number is 213-723-9973."

She dialed the number and tucked the phone between my ear and my shoulder, holding up the piece of paper. I swallowed again, hearing the phone ring. I knew Dad probably had the cops over, and they would probably be listening in on every word. Were Shane and Blake there? I really didn't want to think about how they were taking this. They probably thought I was dead.

"Hello?"

My heart stopped. Just for a second, I felt like it lodged in my stomach and dropped, taking both to my toes and back up again. "Dad?"

"Rocky?!"

His voice sounded both relieved and disbelieving. "You scared the hell out of me! Where are you? Are you okay? What happened?"

Maya pointed to the first word on the page and I nodded, swallowing to clear my throat. "They want five thousand dolars. You have until six PM tomorrow to get the money. Bring it in unmarked bills to the beach by Bixby Park."

The next sentence made my mouth go dry. I looked at Maya, who nodded.

"Rocky? You still there?"

I swallowed hard and tried to speak through the sudden lump in my throat. "Have Blake and Shane bring the money. No one else." I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, but gave up on the third try. "If they see any cops, Feds, or anyone else, they will shoot me, and you... you will never find my body."

The sharp intake of breath I heard made me feel miserable. Maya nodded at me, mouthing, "Say you're alright."

"I'm okay, Dad," I blurted, choking on my words. "I mean, they haven't hurt me yet."

"Okay, Rocky, it's alright to be scared. We're going to find you, I promise."

I didn't doubt the promise. Before I could answer, Maya took the phone from my shoulder and turned it off. Then she ran outside. Through the window I could see her dropping the phone into the ocean.

“Sorry,” she said when she came back in. She sounded like she meant it, too. “But they can’t hear my voice.”

“I understand.” My voice was hollow.

The silence stretched a bit until she knelt down and grabbed the bag. “Hungry?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

I frowned and awkwardly jerked against the handcuffs. “How am I supposed to eat tied up like this?”

“Simple,” she said, a bit too bright for my taste. “I feed you.”

I stared at her, trying to figure out if she was joking or not. I should’ve known better. This chick didn’t joke. As Maya lifted the piece of meat to my mouth, I turned my head away, pressing my lips into a firm line and staring at the far wall of the boathouse.

Maya growled. “Don’t be such a baby. Eat.”

“I’m not being spoonfed,” I snapped. “It’s humiliating.”

“Well, you’ve shown us what you can do with your hands free,” she said, raising her eyebrows at me like she wanted me to argue. “I’m not taking that chance again. You can either eat, or you can you can not eat. Personally, I could care less. It’s your choice if you want to starve to death.”

I glowered at her, and then back to the chicken she held in her fingers. As if on cue, my stomach growled again, louder this time. It kind of hurt. I sighed. As much as I hated to admit it, she was right. If I was going to get out of this, escape if I got the chance, I needed energy. Slowly, I nodded.

Maya smiled again in grim triumph and lifted the chicken to my lips again. I grabbed it with my teeth and chewed, staring at the floor, anywhere but her face.

I was on to the third piece of chicken when the door started to open. Maya stood immediately and cupped a hand over my mouth-- not in a violent way, just telling me to be quiet. Nani was alert instantly, staring at Maya, who shook her head. They sure had a discreet way of communicating.

The door slowly creaked open. Maya reached for her pocket, where she undoubtedly had a gun or a knife or any other random lethal weapon. Light flooded in as the door opened all the way, and a figure stood there, hands in his pockets.

"Something told me you'd be here."

Chapter Four

Blake woke with a jolt. He stared at the ceiling above him, not recognizing the criss-crossed plaid patterns that danced across the tiles until he realize a second later that it was his ceiling, over his bed, in his bedroom. Going on tour, in addition to having six houses all over the United States, usually meant him sleeping in hotels. Different beds, different ceilings. And unfortunately, his own room was no exception.

He rubbed at his eyes and sat up slowly. A dark, heavy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach and Blake couldn’t figure out why until it all rushed back to him. The concert, feedback and the girl and Rocky and the cops, the FBI agents and Detective Dawson. But Rocky. Mostly Rocky.

He leaned forward and drew his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs. Blake honestly didn’t know what to do. His emotions were so jumbled up in a bundle of hormones and confusion that all he really wanted to do was scream—be it out of anger or sadness, he had no clue.

The door to his bedroom opened, and Shane popped his head in. Blake opened his mouth to say something, and then it all poured out as he began to cry.

This was stupid— Blake was seventeen, for God’s sakes! Seventeen-year-olds didn’t cry, and yet here he was, doing the exact thing he wasn’t supposed to at this age. Shane rushed over to him, sat on his bed, and pulled his head to his chest. Blake sat there and tried to get his sobs under control. He hadn’t cried since Mom died. Rocky always told him that much emotion trapped inside of him was going to make him explode one day. Turned out he was right. Blake felt like a walking pressure-sensitive case of C-4, just waiting for the next thing to go wrong so he could blow all over again. He was a wreck.

Shane was incredibly patient with him. Blake knew that his brother had to have been taking this just as hard, if not harder. But he held him and he didn’t cry. Blake was grateful for that.

Slowly his sobs faded to hiccups. He felt like he could pass out again, despite the clock on the side table reading 5:12 PM. Shane had pulled the curtains open, too, so that the setting sun reflected off the Pacific Ocean and right into Blake’s eyes. He squinted and then turned his face away, annoyed. Being blinded was the last thing he needed.

A knock on the door interrupted whatever Blake was about to say to his brother, an erratic three beats in rapid succession, followed by five longer ones. The two switched glances and Shane got up and opened the door to reveal Dawson standing there, grinning from ear to ear. The detective hadn’t changed much since last night— literally. He still wore the same trench coat and fedora, although he did have two bags of McDonald’s in his hands.

“Evening, sunshine!” he exclaimed, pushing past Shane and into the room, despite not being invited in. “Your dad let me in. Thought we should get started.”

Blake pursed his lips and looked at the bags in his hands. “We don’t like McDonald’s,” he said shortly.

Shane frowned at him disapprovingly and then turned to the detective. “But thanks anyways,” he said. “You didn’t have to do that for us.”

“No, it’s my bad,” Dawson admitted sheepishly, and put the bags down on the small side table next to Blake’s bed. “I planned to do some research about you guys, but I got interrupted.”

“By what?” Blake asked curiously.

Dawson’s eyes glittered excitedly. “One of my sources found a boy who’d been shot. He wasn’t Rocky,” he said hurriedly at the stricken look on the boys’ faces. “But he was found holding your brother’s necklace, the one your mom—”

“Gave to him for his birthday,” Shane completed. “Yeah, we know."

“Anyways,” Dawson said, shrugging, “he’s in the hospital right now. He’s fine, by the way, and he woke up a couple of minutes ago. We can go ask him questions about how Rocky’s necklace came into his possession.”

“What are we waiting for?” Blake demanded, swinging out of bed.

Dawson looked him up and down. “Well, you can start by getting dressed,” he pointed out.

Blake scowled, grabbed something from the drawer by the bed, and shuffled off to the bathroom to take a shower. Shane was left with Dawson.

“So…” the detective drawled.

Shane wanted to ignore him. He had no patience for this hyperactive man. But if his assistance let Rocky come home sooner, he was going to suck it up and let the detective annoy him.

“Have the cops already talked to this guy?” he asked him, just to fill the silence.

“Nope.” Dawson popped the 'p,' making Shane grind his teeth together. “Kid woke up half an hour ago. I don’t even think the cops know about it yet.”

Shane looked at him, curious. “Then how did you know about it?"

Dawson leaned forward with shifty eyes and said in whisper, “I have friends in high places.”

Or friends in low places, Shane couldn’t help thinking. The idea of Dawson having any friends anywhere was a bit of a stretch for him to comprehend.

Blake came out then. Shane gave him a look— that was fast— and Blake shrugged, grabbing his jacket and shrugging it on. “Are we leaving now, or what?”

The three jogged down the stairs— Dawson panted the whole way like he wasn’t used to climbing stair cases— and swung into the kitchen. Blake looked around, furrowing his brow.

“Where’s Dad?” he asked Dawson.

It was Shane who answered. “He went with the FBI to answer some questions.”

Blake shot him a look. They were probably routine, but he had a feeling they were grilling him about him and Shane about the relationship the brothers had. Or maybe that was his paranoia setting in. Either way, it didn’t matter. Shane wrote a quick note in his ironically messy shorthand and left it on the counter.

They left a couple of minutes later in the limo. Shane’s bodyguard, Keith— who’d been their bodyguard and chief of security for the four years they’d been a band— was driving and didn’t even look annoyed when Dawson mock-punched him in the shoulder and attempted to joke about the hectic life of a bodyguard.

The detective, for his part, acted like he’d never been in a limo before— and maybe he hadn’t, if the only items he owned were the trench coat and the hat. He helped himself to a Dr. Pepper from the cooler in the side, even though he never really had asked permission. Blake and Shane let him, too busy staring out the window, lost in their own thoughts.

The hospital was in Los Angeles. Dawson breezed through the hospital check-ins, flashing his wallet at the nearest doctors who tried to stop him. Considering he was a private detective, Blake assumed he didn’t even have a badge, but the staff must have recognized him on sight because he moved out of the way.

“Andre Morreno,” Dawson said loudly as he opened the door to the hospital room.

The kid who looked up couldn’t have been more than twelve. He was scrawny and skinny— and the brothers could tell because his chest was exposed and only half-covered with the thick white bandage wrapped around his right shoulder. He has scraggly, oily black curls that dropped to his chin and mischievous brown eyes that twinkled when he looked at them.

And then he opened his mouth.

Blake and Shane stared at him as he rattled off a multitude of Spanish that neither of them understood.

“Por qué hay cantantes famosos en mi habitación? Qué es eso, algún tipo de broma? Porque me estoy reiendo. Que gracioso!"

The two brothers looked at each other and then at him. “Sorry, dude,” Blake said shortly. “We don’t speak Spanish.”

Andre grinned, flashing teeth that looked more yellow than white. “Yeah, dude,

why you think say it? Man, what the hell you doin’ up in here? You checkin’ in the mental ward or somethin’?”

Blake blinked and Shane frowned, while Dawson just tipped his hat coolly.

“Listen, you little punk,” he snarled, placing two hands on the hospital bed and leaning in so his face was two inches from Andre’s. “You’re going to tell us what you know, and you’re going to tell us now— unless you want some bullets to go with that hole in your shoulder.”

Andre didn’t even bat an eyelash. He busted out laughing so hard he had to gasp in pain and hold his shoulder as he strained it. “That the most badass fake cop impersonation I ever seen!” he whooped.

Blake had to admit that Dawson looked more childish than scary. He rolled his eyes and shouldered his way past Dawson. “Hey, Andre,” he said. “I’m Blake Nelson, and this my brother, Shane.”

“Yeah, hombre,

I know you,” he said, arching his eyebrows at the two. “What you wanna know? Dunno how much help I am, you know, bein’ shot up and all.”

“You had Rocky’s necklace in your hand when they found you, right?” Blake asked.

Andre looked surprised. “I dunno. You think it was your brother’s? ‘Cause all I know is, one minute I’m walking down the street mindin’ the ladies and bam, one chica look so fine she could knock a grown man on his ass, but when I try to saddle up to her she goes all loco on me. All I wanted was a number, know what I mean?’

Dawson looked lost. Blake and Shane had an easier time following along, but he was talking so fast they could practically see the words blur through the air as they came out of his mouth.

“So I follow her, tryin’ see what she up to, you know? Bam, chica turns around and pulls a gun on me. I defended myself, got the gun, grabbed somethin’ along the way. Then I followed her again, ‘cept this time she had another gun and the rest is history.”

Blake frowned. “She just pulled a gun on you? Just like that?”

Andre gave him a funny look. “Maybe it’s all money bags and gold bars for you rich folks but down here we got nothin’ but gangs, guns, and a little love that keeps us goin’ round LA. It ain’t uncommon for guns to be pulled.”

For some reason that made Blake incredibly sad. He didn’t like the idea of anybody living in a place where they could be killed out of the blue every day, let alone in his own backyard. This kid barely looked like he was in his teens and yet Blake could see every scar, bruise, and laceration littered on his exposed copper skin.

Andre nodded at the desk across from the bed. “They got the stuff I had on me in that box, if you want the necklace.”

Shane walked over, shifted through the random objects, and pulled out the necklace. He sighed. “This is his, alright.”

The kid actually looked sympathetic. “Sorry, man. If I’d known—"

“You got shot,” Blake scoffed. “I think that’s enough action for one lifetime, don’t you think?”

Andre flashed another one of his grins at him. “You know, you pretty boys might not be so bad after all.”

Dawson spoke up after being silent for so long. “This girl— you see what she looked like?”

“Yeah, man.” Andre looked a little dreamy as he stared up at the hospital ceiling like her portrait was painted there. “She got long black curly hair. Curves like you wouldn’t believe, yo. She was tall and she wasn’t even wearin’ heels. Hard eyes. Like crystals— chocolate crystals. Mm-mm.”

Blake glanced at Shane and his brother nodded. Chocolate crystals. “That’s her,” Shane said to Dawson.

Dawson got an odd look on his face but it was gone before Blake even registered it. “Fine,” he said begrudgingly. “I guess I can’t really arrest you, Morreno, being shot and all. But let’s not make this a repeat offense, you got me?”

Andre arched an eyebrow at him. "Realmente aspirar a un buen poli, poli malo."

Dawson smirked at him as he went out the door. “Cállate, muchacho, sé donde vives.”

“What did you say to him?” Blake asked Dawson, recalling Andre’s shocked face as they left the hospital room.

“Oh, nothing,” Dawson shrugged. “Just told him that I took a little Spanish in high school.”

Shane’s cell phone rang. “Hello?” he said into the phone.

Blake noticed his brother’s face pale. “What is it?” he whispered.

Shane held the phone between his shoulder and his ear and began to sign to Blake— something they hadn’t done in years. Since their mother died.

“When?” he asked in the phone as he signed to his brother, “Dad got a phone call from Rocky.”

“What?” Blake exclaimed.

Shane hushed him and listened. “We’ll be right over.”

He hung up. “It was a few minutes ago. Come on, we need to go back to the house. The FBI’s already there and they have the phone call on tape.”

They looked at Dawson— who was, again, trying to pretend he wasn’t listening in on a conversation, when really he was. “Oh, I need to run down a lead,” he said, raising his hands like they were inviting him to come along.

Shane hesitated, despite his relief at getting rid of the bumbling detective. “But Keith drove us,” he said, frowning. “Don’t you need a ride?”

“I’ll catch a cab,” Dawson promised. “Go on, I’ll catch up.”

They didn’t give it much thought and, after exchanging phone numbers with Dawson, they hurried out of the hospital doors and into the storm.

*All Spanish used in this novel are courtesy of Google Translate. If I got some things wrong, feel free to tell me so I can fix it!

Chapter Five

He was tall, I’ll give him that,, especially since I thought most Latinos were short. Not this guy. He towered. Like, 6'2". And he was dripping wet. I remembered that the storm was still going on outside, so I guess that explained that. But beyond the dripping wetness and the unusual height— and my dad was six-foot-six, so I knew unusual height when I saw it— he had the same chiseled chin and dimples that Crazy Maya had. He had aviators placed on his hair, which was odd because it was raining and I’m pretty sure it was almost nighttime outside.

Speaking of, I looked up at Maya, who still had her hand cupped over my mouth. She looked frozen, staring at the new guy with a look that was a cross between completely shock and utter happiness.

Nani, however, was not so frozen. She launched herself at the man with a squeal and latched onto him like a leech.

The man laughed and hugged her back, planting a kiss on her forehead. “What’s happening, lil’ niña?”

Same accent. I liked it better on the girls, though.

I felt Maya’s hand relax and her expression flittered to a scowl as she started towards him. He reached out his arms like he was going to hug her but she brushed right past him, peering out the door and then closing it tightly.

“You weren’t followed, were you?” she asked him point blank.

He looked annoyed. “Nice to see you too.”

“Antonio,” she said, exasperated and with her accent in full force.

Antonio— I’m assuming that was his name— raised his hands defensively. “Please, I’ve been at this way longer than you. I wasn’t followed.”

Maya pursed her lips at him and he gave her a cheeky grin back. Finally she rolled her eyes and hugged him.

I shifted uncomfortably. It was kind of awkward cuffed to a chair while my kidnappers have some kind of family reunion or something.

They looked over at me and Antonio broke away, coming to stand in front of my chair with his hands in his pockets, looking down at me. He probably thought it looked intimidating but I’d seen Maya in action and I didn’t think anything else could scare me after that.

“So this is the great Rocky Nelson,” he said, a sarcastic edge in his voice.

I snorted, unimpressed with his act. “Yeah, and who are you supposed to be? Erik Estrada?”

He flashed me a smirk. “Oh, he’s funny.”

Before I even knew what happened my head was snapping back so fast and hard it almost hit the back of chair. Spots swam in front of my eyes and my right cheek was on fire. I thought I heard Maya and Nani screaming in the background but that might’ve been the bells ringing insistently in my head.

When I regained my senses I spotted Antonio and instinct took over. My right leg shot out and kicked him hard in the shin. Crude, but effective— Antonio crumpled to one knee, his face right in line of my Converse. Before I could kick him again, though, Maya stepped in front of us and she looked pissed.

“What the hell is wrong with you two?” she snapped. Pointing at Antonio she said, “Tony— no hitting the rock star for no reason!” And to me she growled, “And you— get control of your stupid manly urges to redeem your dignity, okay?”

“Fine,” Antonio and I spat in unison.

Maya grabbed Antonio’s arm and dragged him off to converse with him in the corner of the room while Nani approached me carefully with a wet rag.

“You’re bleeding,” she said softly.

I didn’t even notice, but now that she mentioned it I could feel warm, sticky liquid running down my cheek. Antonio had slapped me with the back of his hand and obviously he’d been wearing rings. Nani carefully dabbed at the cuts.

“He’s not usually like this,” she said, wincing as their voices raised at one point.

“Is he your brother?”

Nani nodded. “Yeah. We haven’t seen him in, like, five years though. Antonio’s—”

“Dad killed people!” That came from Maya, and it was partially horrified— which was good, right? She sounded like she had issues with her dad, which meant she was less likely to kill somebody… right?

Nani flinched, hard.

“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling bad for her. It looked like every word was a physical blow to her.

The girl shook her head. “It’s fine,” she murmured. “Bleeding’s stopped, but you’re going to have a nasty bruise.”

I shrugged. “I can deal with that.”

“Well, I’m not going to kill him!”

Automatically I knew she was talking about me, and my head turned to look at Maya. She was staring at her brother, fists clenched, while Antonio looked annoyed and impatient.

I quickly looked away. This really wasn’t any of my business— aside from the fact that this family had kidnapped me and held me against my will and all.

Nani turned back to me. “I don’t really see why you shouldn’t know,” she whispered. “But Maya and I are princesses— our dad is a leader. Of a gang. He’s dangerous and he’s violent and he’s evil and I spent twelve years with him. Maya and Tony went longer. But when I turned twelve Maya picked us up and left so we could go live with our mom. Tony stayed here. I don’t know why. But five years later he finds us again and asks for our help because apparently he stole five thousand dollars from Dad and Dad gave him a week to pay it back or…”

She trailed off, but I understood what she didn’t say. I didn’t know a lot about gangs but I knew that if you wronged them you were dead, simple as that.

“That’s why you kidnapped me,” I said softly. “You really do need that money.”

Nani nodded. “We were going to just rob a bank or something, but I got that tweet and it just seemed like a perfect opportunity to control the violence.”

That was… awfully considerate. And I guess I could see where she was coming from. If they really were adamant on not hurting or killing anybody then kidnapping one person was probably a lot safer than robbing a bank.

Antonio started walking back towards the door, the conversation between him and Maya over. He blew a kiss at Nani, but she didn’t return it. He didn’t seem to mind. Giving me one last challenging glare, he was out the door and into the rain before any of us could say anything.

As soon as the door closed, Maya seemed to slump against the wall. She took a deep breath and, after straightening up, walked over to me, nudging Nani out of the way.

“Jesús,”

she said in Spanish, and I recognized that word at least.

“It’s fine,” I mumbled, a little uncomfortable with her this close to my face.

Maya gave me a look. “Why do you boys have to be so egotistical?” she muttered aloud.

“I am not egotistical,” I said.

“Yeah, Superstar, keep telling yourself that.” She straightened up and started to come around to the back of my chair. “I’m going to unlock your cuffs, okay?”

“Okay,” I said evenly, but inside I was happy to finally have them off. With a click the cuffs popped open and I brought them around to the front to rub them.

“So, Antonio,” I said, watching as she went around to the side of the boathouse and pulled out three cots from the wall. When she didn’t answer I said, “He seems like a nice guy.”

Maya snorted at that. “We are not nice people, Superstar.”

“That’s debatable.”

She looked over at me and I felt a little ridiculous saying that out loud. It was an automatic response but I’d meant it.

Sighing, I said, “Nani told me about why you’re doing this.”

Nani seemed to shrink as Maya shot her an accusing glance. “It wasn’t her fault,” I said, drawing her gaze back to me. “And for the record, from what I’ve seen of your family, I think I get it.”

“Congratulations,” she said sarcastically.

I rolled my eyes. Obviously she wasn’t getting what I was trying to say. “I’m already in this situation and I don’t have to like it, but I don’t think you can do this on your own.”

She stayed quiet.

Huffing in annoyance, I said, “Maya, let me help you.”

Apparently that was it. She burst into such loud laughter that I nearly toppled out of the chair. “Help us,” she said, gasping for breath. “Oh, God, that was funny!”

I frowned. “I’m not kidding.”

Bam, it was over. Like a bipolar ice queen Maya whirled on her heel and stalked right up to me as I stood up, nose to nose. Her eyes were level with mine and it was all I could do than to tear my own away.

“Stay out of our business,” she said darkly. “You should know if Nani told you everything that violence is second nature to us. I learned how to shoot every gun imaginable at the age of twelve. Do you know what that’s like?”

I opened my mouth to say something, but she obviously wasn’t finished yet. “I’ve been stuffed in closets, trunks, chairs. I can’t go outside around here without feeling like any moment somebody’s going to drive by in a van and shoot me to pieces. I’ve been dangled off a bridge by my ankle. Everybody’s always trying to kidnap or kill me, Rocky, every single day."

She was panting hard now. I stood my ground, but my throat tightened with every word that came out of her mouth. Her hard eyes were angry and hurt, but I wasn’t afraid of them this time. This time instead of pistol-whipping and kidnapping and threatening somebody, she really just looked like she needed a hug.

Before I could come to my senses and give her one, though, she turned on her heel.

“We got out,” she said shortly. “Nani and I got out. We’re in this once and we’re skipping right back out again. This isn’t for a plush superstar like you. You can’t help us.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but then I closed it. What could I possibly say to something like that? I looked at Nani and was surprised to see tears glistening in her eyes. I felt horrible— even if it technically wasn’t really my fault.

Maya laid out blankets on the cot and gestured to it. “You can sleep here.”

I looked at her, surprised, and she elaborated, “I’ll be keeping an eye on you, so don’t try anything.”

Honestly, I wasn’t sure I would even if I did have the opportunity. But I didn’t tell her that. Awkwardly I walked over to the cot and laid down. Nani did the same on hers and Maya pulled up a chair and placed the gun in her lap.

It was weird to know that she was watching me, but I was tired enough not to care as I drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Six

Hank was waiting for them, along with Turnbow and Howard. As Shane and Blake got out of the car followed closely by Keith they took in their father’s face. For the first time it looked like his façade was slipping, leaving behind a strained, pained expression that he was desperately trying to hide for his sons.

Blake was terrified about what that look meant. Was Rocky hurt? Scared? At least he was alive, right? That was at least a good thing.

“We’ll show you the recording,” Howard said gently, turning around to go back into the house.

They followed her silently into the family room, where a box stood by the phone. Shane looked intrigued, like he wanted to fiddle with the equipment. Despite his bad boy exterior, Shane was a total geek at heart, and he probably recognized a whole lot more in the system than Blake did. He started to reach for the console.

“Please,” Turnbow said tightly with one hand out to stop him, “don’t touch that.”

Shane cut his eyes at him, annoyed, but stepped back. Agent Howard leaned forward to mess with the computer that was hooked up to the console and in a few seconds the recording was playing.

“Hello?”

A beat of silence, and then, Rocky’s voice, said, “Dad?”

He sounded relieved, Blake thought, if not a little shaken. Not scared at all. Blake didn’t know if he was happy about that or not. His heart pounded, just hearing his voice. Even though he’d only been missing for 24 hours it felt like he’d been gone for days, weeks at a time. The familiar sting of tears burned in Blake’s nose and eyes, but he gritted his teeth. He wasn’t going to cry. He was not going to cry, dammit!

“Rocky!”

Hank exclaimed. He was relieved, too. “You scared the hell out of me! Where are you? Are you okay? What happened?”

“They want five thousand dollars.”

Rocky’s voice changed then, so faint Blake almost didn’t catch it, but he knew his brother. He sounded odd, like he was angry, but also like he was amused, and kind of blank. He didn’t know. Blake just knew that he sounded different, and he didn’t know why. “You have until six PM tomorrow to get the money. Bring it in unmarked bills to the docks in Southern LA. Ha—”

Abruptly his voice cut off, and he sounded like he was choking on the words. Blake traded a panicked look with Shane and leaned forward in apprehension.

“Rocky? Are you still there?”

Hank’s voice.

“Have Blake and Shane bring the money, and no one else.”

Now he sounded like he was about to cry, voice tight, like he had a lump in his throat. “If they see any cops, Feds, or anyone else, they will shoot me, and you will never find the body.”

A strangled noise escaped Blake’s throat before he could stop it. Shane reached over and pulled him into another comforting hug. Blake shook hard, fists clenched, as he tried to keep the tears at bay.

There was a second of silence, and then Rocky burst out with, “I’m okay, Dad. I mean, they haven’t hurt me yet.”

Yet. Blake blinked and pushed his face into Shane’s chest. Andre suddenly flashed back into my head. He’d been shot. Shot. The girl hadn’t even hesitated, or thought about how old he was. And Rocky was trapped with them!

“Okay, Rocky, it’s alright to be scared,”

Hank said. He sounded desperate, scared as hell. Blake could only imagine how he felt when this happened live. “We’re going to find you. I promise.”

Rocky didn’t answer. An instant later, the recording shut off. Blake blinked, sitting up abruptly and blinking away at the tears. “That’s it?” he demanded. “That’s all he said?”

“That’s it,” Turnbow said. Still stiff. The guy never loosened up.

Shane looked up at his dad, ignoring Turnbow. “Can we get the money?”

Hank started to nod, but Turnbow stood up. “We don’t negotiate with terrorists,” he said sternly.

“Well, we can’t just do nothing,” Blake snapped. “These people can easily kill Rocky if they wanted to. They haven’t. Five thousand dollars isn’t a lot!”

“That goes against the rules—”

“To hell with the rules,” Shane said quietly, stepping up next to his brother. He looked at Hank. “When can we get the money?”

“We can wire it here from Seattle,” he said. “It’ll take thirty seconds.”

“Good.” Shane looked at Blake, and then back at Hank. There was a challenge in his eyes. “Blake and I are taking the money,” he said, daring him to disagree.

Of course, Hank did. “No,” he said immediately. “No, forget it, I’m not losing you.”

“We can have agents go in their place,” Turnbow popped in. “We have plenty of lookalikes.”

“No!” Blake yelled suddenly. “Didn’t you hear Rocky? They’ll shoot him! Not even that; they’ll shoot him, and we’ll never see him again. Is that really what you want?”

“I won’t let you do this,” Hank said firmly, crossing his arms.

“Shouldn’t that be our choice?” Blake sounded like he was about to explode.

“The answer is no, Blake,” he rumbled.

Blake stood there. The angry shaking was starting up again. Shane grabbed his arm and towed me towards the door. “We’ll be in our rooms,” he called over his shoulder.

“I can’t believe he’s going to put Rocky’s life in danger like this,” Blake exploded as soon as they got to his room.

“I know,” Shane said.

“How do we know that they won’t notice the fact that agents aren’t us?” he ranted. “Why does it matter that we’re dropping off the money? Whatever it takes to get Rocky back, that’s all that matters.”

Shane looked at him calmly. “I know,” he said again.

Blake stopped and glared at him. “Why are you being so calm about this? Aren’t you—”

“Of course I am,” Shane interrupted, eyes narrowing. “But Dad really can’t tell us what to do in this situation, now can he?”

Blake blinked at him. “Huh?”

Shane rolled his eyes. “We’re going, little brother. We may not be dropping off the money but we’re going to be there, whether Dad likes it or not.”

Blake sighed and sat down. “Alright,” he said quietly. “That’s fine by me. I just hope Rocky’s okay.”

It might’ve been cliché, but Shane scooted over on the bed and swung an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “We’ll make sure he is,” he promised.

Blake hoped he was right.

***

Elsewhere

Dawson frowned as he stood in the warehouse. They’d been here, alright. The chair said so, at least. It was brand new in a warehouse that hadn’t been used for years.

If he had to guess he would’ve said that the boy made an escape attempt and Andre just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. But they didn’t shoot the rock star— that was interesting. That said they didn’t want to hurt him, despite them being willing to shoot a bystander without any thought.

From Andre’s testimony the girl was obviously a gang member, or at least a previous one, so that meant he was on the right track. Dawson grinned as he straightened up and headed for the door. He had an idea of where to go next.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 15.11.2011

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