Twelve

Nathan stared down at Mark, fear racing through him when he saw his friend's glassy, shock-filled eyes. He was clutching his abdomen, and there was a massive amount of blood dripping through his fingers.

He heard Bree call for an ambulance, and prayed it would get there fast, because he didn't know how much time Mark had. Taking off his jacket, he pressed the material against Mark's wound. He didn't know what was going on with the shooter. He assumed he was dead or unconscious.

Bree had checked the trunk of the shooter's vehicle, which had apparently been empty.

Now, she seemed to have taken up a protective stance in front of them, and she was as tense as she'd been before.

She didn't think the danger was over.

He didn't want to think about what that might mean, because there was no way they were moving Mark to a safer location. He'd bleed out before they could do that.

"It's going to be okay," he told Mark, lying with as much sincerity as he could muster. He'd seen a few gunshot wounds in his life, and this one was bad. But he needed Mark to hang in there.

"Hayley," Mark choked out. "Love her so much. Tell her."

"You're going to tell her yourself. You have to be strong, Mark. Stay with me."

"I—I was desperate."

"I know."

"Tell Lindsay…I'm sorry. Had to…take the chance. Said they'd kill Hayley if I didn't come alone…and bring the money. Should have known…trap."

"We'll find Hayley. Don't worry."

Relief flooded through him as police cars and unmarked vehicles came screaming through the entrance, followed by pounding feet, officers with guns drawn, and paramedics running toward him with a stretcher. Thank God!

He got up and stepped back as the EMTs took over, stabilizing Mark, so they could get him into the ambulance. He could see his friend going in and out of consciousness, and he hoped he'd done enough to stem the bleeding. He glanced down at his blood-soaked hands and felt a wave of nausea.

A female police officer came over to him and handed him a towel. "Are you injured?" she asked.

"No, I was just taking care of him," he replied, wiping the blood from his hands.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

He drew in a breath. "I don't know where to start." Glancing across the way, he saw Bree and a circle of FBI agents surrounding the gunman, who appeared to be dead. As happy as he was that the shooter would not be able to hurt anyone else, he couldn't help worrying about what was going to happen to Hayley if this guy didn't come back with the money.

"Start with how you came to be here," the police officer said, interrupting his thoughts.

"I was following my friend, Mark Jansen. His daughter was kidnapped. I saw him leave his house in a big hurry, acting suspiciously, and I—we—decided to follow him. Me and Agent Bree Adams," he said, tipping his head to the group of FBI agents. "She can fill you in on the rest."

"I still need your side of the story."

"Wait, what's happening?" he asked, seeing not only more police cars coming into the area, but officers and agents heading up and into the abandoned silos.

"We're searching the area."

"For Hayley? Do you think she's here?"

"We don't know. But she's not the only one we're looking for."

It suddenly clicked in: the second blast, Bree's frenzied movements after that, the way she'd positioned herself in front of him and Mark. "There was a second shooter, wasn't there?"

The officer met his gaze. "Did you see someone?"

"No. But I heard the shot. I thought it was Bree—Agent Adams. I was rushing to Mark's side. I didn't see who fired the weapon."

"We're going to need you to come down to the station and answer a lot more questions," the officer said.

"Sure, whatever you need."

"Stay here." She walked over to speak to another officer, one who appeared to be in command of the scene.

Despite her suggestion that he stay where he was, as soon as the circle of agents around Bree broke up, he headed in her direction.

She must have also been told to stay put, because she was suddenly alone, her gaze on the deceased gunman.

He quickly made his way to her side. "Are you okay, Bree?"

"Fine," she said with distraction. "I know this man, Nathan."

"What?" he asked, wondering how often he could keep feeling complete and utter surprise. But as he moved around her to look at the shooter, an icy chill washed over him, an old memory tugging at the back of his mind.

The ski mask had been removed—and while blood from a forehead wound covered the man's face and had made its way through dirty-blond hair and a scruffy beard, the hazel eyes shocked open in death were very familiar. He knew this man, too, but he hadn't seen him since he'd left the old neighborhood. "Calvin—"

"Baker," she finished, meeting his gaze. "He used to run with Johnny. He was two years younger, and Johnny was his idol. He was always asking him if he could do jobs for him."

"This guy is tied to Johnny," he muttered.

"Or was tied to him," she said quickly.

He frowned. "Your go-to move—always defend Johnny, always look for another explanation."

Her gaze turned angry. "I'm not doing that. I'm just stating a fact. Neither one of us knows what Calvin Baker has been doing the last ten or eleven years."

She had a point, so he would let it go—for now. "The police said there was another shooter."

"Yes. He took the kill shot. I just wanted to disable this guy, so we could talk to him. I should have moved faster. I should have stopped Mark before he ever got here."

He could see the guilt rolling through her eyes, and he shared some of those feelings. But the situation had been tense, and dynamic, and completely unpredictable. "If you'd stopped Mark before he got here, we wouldn't have found Baker. He might be dead, but he's still a good lead. There could be a trail to who he was working with. That could take us one step closer to finding Hayley."

"I just hope Mark survives."

"Me, too," he said heavily. "Why do you think the second shooter took out Baker? Why not aim for you? You were completely in the open. Or he could have hit Mark or myself."

"He wanted to stop Baker from talking, and he probably didn't have time to take us all out. If he was up in one of the silos, he could have seen the police cars coming down the road."

"What's going to happen next?"

"Every inch of the grounds will be searched for evidence."

"You don't seem to be a part of that."

"I was told to stay out of it. Tracy said I've helped enough," she said grimly.

"How much trouble are you in?"

"Probably a lot. But I don't really care about that. What I want to do is keep working the case." She paused, looking around. "Let's get out of here."

"Can we just leave?" he asked, surprised by her suggestion. "The police officer I spoke to told me to stay close."

"Well, you're with me, and at the moment, I'm still a federal agent. I want to go to the hospital and get an update on Mark's condition. I'm betting Lindsay is already headed down there, and I still want to show her the photos I was texted earlier."

"If she confirms those photos are of Hayley, and you now know that Calvin Baker, a former associate of Johnny's, was involved in a ransom demand, are you going to consider the fact that Johnny is the one who is tormenting you?"

"I'm already considering that, Nathan. I'm not an idiot," she snapped.

"I know you're not, but it just doesn't seem like the Johnny blinders have come off yet."

"They've been off for a long time. Let's get out of here while we have the chance."

Bree only had to flash her badge once at a police officer cordoning off the scene before they were out of the silos and crossing the road. The truck was still where they'd parked it, and he held out his hand for the keys.

Bree gave them to him without comment and he slid behind the wheel. It felt good to be back in control of something. "So far, so good," he said. "No one stopped us."

She gave him a weak smile. "Not yet."

"For what it's worth, I think you handled yourself really well back there. It was Mark who kept getting in the way. He kept moving around, blocking your shot. And if you'd waited for backup, Mark would definitely be dead. He would not have made it out of there alive."

"I just wonder if I shouldn't have pulled him out of there before Baker arrived."

"There wasn't time, Bree. And if there hadn't been a second shooter, the gunman would be alive, and we'd have a link to find Hayley."

"But there was another person there, an associate of Baker's. And ruthless enough to take out his partner to stop him from talking," she said grimly.

"Yes," he agreed, worrying again about how the unfolding of events might affect Hayley.

"I don't understand the ransom call, either," she muttered. "It doesn't fit the pattern."

"I think you're going to have to throw out the patterns and the rule book on this case."

"I agree," she said, glancing over at him. "I'm not so sure the rest of the agency will consider that a good option, though."

"Won't your fellow agents understand and appreciate the complexity of the situation you just faced?"

"They should, but I'm not part of this office. It would be different if I were in New York. I have friends there who would support me. But the Chicago team has been annoyed with my presence since day one. They don't like that the kidnapper is obsessed with me. They don't like that I'm the one getting clues. They're not happy about my interview with Kyle or my relationship with you. And they definitely are not excited about what went down here. The more days that pass without us finding Hayley, the more pressure everyone is under. And now the missing girl's father is in the hospital, fighting for his life." She paused. "Maybe I did botch this."

"You didn't choose to be the kidnapper's target. You had no idea that I was connected to the Jansens or the only witness." He paused, thinking about that. "You know, if Johnny is behind this, it's pretty ironic that I am tied to Grace. He wanted me out of your life from the first time he realized we were friends. And now we're connected again."

"That is ironic. He didn't like me having any other friends but him. As a teenager, I thought his possessiveness was sweet." She let out a heavy sigh. "I don't know. Maybe it is Johnny. If I had to pick someone who could really hate me, the only person I can think of is him."

He was glad she'd finally admitted that.

"At any rate, I will deal with the fallout of my actions, when I don't have a choice. Until I'm suspended, I'm going to do my job the best way I can. What else do you remember about Calvin Baker?"

"He got in a lot of fights. He was dealing drugs. Nothing more specific. He wasn't anyone I hung out with." He glanced over at her. "What do you remember? You probably saw him more than I did."

"He was always looking to score points with Johnny, offering to work at the gym or do whatever he needed done. Johnny would get annoyed that Cal would continually text him. And I would get annoyed that Johnny was always on his phone. But that wasn't just because of Cal. In the beginning of our relationship, Johnny was just running the gym for his dad, or at least that's what I thought. Obviously, I discovered later that he was engaged in a lot of other criminal activities and that he wasn't ever planning to get out of the family business."

"I didn't realize he'd ever said he would do that."

"Usually, it was in response to me suggesting he do something more with his life. Johnny was smart. He just didn't use his brain in the right way. He was too ambitious and too greedy." She took a breath. "Back then, I thought Johnny had so much more than I did. He had money and a car, and he had a legitimate family home. Granted, it wasn't that great, but it was better than anything I'd lived in. In retrospect, I can see now that Johnny was a small-time thug in a small-time organization that didn’t make enough money to get its owners out of the lower-class neighborhood they were living in. The Hawkes might have run our neighborhood, but they weren't running the city—not then anyway. I need to find out how much power he has now. And I want you to know, Nathan, that if Johnny is involved in this, he will pay, and I will go after him with everything I have. Please don't have any doubts about that."

"I believe you."

"Thank you." She straightened in her seat as her phone buzzed with an incoming text. "Oh, God."

"Is it from the kidnapper?"

"Yes. It's another photo."

He pulled over to the side of the road as she handed him the phone. It was a picture of a girl about six or seven. Her back was to the camera, but she was wearing a soccer uniform with the number eleven on it. Across the picture was written the word your.

He stared at the photo for a long moment and then handed it back to her. "I'm pretty sure this is Hayley."

"We can't see her face."

"No. But the park she's at—it looks like the place where Grace plays soccer, and that's about two blocks from Hayley's house."

"You know what the next word is going to be, don't you?"

"I think so, but I don't believe it's coming for a while. He wants you to wait, to wonder, to worry."

"I won't stop worrying or wondering, but I'm not going to wait."

He could see a new fire in her eyes. The picture might have been meant to discourage her, but it had actually had the opposite effect. Bree was charged up, ready to do battle, and failure wasn't an option.

 

* * *

 

Bree put her phone into her bag when they turned into the hospital parking lot. She didn't know how much time she would have before Tracy and the other agents caught up to her, but she hoped to speak to Lindsay before then.

They checked in at the information desk and then headed to the fifth-floor surgical center. There was a police officer stationed outside a small waiting room. Bree was happy to see that someone was watching out for Lindsay.

She showed her badge to the officer, who then allowed her and Nathan to enter the room.

Lindsay was sitting with her father, who looked angry and protective of the fragile woman he had his arm around.

When Lindsay saw them, she jumped to her feet. "Did you find Hayley?"

She hated to dash the hope out of her eyes. "Not yet," she said emphasizing the second word of her reply.

"I don't understand what has happened. The police said that Mark went to pay a ransom at the silos and that someone shot him. He told me he was going to work. He told you that, too," she said to Nathan.

"He did," Nathan agreed. "But he didn't do that. He apparently answered a ransom call."

"Who shot Mark? Where is Hayley? What's going on?" Lindsay asked, her eyes pleading for more information.

"Why don't we sit down, Lindsay?" she suggested. "I have a couple of questions."

"More questions?" her father interrupted. "Isn't it about time someone brought us some answers?"

"We're doing everything we can," Bree said, knowing her words would do nothing to console them. "I can tell you that the person who was meeting Mark is dead. But it looks like he was not acting alone. And Hayley was not with him."

Lindsay bit down on her lip. "Is she more in danger now, because they didn't get the money?"

"I wish I could answer you; I just don't know. I hope not."

"You hope not," Lindsay's father said scornfully. "Like that does us any good."

"It's okay, Dad," Lindsay said. "Let me talk to them. Maybe you could call Mom and check in on the kids. Make sure they're not watching the TV. I don't want them to see any news about their father."

"Are you sure you want to do this alone?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

"All right. I'll be back in a few minutes."

As her father left, Lindsay turned back to them, her gaze running down Nathan's shirt. Her face paled. "That's blood on your sleeve. Is that—" Lindsay put a hand to her mouth and then stumbled back into the chair she'd recently vacated. "It's Mark's blood, isn't it? I can't lose my husband, too. I just can't."

Bree took the empty chair next to her, while Nathan pulled over a chair and sat across from them.

"This is a really good hospital, Lindsay, and the doctors are going to do everything they can to save Mark's life," Nathan said.

"Were you there when Mark was shot?" Confusion filled her eyes again. "How were you there, Nathan? You were at my house. But you left before Mark did."

"Yes, but I ran into Bree across the street. While we were talking, we saw Mark come out of the house and grab a backpack out of the side yard. He was acting oddly, so we decided to follow him. I wish we could have prevented what happened. But I know Mark is a fighter."

"Did he say anything?"

"He said he was sorry that he hadn't told you where he was going, what he was doing, but he was desperate, and he hoped you would understand," Nathan replied.

Lindsay's mouth trembled. "That sounds like good-bye."

"He didn't mean it that way. He will do everything he can to survive," Nathan said forcefully. "I know he will."

"I pray that's true."

"I know you're scared," Bree said, drawing Lindsay's attention back to her. "And I hate to ask you more questions, but I need information, and you're the only one who can give it to me."

"Go ahead."

"I want to show you some pictures." She pulled out her phone.

"Pictures of Hayley?"

"I don't know. That's what I need you to tell me." She showed the first picture to Lindsay. "Is this Hayley?"

Lindsay nodded. "Yes. It was her first formal portrait. My parents took her to a photographer in town and had it done as a gift for me for Mother's Day." She licked her lips. "Why do you have it? Why is the word I written on it?"

"It was texted to my phone, Lindsay. There are two more." She flipped to the next one. "Is this Hayley, too?"

"Yes," she said tightly.

"And this one?" she asked, moving to the photo that arrived several minutes ago.

"Oh, God, what's going on?" Lindsay asked, putting a hand to her mouth. "Why is someone sending you pictures of Hayley through her life, and what do the words mean—I—am—your… What's next?"

Looking into Lindsay's eyes, Bree knew she had to tell her. It was not something she wanted to do. And she wasn't sure how to say it—especially in this moment, with Lindsay hanging on by a thread.

She gazed over at Nathan, silently imploring him to tell her what to do, but his eyes held the same uncertainty.

If they were wrong about her being Hayley's mother, then they'd be upsetting Lindsay for nothing. If they were right, then everything would change. Nothing would ever be the same.

Was she ready to take that leap?

"What's next?" Lindsay repeated, more strongly this time, her gaze moving back and forth between them. "What aren't you two telling me?"

"I don’t know what the next word is," she said carefully.

Doubt filled Lindsay's eyes. "I don't believe you. You have some idea where this is going. Just say it. Tell me whatever it is."

She hesitated one last second and then decided that Lindsay had the right to all the information she had. "I think the next word is going to be daughter."

Lindsay stared at her in bemusement. "I—am—your—daughter? But why would he send this to you? I don't understand. Was it meant for me?"

Bree licked her lips, knowing she was about to rip Lindsay's life apart one more time. "It was meant for me, Lindsay."

"You? What are you talking about?"

"Ten years ago, I gave up a baby for adoption, and the kidnapper seems to be saying that the child he has is my biological child—that I am Hayley's birth mother."

"What!" Lindsay's eyes widened, the blood draining out of her face, until she looked like a ghost. "That—that isn't possible."

She swallowed back a growing knot of emotion, knowing she had to find a way to get all the words out, to tell her secret to the one person who probably needed to hear it the most.

"I didn't believe it was possible, either. When I first met you, I had no inkling that Hayley could possibly be the child I gave up for adoption. I came to Chicago because Hayley's case was exactly like three others that I had recently worked. But I'm fairly certain now that the white rose was just meant to get me to Chicago."

"None of this is true." Lindsay gave a vehement shake of her head. "Hayley's biological mother is dead."

"It's probable that the records—the birth certificate—everything was doctored."

"Why?"

"Because you were going through back channels. You were working through the black market. Did you know that, Lindsay?"

"No. It was a legitimate agency. They did private adoptions. They had photos of happy kids and happy families on their walls."

"That agency went out of business a few months after you got Hayley."

"Businesses go under all the time. So what? You're mistaken. I'm sorry, but you're wrong. And maybe the message on the phone isn't going to end with daughter. It could be something else."

Lindsay was fighting hard to hang onto her reality, and Bree couldn't blame her, but in the end, the truth would come out.

"I'm not telling you any of this to hurt you. I am as shocked as you are that Hayley could be my daughter. I had specifically been told that my baby would not go to a family in Illinois."

"But we live in Illinois, and we picked up Hayley from a hospital in Joliet. Is that where you had your baby?"

"No. I had my child in Detroit. But you didn't pick up Hayley until she was several days old, right?"

"But she was born at that hospital." Lindsay paused. "I mean—I assumed she was born there." Suddenly, uncertainty was in her voice.

"We both made assumptions that weren't true," she said gently. "I was a teen mom. I willingly gave up my child, so she could have a better life. And I would have hoped beyond hope that she would have gone to a family like yours."

"Why did you give her up? Because you were young?"

She'd expected the question, but it was still difficult to hear. "I was eighteen, and I had lived a very difficult life. My mother had me when she was a teenager, and I grew up in chaos, poverty and crime. My mom died when I was ten, and I lived with my aunt for a few years, and then I went into foster care when she couldn't take care of me. When I realized I was pregnant, the only thing I knew for sure was that I didn't want my baby to live my childhood. I wanted her to have what you've given Hayley—two loving parents, grandparents, siblings, a pretty pink and purple bedroom with all the stuffed animals she could ever want." Her eyes filled with tears as she thought about Hayley's room.

A tear slid out of Lindsay's eye. "I tried my best. But now…you must hate me."

"I don't hate you. I hate the people who took Hayley. They're the only ones who are responsible."

"You're Hayley's birth mom," Lindsay muttered, as she still tried to make sense of it. "But she doesn't have your green eyes. Hers are brown." She paused. "The father—we never knew anything about Hayley's father."

And the last thing she wanted to do was tell Lindsay about Johnny. "He's not important right now. I just want you to know that I'm going to find Hayley, and I'm going to bring her back to you."

"To me? Or to you?" Lindsay whispered, anguish in her eyes. "You're her mother. Maybe you want her back."

Did she want her back?

She shook her head, forcing the silent question out of her head. "No. You're her mother." She blinked back the tears that so desperately wanted to fall, and looking at Lindsay, she could see the same heartbreaking emotion. "And Mark is her father," she managed to add. "He's going to be all right, and Hayley will come home to you. We're going to put your family back together."

"Promise me."

It went against all of her training to make that promise, but she did it anyway. "I promise."

Tense silence hung between them, and then the door opened, and Lindsay's father returned to the room. She felt relieved at his interruption. Lindsay would have more questions, but for now she'd told her enough.

"Everything all right in here?" he asked, obviously noting the heavy atmosphere in the room and not sure if it had to do with Mark or Hayley or whatever else they'd been talking about.

Lindsay gave her a helpless look, as if she didn't know how to answer her father.

Bree didn't want to get into anything with Lindsay's dad, so she just said, "I'll be in touch, Lindsay."

"Just keep your promise. That's all I ask."

Nathan leaned over and gave Lindsay a hug. "I'm praying for Mark."

"Thank you," she said tightly.

As they left the room, Bree paused in the doorway. Lindsay's father sat down next to his daughter and put his arm around her shoulders. Then Lindsay lost control and started to sob.

"I made things worse," she muttered.

Nathan took her hand and pulled her into the hallway. They moved a few feet down the corridor, away from the police officer. "You had to tell her, Bree."

"It was one of the hardest things I've ever done," she said, looking into his understanding eyes. "But I thought she needed to know."

"She did need to know. I just wished you hadn't made her a promise you might not be able to keep."

"I'm going to keep it," she said fiercely. "I'm going to save my daughter. Whatever it takes."

"I'm not arguing with you. I know you'll do everything you can, but I noticed you didn't tell her about Johnny."

"I didn't want to scare her more by telling her that Hayley's father is a criminal. But I'm going to have to tell everyone else. The pictures coming to my phone are putting together a phrase that will directly name me as Hayley's mother, and if I don't share my suspicions, I could be putting Hayley at more risk. I have to come clean. I have to get the police and the agency on the same page, so we can find her."

"I know it's not what you wanted, but it's the right thing to do. Do you want to get out of here before…" His voice trailed away. "I guess it's too late for that."

She nodded, seeing three members from the Chicago FBI office get off the elevator. They were followed by two men in suits. One was the lead detective on the case, Vance Cooper, but the other man was new to the investigation. He wasn't, however, new to her. "Is that Detective Benedict?" she asked Nathan, wary surprise running through her.

"I think so," Nathan said tightly. "What is he doing on this case?"

She didn't know, and she didn't like it. Benedict had been good friends with Johnny's father, and she'd always thought he was a dirty cop. The fact that he was suddenly showing up now when Calvin Baker, a former associate of Johnny's, had just been ID'd as the ransom negotiator made her very nervous.

Was he here to get information for Johnny?

"Be careful what you say to him," she told Nathan. "Don't let on that you remember Calvin."

"Don't worry. I know how not to talk to the cops."

"I don't know when I'll be in touch. The police will take over your questioning, while I'll be tied up with the agency. I wish I could protect you from the questions—"

"I'm not worried about it," he said, cutting her off. "I'll tell them exactly what happened, how we came to follow Mark to the silos, and how you took down the gunman before he could kill Mark."

"I shouldn't have taken you with me. I should have commandeered your truck and left you on the sidewalk."

"Like that was going to happen," he said dryly. "I will be sure to tell them I went willingly and actually forced you to take me. But don't waste your concern on me. I'm fine. And when you're done on your end, I'll be waiting."

She liked the sound of that.

"And, Bree," he added. "The promise I made to you at the bus station still stands. You tell your secret however and whenever you want. As far as anyone else is concerned, I know nothing."

"Last time you didn't talk, you got beat up. This time, you might go to jail. I don't want you to lie for me."

"The cops don't know as much as we do, and at the moment, neither does the FBI. My interview will probably be over before the police know you're Hayley's birth mother."

"You might be right."

"I'll handle myself," Nathan added. "You take care of you. And try to remember you didn't do anything wrong, Bree. You loved the wrong guy a long time ago, but everything else you did right. And you're still doing it right. You're Hayley's best chance at survival. Don't let anyone try to convince you otherwise."

Her heart swelled with gratitude. Nathan had always been the one person she could count on. "We'll meet up later," she said. But judging by the intent looks on her fellow agents' faces, she didn't think that would be any time soon.