Hostage Negotiation

Chapter Five

Zack leaned back against the brick wall of the hospital’s outdoor atrium, thankful the recent rains had cleared up, at least momentarily. This quiet enclosed garden, with the sun peeking through the clouds and shining down, might be just what Kaylee Brighton needed.

Over the past few days, she’d been grilled with questions inside her hospital room. But no one could call any of those interviews successful. Hopefully, today’s session would finally yield the answers everyone wanted and she could be left in peace.

A nurse sat at a table a few feet away from Kaylee’s wheelchair. The psychologist that had been assigned as her advocate crouched down, whispering to her patient. It was the psychologist who’d recommended the change in venue when Kaylee had become agitated and panicked answering questions in her room.

It didn’t take a genius to understand why.

The dark bruises and calluses around her wrists and ankles told the story of her being bound for most of the time that she’d been missing. That hospital room probably felt claustrophobic and brought back memories she was trying hard to forget.

Memories they kept asking her to relive.

He hated the necessity of it, of asking a victim to face the most horrible things that had ever happened to them, to dredge up the pain and victimize them all over again. But if he and the other officers were going to find the two missing women, they needed to get as much information as they could from Kaylee. So far, they were batting zero in their search to find the man who’d hurt her, or the woman she’d remembered seeing—Mary Watkins.

In spite of combing the swamp with bloodhounds and search-and-rescue teams, they hadn’t even been able to locate where Kaylee had been held. The heavy rains that had rolled in had obliterated footprints, scents, and flooded out much of the area near the road where Zack had found her, making it impassable. Aerial searches in that thickly treed area had proven just as useless. And now that four full days had passed since she’d managed to escape her captor, he wasn’t so sure that it was worth putting her through this turmoil anymore. The man who’d held her had to have moved on by now. He could even be in another state. There was no way of knowing.

As Zack watched Special Agent Willow begin questioning Kaylee again, he had to force himself to stay where he was. The therapist felt that Kaylee was too dependent on Zack. Every time he left her room she’d begin to panic and wouldn’t calm down until she could see his face. She apparently associated him with safety, because she thought of him as the one who’d saved her from her ordeal. But he couldn’t do his job if he had to stay with her the whole time. And she couldn’t grow stronger mentally if she kept using him as her security blanket.

Still, keeping his distance was killing him, especially because of how pale she looked, and the hesitant, hurt look in her eyes every time she glanced at him, obviously wondering why he was standing so far away.

If her parents were here twenty-four-seven to support her, maybe she’d be doing better. But while Kaylee was twenty-three, her parents had to both be in their mid-sixties, or maybe even seventies. They appeared to be quite frail, and Kaylee seemed more concerned about them than about herself. From what Zack had gleaned from overhearing the nurses talking, Kaylee would only allow her parents one short visit each day. After that, they grudgingly returned to their hotel room until time to visit again.

Her excuse to them was that she was exhausted and needed time to sleep and recover. While that might be only a slight exaggeration, the rest of what she’d told them was a deliberate lie—that the man who’d taken her had done nothing worse than tie her up and scare her.

She’d explained away the bandages on her arms and legs by saying that she’d cut herself running through the woods to get away. And since her hospital gown covered the rest of her body, she didn’t have to explain her other injuries. Even her doctors and nurses couldn’t contradict what she’d told her parents, because Kaylee was an adult. Doctor-patient confidentiality kept her secrets safe.

From Zack’s viewpoint, Kaylee’s parents should have fought harder to stay here with her. She was alone far too much. She needed a support system. Because, while he didn’t know what all had happened to her yet, he did know it was a heck of a lot more than just being tied up. He’d seen the pictures the police photographer took of her in the emergency room. He’d seen the bruises, the cuts, the burns.

Kaylee Brighton had endured unspeakable horrors.

Watching her blanch at one of Willow’s questions had Zack clamping his jaw so tight that his teeth ached. And when she shot him another one of her haunted looks, silently begging him to come over, this time he was helpless to say no.

Shoving away from the wall, he threaded his way through the patio tables and chairs, not stopping until he reached her side. Daring the detectives to say anything, he crossed his arms and prepared to stop this inquisition if it got out of hand. The relief on Kaylee’s face told him he was doing the right thing.

Cole, however, obviously disagreed. He gave Zack a disapproving frown from his seat beside his boss, Lieutenant Shlafer, who was sitting beside Special Agent Willow. Four other Collier County and Broward County detectives sat behind them in a semicircle.

Paying no attention to Zack, Special Agent Willow rested his forearms on his thighs and cupped his hands together. “You’re sure you never saw the man’s face?”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. It was usually dark when he was there. And he always wore a leather mask, like a hood, tied around the throat. There were wide slits cut out for his eyes, and a hole for his mouth. But everything else was concealed. I couldn’t even tell you the color of his hair.”

“Leather? That’s very specific. You sure about that?”

“The material was dark brown, thick, but soft and pliable. If it wasn’t leather, it was something similar.”

“Soft. You touched the mask?”

Her cheeks tinged a light pink. “No, Agent Willow. The mask touched me, when he touched me.” Her words were short, clipped, angry.

Zack winced at the words that she wasn’t saying. She’d avoided sharing intimate details about her treatment so far. But she was getting closer and closer to telling them exactly what the man had done to her. And it was taking every ounce of control that Zack had to keep from putting his arms around her to protect her from having to relive that horror again.

Willow had the grace to look uncomfortable and cleared his throat. “You said he kept you in a box most of the time. What kind of box? Cardboard? Wood?”

“Plexiglas. And before you ask, yes, I’m sure. If it was real glass, I’d have broken it. God knows I tried.” She wrung her hands, massaging them, perhaps remembering how they’d hurt as she’d slammed her palms against the top of the box, trying to get out of it.

Zack remembered this part from an earlier interview, and it still made his hands fist at his sides and nausea roll in his stomach. She’d basically been buried alive, kept in a box the size of a coffin, surrounded by dirt walls, able to see the sky above on the rare occasions when the man removed the heavy black cloth that covered the top of the box most of the time. Small holes drilled into the Plexiglas allowed just enough air flow to keep her alive.

The man who’d imprisoned her had sometimes left her in the box for days at a time, without food or water. It was a wonder she hadn’t baked to death. There must have been branches overhead, helping to block the heat of the sun. When he did take her out, it was usually at night, or at times when the sun was just beginning to rise or set. She rarely got to see sunlight.

He mainly took her out to give her food and water, just enough to keep her hydrated and fed to the point where she wouldn’t die. He forced her to clean the box. And when he wanted to...play...to do whatever sick and twisted things he did to her...he would make her clean herself. While he watched. Anything more than that, including how she’d managed to escape her captor, was anyone’s guess. Because every time they got to that part of the interview, she’d shut down.

Willow pulled out the little pocket notebook where he’d made notes earlier when they’d covered this same ground. “You said the box was in the ground, that you could see dirt surrounding you on all sides. But the top was left open?”

Her hands began to shake and she gripped them together in her lap. “Not open. Closed, locked, but covered with a heavy black cloth most of the time. He almost never took the cover off when the sun was up. When he did remove it, his face was concealed behind a mask. That’s what gave me hope, that he didn’t want me to see his face. I thought... I thought he’d eventually let me go.” She swallowed hard and looked down at her lap. “But I found out otherwise, after he brought Mary and shoved her into the box with me. I knew he was going to kill me soon.” She shivered. “Mary was my replacement.”

“Why did you think she was your replacement?” Willow asked. “Was it because she didn’t have her own box?”

She shook her head. “No. I’d tr-tried to escape once before, and he was furious about that. After he...punished me for...defying him, things only got worse. Once M...Mary showed up, he promised he was going to k...kill me.”

And this was where the interview had stopped the last time, and the time before that. She started to shake. Her mouth worked but no more words would come. No matter how Willow phrased his questions about Mary, about what happened after that, about how she escaped, she shut down. Her eyes took on a horrified, faraway look as if she were retreating into herself, going somewhere they couldn’t reach her.

The therapist motioned to the nurse, who hurried over and checked Kaylee’s pulse. Zack knew what was next. They’d call a halt to the questions. And another day would end without them having any more clues that might help them narrow their search, or give them a new lead to follow. He tried not to be aggravated, or let his disappointment show. Because the pale, young woman a few feet away from him was just as much of a victim as Mary.

With one exception.

Kaylee had managed to escape. She’d survived. And Mary deserved that same opportunity. If they could just get Kaylee to answer all of their questions, maybe they could save Mary, too.

Just when it looked as if the nurse was going to wheel Kaylee back to her room, Willow held his hand out to stop her and leaned forward. “You know, Miss Brighton. For the life of me I can’t understand why an attractive and intelligent woman such as you would decide to tour the Everglades by herself. Everyone knows the woods are dangerous. Yet you chose to go on that path alone, without a weapon. Why would a pretty girl like you do that?”

His tone was so condescending, so accusatory that Zack’s mouth fell open. Everyone stared at the FBI agent in shock, including Kaylee. Willow might be impatient most of the time, but Zack never would have pegged him as one of those people who would blame the victim. As if by virtue of being beautiful, and a woman, she shouldn’t have the audacity to walk somewhere by herself without expecting that someone might attack her. Zack was about to tell the agent exactly where he could shove his questions when Kaylee leaned forward with her fists on her knees, glaring at Willow.

“I was in a public area, taking the same path any number of tourists take every single day,” Kaylee gritted out. “It’s my right as a human being—regardless of how pretty I am, Special Agent Willow—to walk anywhere that I want with the expectation of being safe. I shouldn’t have to always travel in a group like a pack animal to avoid being attacked.”

The nurse leaned down but Kaylee waved her back, never taking her gaze off Willow. “I’m staying right here. I want to hear what Special Agent Willow has to say.”

The agent shrugged. “I’m just trying to understand why you decided to go to that particular part of the Glades. Alone. It’s a simple question.”

“Then I’ll give you a simple answer, and hope you can grasp it.” Anger hardened her voice. “I always take a week’s vacation from my job at the bank around this time every year. My travel agent suggested some of the recreation areas off Alligator Alley might be a fun diversion before I went to the condo she’d rented for me in Naples.”

He poised his pen over a page in his notebook. “What’s your travel agent’s name?”

She blinked. “I don’t see where that matters.” Her voice still shook with anger, but she was engaged once again, no longer ready to end the questioning.