Hands lifted her off the sidewalk and whisked her away from the darkness. An oxygen mask pressed against her face once the blue sky reappeared. Two paramedics crowded over her. She’d live to fight another day. And damn, would she fight.
PART I
CHAPTER 1
Helen Gray gently shut her eyes before taking several deep, protracted breaths. The short meditation exercise was more symbolic than anything. A few pretend moments of calm wouldn’t make a dent in her anxiety. The stakes were too high. Two decades of ruinous self-sacrifice had delivered her here. A single misstep tonight could render that painful journey meaningless.
She would have thrown away her career, destroyed her marriage, and—most painfully—alienated her children. For nothing. Helen had no choice but to see this through, even if redemption on any level remained entirely out of reach. At this point, she’d inflicted far too much misery on those she loved the most to fail or turn back. She opened her eyes, her hands still lightly trembling in her lap.
Helen turned the car off and placed the keyless ignition fob in one of the cup holders. The last thing she needed to worry about on her way out was finding the key to the car. Not that she expected to be flustered when she returned. Her plan to kidnap Donald Wilson was fairly straightforward, and she’d mentally rehearsed it, from start to finish, no fewer than a thousand times over the past year. She’d even created a list of possible obstacles, ranging from simple to elaborate—game-planning them until she was satisfied that she could handle just about anything and accomplish the mission.
Always the same plan, because Wilson’s warm-weather-season routine hadn’t changed since he’d taken up residence at the facility three years ago. The camera she had hidden along the western edge of the sprawling property had confirmed what she had suspected from a decade of off-and-on surveillance. Wilson had a fondness for an alcoholic beverage or three on the back patio at sunset.
In fact, as long as the skies were clear, he’d never missed a sunset here when the temperature equaled or exceeded sixty-seven degrees, and Helen’s car told her it was seventy-five. Sunset was in ten minutes, so he’d be a few bourbons into the evening by the time she arrived. Barring any unforeseen complications, she should be back at the car with Wilson in less than a half hour.
She got out of the car and removed a canvas tote bag from the back seat. Helen had filled it with handmade snacks, fruit, and a small bouquet of flowers, the assortment designed to lend an air of normalcy to anyone who gave her a closer look. Nearly everyone who showed up to visit this place brought something to leave with their loved ones.
A side compartment sewed into the interior of the bag held three syringes marked with blue duct tape, each filled with enough ketamine to sedate and immobilize Wilson within a few minutes; two syringes marked with yellow tape, each filled with a 100-milligram ketamine “booster,” just in case the 300 milligrams in the blue-taped doses didn’t do the job; a short roll of beige-colored duct tape to keep Wilson from screaming; and a half dozen heavy-duty black zip-tie handcuffs to keep him tethered to his wheelchair. A watered-down agency abduction kit.
The walk to the entrance ate close to a minute of her time. She’d parked in the far reaches of the parking lot, near the southern end of the main building, for a strategic reason. Entering and traversing the facility unchallenged was surprisingly simple. She’d conducted four walk-throughs over the past year, carrying the same tote bag, and had never been questioned, either at the front desk or while walking the hallways. Getting out with Wilson was the hard part. She couldn’t wheel him through the facility and past the front desk without drawing the wrong kind of attention. Especially when he appeared semiconscious. The sidewalk directly in front of the parking lot wound around the building, eventually connecting with the rear patio. She planned to use the walkway to discreetly remove him from the premises, away from the prying eyes of the staff.
When she reached the entrance, she paused in front of the automatic sliding doors to give them time to open, and quickly scanned the lobby. Helen recognized the woman at the desk from her last visit. Two gentlemen engaged in conversation sat in high-back chairs near the grand piano. As she started inside, a gray-haired woman in a motorized wheelchair turned the corner behind the reception desk and called out to the attendant. Perfect timing.
Helen made it through the lobby without drawing more than a casual glance from the two men. She navigated a short series of carpeted hallways to a sun-blasted space with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out onto the patio. A modest mahogany bar, with a severely limited selection of booze to match its three empty stools and moping bartender, stood against the wall on the opposite side of the cramped room. A faded HAPPY HOUR sign was taped to the wall next to the bar, completing the mortuary vibe. The bartender never looked up as she crossed the room and opened the patio door.