Page 38 of Bodied

He watched as Lauren drifted off into deep contemplation, her gaze shifting from him to the building. “We just have to not give them any time to think. Make it so urgent that they just act.” She paused again and bit her lower lip, considering. Then she nodded decisively. “Okay, here’s the plan. I’m the girlfriend of whoever owns that van. I’ve been out jogging and sprained my ankle. It might even be broken.” She grinned. “You’re a good Samaritan, who saved me and carried me back here so I could get off my feet and my boyfriend could take care of me.”

Wesley considered what she was suggesting. “That’s not a bad plan,” he concluded, “if we leave the acting up to you, that is.” He smiled briefly at her. Regardless of whether this went well, anything he could do to get her to focus on a task would help. While he knew he could never distract her from the current crisis with her mother, giving her something to do would be a boon to her now. He knew as much from his own crises, especially those he went through in the military. There was strength in feeling useful. Whenever he was afraid, he knew that pouring himself into some task, especially one he knew he could do well, would keep him from going completely crazy.

“What’s my boyfriend’s name?” Lauren asked, breaking Wesley out of his thoughts.

“Oh. It’s Greg. The van is registered to aGreg Landry.”

Lauren nodded. “Okay.” She closed her eyes, and began what looked to be some kind of breathing exercise. Then Wesley watched in awe as she transformed herself. Her face got red. Her eyes teared up. She began to shake when she stepped out of the car. Wesley jumped out after her and ran around to help her. Her performance was so good that he wondered if she had somehow, coincidentally, actually injured herself right when she was only meant to pretend. She fell into his arms, and he immediately scooped her up, more as a reflex than anything.

Soon she was crying loudly and looking every bit like someone who had just injured themselves in an extremely painful way. Wesley carried her into the building, which was the exact kind of building that usually put him on edge. But Lauren’s fake wailing wouldn’t let him feel the stress of being so out of place like he usually did in such environments. In truth, he was struggling not to laugh, not because her acting was bad — on the contrary, it was stellar — but because he’d never been in on something like this, and the idea that he was going to fool anyone was laughable to him. Wesley was not an actor, but Lauren was going to make up for all his lack of skill and enthusiasm and then some.

She cried out to her pretend boyfriend as they drew closer to the desk. “Greg! Where’s Greg? Please!”

Wesley took over the explanation, allowing Lauren to handle the emotional pressure. “She sprained her ankle, I think. She needs to stay off her feet. She says her boyfriend lives here.”

“Who’s her boyfriend?” the concierge asked.

“Greg Landry,” Wesley answered and felt the need to add, “or so she told me.”

Lauren suddenly wailed louder, clearly communicating that Wesley should stop talking and let her do what she was best at. “Please, sir,” she said, tears still streaming down her face. “Please, I just want to sit down and ice it.”

She broke out into a fresh wail, which seemed to make the concierge deeply uncomfortable. Wesley was impressed. Clearly, all the concierge wanted to do was quiet this woman, whose crying was making him squirm. He barely hesitated before he rounded the desk and gave them access to the elevator.

“Feel better,” the concierge said. “Go to a hospital if you need to.”

“Thank you.” Lauren sniffed and rubbed her eyes dry. “I’ll do that.”

As soon as the elevator doors closed behind them, Lauren dropped her act and laughed out loud. “It worked,” she said triumphantly. “I can’t believe it actually worked.”

“I can,” Wesley said. “I told you, you’re too good to fail. Now, let’s go get your mother.”

The elevator doors opened, and Wesley stepped out into a hall that was opulent, to say the least. He realized, too late, that he had been carrying Lauren longer than he needed to. He let her slide from his arms, resisting the feeling of regret that followed. He wanted to protect her forever, but today, he realized, she needed to stand on her own two feet. She needed to save her mother, and the best thing he could do was support her in that.

They walked down the hallway, silent as cats stalking their prey. The lushness of the carpet helped quite a bit. The halls were quiet, the sound deliberately dampened to make things more comfortable for those high-value residents who would always demand the best. In this case, the dampening would be their downfall.

Wesley walked to the door of the apartment belonging to the suspected kidnapper. He leaned back against the wall beside the door, and gestured for Lauren to do the same. This way they could listen without being seen. So, they stood like sentinels on either side of the door and listened, Wesley pressing a finger to his lips as a message to be silent. If no one was there, they could break in and search. But if one or more people were in the apartment, they’d be wise to wait it out until those people left. Wesley was already concocting a plan for where they could wait that would enable them to keep an eye on the apartment without standing right out in front of it or lingering too long in the hall. He had noticed that the stairwell was nearby and planned to camp out there with the door cracked to watch the apartment.

Though the apartment door was thick, he could hear the occasional voice coming from inside. They were male, and there was at least two of them. One of the more invaluable lessons Wesley had taken away from his time in the military was how to be patient. He wasn’t going to make a move until he knew roughly how many people were in the apartment, how many foes he was going to have to take on. He readied his weapon while he waited. If anything, he was going to need it to make demands. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to use it for real.

But the sound of one specific voice ruined every one of his plans. It was a woman, and all she said was, “Please.” It was Anne Bartlett. Wesley would not have recognized her voice, but he was currently working with someone who did.

Before he could communicate a plan to her, Lauren had gone stiff. She didn’t wait for him. She turned to the door and knocked on it. Then she screamed. “Help! Please, help me! He’s going to kill me, please! Oh, my God!”

It was probably the best horror movie scream Wesley had ever heard from an actress, though he didn’t know why that surprised him. This was Lauren, after all. She was so good the kidnappers actually unlocked the door and cracked it open to see what was going on. Everything after that happened in a matter of seconds. Wesley didn’t even have time to think. He drew his weapon and kicked the door all the way open with all of his strength. The man standing on the other side went flying to the ground.

“Freeze, all of you!” Wesley shouted as he forced his way into the apartment.

There were three men, and a woman. Aside from the man who had opened the door, two more were at a dining table with papers and fast food. The woman was sitting on the couch beside the senator, whose wrists and ankles were taped together with duct tape. Anne’s face was red where they had clearly taped her mouth and recently removed it, probably to let her eat. In a surreal twist, there was an old cartoon playing on a large flat screen affixed to the wall. Antics involving TNT, a futile chase in bright colors, and loud sound effects dominated the room and might have been distracting had Wesley not been zeroed in on the senator.

One of the men cursed, shot to his feet, and ran out the door. Wesley didn’t fire at him. A hostage was in the room, and the last thing he wanted to do was endanger her. This wasn’t about his reputation or even justice. This was about getting Lauren’s mother out safely. That was all that mattered in the end.

Wesley aimed his weapon at the unknown woman on the couch. “Get the tape off her,” he demanded. He held his gun steady while the woman started struggling with the tape on Anne’s wrists. Now he could take a moment to examine the senator’s face. It was glistening with tears she had not been able to dry. Aside from the red marks made by the tape they’d likely used to silence her, she was sickly pale. The poor woman was clearly scared for her life.

Once Anne’s wrists were free, the other woman knelt to start on her ankles.

“Are you okay?” Wesley asked Anne.

She just nodded.

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