Page 44 of The Twenty (Major Crimes)

But she is alive. He took her alive, and Jamie knows he must hang on to that. This insane fucker wants her alive.

And Adam will find her.

The smartest man he knows, the hardest working detective in the nick. Adam will find Pippa.

Jamie clings onto those two thoughts, working them around and around in his head, as he lies in Adam’s guest room. Cold. Alone. In the dark. And utterly terrified for his wife.

I STAND IN THE doorway, watching her. She is blindfolded; her head twitches from side to side once she hears the door open. Trying to find me, desperately searching for a sense of where I am.

What’s going to happen to her.

I take a step forward, hesitant. I don’t want to do this. But I know I must.

She breathes in and out quickly behind the tape; she makes a quiet squeak. I feel like she’s trying to talk to me. I reach forward and gently remove the blindfold.

Her eyes open wide with surprise. Tears brim before they run down her pale soft cheeks. She is beautiful. It is a pity everything will end for her in this way.

She strains against her bindings, but I’ve been careful. Cable ties extra tight. One of the others managed to get free, half out the door before I caught him by the hair and pulled him back to the ground. He didn’t fight as much once the knife was out. Once the blade was deep in his stomach.

You have a purpose, Pippa Hoxton.

She’s still whining behind her gag, so I pull at one corner and remove the tape. She takes gasping breaths for a moment, then starts to scream. A long, high-pitched wail that consumes all of her energy, making her muscles taut. She takes a shuddering breath in, then starts again, her eyes darting around the room.

I watch her, impassive, my arms crossed.

After a moment her screams abate to sobs, snot and tears pouring down her face. I reach forward with one finger and I slowly wipe up her cheek. She stops, frozen, shaking, watching with those big blue eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I say. And I am. Any attempt to get away is futile, resistance pointless.

“Please let me go,” she replies. “What do you want from me? I’ll do anything. I can get money. What do you want?”

“I want you,” I reply.

She blinks. She pulls at her arms and legs again. I watch as the ties cut deep into her flesh.

“Do you want a drink?” I ask.

She nods slowly. I’ve learned this time. If I am to keep her alive for longer, I need her hydrated. Plenty of water, maybe even food.

I turn and go to the end of the room, where I have a sandwich and a bottle of water. As soon as my back is turned, I hear frantic movement, and I spin to see her trying to rock the chair, tip it over, get free.

I pick up the water and go back. I watch her for a moment as she struggles, then a burst of fury takes over. I reach out with my hand, grab a handful of her hair and pull.

She gasps, her neck wrenched back. She looks up at me, blinking, sobbing.

“Enough of that,” I whisper through clenched teeth, my mouth next to her ear. “You try any of that shit, and things will get worse for you very quickly.” I pause. She doesn’t move. “Do you hear me?”

“Yes,” she whispers, and I let go of her head. She sits up, and I offer the water. I see her lick her lips in anticipation.

“Do you want some?” I ask. I unscrew the lid.

“Yes,” she says. “Yes, please.”

“That’s better.” I smile and hold the bottle up to her mouth, tilting it so it pours in. She swallows. I repeat it, one, two more times, then put the bottle down.

“That’s enough for now. We don’t want any more accidents, do we?”

She’s pissed herself already, from fear, from terror, but I don’t mind. It’s part of the process. The learning curve. I’ll get it right. I have to.

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