Taken Read Online Free PDF

my bleeding arms, I’d do it. No hesitation. That’s the kind of bargain I’m willing to make.
    “So you’re a widow,” he’s saying, waving the gun at me like a wand. “Must have been tough.” He pauses, tilts his head. “You may respond.”
    “It was tough,” I concede.
    “But you bounced back,” he says, sounding weirdly, creepily cheerful. “Did very well for yourself, Kate.”
    I remain in the chair, palms sweating, heart slamming. I can still feel the impression the barrel made on my forehead. Meanwhile, the man in the mask acts like it never happened, like we’re having a normal conversation. There he sits in my best leather chair, confident and pleased with himself, as if he’s an honored guest in my house. It makes me hate him. Makes me think that if I had the gun I’d use it, no hesitation. Which is something of a shock. Never having imagined I was capable of such a thing.
    Oh, but I am. And yet I dare not make a move. The man in the mask is much stronger than I am, much quicker, and it’s clear he won’t hesitate to kill me if I give him reason to.
    I’m sitting here in a cold sweat, thinking about nightmares. How vivid and real they can be. But nothing like this. Nothing like the dread that has settled into my bones. A dread that comes from the realization that there’s nothing random about what has happened. It has all been planned, down to the last detail. Consider: the man in the mask knew exactly where Tommy would be. My son was taken from a crowded parking lot without anyone witnessing the snatch, not even me. My home-security system was breached, no problem. And the cell-phone call that pissed him off seems to be connected to another kidnapping. Tommy has been drugged and taken away and I will eventually be allowed to speak to him over the phone, supposedly. All of which confirms that others must be involved. The man in the mask is part of a team. A team of professional kidnappers using proven terror tactics to enrich themselves.
    That’s the real nightmare.
    Despite all the mall stories about bogeymen, all the sad-looking kids on milk cartons, I’d always assumed real kidnappers were rare, opportunistic predators. Sick loners who stole children for their own twisted sexual purposes. The notion of teams of professional abductors, terrorizing families for money, that was supposed to be a third world phenomenon. Something that happened in Mexico or Colombia or the Philippines. Not here. Not in suburban Connecticut. Not in Fairfax.
    But it is happening. Facts on the ground, as the shouting heads on TV like to say. Nothing I can do to change what has already occurred. My mind has been racing with what-ifs. What if we never went to the game? What if I never let Tommy out of my sight? What if I’d called 911 from the parking lot as soon as the first pang of worry quivered in my gut? What if? What if?
    Too late, Kate. Deal with it. Find a way.
    Part of me remains convinced the man in the mask intends to kill me no matter what I do, or how much money he gets out of me, that erasing the victims is all part of the plan. But I can’t allow myself to give up hope. Not as long as there’s a chance, however small. Imprinted in my brain is the promise he’s made, that he will put me in contact with my son. Presumably before I get him the money, however that is to be accomplished.
    My bank, I know, is closed for the day. Five o’clock they shut the doors. And it’s now well after six. The thought of waiting until tomorrow makes me physically ill. I can’t stand it that long, can I? My heart will stop if I can’t speak to Tommy soon, assure myself he’s okay.
    “I can see your mind racing, Kate,” says the man in the mask. “You’re wondering how we’re going to do this. How you get the money and exchange it for your son.”
    I keep my mouth shut, knowing he’ll tell me.
    “Very good,” he says, amused. “You’re learning not to respond without permission. We knew you were a smart