Free Captured by S.J. Harper Page A

moment, the neighbor pulls off. Mrs. Nicolson returns to her car. I imagine her closing the hatch, seeing the empty car seat, realizing her son missing. All that takes just seconds.
    Then we see her again. Frantically running up and down the aisle, shouting, scanning the area. She zigs and zags between vehicles, sometimes leaving the screen, but never for long. Her cell phone is out, some bystanders approach, then a security guard. Within minutes the police are on scene.
    Zack pauses the recording. “What do you think?”
    “I think there’s no way the kidnapper could have predicted Mikey Nicolson was going to be in that spot at that moment. That opens up the possibility that Andy’s and Coop’s abductions weren’t meticulously planned or premeditated either. The boys are a specific type, yes. But this might be more emotional, less calculated than I originally thought.”
    “A crime of opportunity,” Zack suggests.
    “Which means the kidnapper knew Mikey. Or at least had seen him before and was following him. The abduction happened quickly, just a few feet away from the boy’s mother. Yet she heard nothing.”
    “Neither did Mrs. Anderson, or the day care center employees. As far as we know, none of the children raised a fuss when they were taken.”
    “So they either knew their captors or were drugged. Connections haven’t turned up, so at this point I’m inclined to go with the latter. That means the act was impulsive, but he or she was prepared.” I press my fingertips against my eyes. “Let’s run the parking lot footage again. I was watching Mrs. Nicolson the first time, let’s check for other vehicles coming in and out of that parking lot. See if anything else was going on around them when Mikey disappeared.”
    Zack cues up the footage and we settle back to watch. From the time Mrs. Nicolson pulls into the parking lot, to the time the police arrive, several dozen cars enter and exit. There’s an array of luxury sedans, SUV’s, compacts, and hybrids.
    “Think forensics could enhance any of those plates?” I ask.
    Zack shakes his head. “We tried. The angle isn’t quite right.”
    I continue to watch. There are two delivery trucks, semi’s, that pull into the lot and proceed around back to the loading dock. There is a white van delivering propane to the exchange site by the front door. One man loads empty tanks and replaces them with presumably full ones, then drives off. A mail truck pulls in front of the store. A uniformed mailman hops out, a bundle of mail in his hand, disappears inside, comes out with a fistful of envelopes. His truck pulls around to the public mailbox and is hidden from view by another large delivery truck that stops, blocking a lane, while its driver jumps from the cab and dashes into the store.
    It’s about this time that the police start arriving.
    Along with our food.
    We clear the laptop off the coffee table and let the server replace it with our dinner trays. When he’s gone, Zack and I start in on the food. After a couple bites I set my fork down, pick up one of the fries, dunk it in ketchup, and pop it into my mouth.
    I catch Zack watching me. “What?”
    He grins. “You’ve got a little ketchup.” He points to one corner of my mouth.
    I pick up my napkin and go after it.
    “This side,” he says, leaning forward. He sweeps up the dollop with his thumb.
    It’s done with ease. And it makes me realize how comfortable we’ve become with one another, how in sync we are. I’m beginning to like Zack Armstrong, more than like him. But I’m here for business. Not pleasure.
    I pluck another French fry off the tray. “Are you as frustrated as I am?”
    As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize the double entendre.
    Zack doesn’t miss a beat. He scoops up a forkful of collard greens. “We’re talking about the case, right?”
    Heat rushes to my cheeks. “Yes!”
    He holds up a hand, chews and swallows. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” He steals one