Vanished (Harper Security Ops #20)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

Reagan

In a life full of disappointments, this should have been just one more.

In any other case where I wound up in an unfavorable situation—whether in my personal or professional life—I would have simply rolled with the punches. Now, I couldn’t do that.

Though, based on the way my body felt, punches were something I felt like I’d become acquainted with.

My body ached.

God, I couldn’t remember a time when I’d ever felt so awful physically. And considering the way I was shivering, ignoring the pain would have been an impossible task.

But even if I felt the worst I’d ever felt in my life, even if I didn’t think it was possible to feel this bad and still survive, I couldn’t focus all my attention on the physical discomfort.

The throbbing, the soreness, the agony paled in comparison to the mental distress. Terrorized didn’t even begin to describe the way I felt. The panic and fear were consuming me.

I’d been kidnapped.

Pain pierced through my chest; breathing was unbearably difficult. I dragged my fingertips down my cheeks, the weight of responsibility and despair settling heavily on my shoulders.

Though I was fully aware of the fact I’d been kidnapped, I wasn’t quite sure how it had all happened, how I’d gotten here. One minute, everything was fine. The next thing I knew, I was kicking, screaming, clawing to save myself.

And I’d failed.

Despite my best efforts, I hadn’t been able to get away. I fought and fought and fought, and I remained unsuccessful.

At some point, I’d been knocked unconscious, which was likely the worst that could have happened. Because I had not a single clue where I was now.

Other than taking in what I could see of my surroundings, there was nothing to indicate how far I’d been taken from my hometown—Steel Ridge, Pennsylvania.

Through my labored breathing and trembling limbs, I drew one conclusion. If I’d ever imagined what it’d be like to be kidnapped, where I was now wasn’t what I would have envisioned for my captivity.

Something about this felt strange. Unlikely.

Any time I’d ever watched a movie or read a story, kidnapping victims were locked in dark, damp basements or abandoned, rundown buildings. They were blindfolded, cuffed, tied up, and gagged.

Not me.

There wasn’t anything binding my limbs, hindering my sight, or preventing me from speaking. Of course, with nobody around to talk to, I remained silent and continued to assess the situation.

While I couldn’t compare the space to a prison—it was far too nice—it did feel like I was in a cell of sorts. I was alone, the air was cool, and without a window to the outside world in sight, I could only assume I was in the lower level of this place. This home. This… mansion?

Obviously, I didn’t know what existed outside of the four walls containing me, but I didn’t need to see any of it to draw conclusions. I’d seen enough in my line of work to know that someone paid a pretty penny for the exquisite marble tiles on the floor and the oversized glass window that made up one of the inner walls. Unfortunately, with only dim light in my cell, I couldn’t see what was on the other side of that glass, and I didn’t need to be a genius to know it wasn’t the kind of glass that’d shatter upon impact. The single door to the room—a steel one—only teased escape. There wasn’t a chance I’d be kidnapped and placed in this room, only to have the ability to walk out. I’d have been willing to bet the door was locked.

An unwelcome shiver ran along my spine, and I groaned with the pain it heightened.

This wasn’t just strange. This felt like it was on another level of danger.

Gingerly, I stood and slowly spun myself around, taking in my surroundings, double-checking my suspicions that the door was locked, and secretly hoping for something to pop out at me as a way to escape.

There was nothing.

Nothing but me, three cinder block walls, an impenetrable door, and a glass window.

Through the glaring pain, I bent at the waist and reached down to remove a shoe. I’d spent my entire life looking out for myself. No doubt I’d need to do the same now, if I wanted to have a fighting chance.

So, even though I knew it wouldn’t work, I picked up my shoe and hurled it at the glass. Like it was nothing, the shoe bounced off and fell to the ground. It didn’t even leave a mark. The same thing happened when I tried a second time.

An exasperated sigh escaped, and despair set in.

There was nothing I could do besides wait.

I had no idea where I’d been taken or why. But worse than that, given the mostly solitary life I lived, nobody knew I was missing. It’d be days before any of the people who worked with me realized I wasn’t around.

There was only one person who’d know almost immediately.

Hart Anderson—the mystery man who’d come into my life one year ago.

The problem was that I wasn’t quite sure I could anticipate having him care. I didn’t think he’d be concerned enough to even report my disappearance, because that wasn’t the kind of relationship we had, nor did I think he was the kind of guy who went to the police.

No.

No, I couldn’t wait around, hoping for a miracle.

If I was going to get out of this, I’d need to do it like I’d done everything else in my life. I’d need to do it on my own.

That’s why I bent down, picked up the shoe, and threw it at the window again. And again. And again.

Ten times. Twenty times. Forty times.

I counted each throw.

But no matter how many times I threw it, the shoe bounced off the glass and landed on the floor.

I didn’t stop. Seventy-two… seventy-three… seventy-four.

I pushed through the blinding pain radiating through my body and continued to throw the shoe.

When I reached one hundred and twelve, with the tears that had started around sixty-two still rolling down my cheeks, I screamed. Louder than I’d ever remembered screaming in my life.

Then I threw the shoe again.

It bounced back, and I screamed once more.

I was hysterical, on the verge of losing my mind. Maybe I already had.

With my skin flushed and sweaty and my throat hoarse from all the screaming, I collapsed with exhaustion at one hundred and thirty-seven. Then I curled up on the floor, my cheek pressed against the cool tile beneath me, and willed the room to stop spinning as I prayed for some relief from the pain.

But it remained.

In my sides, my arms, my legs. But also, in my heart.

Once again, I was all alone.

And because I’d been abandoned by everyone who mattered all my life, I knew there wasn’t a single person who’d come looking for me.

So, I didn’t bother to swipe at the tears that fell and permeated the stone beneath me.