3. Trent Ryder （Carrie’s Son）
TRENT RYDER (CARRIE’S SON)
The storm raged harder by the minute, rain lashing in sideways sheets across Key West, battering against buildings and hissing against the streets that were already slick with water.
Trent stood just outside the emergency exit of the old brick building, chest heaving as he scanned the darkened alley for threats.
His phone was useless. The last call to his mother had dropped mid-sentence, and now there was nothing but dead silence, no matter how many times he tried.
He hated silence more than noise. Silence meant disconnection. Disconnection meant danger.
Behind him, Alisha leaned against the wall, one hand pressed against her head, blood seeping slowly through the towel he’d given her. She looked pale under the dim security light, her features drawn tight with exhaustion and fear. But her eyes—they still burned with determination.
“You need stitches,” Trent said, forcing calm into his voice though his nerves were strung taut.
“No.” Her refusal was quiet but steady. “Not until we find them.”
Trent turned, meeting her eyes. “Alisha?—”
Her jaw set. “I can’t waste time in a hospital bed while Cody and Maggie are out there. We find them first.”
He exhaled through his nose, frustration pounding like a second heartbeat in his skull. She had the same fierce streak he carried himself, the same refusal to stand down when family was at risk. He admired it, even as it drove him to the edge.
“Then we regroup somewhere safe,” Trent said at last. “I know a place. The agency has a safe house close by. We can dry off and get my colleagues to pull resources together to track where whoever took Maggie and…” His brow crinkled as he looked at Alisha.
“Cody,” Alisha offered. “My son’s name is Cody.”
“Cody,” Trent offered a warm smile as he stood trying to block her from the wind and rain that pelted against his back as sharply as a stinging whip. But he ignored it. “Now, please, let's go to the agency safe house because you need to get out of those wet clothes and have your head seen to.”
Her gaze sharpened. “The Agency?” Alisha looked at him questioningly. “That sounds more like the CIA than the FBI.” Her brow tightened some more. “I’m sure your mother told me you were FBI!”
She was sharp—sharper than he’d expected. He forced a smile, shrugging like it was nothing. “Terminology overlaps sometimes. Besides, it doesn’t matter what we call it. What matters is that it’s secure and staffed with people who can help us find the kids even in this raging storm.”
Alisha studied him for a beat too long, suspicion flickering in her tired eyes.
“I’d rather try and find them while we still can.
” She glanced at her wristwatch. “I was out for… what… ten to fifteen minutes. The person who took them couldn’t have gotten too far.
” Her eyes sought Trent’s. “Surely your colleagues at the Bureau can help us track them and guide us in the right direction while we look?”
“Look, Alisha.” Trent braced himself, keeping his voice steady and calm.
“How far do you think we’re going to get?
” His eyes flickered to the blood on the side of her face.
“With that head wound, you could pass out on me, and that will slow us down, not that we can go very far in this…” He had to raise his voice as the wind was picking up.
“Soon we won’t be able to get to the safe house if we don’t go now.
Soon, I won’t get a signal on my phone, and we’ll lose ground.
I understand the urgency to find the kids.
Maggie is my niece. My twin sister’s daughter. ”
Trent saw the astonishment in her eyes at that revelation. “So I’m just as invested in finding the kids as you are.” He gave her a soft smile. “And while we’re standing here arguing, we’re accomplishing nothing but getting wet, blown away, and losing valuable time.”
He watched the resignation in her eyes as she nodded reluctantly. “All right.”
Trent breathed a silent breath of relief, taking her arm, helping her gather her purse, and then guiding her forward. “We can’t go to my rental car so we’ll have to make a run for it.” His eyes assessed her. “Do you think you can make two blocks?”
Alisha didn’t say anything; she just nodded.
As they took off, Trent assured her, “Don’t worry, with this storm, whoever has them can’t leave the island tonight. And that buys us some time.”
He slid an arm beneath hers when she swayed. She tried to protest but relented, leaning against him just enough to keep steady as the wind gusted.
It wasn’t too long until they got to the building, which looked like an ordinary office block.
Inside the building, the air smelled faintly of disinfectant and machine oil.
The place looked like an ordinary government office at street level—cubicles, humming fluorescent lights, cork boards with old memos pinned up—but the elevator at the end of the hall required a keycard, a fingerprint, and a retinal scan.
When the doors opened, they stepped into something entirely different.
The basement felt like a command center. Banks of monitors lit the dim space, rows of desks and terminals filled with men and women typing furiously or speaking in hushed tones into headsets. The sound was steady, controlled, and efficient. No chaos here.
Alisha faltered, staring. “This… doesn’t look like any FBI office I’ve ever seen.” Her eyes narrowed some more. “And I’ve been to many FBI offices throughout the country as I do some forensic consulting for them.”
“Oh!” Trent said, impressed, and gave her a big smile. “This is one of the Bureau’s more specialized divisions.”
Before she could question further, a woman approached—a figure of composed authority, her dark hair swept into a precise knot, her suit tailored, her badge clipped neatly to her jacket. Her stride was purposeful, every step betraying confidence.
“Agent Ryder,” she said, voice crisp, extending a hand. “We’ve been awaiting your arrival. I’m just sorry it’s such a terrible day.” Trent shook her hand. “I’m Dana Whitaker. Deputy Chief of Station.”
Trent clasped her hand firmly. “Good to see you, Deputy Chief Whitaker.”
Dana’s eyes flicked to Alisha, softening just slightly. “And you must be Ms. Parker, that Agent Ryder told us about.”
Alisha’s brow furrowed deeper, and she blinked, suspicion clearly shining in her eyes. “Deputy Chief of Station? That doesn’t sound like a Bureau title.”
Dana’s smile was professional, unfazed. “Every agency has its jargon. Titles mean less than results here.” She glanced at Trent. “We’ve already alerted our doctor to take a look at your head.”
“Doctor?” Alisha looked alarmed, touched her head, winced, and then squared her shoulders. “I’m fine. I don’t need a doctor. I need to find the kids.”
“I understand,” Dana told her, her voice dropping. “But we can do both. You won’t be much use to the kids if you’re injured.” She pointed toward the offices. “Let’s go through to my office and you can tell me everything you know.”
Alisha nodded. Trent could see she was still keenly taking in her surroundings and was not convinced this was the FBI.
Dana pushed open the door and ushered them inside.
The office was windowless, dominated by a broad desk and a wall of monitors.
Dana gestured them inside, then pressed a button on her desk phone.
“Please find out Dr. Perrin’s eta.” The woman on the other end said she’d checked a few minutes ago and he was on his way, but the storm was delaying everything.
“Keep me updated.” She let go of the button and turned to Alisha and Trent as they took the seats in front of her desk.
Trend could see Alisha stiffening at the mention of the doctor. “I promise you a doctor won’t be necessary. I’m fine.”
“Ms. Parker,” Dana said gently, “you’ve obviously not only got a huge bump on your head that knocked you out, but you’ve also been bleeding. If we don’t treat it, you’ll collapse before we’ve made progress. That helps no one.”
Trent watched Alisha’s hesitation, the way her hands curled against her knees. He could almost read her thoughts—fear that stopping meant failing the kids.
“The Deputy Chief will have all the relevant agents looking for the kids,” Trent told her firmly. “Trust me, they are the best of the best and will find them. Like I already told you, the kidnapper doesn’t have many options in this storm.”
Alisha closed her eyes, shoulders slumping. “Fine.”
“Good.” Dana’s tone softened. She keyed another order to the bullpen, then swiveled one of the monitors toward Alisha. “In the meantime, tell me exactly what happened up to when you were knocked out.”
Alisha recounted it in clipped but emotional detail.
“We were at the movies when my father called. He told me to take the kids and get to a safe place as there was a storm approaching. When the kids and I left the theater, I noticed a man reading a magazine in the lounge area of the theater. At first, I didn’t think much of it until, while we were walking through the mall to get to the nearest shelter, I noticed him trailing us when I glanced into one of the shop windows.
” She recounted how, at first, she shrugged it off until they got outside and crossed the street, he’d stood on the other side waiting for the cars to clear before moving toward them.
Alisha was on the phone with Carrie, Trent’s mother.
She had lost sight of him, and the man had someone come up behind them.
The kids had yelled, but Alisha had turned too late, and he had hit her with something, then the world had gone black.
Alisha had woken up with Trent leaning over her.
Trent flexed his jaw that still ached a bit at the right hook Alisha had swung at him. “Ms. Parker came around while I was talking to you,” he told Dana.