Chapter 30
Finding Her
Reed
The apartment felt like a crime scene because it was one. Yellow tape across the doorway, evidence markers scattered across the hallway carpet, Officer Marquez's camera flash illuminating the scattered contents of Maliyah's purse every few seconds.
I stood in her living room, staring at the kids' books stacked neatly on the coffee table. A purple crayon lay on top, the paper wrapper peeled back from use. Zoe's favorite color.
I stepped into the hallway and called the precinct. "Detective Morrison, badge 4137. I have a suspected kidnapping, active scene and need CSU." After I provided the address, the desk sergeant confirmed. Units were en route.
"Morrison." John appeared in the doorway.
"Neighbor in 3A finally answered. Elderly woman, deaf in one ear. Says her TV was up loud but she thought she heard something in the hall but didn’t check.
Said she saw a man matching Callahan's description with a dark sedan out front. Didn't see him leave."
I nodded, but the information felt distant. We already knew it was Bryce. The voicemail had told us that. The restraining order history told us that. The forced entry and scattered evidence told us that. It was merely confirmation.
What we didn't know was where he'd taken her. My phone vibrated. Felicity's name flashed on the screen."Reed, did you find her? Tell me she's okay."
I moved to Maliyah's bedroom, closing the door on all the listening ears surrounding me. My jaw clenched so tight the tension shot into my shoulders. "It's been half an hour, Felicity." The words came out like gravel.
"Where is she?!" Her voice broke on the last word.
"We're working on it. I've got a BOLO out on Bryce Callahan and his vehicle. Every cop in Massachusetts is looking for that car."
"That's not good enough!" Her voice cracked. "She called you, Reed. She asked for help and—"
I gripped the phone so hard my knuckles went white. "I know." My voice cracked like a whip in the quiet bedroom. I caught my reflection in Maliyah's mirror—jaw clenched, eyes wild—and forced a deep breath. "Felicity," I said, softer now. "I know."
She was quiet for a moment. I heard Caden's voice in the background, low and soothing.
"Wait," Felicity said suddenly. "Reed, the stuffed animals. You know—the kids stuffed animals they got from the shelter. Maliyah picked it up from the apartment. They both have GPS trackers. Did you see them at Maliyah’s? Could she have them with her?"
My heart stopped. "What?"
"Yeah—remember she was grabbing stuff from the apartment?
She grabbed the stuffies for the kids. I have the app on my phone and iPad—Caden does too.
" Her voice pitched higher, words tumbling out faster.
"Maliyah had us install it. Shows their location right down to the street address.
Oh my God, why didn't I think of this sooner?
My hands are shaking so bad I can barely unlock the damn screen! "
"Can you access it right now?"
"Caden's coming back in. Hold on." Rustling, muted conversation. Then Caden's voice came on the line. "Reed, I've got the app open. Both trackers are active and showing a location."
"Where?"
"Dennis Port. Cape Cod. It's been stationary for a while now."
Dennis Port. My fingers trembled against the screen as I logged into our precinct's database, each loading circle another second wasted.
"Come on, come on," I hissed through clenched teeth, the taste of adrenaline metallic in my mouth.
I logged in and pulled up Bryce's file on my phone—thumb leaving smudges as I frantically scrolled through his history to known addresses.
My heart stuttered when I saw it—Richard and Moira Callahan. 247 Oceanview Drive, Dennis Port, MA. Isolated beachfront property. Perfect place to try and hide away.
"Text me the exact coordinates from the trackers," I said. "And keep that app open. If it moves, you call me immediately."
We will. Reed—" Caden's voice cracked slightly before he cleared his throat. His exhale was audible through the phone. "Bring her home."I gripped the phone tighter, my knuckles white against the dark screen. "I will."
I disconnected and turned to find John in the doorway. "We've got her. Cape Cod. His parents' beach house."
John's expression sharpened. "Let's move."
I jabbed at my phone as we hit the stairs, connecting with Dennis Port dispatch. After a brief exchange, they patched me through to Sergeant Walsh.
I gave him the essentials—active kidnapping, victim abducted from Boston two hours ago, GPS tracker placing her at 247 Oceanview Drive. Suspect Bryce Callahan, white male, early forties. I needed units on scene immediately.
Walsh knew the property. Big place on the water, Callahan family owned it, usually empty this time of year. He could have two cars there in fifteen minutes but warned me the house had multiple exits—beach access, side doors. If Callahan wanted to run, he’d have options.
I told him to establish a perimeter and keep eyes on every exit. We were forty minutes out.
In the parking lot, John grabbed our go-bags while I called Captain Martinez. His message was clear: do this by the book or he'd bury my badge himself. No cowboy shit.
John drove. I pulled up the tracker on my phone—still stationary at the house. She was there.
"You good?" John asked.
"No."
The hour-long drive stretched into eternity.
I tapped my fingers against the door in rhythm with the windshield wipers slicing through the flurries that had started falling.
We weren’t moving fast enough. I stared at the GPS dot on my phone until my vision blurred, as I thought about Maliyah’s voice in her message: "Something’s wrong," she’d said. And I’d missed it.
"You're here now," John said. "Focus. She needs you focused." He was right.
Walsh texted an update: In position. House dark. No movement. Sedan matches description.
Ten minutes later, we pulled onto Oceanview Drive. John cut the headlights. Two Dennis Port cruisers sat dark a hundred yards back, officers positioned to watch the exits.
Walsh met us, keeping his voice low. No movement since they'd arrived. They had eyes on all exits.
We moved toward the house in formation, staying low, using the landscaping for cover. The ocean was loud—waves crashing against rocks below the bluff. Good. It would mask our approach.
The house loomed ahead, dark and silent. We reached the side door. Locked.
John drew his weapon. I did the same. The door splintered open. We stepped into the darkness.