they’d missed the terror. Gwen often took Jackson out for a walk before dinner. Lucy clung to that hope right up until she noticed the cracked wood frame around the back door latch. Fumbling with her phone, she dialed Gwen’s cell phone number. No answer. She ended the call before the voice mail greeting finished. Tears threatened to spill over as Lucy raced upstairs, hoping the baby would be in his crib, safe and oblivious to the destruction downstairs. Jackson wasn’t there.
Her legs weak and shaking, she returned to the kitchen and leaned against the countertop, struggling to breathe. The signs were all too clear. Something awful had happened to her sister and nephew. She couldn’t make her heart accept it. Picking her way through the house again, she searched for a note, missing valuables, anything to put this chaos into context.
She stood there, helpless and scolding herself. Calling 911 wouldn’t help, and she didn’t know the local equivalent to reach the police.
Who could possibly gain from targeting a widow and infant? Lucy didn’t have enemies and very few friends were aware of her overseas move. She and Gwen had decided to save the announcement for the annual Christmas letter, a cheerful high point to counter the sadness of the past year. She dialed Gwen’s number again and left a pitiful voice message this time, pleading for a reply.
Devastated, Lucy fell to her knees, the baby blanket she’d found in the hallway clutched to her chest. Her sobs tangled with fear and desperation. Who would do this? Crime in this area was practically nonexistent. Everyone they’d met in this quiet, isolated part of France had been friendly.
Too isolated to be random, a small voice in her head declared. Dieter Kathrein might be a recluse, but he was also a legend. The estate was well-known and he had enough staff to make it obvious when he was in residence. At his age, with his massive business success, he’d racked up a few enemies along the way. The attack could be retaliatory and Gwen and Jackson were taken by mistake.
Her boss could help. He would know who to call and he had nearly limitless resources. He’d help her navigate the system, help her through the next steps. His money and influence would make recovering Gwen and Jackson a priority for the authorities. On a surge of hope, Lucy went into her office, where she wouldn’t have to look at the wreckage while she spoke with him.
She jumped a little when her cell phone rang in her hand. Gwen’s number showed on the screen and Lucy’s body sagged with relief. “Gwen! Where are you? Are you okay?”
“Lucy, we aren’t hurt but you need to listen very carefully.”
Gwen’s voice, normally calm and strong, trembled with fear. The sound dragged Lucy back to that terrible day when her sister had called to say her husband had died. Gwen’s sorrowful tears and inconsolable shock on that day still haunted Lucy. “Where are you?” she asked again.
“In—” Her sister’s reply ended on a startled gasp.
“Lucille.” Dieter Kathrein’s curt tone confused and startled her all over again. “This call shall suffice as proof of life.”
“Mr. Kathrein?” She’d left his offices less than an hour ago. Had the kidnappers grabbed Gwen and the baby and then attacked his house, as well? Whoever planned this knew how to cull the weak, seizing the elderly, a young mother and a helpless baby. “Are you injured?”
“I am well.” He didn’t sound the least bit rattled by the circumstances. In fact, this was the tone he used in his business conversations. “We are negotiating new terms.”
“Pardon me, sir?”
His English was flawless, though gently rounded by a French accent when he was stressed or tired. Then the accent grew heavier and something else seeped in, drenching the words with a harsh elegance that was tougher to understand.
“Negotiating.” He enunciated each syllable and added something at the end that sounded closer to German, which only confounded Lucy. “Your sister and her son are with me. They are safe. They will remain safe as long as you do as I say, young lady.”
“You have Gwen and Jackson?” She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to wrap her mind around it but couldn’t. Behind her closed eyelids she saw the mangled parlor, the broken bits of the few treasures they’d brought to France. “Why?” How, when and where all needed answering, as well, but she limited herself to one question at a time.
“They are leverage to ensure your cooperation,” he stated, as if it should have been obvious. “You love your family, correct?”
“More than anything,” she whispered. He knew how much those two people meant to her. Gwen and Jackson were all she had left. She and Gwen had lost their parents in a plane crash during Lucy’s second year of undergrad. Gwen had been the steady, reassuring voice of reason when grief would have derailed Lucy’s goals. She swore. “How could you do this?”
“As I thought. Look in your desk drawer. The top one. There is an envelope.”
Thoroughly devastated, she did as he directed, withdrawing a plain white envelope. Only the weight of the paper gave away the means and quality of the man behind this treacherous attack.
“Did you find it?” he demanded.
“Yes,” she replied, lowering her voice. Countering belligerence with a calm and composed response was a trick she’d learned in her MBA program. In her early days with Kathrein it had been surprisingly effective at defusing him when he grew agitated over something.
“Everything you need is in the envelope. A man seeking to ruin my grandson’s political plans went digging through my background. My past is irrelevant! Nosy reporters,” Kathrein ranted. “It is no more than slanted, ancient history and vicious rumors. My Daniel is a good boy. He will not pay for the mistakes of my youth. Family is everything, yes?”
“Yes,” she agreed. Apparently one member of his family—his only grandson and heir—was worth her entire remaining family combined. The envelope crinkled as her hands fisted, wishing she could wring his leathery, wrinkled neck. Her pulse hammered behind her temples. She had to think, to find a way around this. What kind of threat, what ancient secrets from his past had pushed the wealthy recluse to these drastic measures?
“The man stored electronic copies of these damaging rumors in a Gray Box,” Kathrein said.
Gray Box. Memories that Lucy would rather have continued to forget emerged, vying for precedence in her troubled thoughts.
“As outlined in your instructions,” he went on, “you will retrieve every document and then destroy everything in the cloud, removing all traces of the electronic records.”
Break into a secure Gray Box? Kathrein had no idea what he was asking. Rush Grayson, the brilliant creator of that particular secure cloud storage service, had contracts with the United States military and intelligence agencies. His proprietary Gray Box encryption was that reliable and impossible to hack. To date, there had never been a successful breach. “What you’re asking is impossible, Mr. Kathrein.”
“You’d best hope not, Lucille. Since the man I contracted was not successful with the password and such, I presume it will require a more feminine ingenuity,” he suggested.
Her mind caught on his words and suddenly his determination to bring her to France, to give her anything and everything she needed to make the transition became clear. She was as much a pawn as her sister and nephew, caught in a life and death game of speed chess. Dieter Kathrein didn’t need a personal assistant as much as he’d anticipated a need for her to pry open software. He’d selected Lucy based on her past.
Oh, dear God.
“If you contact the police or anyone else I will terminate your family,” he said. “If you fail I will terminate your family.”
Renewed fear tightened her chest. “Mr.—”
“You have one week.”
Her heart stumbled. Seven days to break into a Gray Box? He might give her a year and she wouldn’t be able