Page 72 of Billion-Dollar Ransom

RIGHT AT THE incredibly tense midpoint of the movie, Kaitlin Gordon’s cell phone buzzed twice. Without reading the text, she knew who it was from and what it said.

“My mom wants me to call her,” she whispered to her friend Callie. “Be right back.”

It wasn’t like she had a choice. Kaitlin’s mom’s cell was the only number that could bypass the do-not-disturb feature on her smartphone—“I want to be able to reach you when I need to reach you,” she’d said.

Kaitlin had been pretty much forced to agree with her mother’s “request” when they’d bought the device; it was that or she’d have had to settle for an embarrassing flip phone or something basic like that.

Which was a bummer at the moment, because after a long slow burn, the movie was finally picking up.

On the screen, a killer crawled down the hallway toward his helpless victim, a severe agoraphobic who’d rather die than leave her apartment.

She’d better get her shrink on the phone quick, or that’s exactly what will happen, Kaitlin thought.

This had better be important, Mom.

Kaitlin wound her way through the near dark to the exit. She didn’t even bother to read the text because her mother always left the same message: Call me please.

As she walked to the lobby, Kaitlin felt the presence of someone keeping pace directly behind her. Growing up in LA made you hyperaware of any breach of personal space. But when the woman behind her spoke, Kaitlin realized this wasn’t some rando with boundary issues.

“Kaitlin,” said a very soccer-mom voice, quiet yet confident, “I need you to come with me right now.”

Kaitlin turned to face her. “Are you talking to me?”

“You’re Kaitlin Gordon, aren’t you?”

Okay, that was creepy. “What, did you read that off my debit card while I was buying a ticket? Leave me alone, lady.”

“Your mother sent me. Now, please, we don’t have a lot of time!”

Kaitlin didn’t know what was going on, but she knew her mother had not sent this tight-ass weirdo.

Forget growing up in LA; growing up with an FBI agent for a mother, Kaitlin had learned every possible safety precaution from the time she was old enough to read a board book, and one of the earliest rules was never to go anywhere with someone who claimed that a parent had sent them.

Kaitlin checked out the woman. She was maybe a little younger than her mom, but much more tired around the eyes. (And if you knew her mom, that was saying a lot.) But Kaitlin didn’t recognize her, not even a little. She wasn’t an FBI agent. There was something… off about her.

“I don’t know you,” Kaitlin said.

“Your mother is Agent Nicky Gordon,” the woman said quickly and quietly. “She’s currently working on a task force with Mike Hardy. I think you know what case they’re working, so you should understand the urgency. It’s not safe for you out here. ”

“Sorry, I’m not buying it.”

“Didn’t you check your phone? Your mother just sent you a message.”

“There are quite a few people in this lobby,” Kaitlin said calmly. “I can scream.”

“That would be an awful idea. You have no idea who’s around. Who might be watching.”

And then the stranger proceeded to tell Kaitlin the exact floor where her mother worked at FBI headquarters in Westwood and the exact location of her office. Her mother was there now.

How could this woman possibly know that?

Because her associate was in the same office. And if she did not call that person within the next few minutes…

Okay, that worked. Kaitlin felt her blood chill.

So she bolted.