Page 33 of Taken from Her (Phoenix Ridge Police Department #4)

Lavender moved toward the galley where her phone charged beside the coffee maker.

The screen remained lit and signal bars strong, but when she tried to dial Diana's number, nothing happened.

The call wouldn't connect. Radio silence created by jamming equipment or system disruption, leaving her completely cut off from help.

Basil pressed against her ankles, his purr the only sound she could hear clearly. Even the harbor's usual ambience seemed muffled, as if the approaching threat had created a pocket of silence around her home. Saffron remained hidden, instincts telling him to wait until danger passed.

A different sound reached her: multiple footsteps on the dock, moving with coordinated timing.

Not one person but several, approaching from different directions that sounded too precise to be random.

Lavender's community leadership experience had taught her to read group dynamics, and this felt like an operation rather than random violence.

She gathered the few items within reach that could serve as weapons or tools: a heavy ceramic mug, kitchen knife, and flashlight that might momentarily blind attackers.

Not much against multiple people with professional training, but better than nothing.

Diana's voice echoed in her memory: Document everything, trust your instincts, prioritize survival.

The houseboat rocked slightly as someone stepped aboard. Not the gentle motion of normal boarding, but the deliberate weight distribution of someone trying to minimize sound. Then another person, and another, until at least three people had gained access to her floating home.

Lavender retreated toward the bedroom, mind racing through possibilities.

The houseboat's design offered limited hiding places but there were multiple exit routes if she could reach them.

The windows were large enough to climb through, the emergency ladder led to the roof, and there was even the possibility of swimming to nearby boats if desperation required it.

But first, she needed to leave something for Diana.

Her hands moved automatically to the small writing desk where she kept personal correspondence.

Not the business papers that filled her café office, but private notes and letters.

Among them, the program from the Phoenix Ridge Environmental Festival where she'd first heard Tara speak about coastal preservation, the event that had brought all three missing women together in shared community spaces.

Lavender pulled out the program, finding the margin where she'd written notes during Tara's presentation about tide pool ecosystems. Information that would mean nothing to anyone else but would immediately signal Diana about the sea cave where they'd found evidence together.

The location where their professional partnership had shifted into something deeper, where they'd discovered not just clues about the missing women but their own capacity for complete trust under pressure.

She wrote quickly on the back of the program: Morning tide reveals a hidden sanctuary. Saffron's favorite windowsill herbs: chamomile for peace, lavender for love. Trust the cats to guard what matters most.

The message contained multiple layers: the sea cave accessible only at low tide, her location somewhere that connected to the investigation, and personal references only Diana would understand.

The cats' names, the herbs she grew in galley windows, and the gentle rituals that had become part of their shared mornings.

Footsteps approached the main door, no longer attempting stealth.

Lavender folded the program and slipped it behind the small framed photo of her and Diana that sat on the desk, the picture taken during a community event where they'd been trying to maintain their professional distance while their personal connection became obvious to anyone who looked closely.

Diana would see it immediately when she came looking.

The door handle turned. Locked, but that wouldn't stop someone prepared for forced entry. Lavender heard the distinctive sound of lock picks working against tumblers, professional techniques that suggested serious training rather than opportunistic crime.

She moved toward the bedroom window, the one that faced away from the main dock and offered the best chance of escape. But as she reached for the latch, flashlight beams cut through the darkness outside, revealing that all escape routes had been anticipated and blocked.

"Ms. Larwood." The voice came through the door, a professional tone that might have been reassuring in different circumstances. "We need to discuss some matters regarding your cooperation with certain investigations. Please open the door."

The phrasing was carefully chosen, signaling cooperation rather than interference. Someone with media training or legal background, skilled at making threats sound like reasonable requests.

"I'm calling the police," Lavender replied, her voice carrying more strength than she felt.

"Communications in this area are temporarily disrupted for security reasons," the voice responded. "But this can be resolved quickly with your cooperation."

Lavender understood then that this wasn't just a scare tactic.

Someone had planned this operation to coincide with Diana's federal task force coordination, when police resources would be fully committed elsewhere and response times would be compromised.

They'd studied not just her routines but the larger law enforcement patterns that governed her protection.

The lock clicked open.

Lavender pressed herself against the bedroom wall, hoping shadows would provide temporary concealment. Through the main living area, she heard careful footsteps on her wooden floors, multiple people spreading through the space with practiced efficiency.

"Clear," someone called softly.

"Bedroom," another voice replied.

Light flooded the sleeping area as someone found the switch. Lavender blinked against the sudden brightness, seeing three figures in dark clothing, their faces obscured but their movements suggesting professional training. Not random criminals but people with resources and planning capability.

"Ms. Larwood," the original voice said, now clearly visible as a tall man with silver hair and calm expression. "We apologize for the dramatic approach, but time constraints require immediate discussion."

"About what?"

"About certain information you've provided to law enforcement agencies and the potential consequences of your continued cooperation.

" His tone remained conversational, but two other figures flanked the bedroom doorway with obvious readiness for resistance.

"We have a vehicle waiting to transport you to a location where privacy allows for a more in-depth conversation. "

Lavender recognized the language patterns: euphemisms for kidnapping and interrogation that were phrased like business negotiations. Someone with a legal or corporate background, accustomed to making illegal activities sound like standard procedures.

"And if I refuse?"

"Refusal would be unfortunate for several reasons," he replied. "Your café serves many community members who depend on its continued operation. Your cooperation ensures that no disruptions occur to the businesses and relationships you've worked so hard to build."

The threat was clear without being explicit. Comply or watch everything she'd created be destroyed along with the people who depended on it. Community members who trusted her leadership and found safety in the space she'd built would become targets if she resisted.

"I need a moment to gather some things," Lavender said.

"Of course. But quickly, please. Our schedule is quite tight tonight."

They knew about Diana's operation. They'd planned this kidnapping to coincide with maximum police distraction, minimum response capability, and maximum psychological impact.

Taking her while Diana was occupied with the operation would create exactly the kind of personal crisis that could compromise her professional judgment.

Lavender moved toward the dresser, ostensibly gathering clothes but actually positioning herself near the desk where she'd left the message.

As she reached for a sweater, she deliberately knocked over the framed photo, sending it to the floor where the folded program became visible beneath the broken glass.

"Careful," the silver-haired man said. “You don’t want to cut yourself.”

"Sorry," Lavender replied, leaving the mess where Diana would find it. "I'm ready."

They escorted her through the main living area, past the herbs that would help Diana decode her message. Saffron remained hidden, but Basil emerged from his corner to wind around her ankles one final time, as if understanding this might be goodbye forever.

Outside, a boat waited at the dock's end—not a vehicle but marine transport that would leave no road traces and could navigate to locations inaccessible by land. Professional planning that considered every aspect of evidence collection and pursuit options.

As they helped her aboard, Lavender took one last look at the houseboat where she'd built fifteen years of life and discovered what it meant to love someone completely.

The boat's engine started with a low rumble that would be lost among normal harbor sounds.

As they pulled away from the dock, Lavender focused on maintaining the memory of Diana's voice promising to come back to her, no matter what.

She would hold onto that promise through whatever came next.