Taken by Robert Crais Read Free Book Online Page A

spoke.
    “They have not gone.”
    Stone said, “Who?”
    “The men who guarded your friend. Washington and Pinetta. Orlato and Ruiz and I, we slept in the living room. Washington and Pinetta, they slept in here.”
    Two futons were on the floor against opposite walls. A blue nylon duffel sat on the nearest, and a black gym bag sat on the other. A clock radio flashed the time.
    “You see? Their clothes? Their razors? These are their things. They will come back.”
    The corner of Joe Pike’s mouth twitched. Elvis Cole had been here, but now wasn’t, which meant he had been taken to some other place. Dead or alive, someone had taken him, and that someone knew where he was. Maybe the two men who would return for their clothes.
    Pike glanced at Stone.
    “We’re closer.”
    Stone made the shark grin at Haddad, and pulled him out into the hall.
    “You get to live five minutes longer.”
    Pike held the cricket tight, then put it away as they set up for what was to come.

Jack and Krista:
    taken

6.
    That night crackled with chaos and noise: revving truck engines, spinning tires, flashes of gunfire, and blue-white lights sweeping the brush. The man with night goggles hit Jack across the back, driving him into Krista. Jack tried to shield her from the blows, and shoved at the man with the rifle.
    “We’re Americans. We’re not—”
    The man hit him harder.
    “We were just fucking around. We don’t—”
    The man hit him so hard a tingling flash blew up his back to the top of his head, and Jack staggered to his knees.
    Krista whispered frantically as she helped him to his feet.
    “Stop it. They’ll kill you.”
    “They think we’re with these people.”
    “They’re
bajadores
. They’ll kill us.”
    “What?”
    “Stop fighting—”
    Men with baseball bats and shock prods swarmed like furious wasps, herding the growing crowd back to the box truck. Jack fell into step behind Krista, shuffling along with the crowd. Most of the people around them were Asian, though a few were Latin and Middle Eastern. Krista spoke Spanish to a frightened woman beside them as Jack caught a glimpse of men in the brush lifting a body. Then Krista leaned into him, whispering—
    “This lady is from Guatemala. Most of these people are from Korea. She says we’re being kidnapped.”
    “That’s crazy. This is America.”
    “A man named Sanchez brought them across, but the
bajadores
just killed him. Give me your wallet.”
    “Why do—?”
    “Shh.”
    She traded more Spanish with the woman before turning back.
    “We have to get rid of it—anything with your name. Please, baby, trust me. Don’t draw their attention.”
    Jack slipped her the wallet, but did not see what she did with it.
    They were herded toward the box truck as if the guards were under a clock. When the bunching crowd slowed, the guards beat them harder, and cried out when they were shocked. The people around Jack pleaded in languages he did not understand, their faces lost and afraid even in the dim starlight.
    As they got closer to the truck, and the crowd pressed tighter, Jack wanted to run. He wanted to push through all these crying people, and run hard out into the desert, just get gone and dodge and dart from bush to cactus, and run all the way back to Los Angeles. His heart pounded, and he felt sick, like he might throw up. He felt more scared than he had ever been, even when his parents died.
    Instead, Jack slipped his arms around Krista, and whispered into her hair.
    “They’ll find my car out here. That’s how they’ll find us. They’ll see my car.”
    The waiting cargo hold was a black cavern guarded by men with guns. The gunmen searched each person before pushing them aboard. Hands moved over Krista in ways that made Jack feel ashamed, then the same hands moved over his pockets and under his jacket. They took his cell phone and keys, then pushed him up into the truck. Hands reached from within to help, then Jack was in, too.
    “Jack!”
    “I’m