The Wrong Time Read online

  As John takes in the front of my property, his mouth drops open, and this makes me instantly worry about what’s going on inside.

  Georgia could be injured.

  This is all on you.

  She could be lying dead on the floor.

  It’s all your fault.

  I direct John to leave his car.

  The voices in my head become stronger and stronger, and before he can join me on the sidewalk, something boils up inside of me. I can’t take it anymore. I drop my belongings on the footpath and race toward the gate, eager to see what’s happening. I need to know that Georgia’s all right.

  Barely taking a step into my property, John races up behind, grabbing me into a bear hug. He may be slightly shorter than I am, but my God, he has a strong pair of arms on him.

  “Sir, think about this before you tear in there,” he growls as I continue to thrash about trying to get loose.

  I’m full of rage.

  Or is that full of guilt?

  “I need to get to Georgia.” My brain pounds against my skull, instantly stopping my thrashing and making me see what I’m doing. It takes a few minutes before I completely calm down, and John releases me. He leads me away from the gate asking if I’ve called the police. I nod an answer, it’s all I can do right now. I know the police will be here shortly, but something in the pit of my stomach tells me that every second counts.

  “Let’s start again, shall we? Morning, Mr. Cunningham,” John grunts, readjusting his uniform.

  “John,” I answer rather curtly, still fucked off that he stopped me, although a part of me is relieved he stopped me from doing something stupid. “This is another breach on the damn gate, John. I didn’t think this would happen again. Please tell me those damn cameras were working?” I’m eager to find out what’s going on.

  “I had no notifications that the gate was forced open, sir. As far as I’m aware, the cameras are working. The new battery backup should have kicked in if the power’s out. We would have called you and continued to call you if there was a detected problem, and I would have attended to it. You sure Georgia didn’t leave the gate partially open?”

  “I can’t answer that, but I highly doubt it. She’s been pedantic about it since last time. She knows it will trigger the alarm. After everything that’s happened before and then yesterday with Zac at work, she would be vigilant. My cell was accidentally switched off all night. I did receive a text from Georgia at some point, telling me the power was out, but now her cell is switched off.”

  “Right, well, Rico and a new guy, Marc, were meant to man the booth all night as per your orders, sir. They may have patrolled when the power went out, but I have no idea where Rico is now.” John rubs a spot on his arm.

  “I have no doubts in your ability, John.” I pause for a second. “I hope I didn’t hurt you. Thanks for stopping me from doing something really stupid.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “Where’s the new guy, then?”

  “Rico called not long after their shift started last night. He told me Marc left to do a patrol half an hour after start time, but then went home suddenly with no explanation.” He holds his hands up. “You have no need to say it, sir. He’s gone.”

  “Glad to hear it. Did Rico see anything?”

  “I’ll try to contact him now. Rico did try to call me last night, but it was a ring once and hang up. When I called him back, he said everything was fine. He had dialed me by accident. His voice sounded a little different, but he’s been battling that flu.”

  The police patrol car pulls up in front of John’s car.

  “I’ll go and see if there’s anything on the cameras and find out where Rico is,” John says, pulling his cell from his pocket as he slips away, allowing me to speak to the officers privately.

  “I’m Officer Wares, and this is Officer Victoria. We had a report of a possible break-in at these premises,” the male police officer says.

  “Yes. I’ve come home this morning to my security gate open. My girlfriend sent me a text last night saying that the power was out.”

  “Has anyone been inside? Is your girlfriend still home?” the female officer asks.

  “No. I was advised not to go in. It’s killing me. Can someone get in there now? I haven’t been able to contact Georgia. Her cell is off. She hasn’t answered the landline in the main house, but that’s probably not unusual. She doesn’t have a landline in her guesthouse.”

  “So, there are two houses on this property?” she asks.

  “Yes, the main house, and a single bedroom guesthouse behind it,” I advise.

  The officers turn and talk amongst themselves. John asks to speak to them, and they take several steps away from me. My heart beats a little faster wondering what the hell is going on.

  Fifteen minutes go by, and all they have done is check to see if the camera is working. It’s infuriating.

  “Can somebody check the place out already?” I call to the booth where John and the officers are located.

  “We’ve been instructed to wait for the detectives to arrive,” the female officer calls back.

  Why would they need detectives?

  Have they found something on the video?

  Another five minutes and another two cars pull up. Watching as the people get out, they are wearing more casual attire. Three head straight to the booth while the fourth walks toward me. Who are these people?

  “Detective Peters. CSI,” he introduces himself, shaking my hand. “Can you fill me in on what happened?”

  After giving him the same run-down as I’ve given several other police officers today, he tells me they’ll find out what’s happened and will come and get me if they need any further information.

  Pacing back and forth, I’m stopped by John rushing toward me. “Sir, the cameras were definitely on and working. The new backup batteries have done their job. I’m making a copy now for the police,” John states.

  “Did you see anything, though? Georgia? Anyone?”

  “I haven’t looked through it yet. Just checked to see if it worked.”

  I close my eyes, trying to stop myself from exploding, but it doesn’t work. “Fuck,” I scream in frustration, bunching my fists into a ball. I want to punch something, anything which will make me hurt and forget for a moment about what’s happening.

  John’s expression tells me to calm down as the police glare at me. “Sorry,” I apologize to them.

  “Keep calm. Do you have a laptop? Can you log into the cameras remotely?” the detective asks.

  “Shit! Why didn’t I think of that earlier? I’m almost sure I have it.” I race to grab my bag that holds my computer before handing it over to John. He knows all about this type of stuff, so I will leave it to the professional.

  Two of the officers look over John’s shoulder as he takes a look at the cameras. The black and white images on the small screen make it difficult to see much.

  “What’s that?” I ask, pointing at a black log-type object on the screen. The camera is pointing at the driveway. Something tells me it’s a person. My heart sinks. What if it’s Georgia, and she’s been lying there all night.

  “Where’s this?” the male plain-clothed officer asks.

  “Through the gate and to the right. About a hundred feet in.”

  “You two head off. You two stay at the gate. I’ll call for the paramedics,” Detective Peters commands, using his hands to send the uniformed officers away.

  “Where can I go?” a female voice from the back calls.

  “Officer Victoria, stay here with security, and if you see anything else on the monitor, let us know.”

  John switches through the screens of video images looking for anything else. I can’t take it anymore and give up out of frustration. Part of me wants to use the side gate on the left side of the house. It’s behind a tall bush and needs a keycode to get through, but it’s never been used in all my time here, so it’s likely rusted shut. I realize I’d have more success if I
just slid past the police and go in through the gate.

  The only thing stopping me is if I alert the perpetrators that we’re here, perhaps they will hurt Georgia. I couldn’t live with myself if I were the reason she was injured or worse.

  Stop getting ahead of yourself, Adam!

  I walk away, pacing back and forth as John and Officer Victoria have a look at the rest of the property through the cameras on my laptop. After quite a while, they inform Detective Peters that they can’t see any movement, and it’s likely safe enough for now. The paramedics have arrived, and they are taken to where the injured person is lying.

  News that there is no movement makes my stomach drop.

  Where’s my girl?

  Is she being held hostage?

  Is she the injured person on the driveway?

  I squat down, grabbing at my hair, fiercely pulling the ends in frustration.

  After several minutes, the paramedics wheel the stretcher out. I run as fast as I can to see who it is, and when I get closer, upon inspection, it’s a male, and by the time John and I are next to the stretcher, I see it’s Rico. His face and lips are pale, and a blood-stained bandage is wrapped around his head. As upset that I am that Rico is injured, I’m relieved it’s not Georgia. Although at the same time, unsurety rages inside me.

  He apologizes over and over, telling me that he couldn’t stop him from taking Georgia.

  I stand there staring for a moment.

  Taken?

  Fuck!

  “Taken her where?” I ask.

  “She was unconscious. I tried to stop him. Someone else hit me from behind. Before I passed out, I saw them push her into a car. The plate was 2G5, but I—” Rico puts his hand across his mouth and grabs at the plastic bag next to his head before being physically ill.

  “Rest. Thank you, Rico,” I say to him as calmly as I can, patting the blanket over his leg.

  My heart shatters into a million pieces knowing that Georgia’s been taken. But we’ll find her. I know we will.

  Whoever the fuck did this will pay for it.

  No one messes with my girl.

  Adam

  It’s been the longest few hours of my life. We have been told to stay on the sidewalk, not go onto the property until the police finish their search. I need to use the bathroom, yet they still won’t let me inside my home. I still don’t know if they are searching for Georgia, and if someone doesn’t fill me in soon on what’s happening, I’ll use my own methods. I need to find out who owns the license plate of the car that Georgia was taken in, and then I’ll find out where the bastard lives.

  The first person I discussed with the police was Zac, and they have sent a patrol car to his last known address. Isabel told them he was asleep in her back room. They verified this further when she vouched for him that he was there all night.

  So, if it’s not Zac, I have no fucking clue who has taken my Georgia or what they want.

  Her stepfather has also been ruled out. According to Georgia’s mom, he’s been in a hospital overseas for the last week. I couldn’t believe the response that the police were given when she was told Georgia was missing. A short, ‘Hope you find her,’ was all she said. It shouldn’t surprise me, but this is her daughter, and anyone else would be frantic. She, as usual, couldn’t care less.

  I’m on edge right now, sitting up against my front fence in the shade trying to avoid the looks of nosy neighbors. Mrs. Angelsworth is lovely, but being so busy, I don’t talk to her as often as I should. She always gives me a tin of biscuits at Christmas, and I think she’s good friends with Lucy too. She’s widowed and only has her dog, Martha, for company.

  Mrs. Angelsworth brought both John and me a cup of coffee. She didn’t pry with what was happening, just told us that she’ll pray and that she hopes everything is all right. She handed John a piece of paper with her number and told us to call her if we’d like some lunch.

  John informed me that she occasionally stops by the booth and speaks to him when she’s walking her dog or after she’s visited Lucy. If I didn’t know any better, I would swear that she’s got a thing for John.

  I don’t mind that my staff socializes with others while on duty, just as long as their work is done. I know Lucy gets very lonely from time to time, so I’m glad to hear she has a friend.

  An arrogant looking detective, who’s been here for at least the last hour, walks back and forth between where we are at the front to where his officers are inside. He doesn’t seem to do anything besides bark orders. If he’s in charge, surely, he’ll be able to give me some information by now.

  John walks over and sits with Lucy and me against the fence. Even after I called and told her to take the day off, she showed up anyway, wanting to make sure I was fine.

  Having just shown the police the footage again of when Georgia was carried to a car, John looks about as good as I feel. He keeps apologizing for not being here to protect Georgia and perhaps he should have come to check the property after his strange conversation with Rico. He feels as head security, it’s part of his job to protect us both, and he was sure about the new guy he hired even though his references were glowing. He should have spent some time with him before throwing him into the deep end. It’s all in the past now.

  Yeah, I’m furious that this has happened, but I also blame myself for that lapse in concentration when I forgot to switch my cell back on. Perhaps if I had gotten her text message last night, none of this shit would be happening now. The mere thought of my girl’s still body being carried and thrown into a car sickens me.

  Have they hurt her in some way?

  Was she bleeding?

  They would’ve had to do something drastic to completely knock her out. My stomach twists again, so much so, that I feel ill. Placing my head between my knees, I take deep, calming breaths.

  An officer carries out a clear plastic bag with something in the bottom, but it’s too far away for me to see what it is. When the bag’s handed to the detective, they call me over.

  “Was Georgia a diabetic or required to use a syringe at all?” Detective Peters asks me.

  “Not that I’m aware of,” I answer, puzzled.

  “We found this syringe in the guesthouse. We will send it off to pathology.” He turns away and calls one of the original attending officers over, instructing her to drive this to the police lab now.

  As soon as he finishes his sentence, a text message tone startles us all.

  I don’t believe my eyes when reading the message.

  Unknown Number: You have twelve hours. Leave $500,000 at Birdswick Park. No police. No tricks. Your wife will be waiting.

  I walk over to John and shove the cell in his face. His eyebrows raise after reading it.

  “We’ll find them before that. They’ll locate the car first. As Rico was loaded into the ambulance, he thought he remembered the rest of the plate, so I did a search. It’s a real license plate which matches the white car description he gave me.”

  “But it’s like finding a needle in a haystack. What if it’s not the right plate? Maybe I should just give them the money if that’s all they are after.”

  “You never give in to these people. You’ll give some, and then they’ll want more,” John tries to reason with me.

  “But if I give it to them, maybe it’ll all be over a lot faster, and Georgia will come back safe.”

  “You don’t know that. It’s not that cut and dry. It’s not likely to be someone you know or know well. That note said ‘your wife’ will be waiting. They don’t know your situation. My guess is it’s someone trying to make a quick buck and has found you by chance. An opportunist. Let the police do their job. If they falter, I’ll step in.”

  I run my hand through my hair and tug at the ends in frustration. If I were alone and inside my house, I’d probably hurl a chair or punch a wall, taking my frustrations out on anything I can. However, as furious and scared as I am with this situation, I can’t do that out here on the street.

 
“What am I meant to do, then? Sit here and twiddle my thumbs?”

  “Let them do their job, Mr. Cunningham,” John repeats, “Wait it out.”

  “Wait! I can’t fucking wait. That’s my girl. I can’t simply sit back and let them do whatever sick, twisted shit they want to her. I need her home with me. Safe, with me. Now,” I yell.

  John takes that as his sign to back away, gravitating toward Mrs. Angelsworth, while I pace back and forth, my mind not being able to concentrate on one single thought.

  On what is likely my fourth or fifth lap of pacing, a female officer approaches me and says I can now enter the property.

  “Thank fuck for that,” I bellow, not caring who’s heard me.

  I pick up my belongings, making my way in through the gate. I know Georgia isn’t here. It’s gut-wrenching, but perhaps if I have a look around, maybe I’ll find a clue as to who took her and why.

  Walking along the paved drive, I notice a brown stain on the ground with a yellow number tag next to it. On closer inspection, I realize it’s blood. I assume that’s where they found Rico. But as I continue to walk up the drive, I notice more blood spots leading toward the house, each with a number marker next to it. After thinking about it for a moment, I conclude that Rico must have been hit closer to my house before collapsing down the drive.

  As I approach the rear door of my house, the police are still inside the guesthouse, and yellow tags are littering the area.

  “Mr. Cunningham?” a policewoman calls as I walk up to my door.

  “Yes?” I reply curtly. A puff of air escapes my mouth in frustration. I consider asking for a couple of minutes so I can use the bathroom, but given time is of the essence right now, I know this is more important.

  “It looks as though no one’s entered your home. If you do find anything has been disturbed, please let us know.” I can tell she’s new, maybe fresh out of the academy, because she’s smiling at me and being overly pleasant.

  “Isn’t that something the police should have checked for?” I ask, irritated that it doesn’t sound like they’ve done a thorough job.