Chapter 280: Chapter - 280
Chapter - 280
The call ended with a dead, final click. For a single, frozen moment, Rick stood motionless, the phone still pressed to his ear.
The image of Nadia—bruised, slumped, and tied to that rusty chair—was burned onto the back of his eyelids. Cold fury, sharp and pure, sliced through the initial shock.
His mind, already a maelstrom of possibilities, began to churn, sorting threats, calculating odds, discarding impossibilities. The hundred-million-dollar figure was a joke, a deliberate non-option designed to force his hand.
It was the item. It was always about the item.
"Rick."
Sharon’s voice cut through his thoughts, sharp and commanding.
She had moved to stand directly in front of him, her eyes narrowed, her entire posture radiating the coiled tension of a cop who knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she was in the middle of something far bigger than a simple home invasion.
She had overheard enough—the menacing tone, the mention of the police, the raw urgency.
"Talk to me," she demanded, her voice low and firm. "Right now. Who was that?"
Rick lowered the phone, his expression a mask of cold composure. "The people who took her."
"What do they want?"
"They gave me two options," Rick said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion.
"The first is a hundred million dollars. The second is an item they claim Nadia stole from them." He paused, letting the weight of the number sink in.
"We have seven days. And they were very clear: no police."
Just as the words left his mouth, a familiar chime echoed in the silent space of his mind, and a translucent blue screen materialized in his vision.
[Ding!]
[System Notification: New Main Quest Issued!]
[
Quest: Race Against Time
Objective: Find the stolen item and rescue Nadia within the 7-day deadline.
Reward: 50,000 XP, $1,000,000, New Ability: Predator’s Focus (Allows you to perceive the world in slow motion for short bursts, dramatically increasing reaction time and combat analysis).
Penalty for Failure: Nadia will be executed. You will be afflicted with a permanent emotional debuff: ’Unending Regret’.
Time Remaining: 6 Days, 23 Hours, 59 Minutes
]
A grim, humourless smile touched Rick’s lips. The system had just confirmed what he already knew. This wasn’t a negotiation. It was a hunt.
Sharon’s mind was already moving, processing the information with the speed of a seasoned officer.
"A hundred million? These aren’t junkies looking for a quick score. This is organized. We need to report this. Now. I can get a tactical team on standby, start a trace, get the tech division working on that number—"
"No." Rick’s refusal was absolute, cutting her off mid-sentence.
Sharon stared at him, incredulous. "No? Rick, this is a kidnapping with a credible ransom demand. This is textbook procedure. It’s the only way we can—"
"It’s the only way you get her killed," he shot back, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. "Did you not hear me? These people are not textbook."
"These are the same people who knew my father was in the hospital and staged a ’fall’ that put him in a coma, all without a single witness or a shred of evidence. They knew my car was gone, knew the house was vulnerable. They knew my men," he corrected himself, catching the slip, "—their men were in police custody almost the second it happened. They see everything."
He took a step closer, invading her space, his gaze intense. "You bring in a tactical team, they’ll know. You start a trace, they’ll know. You do anything by the book, and they will put a bullet in her head just to prove a point. Your book doesn’t apply here, Sharon. It’s a liability."
The accusation hung in the air between them, thick and heavy. Sharon’s jaw tightened, a muscle twitching in her cheek. Every instinct, every year of training, screamed at her to follow procedure.
It was how things were done. It was how you built a case, how you used the resources of the state to save lives. But Rick’s logic was terrifyingly sound.
He was describing an enemy with reach and intelligence far beyond that of typical criminals. An enemy that played by a different set of rules.
"So what’s your plan?" she challenged, her voice tight with suppressed frustration. "You’re going to take on a professional kidnapping ring all by yourself?"
"If I have to," Rick said without hesitation. "They contacted me. This is my problem to solve. I won’t have her blood on my hands because your department was too slow or too loud."
"And you think you can just find some mythical ’item’ that she doesn’t even remember stealing? Or come up with a hundred million dollars?" Sharon scoffed, gesturing around the wrecked living room. "This isn’t a movie, Rick. You can’t do this alone."
"I don’t intend to," he said, his eyes locking onto hers. The unspoken implication was clear.
A tense silence stretched between them. Sharon was at war with herself. Her duty as a cop, her oath, demanded she report this.
But the woman she was, the one who had seen the cold efficiency of the crime scene, who had felt the palpable menace in the kidnapper’s voice even secondhand, knew Rick was probably right. To follow procedure was to sign Nadia’s death warrant.
"Damn it," she finally hissed, running a hand through her hair in exasperation. "Damn it all." She took a deep breath, her decision made. "Okay. Okay, Rick. We do it your way. For now."
She held up a finger, her expression deadly serious. "But you get twenty-four hours. That’s it. Twenty-four hours to make some real progress. If you can’t, I’m making the call. I don’t care what you say. I will not sit on a kidnapping for seven days. And I’m not letting you go off on your own. I’m with you, every step. I’m your partner, not your assistant. You don’t keep secrets, you don’t go rogue. Are we clear?"
Rick gave a curt nod. It was a compromise, but a necessary one. "Clear."
With the reluctant truce established, the atmosphere shifted from confrontational to clinical. The impossible ransom was off the table. Their only path forward was to find the item.
"Nadia doesn’t remember anything," Rick stated, thinking aloud. "So we can’t ask her. Whatever she stole, she would have hidden it somewhere she felt was secure before she lost her memory."
"Her old apartment," Sharon finished for him, her mind already on the same track. "It’s the most logical place to start. It’s the last place she existed as ’Nadia Ahmed’."
The problem was obvious. They were in one city, and Nadia’s entire past was in another. "We need to get to Portstown," Rick said. "And we need her address."
His mind immediately jumped to the one person who could help. The one person who had already done the legwork, who knew Nadia’s history better than anyone. Laura.
He pulled out his phone, finding the journalist’s number in his recent messages. He didn’t have time for a long, convoluted explanation. He needed to be direct, urgent, but without giving away enough to put Laura in the crosshairs.
He dialled. The phone rang twice before she picked up, her voice cautious. "Hello?"
"Laura, it’s Rick," he said, his tone clipped and serious. "I need your help. It’s an emergency."
"What’s wrong? Is it about Nadia?" Her voice sharpened with concern.
"She’s been taken," Rick said, deliberately leaving out the details. "It’s connected to her past. I don’t have time to explain everything, but I believe the key to getting her back is at her old apartment. I need her last known address, Laura. Right now. It’s a matter of life and death."
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, followed by a moment of shocked silence. Laura was a journalist; she understood urgency, and she understood the weight of his words.
"Oh my god," she whispered. "Okay. Okay, I have it in my files. Just... just a second." He could hear the frantic clacking of a keyboard in the background. "Rick, are you sure you should be handling this? Shouldn’t the police—"
"There’s no time for that," he cut in, his voice leaving no room for argument. "The address, Laura. Please."
A few more seconds of typing, and then she read it out to him—the street, the apartment number. A location in Portstown that held the secrets of Nadia’s past.
"I’ve got it," Rick said, memorizing it instantly. "Thank you. Stay safe, and don’t mention this to anyone."
He hung up before she could ask any more questions. He turned back to Sharon, who had been listening intently, her expression grim. "I’ve got the address. We need to go. Now."
Sharon nodded, already pulling out her own phone. She turned away from Rick, lowering her voice as she dialled a number. "Yeah, it’s Vintner," she said into the phone, her tone shifting to professional but strained.
"Listen, something’s come up. A personal emergency. I need to take a day... maybe two. Yeah, I know the timing is bad. Just... cover for me. I owe you one."
She hung up, a deep sigh escaping her lips. She had just lied to her department, a line she had never crossed before. She looked at Rick, her expression a mixture of determination and deep unease. "The clock is ticking," she said.
There was nothing left to say. The objective was clear. The enemy was unknown, but their ruthlessness was not. They left the house, the mess of the home invasion and the lingering scent of Rick’s forgotten pancakes behind them.
Outside, the morning sun was bright, a stark contrast to the darkness of their mission. Sharon swung her leg over the Harley, the leather of the seat creaking.
Rick got on behind her. The engine roared to life, a deep, angry growl that seemed to match the fury simmering in his chest.
With a final, shared look of grim resolve, Sharon twisted the throttle. The bike surged forward, leaving the quiet suburban street behind as they merged onto the highway, a torrent of steel and purpose aimed directly at the heart of Nadia’s past. The seven-day clock was ticking.