Taken Read Online Free

and forth in front of his greasy face like a pendulum as his head moved.
    The kid pushed five wrinkled and greasy five dollar bills across the plexiglass counter in Jack's general direction, motioning with a shaky hand for him to pick it up. The kid was purposefully avoiding making even incidental eye contact with Jack..
    Jack stepped back a few feet so he could fully assess the body language the kid was exhibiting. Something was wrong. Jack looked behind the counter to see if there was a television set, but there wasn’t one in evidence, hell, there was not even a radio back there. If anyone had seen him with the waitress in Slidell, if someone had seen what happened in the parking lot, it might be nationally broadcast news by now.
    He wondered if the police had issued a “be on the lookout” broadcast for a red Freightliner with a driver matching his description. If they had, he doubted the search would have expanded beyond Louisiana state lines at this point.
    He figured he was just being paranoid, anyway. An adult had to be missing for twenty four hours before law enforcement would intervene, at least as far as he knew. He guessed the waitress’ coworkers assumed she had hitched a ride home with a good looking trucker, and was maybe riding him like a cowgirl in a sleazy hotel room even now.
    But what if someone had seen him stick a needle in her neck and called the cops right away?
    The nervous kid developed a voice and broke Jack's reverie.
    “Don't you want your money, man?” he said, shuffling back and forth frantically. Jack eyed him warily.
    “You gotta piss, or what, kid?”
    “Yes, sir,” the teen laughed uncomfortably. “Back teeth are floatin',” he added with a nervous guffaw, undulating in his unceasing potty dance.
    Jack smiled to himself and shook his head in disbelief at his own paranoia. You're losing it, Jack.
    “Have a good night.” he advised the vibrating counter jockey. Twenty-five dollars richer, Jack’s confidence was growing again; but as he strolled past the surveillance cameras in the brightly lit parking lot, he still could not shake the feeling that the kid behind the counter knew .
    The rest of the trip was a nightmare of dread and paranoia. His fear was at full tilt, and threatening to undo him. Danger seemed to be around every curve. He passed several state troopers; each one of them watched him intently as he drove by.
    Jack was slick with sweat and in desperate need of a bathroom by the time he rolled onto the street where he lived, navigating with extreme caution. He drove a slow five miles an hour down Blairmore Drive, the narrow dirt road that led to the humble home he shared with his Goddess.
    His driveway was at the end of the street, a mile and a half beyond the point where civilization ended; it loped around a copse of water oaks and back out onto itself. It could have been called a cul de sac, he supposed, but there were no other houses in the sac.
    His house was a modest prefab with a brick facade, a dainty looking flower garden in the front that feral cats had taken to using it as their litter box. The rest of the yard was surrounded by dark woods.
    Jack eased the tractor to a whining stop by the front door. He had driven 1200 miles over the last two days, just about eighteen hours straight, and it was a miracle that he had not had to go off his route at all. Lady Luck had smiled on him so far, but now he was almost completely exhausted.
    Flood lights lit up around his property, activated by motion sensors. They bathed the front yard in a shocking stage-like glow.
    He looked in the rear-view mirror and saw his haggard reflection; his own face actually frightened him a little.
    Lord, he prayed softly to himself, please let all of this be worth it. Please tell me I did this for a good reason. Please, please, please.
    He knew his prayers were probably useless. Why would God grant a kidnapper’s requests?
    Jack unrolled the waitress burrito wedged in the back of the