Oops by CinderScoria (best fiction novels of all time .txt) 📖

“ransom.”

Shane felt his own fists clench as he fought to keep from hitting the man for upsetting his brother. Agent Howard shot her partner a disapproving glance, and Shane immediately liked her more than Agent Turnbow. She, at least, knew how sensitive this case would be to the brothers, the fans, everyone around the world who would hear about Rocky’s kidnapping in the next twenty four hours.

Hank ignored Turnbow’s words and turned to Agent Howard. “Follow me,” he said gruffly.

Although the crowd of fans had thinned, the crowd of paparazzi took its place almost immediately. The clicks and flashes of the cameras combined with the never ending flood of shouted questions had been blocked out by Shane and Blake due to the initial shock of the kidnapping, but now they returned with full force. Shane winced and fought his way down the aisle his bodyguards made for them, ignoring the questions but not bothering to hide his face from the pictures. He knew from experience that hiding your face just spurred gossip, and that was the last thing they needed.

They got to the car unscathed. Hank chose the Range Rover—a huge, towering truck with considerably speed and efficiency. It screamed, “Get the hell out of my way” through its jet black paint and blinding headlights, especially when Hank was driving it— considering he drove like a maniac anywhere. Shane suspected this ride may be more wild than usual as his dad fought through traffic to get to the house.

He was right. Cars honked and people stuck their hands out the window, although they blurred past them so fast Shane couldn’t see exactly what they were signing. He had an idea, though. His dad usually got that reaction out of people when driving.

They pulled up to their house a few minutes later. To their credit, the agents didn’t even blink when they stepped out of their own Denali, which led Shane to believe they had handled celebrity cases on a daily basis. It was when they stepped inside, however, when they got the biggest shock.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Nelson,” Marni, their German housekeeper, said as Hank opened the door. Her accent slipped and slid, signaling how stressed she was. “He insisted.”

“Who insisted?” Hank wondered aloud, traveling down the hall to see.

"The detective," she replied, wringing her hands. "I tried to stop him, but he has he has an urgent message for you.

Hank paused and looked at her. "It's alright, Marni," he said kindly. "How about you go home and get some rest? I'll give you tomorrow off."

Her eyes grew wide. "Are you sure, Mr. Nelson?" At his nod she bowed her head. "Thank you, Mr. Nelson." And she hurried out of the house.

In their massive kitchen sat a man on a laptop. He wore a long brown trench coat and a black fedora, which would’ve looked good if not for his long, greasy brown hair that stuck out underneath. He had a strong chin and mischievous brown eyes that twinkled as he turned towards the five.

“Hello, I’m Private Detective Caleb Dawson!” he said, obnoxiously cheerful. He immediately leapt up upon seeing them enter and made a beeline towards Hank. Grabbing his hand and pumping it up and down, he grinned a toothy smile. “You must be Hank Nelson. I’ve read all about you. Of course, I had to do some research on the way up here, but I have one of those Droid thingies that let you surf the internet? Of course, this happened like an hour ago, and I was in the neighborhood, but still, do you know how hard it is to look people up and drive at the same time? Let me tell you, it’s ridicul—“

“Get the hell out of my house,” Hank growled.

Usually his voice and his size was enough to send a regular person packing for the door, but Dawson obviously wasn’t a regular person. In response, his grin got even wider, if that was possible. “No, no, I have to tell you my proposition first!” he exclaimed. “Come here, take a seat, I’ve got something to show you!”

He spotted Shane and Blake then, and his grin dropped and his eyes got wide. “Oh, gosh, you guys are 88 Keys!”

“We’re missing a member,” Shane told him, but the sarcasm in his voice did nothing to damper the detective’s enthusiasm.

“Gosh, I’ve been following you guys ever since two cases ago! See, this girl went missing and she was huge fans of yours. Found her— she’s a pretty girl, too, maybe I could hook you up? I just know she’d love to hear from you guys.” Dawson caught wind of the expressions on his audience’s faces and quickly backtracked. “Anyways, I’m here to offer my services.”

“Actually, that's what the Bureau is for.” This came from Agent Howard as she and Agent Turnbow shouldered their way up to face the detective.

“No disrespect to you, agents,” Dawson said apologetically. “I just mean, I usually handle big cases like this. And I have a high success rate! See?” He pulled a thick stack of news articles from out of nowhere and slapped it onto the marble counter top.

Hank glared at him but his eyes darted down. He had to say, the detective sure had made a name for himself. His specialty was locating missing people, and he was pretty good at it. Hank crossed his arms slowly and looked at the agents for their opinion.

Turnbow spoke up first. “I’ve heard of this clown,” he said, scowling. “His attitude is grating, but he’s good at what he does.”

Dawson beamed at the praise. “Well, you know what I like to say: humor balances out the gloom in life!” He gathered up the papers and stashed them back in his briefcase. “So! I’d like to start with your boys, if that’s alright. They did see the kidnapper, for a brief second is that correct?”

“How did you—” Blake started to say.

“We never said we would hire you,” his father interrupted, glaring at the man.

Immediately Dawson’s face fell. “You won’t regret it, sir,” he insisted. “Honest— I can work on all the smaller leads while your agents can work on the more obvious ones. That way it distracts the kidnappers and gives me a chance to work my magic!”

“Dad,” Shane said, and that’s all he had to say as his father looked back at him. Shane gave him a shrug. It couldn’t hurt. Hank sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. Suddenly he looked extremely tired.

“Okay,” he said finally. “But tomorrow. It’s almost one in the morning and my boys need to get to bed.”

Dawson lit up like a beacon. “Thank you sir, you won’t regret it!”

You said that already, Hank thought wryly, trying not to wince as the detective grabbed his hand and tried his best to pump it off. He spotted a few more words that went by so fast Hank couldn’t even catch them, and went out the door in a blur of brown and black.

The Nelsons stared after them, until Hank caught the looks of the agents still standing in his house. “That goes for you too,” he snapped. “Anything you have to ask my boys will have to wait until tomorrow. Understand?”

“Yes sir,” the two chorused. Shane wondered if it was because as agents they were naturally respectful, or if it was his father’s demanding nature. Either way, they meekly left without a word.

Hank turned to his sons. Blake looked like he was about to fall asleep on his feet, but Shane stood leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes dark and tracking his father like he usually did. “Bed,” he told them. “Now.”

Blake and Shane trudged up the stairs to their rooms, giving the picture of their mother a kiss as they went. Hank walked over and took the picture frame off the wall and sat on the couch, staring at his wife and wishing she was here to ease everyone’s minds.

He waited until the sounds of his sons’ doors shut and the click of their light switches told him they were in bed, and then curled up with the photo to let the force of the night hit him.
Chapter Three

Boredom.

I rolled my head around my shoulders to work out the kinks, wishing I could stand up. Eternity in a chair? Not fun. Nani was busy cleaning her gun— right in front of me, I might add. As if I didn’t have enough things to freak out about. In fact, I’d ticked down the line of things that occur in kidnappings that they don’t show in the movies—the extreme urge to use the bathroom, hunger pangs, ponderings on the hot psycho chick who kidnapped you, etc. —and finally came the last, biggest problem.

Boredom. I was seriously bored out of my mind. The kidnappings on TV? Action-packed, angsty, dramatic, edge-of-your-seat stunts… not like that in real life. And it was driving me crazy.

My action picked up right as I got back from the bathroom— which was really just a PortaPotty on the side of the building. As Nani was getting ready to re-cuff me to the Chair of Doom, the door front door slammed open and Crazy was standing there. Her hair was frazzled, her jacket was crooked on her shoulders, and as the light streamed in through the doorway it lit her up like a Christmas tree.

“Gun!” she shouted, and Nani immediately dropped me and grabbed the gun that was tucked into her pants, launching it across the room. Crazy caught it perfectly— okay, what the hell? Was