She did a duck-and-run for the door just as Luke and Wayne came barreling down the stairs, yelling and shooting. All around her, shots rang out and bullets pinged off the shelves and thudded into walls.
When the second cop scurried straight past her, Kelsey got up and ran. She weaved between machines, jumped over crates and sprinted straight for the door. Shells zinged past her, pinged off metal and thunked into wooden crates. She didn’t look back. Just as she got to the last silo, she felt a hot flash rip through her thigh and she knew she’d been hit. She clapped her hand over it, fighting back the pain lancing down her leg, and hobbled for the car. Behind her was the cop yelling for his buddy, then calling, “This is Quebec Forty-two, we have an officer down. I repeat, officer down.”
As soon as she got to the car, she dropped and checked the wound. She clamped her hand over it again, pulled the door of the Impala open and hauled herself into the driver’s seat. Her thigh throbbed, heat rolled through her flesh in waves and blood saturated the coveralls down to the knee. Breath held, lips pressed hard, she rocked against the pain, then grabbed the two wires dangling from beneath the steering column. When she tapped them together, the car sprang into life, but just as she threw the car into reverse, she heard the cop behind her yell:
“Police! Put your hands where I can see them and step out of the car.”
She could see him advancing from the building, gun held high, aiming at her. She released the brake and slammed her foot on the gas. The car shot back so fast, it kicked up a shower of gravel and spun ninety-degrees, missing the cop by a foot, and came to a halt facing the road. She threw the car into drive and lay sideways across the seat with her foot to the floor as she careened out of the driveway with the tink tink of bullets hitting the trunk. The rear window shattered as she spun into the street, and as soon as she hit the corner, she sat up.
She threw a right and kept her foot to the floor until she’d driven three blocks. After checking the mirror again, she pulled into an alley and cut the engine. Searing hot waves radiated from her thigh. Her entire body trembled. Shock was setting in. With a sense of dread, she inspected the damage to her thigh. The leg of the coverall had a hole three inches across ripped through it. He’d probably just winged her. That didn’t make it hurt any less. Or bleed any less. She opened the glove compartment to find a small pack of tissues. Squeezing her eyes shut to fight back a sudden wave of nausea, she wadded the tissues up and pressed them into the wound. Then she remembered the rag in her pocket. She pulled it out and knotted it around her leg to secure the tissues in place. Sticky blood had seeped hot and wet beneath her, and now it was cooling, thick and tacky.
“Jeez, Mom, if this is your idea of watching over me, try keeping your eye on the ball.”
Once again, she touched the wires together, started the car, then backed out of the alley and drove. That’s when she noticed the St. Christopher dangling from the rearview mirror. Different car, same friggin’ gang. Now on top of everything else, she had to ditch her ride before the L21s caught up with her again.
Then it came to her. Her guardian angel might have blinked, but Kelsey knew exactly what she had to do. Groping in the side pocket of the coveralls, she located the key to the Benz and turned it in her fingers. She tucked it into the front pocket next to her heart and swung the wheel. At the end of the street, she turned right and headed north. She had just over an hour to find Holly.
But at least she knew her next move. And when she found Matt, she’d have something to bargain with.
CHAPTER THIRTY
DAY TWO: 1:22 PM
Road repairs on the edge of the city had slowed Elizabeth. She pulled into the driveway into Edgewater Drive in the up-market district of Lakewood ten minutes later than she had estimated. Now she was panicking. She got out of the car and walked quickly up the front steps of the expansive home her mother-in-law referred to as “quaint.”
Lydia McClaine opened the door almost immediately. Dressed in her usual flowing chiffon and full makeup, she looked like she was just stepping out to a dinner party. Despite her obvious surprise, she forced a tight smile and gestured Elizabeth inside.
“Elizabeth, how nice to see you,” she said as her gaze went straight to the hotel uniform Elizabeth was wearing.
“I’m sorry, this isn’t a social call, Lydia,” Elizabeth said. “Is Charles here?”
“He’s in his office, but he’s just taken a phone call. Come through. I’m making some tea.”
“Thank you, I don’t have time. How long will Charles be?”
Lydia turned a cool look on her. “I couldn’t say. Tell me, what’s happening about Holly. Have the police found her yet?”
“Not yet.” Elizabeth checked her watch, then glanced down the hallway towards Charles’s office. “I’m sorry, Lydia, I need to speak to him now.” And she started for the door.
Lydia followed, saying, “You can’t go in there. He’s on the phone …”
Elizabeth wouldn’t have cared if he was in the bath. She threw the door open to find her father-in-law standing by the window, holding the phone to his ear and gazing out across the lawn.
He glanced back, hesitated, then said to his caller, “I’ll have to call you back,” and he hung up. “Elizabeth,” he said, replacing the phone on the cradle as she strode toward him. “What a surprise. How are you holding up? Tell me what’s happening.”
Panic hit her like a train. All the way over, she had deliberated how she should broach the subject. At first, she had planned to beg him. But this was their granddaughter. Since the day she was born, they’d practically dismissed her. Then, she was going to tell him it was his duty, goddamn it; that Holly was his grandchild—his only grandchild—and he and Lydia hadn’t done so much as pick up the phone to ask how she and Richard were coping, or what they could do to help. They didn’t live on the other side of the world, for chrissake. They lived not ten miles away.
“I need ten million dollars,” she blurted out all at once.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Lydia, who then looked to her husband. “Charles, tell her it’s out of the question.”
Charles looked like he’d been hit with a bucket of ice. He lowered himself into his chair. “Well, that’s a lot of money, Elizabeth.”
“It’s the ransom. The kidnappers are demanding ten million.”
“Well, they’re not getting it,” said Lydia. “Go back and tell them they can go to hell.”
“You don’t tell these people to go to hell,” Elizabeth shouted. “They’re holding my daughter hostage. They’ll kill her. Is that what you want?”
“Calm down,” said Charles. “Let’s discuss this sensibly. Lydia, how about some tea?”
Elizabeth slammed her purse down on his desk. “I don’t want tea. I need this money to save my daughter’s life.”
She knew all along this wasn’t going to be easy. The whole drive over she’d mapped out a plan, an appeal. She knew she may not convince Lydia, but she had to convince Charles. That was her only hope. But with the delay in traffic, now here she was shouting the odds and making demands and Charles was sitting agape, staring at her like she’d just suggested they run off together.
“Elizabeth,” he said, and gestured to a chair opposite him. “Is that what they’re asking for? Dear God, I had no idea.”
“Charles, I’d love to sit here and have tea and whatever the hell else, but I’m asking for that money because these kidnappers have given us until three o’clock this afternoon and if I don’t do something soon, they’re going to kill her.”
His mouth dropped open. “But … that’s less than two hours away.” He checked his watch against the clock on the wall, and added, “It’s an hour and a half, Elizabeth. You don’t even know where she is.”
Elizabeth planted both hands on the cherry wood surface. “I’m painfully aware of the time constrictions, Charles, and you’re right, I don’t know where they’re holding her. But I do know that if they don’t get the money, they�
�ll kill her. Please …”
“And how do you know they won’t kill her anyway?” Lydia asked.
An unexpected flash of rage ripped through Elizabeth. She straightened. “Is it the money? Is that the problem here? Because if you’re worried you won’t get it back, I’ll underwrite it personally. I’ll take out a loan if I have to—whatever it takes. Would that make you happier?”
“Elizabeth, calm down …” said Charles.
“Because I would have thought your granddaughter would mean more—”
“Sit down,” he interrupted. “You’ve got me all wrong.”
“I don’t have time—”
“Sit down!” he shouted.
She slid into the chair with her hands folded on her lap and bit her lip. She wanted to cry.
“Now, tell me what you need—”
Elizabeth looked up in surprise, while Lydia did a double take and put her hand to her chest like she was having a coronary. “Oh, for God’s sakes. You’re not handing her over more money …?”
Elizabeth leapt to her feet. “What do you mean ‘more money’?” she demanded. “What money have you already given us?”
There was no love lost between Elizabeth and her mother-in-law. Elizabeth had come from a one-parent family, and Lydia had never let her forget it. She hadn’t even come to her mother’s funeral. That was something Elizabeth would never forgive her for.
Lydia placed the flat of her palm on her chest. “Pardon me, Elizabeth,” she scoffed. “But you come in here asking—no, not even asking—demanding ten million dollars …”
“—to rescue your granddaughter—”
“—and you have the audacity to stand there and expect us to hand it over after everything you’ve done? After everything you’ve put Richard through?”
Charles turned a look of long-suffering patience on his wife. “Lydia, that’s enough. Please, just go and make some tea. I’ll handle this.”
“What I’ve done?” Elizabeth said, advancing on this shrew of a woman. “Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot you never got over the fact that Richard married me instead of that sour-faced orangutan you tried to set him up with. That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”
“Oh come now, dear. Devinia Astley-Smythe was light-years ahead of you. She had class. If Richard had married her, he could have made something of himself …”
Charles jumped to his feet and rounded his desk. “Lydia. I said that’s enough. Elizabeth, sit down,” he said and pointed to a chair.
“In case you hadn’t noticed,” Elizabeth sneered past him, “Richard did make something of himself. But he did it with me.”
“You? You’re not in Richard’s world. You’re not in his universe,” Lydia called over her shoulder as Charles took her by the arm, steering her out of the office. “At least Devinia wasn’t a drunk. She didn’t grow up in the Boondocks, scratching through life on what? Scholarships …? Ha!”
“Lydia, this is not the time,” Charles growled and maneuvered her across to the door.
He almost had her out but she pushed past him saying, “And you! You spent every dime he had on that monstrosity of a house and gave him what? A Mongol for a child? You ruined his life …”
“Shut up!” Charles hissed and physically pushed her out into the hallway. “Get out. Leave us alone.”
“How dare you,” Lydia snarled at her husband. “Ten million dollars, indeed. If you give this woman one dime, I’m leaving.”
“That’s your choice,” he told her and slammed the door.
When he turned again his face was ashen. He stood with his hand on his chest for a moment, then looked up. “Don’t listen to her. She’s as worried as we all are. Now,” he said, rounding his desk and dropping heavily into his chair. “Where were we? Oh, yes.” When he looked up this time, his blue eyes were suddenly leaden. He looked as though he’d aged five years in the last five minutes. “I called my broker this morning and liquidated some stocks, so that’s given us just over three million. I’m waiting on word from my banker on some debentures …” When he saw the look on Elizabeth’s face, his eyebrows rose and he sat back, regarding her. “Yes, all right,” he said, sighing heavily as if she’d beaten a confession out of him. “Richard called me last night. He asked for five million for the ransom. He didn’t mention the total amount, so I can only guess he was trying to come up with the rest himself. As a matter of fact, that was him on the phone when you arrived. He knew you’d come here, even though he told you not to. He asked me not to say anything to you. I don’t suppose he knew you’d come steaming in here like the fifth battalion, demanding action. But if that’s what you had to do, I guess that’s okay.”
“You were already giving us the money?”
“Of course. I’m her grandfather. What did you think I’d do? Say no?”
She wanted to say she was sorry. She wanted to thank him. She wanted to cry. She wasn’t sorry; she didn’t see why she should have to thank him because he was her grandfather, and dammit all, she didn’t have time to cry. She glanced at the clock on the wall. “We’ve got just over an hour, and I’ve no idea where she is. All I can do is to pay these bastards, and pray they’ll give her back. Alive.”
“It’s been very hard for you, Elizabeth,” he said. “Holly’s condition, your depression. I wish we’d done more. And I wish we’d done it sooner. I’m so sorry.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “It’s been hard for all of us. It was bad enough, but it’s only since she’s been missing, I’ve realized how hard it’s been for Holly. I have a lot of making up to do.”
“There’s something else.”
She felt her lips pressing into a thin line, wondering what was coming.
“Maybe it’s not my place to tell you this …”
“Just say it,” she said and straightened in the chair.
“When I last spoke to him, Richard told me something I think you should know. He said that when you left, for the first time in a very long time, he got a glimpse of the feisty, determined woman he married.” He smiled sadly. “Even wearing a hotel worker’s uniform, she made him proud.”
The tears broke and splashed down her cheeks. “He said that?”
“Would I lie?”
She pulled in a ragged breath and blinked the tears back. Crying would have to wait.
Charles got up and rounded his desk. “I’ll call you when the money is ready. Let me know which account to transfer it to.”
She stood, clutching her purse like it was a life preserver, tears distorting her view of the floor. “I’ll let you know.” She walked straight to the door and opened it. When she turned, she saw the worry etched into his face. “Thank you,” she said and left.
Elizabeth had just reversed the Micra out of the driveway, heading for the city again, when an unfamiliar phone-ring sounded in the car. At first she thought it was Diana’s phone, and that she’d forgotten to take it, but after a brief search she found it in her own purse. She pulled over, groped through the contents and came up with a phone identical to hers. The caller had blocked the number, so she hit the answer key and cautiously put it to her ear.
“Where the fuck is our money?” yelled some guy on the other end. “We heard nothing from you, you asshole, now what? You were supposed to call an hour ago. You want this kid buried in her old man’s construction site?”
Elizabeth didn’t even breathe. A thousand thoughts and images scrambled through her brain: the money; a construction site; her baby. And the phone in her hand—which she must have picked up in the hotel room. That meant the call was for someone else who had been in that meeting. Now here she was, sitting with an open line to what sounded like one of the kidnappers. She didn’t know what to say.
When she finally spoke, her words came out a whisper. “Please, don’t hurt her.”
Silence.
“Please, you’ll get your money. We need more time. Please …”
“You got until three. Three o’clock on the dot she’s doing backstroke in ce
ment,” he said, and hung up.
“No, please,” shouted Elizabeth, but he was already gone.
She knew exactly what she had to do. She had to alert the police, then she had to figure out what the hell he was talking about. To do that, she had to know whose phone she was holding. She scrolled through the menu and found numbers for Richard, Alice Cressley, Lynette Cross, Kap Gordon, Stanley Prentice, and a few others she knew; many she didn’t. There was one name missing. Just to be sure, she scrolled back to Richard’s number and hit the send key. It rang four times and he picked up:
“Yes, what is it?” said Richard. He sounded harassed.
“Richard, it’s me.”
She imagined him sitting up in surprise. “Elizabeth …?”
“I picked up the wrong phone.”
“The wrong phone? What do you mean you picked up—?”
“Back at the hotel room. During your meeting. I put my purse on the table and when I picked it up, I picked up someone else’s phone instead of mine.”
Richard sighed. “Well, that’ll explain why he’s not picking up.”
“Why who’s not picking up, Richard? Whose phone have I got?”
There was a brief silence, then Richard said, “Why? What’s happened?”
“I just got a call on this phone from someone demanding to know where his money is. A man. I think it was one of the kidnappers. He said, and I quote: ‘You want her buried in her old man’s construction site.’ Then he said something about swimming in the cement.”
“Jesus Christ. The Beachwood construction site. It has to be. They were laying the foundations when I put the crew off. That’ll be what he’s talking about.”
“Whose phone is this, Richard? Tell me who the bastard is that took our daughter.”
“It’s Blake Ressnick’s,” he said.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
DAY TWO: 1:49 PM
For the third time in the past two days, Kelsey slowed to cruise past the same house, ducking her head and scanning from left to right. The yellow crime scene tape had been removed, but the doors and windows were shut tight. There were no obvious signs of life. The car, however, was still in the driveway.
The Elizabeth McClaine Thriller Boxed Set Page 26
