“If Riane decided to take a walk or—”
“She didn’t take a walk. She was kidnapped. Jared, the camp supervisor, went out there this afternoon to tend to the horses. He found—”
Her voice broke and she turned away, as if ashamed for him to see any hint of her suffering. “He found her Harvard ring on the ground beside her car.”
She turned to face him again, her eyes flashing with annoyance, “And before you suggest that it might have slipped off her finger, I can assure you that it didn’t. We gave her that ring after law school graduation, and she has never taken it off. She did so now to tell us she didn’t go willingly.”
“Forgive me for being blunt,” Joel said. “But I know that Riane has had a lot to deal with in the past few weeks. Can you really be certain that she didn’t just go off somewhere for some time alone?”
“We’re certain,” Ryan said, slipping his arm across his wife’s shoulders in a visible sign of support. “When Riane came home last night, we resolved a lot of things. She wasn’t angry or upset when she left here this morning.”
Joel scrubbed his hands over his face, surprised by the rasp of stubble against his palm. He’d forgotten to shave this morning. Hell, since Riane had walked out on him last night he hadn’t even slept. He felt grossly unprepared to deal with this latest crisis, but he knew he couldn’t be anywhere else right now.
Focus, Logan.
He wouldn’t be any help to Riane if he didn’t keep his mind on the present situation. So, unthinkable as it was to believe that she’d actually been kidnapped, he forced his mind to accept the possibility and gather all the details.
“Did the kidnapper ask for money?”
Again Ryan shook his head. “He said he’d call back. He had some details to take care of first.”
Christ, Joel thought with disgust. It was like whoever had kidnapped Riane didn’t know any of the rules. There was nothing worse—or more dangerous—than an amateur.
“You need to speak to Riane,” Joel said. “Don’t agree to anything until you talk to her.”
“We’ll do anything to get our daughter back,” Ellen told him.
And so would he, Joel vowed silently. “I understand that,” he told her. “But I don’t want the kidnapper to know that until we’ve heard from Riane.”
She looked at her husband, wordlessly seeking his agreement. Ryan nodded.
“Okay,” the senator agreed.
“Depending on his reasons for targeting your daughter,” Joel said, and he was afraid to even speculate on what those reasons might be, “the kidnapper may want some kind of media exposure.”
“No,” Ryan said immediately. “We want this kept out of the press.”
“Shouldn’t your priority be getting Riane back?” Joel asked, his tone cool.
“Riane is, and always has been, our priority,” Ellen told him. “That’s why we don’t want the press getting wind of this. Wackos get ideas—”
“Not to mention the damage to your political career if the details of recent revelations came to light,” Joel said.
The senator turned to him, her eyes hot with anger. “Is that what you think—that I’m trying to cover my own ass?”
“Aren’t you?”
She gasped. “No. We—”
“Regardless of what you may think of us,” Ryan interrupted his wife’s outburst, “the only thing that matters here is getting Riane back safely. I agreed to call you because Ellen thought you cared about Riane. If she was wrong, if our daughter doesn’t matter to you, then we’ll find someone else to track her down and bring her home.”
“No,” Joel said. “I’ll do this.”
The senator nodded stiffly. “Then do it.”
So Joel made some phone calls and pulled strings with a buddy in the FBI. With the political clout of the senator to back him up, he had the Quinlan telephone lines tapped within twenty minutes without the necessity of any official Bureau involvement.
When the phone finally rang, another agonizingly slow thirty minutes later, he was waiting on the extension.
“Hello?” Ellen’s usually controlled voice wavered.
“Mom, it’s me.”
Ellen closed her eyes, silent tears sliding down her pasty cheeks. Joel’s own sense of relief was so overwhelming he had to lower himself into the nearest chair or risk falling down.
“Are you okay, honey?”
“I’d feel better after a few slices of sausage pizza, but I’m fine.” Her voice trembled a little, but she sounded strong.
“We’ll get you a dozen pizzas,” Ellen promised. “Just tell us what we need to do. Whatever it takes, we’ll get you home.”
Joel should have been annoyed that the senator had so blatantly disregarded his instructions, but he couldn’t blame her for promising anything. Right now, he was so anxious to see Riane, to touch her—to know she was alive and well and safe, he would have promised the moon and the stars to bring her home.
“He wants a million dollars,” Riane said. “If you don’t have the money ready within the next two hours, the price is going up by half a million.”
“We’ll have the money,” the senator promised, heedless of the tears that continued to fall. “Just tell us where to deliver it. We’ll make sure it’s there.”
“He hasn’t told me where he wants it dropped off,” Riane said.
The next voice over the line wasn’t Riane’s, but Joel recognized it anyway.
Gavin Elliott.
“I’ll call you in half an hour with more details,” Elliott said, then disconnected.
Joel’s stomach clenched. He was responsible for this. For everything. He’d gone to see Elliott, he’d started asking questions about Riane, he’d set this whole thing in motion. And if anything happened to Riane, he’d never forgive himself.
Joel dropped the receiver back into its cradle and looked at the tracing equipment. He shook his head. He hadn’t expected the call would be long enough, but he’d had to give it a shot.
“I don’t understand Riane’s comment about pizza,” the senator said, wiping at the wet streaks on her face. “Why wouldn’t he feed her if she’s hungry? Aren’t kidnappers supposed to show good faith or something like that?”
“I don’t think she was saying she was hungry,” Joel admitted. “I think she was trying to tell us something.”
“What?”
“That I’m not sure.” He stood up and paced the length of the room, trying to kick-start his brain. He couldn’t think straight. He was so tied up in knots worrying about Riane that he was barely functioning. But he knew she was depending on him. Her comment about the pizza proved that. She, at least, seemed to be thinking clearly.
She must have known her parents would contact him after they received the first call. She had to know he’d be listening in to the conversation. But still, her comment didn’t make any sense to him. She didn’t even like sausage pizza.
And that suddenly, he knew what she was trying to tell him. Riane was at the motel where they’d stayed the night he’d found her at the country-western bar. The night she’d eaten, with a reluctance exceeded only by hunger, three slices of sausage pizza.
Clever girl, he thought, his heart swelling with pride. She’d given him an invaluable clue about her location without tipping off Elliott to the fact that she knew where she was. She was beautiful and brilliant and brave, and if he hadn’t already been head over heels in love with her, he would have fallen right then.
“I think I know where she is,” Joel said.
“Where?” Ellen and Ryan demanded in unison.
He glanced at his watch. Elliott said he’d call back in half an hour. If he remembered the location of the motel correctly, it would take him almost that long to get there. And if he was wrong—
No. Riane had definitely been telling him that she was at that motel. In fact, he should have suspected Elliott would take her there. It was off the beaten path, yet close enough to facilitate a quick exchange of mon
ey for hostage. Elliott certainly wouldn’t expect that Riane had ever been there before. She was a senator’s daughter; it was one step above a fleabag motel.
“I’m not positive,” Joel cautioned them. “But there’s someplace I need to check out.”
“I want to go with you,” Ellen said.
“No.”
“She’s my daughter.”
“And if she’s there, you could blow everything by rushing in.”
“I want to be there. I need to see her. To know that she’s okay.”
“I’ll bring her home,” Joel promised.
“But—”
Again, it was her husband’s wordless communication—a simple touch of his hand on her arm—that silenced the senator’s further protests. “Let him go,” Ryan said. “We have to get the money together and we need to be here when Riane calls back.”
Ellen nodded reluctantly.
Ryan exchanged a look with Joel. A plea. A promise.
Then Joel was gone.
He tied her up. He bound her wrists and stuffed a washcloth in her mouth. To keep her quiet and out of the way. He wouldn’t let another woman screw this up for him.
Rheanne had always factored into his plans. Anyone who’d paid a hundred grand to buy a baby would pay again—and pay dearly—to keep that secret. And the woman who’d bought his baby was now a bona fide U.S. senator. It was almost too perfect. Any scent of a scandal would ruin her career, shame her family. He never doubted that she would pay.
The money he’d get from the senator would have given Felicia and him a new start. Felicia had ruined that part of his plan. And he’d been forced to take immediate action. To upgrade his strategy from blackmail to kidnapping.
He glanced at the woman on the floor. She was restrained, helpless. But she glared at him with fire in her eyes. He almost smiled. She had spirit—like her mother and her sister. He felt a pang of sorrow over losing Felicia. Fury for Arden’s role in all of this. She’d been the one to turn her mother against him.
But maybe he should thank Arden. Her desire to be reunited with her little sister had led Joel Logan to Rheanne. And Rheanne was his ticket out of this whole mess.
The senator hadn’t even balked at the million-dollar price tag. He should have asked for more. Two million. Five million. She would have paid anything.
He smiled. Maybe next time.
When it came down to the crunch, it was almost too easy. That realization sent a fresh wave of panic through Joel. It was the same thought he’d had before he’d taken a bullet in the gut, before his life had unraveled in front of his eyes. This time there was so much more at stake. This time it was the woman he loved.
He recognized the car as soon as he pulled into the parking lot. The dirty green Malibu with a patch of rust on the rear fender and Michigan plates. Joel swore and checked the clip in his gun. Gavin Elliott was a smart man, but taking Riane had obviously been an act of desperation, and that made him much more dangerous.
Joel picked up the empty pizza box he’d tossed onto the passenger seat. It was a prop—a reason to knock on the door. He hadn’t planned any further than to get inside. He needed to know that Riane was okay. God help Gavin Elliott if she wasn’t.
He pulled his Yankees baseball cap lower over his forehead and marched up to the door of room six. He’d already verified Elliott’s registration with the desk clerk. He’d given a false name—John Smith—and paid cash, but he’d noted his license plate number on the registration card. That was proof enough for Joel.
Snatching Riane had obviously been an impulse, or Elliott wouldn’t have used his own car in the act. Which made Joel realize that Felicia Reynolds was right: Elliott thought he’d killed her. No doubt he needed the ransom money from Riane’s kidnapping to get him out of the country. And it was further proof of how far gone the man was that he actually thought he would get away with it.
Joel knocked boldly, as if he was expected. As someone delivering a pizza would be. He saw the curtains flutter, heard the slide of the chain being drawn back. Then Gavin Elliott was at the door.
“I didn’t order any pizza,” he rasped, his eyes shifting from the flat cardboard box to Joel’s face, widening in recognition and alarm. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Joel’s only response was to plow his fist solidly into Elliott’s jaw. The older man staggered backward and crumpled into a heap on the orange shag carpet. Joel was almost disappointed that he didn’t get to throw more punches. But as much as he would have enjoyed going a few rounds with Elliott, his concern was for Riane. He flexed his fingers, his eyes desperately searching the shabby room for any sign of the woman he loved.
He found her, kneeling on the floor behind the dresser. Her wrists tied together in front of her, a rag of some kind stuffed into her mouth. Her hair was tangled and her eyes were smudged with shadows of fatigue, but she was there. And despite the way they’d parted at their last meeting, he could tell she was relieved to see him.
He knelt beside her, carefully removing the cloth from her mouth, murmuring softly to her as he brushed away the tears of relief and gratitude that tracked slowly down her cheeks. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”
She nodded, although she couldn’t seem to stop trembling—or crying. “B-better now.”
There was so much he wanted to say to her, so many feelings warring for expression inside him. But the most important thing right now was to get her out of there. “Let’s get you home.”
He started to fumble with the knot binding her wrists together, stunned to see that his own hands were shaking. In all his years as a cop, even in that final showdown, he’d never been as terrified as he’d been when he’d learned of the danger Riane was in. God, he loved this woman, and if he hadn’t already screwed things up too badly, he was going to spend every day of the rest of his life showing her how much he loved her.
“He’s g-got a gun,” Riane said, her voice shaky, frantic.
So preoccupied was he with Riane that it took a moment for her words to register, and that moment—probably not more than a fraction of a second, was a fraction of a second too long. He turned just as the gunshot exploded.
He never saw how Riane managed to launch herself from her position on the floor and throw herself in front of him. But he did see, as if in slow motion, her body jerk back as the bullet slammed into her.
Chapter 17
J oel’s response was automatic. He wasn’t aware of his own gun in his hand, his finger on the trigger. He didn’t hear the discharge; he didn’t feel the recoil; he didn’t see Elliott fall.
He only saw Riane—and he watched in horror as she fell back against the wall, slid slowly to the floor.
“Christ, Riane.” Blood was seeping from her shoulder, the dark crimson stain spreading over the shirt, soaking it.
“What the hell were you thinking?”
It was easier to be angry than to think that she could be dying. The rational part of his brain knew it wasn’t likely. The bullet didn’t seem to have hit any major arteries and a .22 caliber handgun didn’t have a lot of firepower. But her skin was clammy, those beautiful dark brown eyes wide and glazed, and she was losing a lot of blood.
He propped her up a little higher, trying to keep the injured shoulder above her heart. He knew he should get a towel to stanch the flow of blood, but he’d have to go into the bathroom for that and he couldn’t bear to leave her. Not even for a few seconds. So he pulled his own T-shirt over his head and pressed it into the wound. She didn’t wince, and he knew then that she probably couldn’t even feel the bullet hole in her shoulder. But the blood continued to flow.
She licked her lips, blinked several times. He knew she was going to lose consciousness, and he couldn’t stand the thought of her slipping away, even for a moment. He dug his cell phone out of his pocket and managed to dial 911, tersely explaining the situation and requesting immediate ambulance assistance.
Then he disconnected the call and began to pray. He’d never been a
particularly devout man, but he found himself seeking divine assistance now. The words and pleas and promises tripped over one another, jumbled together in his head, with only one consistent thought: Please, God. Let her live.
He cradled her in his arms, still applying pressure to the wound. “Stay with me, sweetheart. Please, stay with me. The ambulance is on the way. Just hold on a little longer.”
Riane managed a slight nod, then closed her eyes.
“Come on, Riane. Talk to me.”
Her eyes flickered open slowly, and she blinked, as if trying to bring his face into focus. “Sorry about your shirt.”
Riane spent four days in the hospital. Four torturously long days. As if the pain in her shoulder wasn’t excruciating enough every time she moved, her parents never seemed to leave her room. She knew they’d been worried about her, and she appreciated their concern, but she was starting to feel smothered by their love.
And forgotten by the man she loved.
She had a vague recollection of Joel riding in the ambulance with her, holding her hand on the way to the hospital. She’d found comfort in his presence and the steady reassuring murmur of his voice. She wasn’t sure she clearly remembered anything he said, but she thought—or maybe she just hoped—he’d told her he loved her.
It was those words—real or imagined—that had given her hope. But since she’d regained consciousness, she hadn’t so much as caught a glimpse of him. When she finally gathered up the courage to ask about him, her mother admitted that he’d gone back to Pennsylvania.
His apparent indifference hurt so much more than the residual pain in her shoulder. The scar from the bullet was insignificant compared to the scars on her heart.
She didn’t really blame Joel for not wanting to stick around. They’d each understood that their relationship wasn’t for the long term, and she’d reiterated that statement, clearly and finally, by walking out on him. So she shouldn’t have been surprised that he hadn’t stayed; she had no right to feel hurt. They lived in different worlds, wanted different things. Or so she’d honestly believed. Right now all she wanted was Joel.
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