by Karen Rose
‘We dumped Ford’s and Kimberly’s cell phones. Kim got a text at seven last night.’
Joseph checked his notes. ‘She told Ford about the movie about fifteen minutes later, according to Ford’s Facebook post.’
‘How’d you get access to his Facebook page? I couldn’t guess his password.’
‘I didn’t. One of the other interns at my father’s company is Ford’s Facebook friend. He showed the post to my father this morning when Ford failed to pick him up for work. Ford posted that he wished Kim had given him more notice about the movie, because he had to bail on plans to watch the hockey game on TV with the guys.’
‘The text to Kimberly’s cell came with a large data attachment.’
‘A photo,’ Joseph murmured. ‘Of her abducted sister, maybe?’
‘That’d be my guess.’
‘Hell, she set Ford up. What’s number four?’
‘Ford’s cell phone record showed a text was sent to his mother at ten this morning.’
Joseph frowned. ‘This morning? Are you sure? What the hell?’
‘I’m sure. There’s been no other activity on either phone, Ford’s or Kimberly’s. Both phones are turned off, not responding to pings.’
Joseph’s neck tensed. ‘Did you get a location on that last text?’
‘Yes. I’m there now. It’s an alley a few blocks from the courthouse. Nobody here but me. I texted you the address.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me that one first?’ Joseph demanded, exasperated.
‘The facts flowed more logically my way. Should I wait for you?’
‘No!’ Joseph barked, then took a breath, calmed his voice. ‘No. Start searching.’
‘Good, because that’s what I did. I found a backpack and that’s it. No ID.’
‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’ Joseph hung up and re-joined the others. ‘We have another missing person – Kimberly’s younger sister. Dr Brodie, I need a taser fire scenario that assumes Kimberly knew the abduction would occur.’
Brodie’s face fell. ‘Don’t tell me she set him up.’
‘For the missing sister,’ Ruby murmured.
‘Possibly,’ Joseph said. ‘Probably. Dr Quartermaine, if you could provide an analysis of any drugs in the victim’s system as soon as possible, I’d appreciate it.’
‘You think Zacharias was using?’ Ruby asked.
‘No, I think that’s how the attacker kept him down.’ Joseph needed to get to Novak, but the scene was cooking in his mind and he needed to get it straight. ‘He planned to hit Ford first, but the taser would have kept him down for thirty seconds at the outside.’
Tasers used by police didn’t incapacitate as long as those used by civilians. Police needed the suspect quiet only long enough to cuff him. Civilians needed time to escape.
‘Based on his firing skill,’ Brodie said, ‘I’d assume that the attacker knew this.’
‘Agreed. He needed something to knock Ford out that acted fast – before the taser effects wore off – and lasted for as long as it took to transport them.’
‘Not many things act that fast and last a long time,’ Quartermaine said. ‘It would have to be a cocktail, with a second medication taking effect before the first wears off.’
‘That makes sense,’ Joseph said. ‘Let’s assume Zacharias was a surprise. Our shooter tases Ford, then is startled. He shoots Zacharias twice because he keeps coming.’ He looked to where the missed electrodes had landed. ‘That leaves the girl.’
‘Who’d already started to run,’ Brodie said. ‘That’s what was bothering me – where those electrodes landed. He aimed for her when she was several feet from where Ford already lay. She’d gotten a good head start.’
‘Because she knew it was coming,’ Ruby said.
‘Exactly,’ Brodie murmured. ‘He probably stabs her. She’s bleeding, but crawls to her car and grabs the door handle. He had to have left her alone after stabbing her.’
‘Because Ford and Zacharias are only down temporarily,’ Joseph said. ‘He’s got two hundred pounds of angry cop that he wasn’t expecting. So he adapts. This guy thinks fast on his feet. He’d planned to knock out Ford and the girl for transport.’
‘He can’t give the girl’s cocktail to the cop,’ Quartermaine said. ‘She’s too small. I listened to the BOLO details on my way over here – Asian female, five-feet-one-inch tall, one hundred five pounds. She weighs about half what the cop did. Her dose wouldn’t have kept the cop down. He had to give the cop Ford’s cocktail.’
‘And Ford got the girl’s dose,’ Joseph said slowly. ‘It slows him down, but not enough, so the attacker grabs his hair and smacks his head on the pavement.’
‘Thus the blood and blond hair,’ Brodie said.
‘So why did the cop die?’ Ruby asked. ‘Did the attacker intend for Ford to die? And why slit the cop’s throat if he was already dead?’
‘Good questions,’ Joseph said. ‘And how did he get Ford and Kimberly out of the alley? Where was his vehicle parked? Did he roll them out? Dolly, cart, wheelchair?’ He saluted the doctor. ‘Welcome to Baltimore, Dr Quartermaine. Call me as soon as you have anything. Dr Brodie has my contact info. I have to meet Agent Novak.’
Tuesday, December 3, 1.20 P.M.
‘Watch your head, Daphne.’ Detective Hector Rivera hovered over her as a nurse transferred her from a wheelchair to the backseat of an FBI unmarked car. Black, of course. She’d protested the damn wheelchair, but it was ‘policy’ and she’d finally given up, too weary to argue any more.
A decorated Baltimore PD vice detective, Hector was clean-shaven today, but dirtied up he made the most convincing drug addict she’d ever seen. She’d been relieved to see his familiar face on her security detail.
I have a security detail. Before, it had been Paige and Clay providing security ‘just in case’ the Millhouses were serious. It hadn’t seemed real. But they were serious. It was real. They have my son.
Obediently she slid into the backseat of Hector’s sedan. Leaned back. Closed her eyes. Tried not to be sick. Ford.
‘Daphne, wait!’
Recognizing Grayson’s voice, Daphne leaned forward and out the door. Grayson was jogging across the hospital parking lot.
Hector immediately blocked her view, pushing her back into the car. ‘Don’t do that.’
‘But it’s only Grayson,’ she said quietly.
‘“Only Grayson” could be the break a lurking gunman out there is waiting for.’
She nodded dully. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think.’
He crouched in the open doorway, his face creased in sympathy. ‘I don’t mean to bark at you, Daphne. It’s my job to keep you alive for when your son comes home.’
He stepped aside and Grayson took his place, holding out his hand palm up. ‘I brought you this.’
‘My phone.’ She took it, feeling the return of a small level of control. ‘Thank you.’
‘JD found it in the pocket of your coat. These are from me.’ He handed her a thick folder. ‘A copy of your Millhouse file. VCET has the original. If you need to keep busy, you might want to look for connections. Maybe something only you’ll recognize.’
‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. ‘For everything.’
‘I should be thanking you. You risked your life, throwing that camera bag at Marina. If there’s anything I can do to help you, just name it.’
‘Where are you going from here?’ she asked.
‘To draw up the arrest warrants, then on to Interview. I want first crack at Bill.’
Fury bubbled up from her gut. ‘Then make him tell you where he’s taken my son.’
‘If it can be gotten, I’ll get it,’ he promised. ‘Paige will be coming to stay with you. Please,’ he said when she started to protest. ‘I need to know you’re okay. Clay can’t protect you right now. He’s too distracted. Paige can carry his load for a little while.’
Poor Clay. Daphne hadn’t had a chance to think about him. He’d lost a colleague and a
friend. And he’d hold himself personally accountable for Ford’s abduction.
Shouldn’t he? Daphne was disturbed to realize that she held Clay accountable as well. She needed to deal with that before she saw him again. ‘It will be good to have Paige there, for me and Mama, too. And if you see your brother, thank him for me.’
‘We need to go.’ Hector slid behind the wheel. He pointed to the woman in the passenger seat, a striking redhead who oozed sex appeal, despite the heavy SWAT-style bullet-proof vest she wore over the jacket of her FBI-standard black suit. ‘Riding shotgun is Special Agent Kate Coppola. From Iowa.’
Daphne winced. ‘“Riding shotgun” isn’t the expression I would have chosen today.’
‘Except that I am, ma’am,’ Coppola said. She reached to her feet and brought up an impressive-looking assault rifle.
‘At least now we’re evenly matched with the bad guys,’ Daphne murmured.
‘If there’s any incident,’ Hector said, ‘Agent Coppola leads the defense. I cover her. You hide in the floorboards. This car isn’t bullet-proof, but it is bullet-resistant. You’re wearing a vest?’
‘A new one,’ she said. ‘My old vest was taken by CSU.’ Because it was riddled with holes from Marina’s bullets. Daphne shuddered as the thought of how close she’d come to death briefly snuck through her terror over Ford. Then the moment was over and fear for her son threatened to paralyze her once more.
She closed her eyes, knowing there was a call she needed to make. Dreading it. Travis. Ford’s father needed to know.
Her hands trembled as she dialed Travis’s number from memory. It wasn’t in her contact list. She hadn’t wanted to desecrate her phone with his name. It began to ring and her stomach turned inside out. Like a coward, she hoped no one would answer.
‘Elkhart residence.’ Damn. The nasal tone belonged to Remington, the butler who was proud to be descended from a long line of butlers. In Remington’s mind, being a butler trumped being a mountain girl like Daphne, no matter how polished she became.
‘Remington, this is Daphne. Please connect me with Judge Elkhart.’
‘Daphne? I’m afraid I can’t place the name.’
Her temper snapped. ‘Dammit, I’m not in the mood for your games.’ Since the divorce he’d thought it funny to not remember her. ‘I need to talk to Travis about Ford.’
‘He’s not in at the moment,’ Remington said snidely.
‘Then connect me with wherever he is. This is not a social call. This is . . .’ She exhaled carefully, controlling her temper. ‘This is a matter of life and death.’
‘One moment please.’ There was a minute of silence, then the phone picked up.
‘This is Nadine. What is this matter of life and death, Elizabeth?’
Oh God, no. Not today. Please. Travis’s mother hated her. And the feeling was mutual. But this isn’t about you, Daphne. Or even Elizabeth, the middle name that Nadine insisted on calling her by since forcing her marriage to Travis. This is about Ford. And in Nadine’s own praying-mantis type way, she loved her only grandson.
‘Ford has been kidnapped.’
Nadine’s gasp was audible. ‘What? What is this?’
‘What I just said. Ford has been kidnapped. I need to talk to Travis.’
‘He’s not here. He’s in court this morning. Oh my God.’
Daphne could hear Remington in the background. ‘Madam? Madam, are you unwell?’ The old lady’s heart had never been that strong.
Daphne hated her, but didn’t want her to have a heart attack. ‘Are you all right?’
‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I am not all right. Elizabeth, what have you done?’
‘I don’t have any details,’ she said, ignoring the accusation. ‘I’ll keep you apprised.’
‘Don’t you dare hang up on me, Elizabeth. Have you received a ransom demand?’
‘Not to my knowledge.’
‘Have you informed the FBI?’
They informed me. ‘They are involved.’
‘When did this happen?’ Nadine’s voice was thinning. She’d be hysterical in a minute or two. This time Daphne couldn’t blame her.
‘Last night. He went to a movie and didn’t return to his dorm.’
‘How could you let this happen, Elizabeth?’ she demanded shrilly.
Daphne bit her tongue. There were so many ways to reply. Most of them unproductive. ‘If you could pass this message on to Travis, I’d appreciate it. As I said, I’ll keep you apprised. If you hear anything, please call me. You have my number.’
Daphne hung up, staring at the phone crunched into her fist. There, that was done. At least she hadn’t had to talk to Travis. She didn’t think she had the strength to deal with him at the moment.
She had scarcely drawn a breath when her cell began to ring. The caller ID said Blocked number.
Her heart stopped, then began to race. It’s the one who took Ford. He has my son. ‘There’s a blocked number calling in.’
Coppola turned to meet Daphne’s eyes. ‘I’m texting Bo Lamar. Keep the caller on as long as possible. We’ll try to trace.’
‘I can record the call. Should I?’
‘Answer it while I find out if recording it will impact triangulation.’
‘Okay.’ Daphne sucked in a breath and answered. ‘Hello?’
‘What the fuck is going on, Daphne?’
She flinched for the second time in five minutes, meeting Coppola’s gaze with a shake of her head. ‘It’s just my ex,’ she said quietly.
Travis’s mother called her Elizabeth, because her first name was ‘far too vulgar for an Elkhart’. When they’d been married, Travis had bowed to his mother’s wishes, calling her Elizabeth as well. When he called her anything, that was. He’d pretty much ignored her from day one. Once the divorce papers were signed, he’d taken to calling her ‘Daphne’ in a way that made her name sound . . . like trash. Which was exactly how he’d treated her for the twelve years she’d borne his name. And raised his son.
‘Just your ex?’ Travis said icily.
‘Yes, Travis. Just my ex. You’ll be contacted by Agent Lamar to have your phones tapped. Until then I suggest you start answering your phone, in case they call you instead of me.’
‘“They”, meaning whoever kidnapped my son.’
Daphne pressed her fingertips to her throbbing temple. ‘That would be the “they”.’
‘How could you let this happen?’ he asked, fury in his tone.
Again she bit her tongue. ‘Ford is twenty. He is independent. I did not “let” this happen.’ Except that the Millhouses took him to punish me.
She should tell this to Travis, but somehow couldn’t bring herself to say the words.
‘That’s what comes from going to college in the ghetto. If he’d gone to Princeton . . .’
She let him rant. Arguing never did any good. Not when Travis knew he was right. Which was always. When he paused to breathe, she cut him off. ‘I have to go. Next time I call, please make yourself available.’ She hung up and leaned her head against the seat. ‘That was fun.’
Hector was frowning. ‘In all due respect . . . Wow. I thought my ex was bad.’
‘Yeah. Well. You probably should set up a phone tapping at the estate. Just in case.’ In case this isn’t because of me. Except it is. My fault. All my fault.
‘The estate?’ Hector asked carefully.
‘River Oaks, in Northern Virginia, Loudoun County. About an hour west of here.’
‘Horse country,’ Hector said. ‘Is it a ranch?’
Daphne laughed bitterly. ‘No. That would be vulgar. It’s an estate. Family money. They have stables and grooms. But the land is not an “economic enterprise”.’
‘Okay,’ Hector said slowly. ‘Upper crust?’
‘The crustiest. They’ll cooperate because my ex-husband is very politically minded. He won’t want to anger law enforcement. His mother will observe all the proprieties.’
Hector looked genuinely confused. ‘But
this is his son, too.’
‘Yes, he is. But there’s . . . friction. In the divorce, they made Ford choose.’
‘He chose you.’ Hector sighed. ‘Hell of a thing to do to a kid.’
‘Ms Montgomery.’ Kate Coppola kept a vigilant watch on the cars that crawled alongside them in mid-day traffic. ‘Why do you record your calls?’
‘Because of the death threats from the Millhouses. I got a wire-tap warrant first. I didn’t want to give them any ammunition.’ She winced at her word choice. ‘Hell.’
‘Do you have any of those threats saved on your phone?’ Coppola asked.
‘Yes. The police have them, too.’ Daphne scrolled through the screens on her phone, then froze. ‘Wait. I got a text from Ford this morning.’
‘When?’ Hector asked tersely.
‘I was in court.’ Hands shaking, she managed to find the message. ‘Here it is. He texted me at 10.04. “Good luck, Mom”.’ She looked up, hope trembling through her. ‘He’s okay. He texted me. This is all a mistake.’
Not looking hopeful at all, Coppola dialed on her cell phone. ‘I’ll call Agent Carter. He’ll need this information.’
Anger burned her chest. ‘He texted me, dammit. We can find out where he texted from. We can find him.’
‘Joseph, it’s Kate . . . No, no, Ms Montgomery is unharmed. She remembered that her son texted her this morning at—’ She listened, then glanced over her shoulder carefully. ‘Yeah, that’s the time.’
All the air left her lungs. No. Daphne didn’t realize she’d whimpered it aloud until she heard the sound of her own voice. Her hand lifted to cover her mouth, to keep the other whimpers in, but they escaped, keening sounds of pain.
That’s me, she thought. That sound is coming from me. The last time she’d heard that sound . . . I was in a doctor’s office. The doctor had just delivered the bad news, using words like diagnosis and chemotherapy and metastasize but all she’d been able to hear was the keening sound of pain ripping from her throat. I’d rather be back there than here. I’d trade places in a heartbeat. I’d go through it again if it brought Ford back.
