She pulled a small notebook from her large shoulder bag. She looked up a number, then dialed it in. He handed her the paper with the three names and addresses on it. He moved to the driver’s side, watching Emma crowd close to her.
She gave no greeting, just, “I’ve got my daughter back, Detective Mecklin.”
“Is that you, Mrs. Santera? What did you say? Are you all right? Are you injured?”
“No I’m not hurt. I said that I’ve got my daughter back, Detective.” She could practically see those wide blue eyes of his narrowing as he stared at the phone, wondering if she’d lost it or not. She really didn’t care. She rather hoped she’d never have to deal with Mecklin again, but here she was on the phone to the jerk. She’d thought he believed it was her fault that Emma was taken. She had hated him for helping to pile that guilt on her. She still did. She’d felt enough guilt on her own.
There was a very long silence, then, “I don’t understand how that can be possible.”
She laughed, the tension beginning to lighten. She was beginning to enjoy herself. The sexist jerk. “It is, believe me. Would you like me to tell you what’s happened?”
“But we just got a ransom note last night. The kidnappers want $500,000.”
“Don’t let anyone pay it. I’ve got my daughter right here, Detective. Emma, say hello to the detective.”
“Hello, Detective Mecklin. I’m with my mom and Ramsey. He saved me and then my mommy found us. We’re okay.”
“Ramsey? Who the hell’s this Ramsey?”
Molly pulled the phone back up. “That’s not important for the moment, Detective Mecklin. Listen to me. I’ve got three names and addresses that go with these license plate letters and numbers. You need to see which of these fits with Emma’s kidnappers. One of them does, count on it.”
“I don’t understand this, Mrs. Santera. You need to come back to Denver and talk to us. If you really have Emma, you need to bring her in to see us. We’ve got doctors here for her, a shrink trauma team, everything she’ll need. Was that really Emma? Are you all right, Mrs. Santera? Where are you?”
“Will you do anything with the information if I give it to you, Detective Mecklin, or am I wasting my time?”
There was another long pause with very controlled breathing. “Give me the info,” he said.
She read out the names and addresses very slowly, occasionally repeating. “I don’t recognize any of these names myself, but one of them has to be involved with the kidnappers. Now maybe you’ve got a chance to catch them. Surely there’s a drop site indicated on the note. Well, now you don’t have to worry about Emma. You can forget the trauma team. Do your job, Detective. Nail the bad guys. Oh yeah, the guy who kidnapped Emma took her to a cabin not far from Dillinger. I’m sure he’s not there anymore but you may find out something.”
“Are you in Dillinger, Mrs. Santera?”
“No, Detective, I’m not, so please don’t bother siccing any local cops on me.”
“This sure puts a mighty different spin on things, Mrs. Santera.”
“Sure does,” she agreed. “You’re sure you’ve got everything?”
“Yeah, I’ve got it. But you’ve got to tell me what’s going on. The FBI agents just walked in. They want to talk to you. They don’t think—”
She spoke over him, slowly and clearly. “The license is on a dirty black pickup truck. It’s fairly new. A Chevy. You’ve got that?”
“Yes, yes. Hold on. Don’t hang up, Mrs. Santera. You need us. Here’s Agent Anchor.”
“I don’t think so, Detective. Give them the information. They’ll drool, if they bother to believe it.”
“We would have gotten this information in a very short time. Now, I believe you, Mrs. Santera, but . . . well, you see, this is very irregular.” It was Agent Anchor, a man with a great deal of experience with kidnappings. He was also a dictator who believed everyone except himself had a brain the size of a pea. He’d ordered the Denver cops around as if they were his personal chattel.
“No buts, Agent Anchor. Catch the men who took my daughter.”
“You have no idea if any of these license plates has anything to do with the kidnappers, do you? Look, I don’t understand any of this. Tell me where you are. Do you understand what I’m saying to you, Mrs. Santera? You may be in danger. Tell me where you found Emma. You can’t just call in and order us around and—”
“Agent Anchor, go catch the kidnappers. Ah, that pickup truck was last seen just west of Rappahoe on Highway 70.” Molly smiled as she pushed the Off button. “I hated to tell him that because he’s not stupid and he’ll know that’s where we are, too. But I had to, otherwise, how could they catch them? I hope they can locate that cabin quickly, maybe find something helpful.”
“No, you’re right. You had to tell them. By the time they get themselves together, we’ll be tucked safely away in Aspen. They really shouldn’t care all that much about us, and where we are, but who knows? At least our perps don’t know we got them tagged. They shouldn’t be hiding out. Were the Fed agents a big pain?”
“Yes. If I hadn’t been so terrified about Emma, I would have felt sorry for the local cops. The Feds treated them like gofers. Detective Mecklin isn’t really all that much of a jerk, but he’s also not what you’d call very flexible. He’s got this big handlebar mustache, dyed really black, you know? It droops around his mouth, makes him look something like a basset hound. He’s also very fat. I hope he doesn’t have a heart attack.” Then she just shook her head. “He didn’t want to believe that I had Emma. He even asked me if that was really Emma who’d spoken to him. As for Agent Anchor, he has a God complex.”
A lot of the Federal people did, but they were getting better, or at least some of them were, like Dillon Savich. He’d like to meet this Agent Anchor when this was over. He’d like to pin Agent Anchor’s ears back. “You did well, Molly. At least we had to do that much. Let’s go to Aspen. Let’s forget both of them for now. We’ll call Detective Mecklin back tomorrow and see what he’s got.”
“A ransom note arrived last night. The kidnappers wanted a half a million.”
“Their bluff,” he said. “It’s a good try.” He looked quickly at Emma, who looked to be nearly asleep, but he wasn’t fooled for an instant. “Just a bluff,” he said again. “But it gives the cops a real chance at them now. So there are at least four other guys besides the kidnapper. I wonder how many people are involved in this? And why? It isn’t just a kidnapping, Molly.”
“I don’t like it,” Emma said, snuggling close to her mother. “I don’t like it at all.”
Their eyes met. “Neither do we, Emma. Neither do we,” Molly said.
Ramsey pulled back onto the highway. There was no sign of the black pickup, thank the good Lord.
9
AFTERMOLLY SHOWED him a weighty wad of one-hundred-dollar bills and assured him she had lots more in her bra, Ramsey got them a junior suite at the Jerome, providing them a false name and paying cash. They were shown to a huge single room filled with Victorian furniture, long red or gold fringe on the lamps, and wall-to-wall carpeting woven with big cabbage roses and copious vines. There was violent red wallpaper in the bathroom, which had been updated to a rich pink marble. The old with the new—it was a fascinating combination. There was a sitting area at one end of the big room, with the bed, dresser, and a couple of more chairs at the other. There were tall windows with rich velvet draperies. “I always wanted to stay here,” Ramsey said, standing back. “I saw the place way back when I was a kid here on a ski break. It’s something, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Molly said. “They didn’t have two beds? Just this king?”
“We’re married, remember? Don’t look at it too long, it’ll make you bilious. Also, don’t worry about it. They’re bringing up a cot for me.” The spread was a bright blue velvet with red tassels that screamed Victorian Wild West.
Emma said, “What’s ‘bilious’?”
“Bad liver stuff.”
&nb
sp; He saw her repeat the word a couple of more times beneath her breath. He smiled as he watched Molly go down on her knees and hug Emma until, suddenly, she squealed. Molly let her loose and the both of them began to laugh. “It’s a game we play,” Molly said. “If Emma can let me hug her for a whole minute without making a single sound, then she gets an ice cream. Actually, she usually wins. Are you feeling sorry for me, kiddo?”
“I just wanted to see you smile really big, Mama.”
“Then you won the smile out of me.”
Molly had a single duffel bag, Emma had her stuffed pillowcase, and Ramsey had two suitcases. He’d locked his mom’s old Olivetti typewriter and all the pages he’d managed to write during his stay before Emma, and some books and novels in the Jeep. The hotel brought up a cot for him, too short, but he just shook his head at her when she would have protested.
Actually, Ramsey didn’t care if he slept on the floor. His leg hurt like hell, he had a headache, and he felt as if he’d hit a brick wall. Molly looked as if she had her nose pressed against that same brick wall. She was standing in the middle of the room, running her hand through her rioting red hair.
He smiled. “You want me to give Emma a bath? No, I take that back. She can bathe herself.”
“She’s really not very good at it, but she does try.” Molly grabbed Emma up and sniffed behind her ear. “Smells sweet. You did a good job. You want me to bathe you this time, Em? Just for a change?”
Emma nodded happily.
Molly turned to Ramsey, who looked ready to fall over. “You just lie down. I’ll bring you some aspirin. Do you put an ice pack on the leg?”
“I hadn’t thought of that. Why not?”
“Good. Lie down, Ramsey. I’ll be right back.”
After she’d watched him wash down three aspirin and she’d laid the ice wrapped in a towel over his bandaged leg, she said, “Do you mind if we don’t go to the Cantina?”
“I’ll see if they deliver.”
They did, for a fifty-buck service charge. It was Aspen, he thought, as he ate a ten-dollar taco.
EXHAUSTION hit big time after they’d consumed a good half dozen beef tacos, and enough chips and salsa for a football team. Emma had some guacamole smeared on her chin when it was all over and she’d looked wonderful. She was asleep ten minutes later, next to her mother, just after they’d gotten her to brush her teeth.
She beat them to sleep by five minutes.
Molly awoke at midnight at the final stroke from a big grandfather clock in the corner out in the corridor. There was a quarter moon sending a white shaft of light through the open window. It wasn’t too cold, just cold enough to make you pull the covers to your chin and let the fresh air hit your face.
It was the first time she’d slept over three hours in more than two weeks. Sixteen days, she thought, suddenly sitting up just to look over to see Emma curled up into a ball, the pillow hugged to her chest, her beautiful hair, free of its braid, tangled about her head. She was safe.
She felt tears sting her eyes, felt them ooze out and slowly trickle over her cheeks. They’d been so very lucky. As it turned out, she hadn’t been the important one in the equation, not that she’d ever really believed she actually would be.
Ramsey Hunt. He’d saved her daughter. He would have continued to protect her until he’d gotten her back safely.
The tears came more freely. She sobbed. Oh no, that was humiliating. She stuffed her fist into her mouth.
“Molly? It’s okay.”
How had he heard her? Emma was still sound asleep. He said quietly, “Cry, it’s good for you. I’ll bet this is the first time you’ve had the luxury to just let go. Think you can?”
She kept crying and he kept talking, saying nothing really, just nonsense. Then, “Mama, what’s wrong?”
Emma sounded terrified.
Ramsey said quickly, “It’s all right, Emma. Roll over and hug your mama. She’s just crying because she’s so relieved you’re safe. She’s been on the edge for a really long time. She’s been really scared for you.”
Molly was hiccuping, crying, and now laughing. Emma had wrapped her arms around her.
“I feel better now. Thanks, Em.” She kissed her daughter’s neck, and felt as happy as she’d ever felt in her life. In that instant, she remembered another moment, a long time ago, when she’d believed there was no way she could have been happier. It had been a lie.
The three of them went back to sleep, Ramsey’s feet hanging off the end of the cot. It was Ramsey who woke near three o’clock in the morning.
Maybe he’d heard something. His brain was still turned inward to a pleasant dream. It was about Susan. She was wearing her uniform and smiling. She saluted him, then poked him in the belly. Once he was fully awake, though, bittersweet memories flooded through him. Then suddenly, it all just faded back into time. He wanted no more dreams about Susan.
He heard it again. Could they be that good?
Very slowly, he stood up. He saw that both Emma and Molly were still asleep. He heard only Molly’s deep, even breathing. He was glad for that. He didn’t want them frightened.
He stood up, felt his stiff leg lock on him, and grabbed one of the high chair backs. Not unexpected. He held very still and listened.
It was a shuffling sound. It was coming from the corridor, just outside their room door. He picked up his pistol from the small circular table beside the cot. He forced his leg to move, one step at a time, quietly, toward the door, pausing every few steps to listen.
He heard voices. No, it wasn’t possible that it could be trouble. There was just no way they could have found out where they were. The hotel registration hadn’t demanded an ID. There was no way anyone could know they were here. But they had seen the Jeep. They could have easily traced the license plate, or even spotted it coming into town. He cursed. He was an idiot. Tomorrow, he’d have to turn it in, maybe buy a used car, another Jeep, or any four-wheel-drive vehicle. He heard the voices again, too low for him to make out what they were saying.
He held his Smith & Wesson ready.
It was a man’s voice, low and urgent, clear now. “Listen, Doris, you want to sneak back in there, you do it. But your old man could be awake even as we speak. I don’t want him to blow my head off. No, don’t go in there. If you do, just wait until I get out of here.”
He leaned his head against the door, relief pouring through him. It was a wife screwing around on her husband.
It wasn’t anybody after Emma.
He heard a woman’s voice, with just a touch of hysteria in it. It would be better if she didn’t try to sneak back in, he thought, but thank goodness, it wasn’t any of his business. He silently checked the lock and the chain.
He laid the Smith & Wesson back on the circular table. When he turned to the cot, he saw Molly sitting up, staring toward him.
He whispered, “It’s nothing, just a wife cheating on her husband.”
Emma said in a sleepy voice, “It couldn’t be him, could it, Ramsey? He didn’t see really good. He didn’t wear his glasses all of the time. That’s how I got away. I made my pillow look like me when he was out smoking a cigarette on the front steps. When he came back, he looked for me, and thought he saw me. I crawled out the front door when he was drinking a glass of whiskey. He really liked whiskey. He kept saying he didn’t like it, that it rotted his soul, but he drank it, lots of it.”
“Oh God,” Molly said. “Do you know his name, Em?”
But Emma folded, just shut down again, her breathing even and slow. She was sound asleep.
They looked at each other. Molly said, “What am I going to do?”
“I told you, Molly. I’m in for the long haul. Now the question is, what are we going to do? Tell you what. We’re both still too tired to think straight. I’ve got some ideas. We’ll discuss it tomorrow.”
She was shaking her head back and forth, her red hair moving in concert. “I can’t go back to Denver. I’m never going back to Denver. I don’t und
erstand what’s going on here. How many people are involved in this? Who are they? How, why, could Emma’s kidnapping be a conspiracy?”
“Conspiracy,” he repeated slowly. “Why do you call it a conspiracy?”
She shrugged, one corner of her sleep shirt falling off her shoulder.
“I guess kidnapping could end up being a conspiracy if the parents were in on it, or if it was done for another purpose. But you didn’t mean that. Did you?”
“I just said the word. It seemed it might be possible. We already know about up to five different men.”
“An elaborate scheme then. But a conspiracy? That smacks of something darker, something beneath the surface. It just might mean it would involve people around you.”
She was silent. He watched her pull up the shoulder of her sleep shirt. It said on the front: BIGFOOT WAS HERE. Her hair was corkscrewed and wild around her pale face. She looked inutterably weary. And also very pretty, he thought, somewhat amazed that he’d noticed and here it was in the middle of the night. Her skin was very white, unlike his, with his olive skin tone. He wanted to put his hand on her, to compare the color difference between them. He was losing it. “Let’s get some sleep. We’re out of here tomorrow.”
HE returned to the Jerome at noon. Molly and Emma were playing Old Maid seated cross-legged opposite each other, the card pile in the middle.
“No, don’t get up. We’re the proud owners of a 1989 Toyota 4Runner with lots of miles on it. It’s a two-door model, on the beat-up side, but who cares? It’s got four-wheel drive, nearly all the comforts of the Jeep.”
He’d gotten the maximum cash allowed from AMEX and paid the car dealer in cash. He added, “Even if they’ve tracked down the Jeep, it’ll take them a good long time to find it in that long-term parking lot over by the lift.” But he knew they weren’t safe, not by a long shot.
The Target Page 9
