"It could have destroyed everything, but I figured Andrei Milovich would never read it. He is sloppy like that. Pyotr on the other hand…"
"What did they sign?" Wyatt asked again, his frustration mounting.
"Oh sorry. The idiots signed their extradition papers of course."
“What?”
“Yeah, Jonathan and I came up with the idea in case they got away,” Tyler explained. “They signed an agreement to be extradited from Russia for trial.”
"Are you insane? If they read those docs, we are all dead."
"They won't," Tyler reassured his friend. "The legal language is marvelously complicated. They won't understand it even if they do read it. I owe Jonathan for that one. Even I had trouble figuring out what it said."
“Okay,” Wyatt sighed, sitting back and taking his first deep breath of the day. “Now what?”
“Now we let the FBI do its job. They catch them outside the building with the laptop and printout on them for evidence and the signed docs admitting blackmail and extortion and agreeing to extradition. Sewed up nice and neat.”
“Sounds too good to be true,” Wyatt admitted.
"Well, it isn't. There is the money already transferred from someone's account, for example. Who knows how much LHRE just lost? We will have a hard time explaining that to our clients, that's for sure."
“Oh no, that won’t be a problem. There is a tripwire in the code to boomerang after two hours.”
“What does that mean in English, Wyatt?”
“It means the money is automatically transferred back to us after two hours. That was the one piece of code I worried that Russian guy might spot. The rest was easy to bury.”
“The rest?”
“Yeah, we are capturing IP addresses, digital fingerprints, email confirmations, all the data we need to press charges and prosecute successfully and to get to the top of the ring in Russia. I am not sure how successful we will be at the latter, but I will know I tried.”
“Who could have ever predicted that I would need my geeky best friend to trap criminals?”
“Who could have ever predicted my lawyer best friend would risk his whole career to embezzle from my family?”
"Family! Oh, shit, I need to call Regan," Tyler announced, reaching, once again, for his absent phone before remembering he had been barred from bringing it into the conference room.
Reaching into the middle of the table, he hit the speaker button and dialed the outside number for Regan's cell. They had purposely kept her out of the building today, away from the danger. He needed to be careful now too. The FBI, to avoid suspicion had left the phones tapped.
Tyler and Wyatt stared into each other's faces as the phone rang and rang. Regan knew to expect their call; she should have picked up by now. Nothing.
"Mr. Winthrop," one of the assistants poked her head into the room. "You have a call on line three. Shall I transfer it here?"
Tyler nodded yes and smiled over at Wyatt, “There she is,” he reassured his friend.
"It's over," he announced into the phone after pressing the talk button a bit too enthusiastically. "They left a few minutes ago. It's over."
“We have them,” a male voice agreed. “The FBI nabbed them right outside the elevator.”
"Great news, Jonathan," Tyler told the lawyer. "I am so relieved to have this over and done with.”
“Who is with you?” Jonathan asked.
“Just me,” Wyatt answered.
“Hey, Wyatt. Thanks again for your help. I don’t know how you buried all that code, but it was genius.”
"Thanks, Jonathan. It was a challenge, but it paid off."
“We don’t have to watch what we say?” Tyler asked in confusion.
“The FBI combed the building last night,” Jonathan explained. “It’s all over.”
“So, let’s celebrate,” Tyler suggested. “We just need to find Regan first.”
“I thought she was at the office with you,” Jonathan said. “She’s not with you? We pulled her security detail when she entered the building this morning.” Jonathan’s sounded alarmed.
"What are you talking about, Jonathan? Regan didn't come to LHRE today. We specifically told her to stay away."
“You may have told her to stay away, but we tailed her to the building.”
Tyler looked over at Wyatt, fear evident on his features. He felt the sweat gathering under his shirt all over again.
“She’s probably right down the hall,” Wyatt reassured, although his face was tight with worry.
Tyler jumped from his chair and ran for the corner office that belonged to Regan. The room was empty, the desk cleared of papers, the shades closed against the bright sun.
Running throughout the building, Tyler randomly asked people if they had seen Regan. No one had. He was returning to the conference room, his hair disheveled, his face ashen when Donna emerged from his office with his cell phone in her hands.
"It's been ringing non-stop, Tyler. Someone must need to reach you."
His walk slowed to a crawl, his heart pounded in his chest, as Tyler stared at Regan's number and her face on the screen of his phone before shaking himself from his fear. If she was calling, she was okay.
“Where the hell are you, hon? I have been worried.”
“How sweet of you to worry, Tyler,” a deep Russian voice responded. “And to call me hon.”
“Taras? Taras, if you touch a hair on her head, I swear I will kill you,” Tyler screamed into the phone. Taking a deep breath, he lowered his voice. "Let me speak to Regan."
“She’s fine, Ty, I swear," Taras responded. “She is our insurance. As soon as we have our money, we return her to you."
“Let me speak to her now,” Tyler demanded, standing taller and puffing out his chest in the middle of the corridor. He was a warrior ready to rescue his lady, and he needed to convey that with his voice. "Now," he shouted.
He heard a rustle at the other end of the phone and then Regan’s voice, small and frightened. Tyler melted at the sound, deflating as his shoulders rounded with the weight of his problem.
"I'm fine, Tyler," Regan promised although it was clear she was not. "They are treating me well, and they swear I can come home when they have what they want. Just give it to them, Tyler. Let's put this behind us."
“Do as she says, Tyler,” Taras was back on the line. “Then you see her pretty face again. Otherwise…” Tyler felt his blood go cold listening to a lascivious cackle through the phone.
The click in the phone set Tyler's brain back in motion. Sprinting for the conference room he threw open the door slamming it into the wall behind it.
“Guys,” he leaned over the phone, “We have two hours and only two hours to find Regan.”
Looking over at Wyatt, desperation filling his face, Tyler shook his head in disbelief. “They boomerang in two hours, right? So the first two transactions will revert in less than two hours.”
"Gotta go," Jonathan said before the call disconnected.
“You better pray these guys are too busy to read,” Wyatt told his friend. “Or Regan is dead.”
“Who are we kidding Wyatt, we are all dead. If Taras is directly involved and in the States, we are up against a lot more than I expected.”
"Oh God, do I tell my family?" Wyatt pondered out loud. "They'll be frantic." Wyatt rose from the chair and moved to the doorway of the conference room. "I'm going to use Regan's office to call home."
Wyatt moved through the doorway and three steps down the hall before turning and standing in the conference door. "Tyler, I love you like a brother," Wyatt shared with his friend, " but if anything happens to Regan, I swear if these assholes don't kill you, I will."
Chapter Thirty-Four
Regan
It had been forty-eight hours since Regan had heard anything other than murmurings. She was desperate to catch a word, anything that might help her get out of this predicament. She had been locked in a room the size of her bedroom closet for at l
east two days. Regan paced from the door, where she paused to press her ear to the wood in futility, to the window, covered with a substance that was thick enough to resist both her fingernails and light. She caught a word here and there, but Regan was unable to understand the language. Russian, she suspected.
For the first two hours, they had been polite and almost kind, treating her more as a guest than a captive. Then everything had changed. There were arguments conducted in loud voices, with fists banging on tables followed by someone grabbing her roughly and shoving her into this room. Since then she had been passed sandwiches wrapped in plastic, along with juice boxes every few hours, or she had been left alone. Two whole days.
Regan knew that spending a long time in captivity was not good. Wyatt had shared enough about the software program to explain the boomerang. These thugs had to have felt its effects by now. She suspected that they were planning to trade her for a ransom. Someone should have made arrests or paid them off by now. It should have been over.
With no sunlight in the room and the overhead light on around the clock, Regan was unsure about the passage of time. She had taken to marking what she believed was an hour with a hash mark on the wall, using the heel from one of her shoes, Based on that, she estimated this was her second full day or starting her third day, as a hostage. Certainly, she was okay, well fed, in a comfortable room with adequate heat. She had even been allowed to shower in complete privacy once, quickly.
Regan was blindfolded to get to and from the bathroom, but from the bathroom fixtures, she knew it was an older apartment building, and there was an 'L' track not far away. That didn't tell her much.
The not knowing, the uncertainty of what was happening in the other room, as well as the uncertainty of what Tyler and Wyatt were doing, wore on her nerves. She was frazzled. She was both bored and on edge and had been unable to sleep more than a few fitful hours.
Was Tyler even alive? Was he looking for her? There were too many risks to their plan. Despite all those assurances he received from the FBI that this would go down without a hitch, she knew they were all in danger. Had she doubted it before, she doubted no longer.
She should have known that they were oversimplifying the situation when they explained it to her. First, there had been the bodyguards following her night and day, then the tensions between Wyatt and Tyler had been thick enough to suffocate them. Tyler's father looked grim all week, and Jonathan Chen uncharacteristically tried to minimize the details to her. He was usually much more of a straight-shooter.
She had seen these people now, too. None of them had been afraid to show their faces or their arsenal. In the movies, that would mean they planned to kill her. She tried to convince herself otherwise, but as the hours ticked by, she feared that no one would rescue her and that she would soon be dead.
Regrets swamped Regan. She hugged the pillow to her chest as if it could absorb the pain. She believed she had all the time in the world but facing the prospect of her life being cut short, Regan considered all the time she wasted. She thought of all the friendships she had neglected, how she could have spent more time with her mother instead of only with her father talking LHRE business.
And the business. She thought of all the good she would never accomplish with CDFI. She considered the plans she would never execute at LHRE – expansion to the west, completing her training and grooming of Ethan who had such a bright future.
Ethan. She would never see him fall in love or get married. She wondered what kind of girl would appreciate his odd sense of humor and people-pleasing ways. He had turned into quite a player lately, but she hoped he would find a special girl he could love forever.
She would never see her nieces grow up. The list went on and on.
Horrified, Regan realized she had never broken her engagement to Brandon, who would mourn her passing even as he tried to avoid any taint from a potential embezzlement scandal. What had she ever seen in him? Had she been blinded by his good looks and bright future? Sitting in this room, staring at four walls, she forgave herself. Yes, she remembered Brandon's ambition and grasping ways, but she also recalled how he made her laugh, his whip-smart wit and gentle touch.
Maybe she had been fooled into believing he wanted only her, the woman, and not Regan Howe, and her considerable legacy, but he had been misleadingly attentive. He must have loved her for herself, at least a little.
Tyler, on the other hand, always had only wanted her for herself. Tyler. Thoughts of him brought tears to Regan's eyes again. She had forced herself to remain cool-headed, to hide her gnawing fear, but thinking of Tyler and all the time they had lost, made Regan sob until she had no choice but to mop her red eyes and wipe her runny nose on the pillowcase of the saggy bed provided for her.
She should have known something was wrong way back in high school. His behavior changed so abruptly from loving and devoted to cold and aloof. One summer and a semester of college could not have changed him so much, and his explanations had been so feeble. She wished now she had pushed him for answers, seen his pain and stood by him.
Hiccupping away the last of her tears, Regan paced the small space again, stopping at the door to listen for anything she could glean. It was dead silent. There were no noises from the other room, no street noises, nothing. Could they be gone? Regan's thoughts turned to escape.
Thinking better of it, that perhaps it was the middle of the night, Regan took to the bed, flipping the dirty pillowcase over and closing her eyes to rest. Images of Tyler plagued her. All those years he arrived everywhere without a date, hovering near her. He was no milquetoast. If he wanted her - and he apparently did - and failed to act on it, Regan should have known there was a logical impediment keeping him from moving on his feelings for her. She had been a fool.
Tossing on the scratchy wool blanket, Regan gave up trying to sleep after only a few minutes and began to pace again. Stopping once more to place her head hard against the door, she heard men whispering. Did they sound anxious or was that wishful thinking? She could not understand the words, but she recognized the sound of fear in a man's tone, and she heard just that. She pressed harder to the door.
Regan was sure the activity was increasing. She heard the metal clacking of the men handling their guns along with their furtive whispers to one another. Was someone approaching from the outside, threatening them?
Before she could listen to more, footsteps reached where she was standing. Regan jumped back unsteadily and fell down on the edge of the bed watching and listening as she heard the door handle turned.
“So, Ms. Howe,” the large man standing in the doorway addressed her in his heavily accented English, “It seems that we must part ways. I had so hoped to enjoy your company,” he hesitated as his eyes devoured her body and he licked his lips, “but I fear it is not to be.”
"What's happening?" Regan demanded, preparing to argue until she saw another, larger man come to stand behind the first, a long-gun cocked and pointed at her. "Oh god, what is happening?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her knees shaking as she tried to stand.
“Fear not, my dear. No one is coming to shoot you. But we must say our farewells if we are to escape. Our location is in jeopardy of discovery. You will not be alone long.”
With that all the lights were turned off, plunging Regan into total darkness. The door shut and locked. With no sight, her hearing quickly intensified. She heard the scramble in the outer room of men grabbing belongings, footfalls in retreat and then silence.
Regan counted to 100, breathing in and out, almost meditating to calm down before standing and feeling along the wall for a light switch.
Why did they run? Did that mean rescue was on the way? Did anyone know where she was or would she die here of starvation? Regan listened to the quiet until she found the toggle and flicked on the lights. She was sure she was alone in the apartment, so she began banging on the door with her fists, shouting for help.
When her voice was raw, and her hands were sore, she
took a break, retreating again to the bed. If possible, she was less confident of her future then when the Russians were guarding her, and she fought hard against growing despair and accompanying tears.
Tears would not rescue Regan. She swiped her hands across her face to dry them and scoured the room for anything she could use to break the lock on the door or the covering on the window.
Scrabbling at the bolts connecting the legs to the bed, Regan loosened them with bloody fingers. With a hoorah no one would hear, she took her metal stick and shoved it through the window. Shit, there were bars on the window. She broke the glass anyway and shouted for help at the top of her lungs. Nothing.
She took a break, listened to the quiet out on the street and her stomach, grumbling with hunger. No one was out there. The road was tranquil. Regan dozed in and out until she woke with a jolt from a dream of Tyler and their laughing together.
Devastated to return to reality and lose her romantic illusion, Regan gave herself a badly needed pep talk. She reminded herself of all the lists she had made earlier and made a vow to see her nieces grow up, to achieve her goals and spend her life with Tyler.
“You can go without food for another day or two, Ree, so pull yourself together. Someone is going to find you, but you need to do your best to help.”
Pushing her limp hair from her face, Regan squared her shoulders and after shouting out the window to silence, grabbed her makeshift tool. She returned to the door, where she began swinging the metal bed-leg with all her might against the door.
After several attempts, the door moved an inch. Grabbing the pillowcase and wrapping it around her blistering hands, Regan took up her cudgel and went back to work. The door gave further, boosting Regan with the adrenaline she needed to keep going. The door flew open under her blows. She stood face to face with a uniformed policewoman entering the room at a fast clip.
"You okay honey?" she asked Regan as she caught her breath. Nodding yes, Regan fell completely to pieces and leaned into the woman sobbing and shaking. "Shhh, it's over now. You're going to be just fine."
Besotted (Beguiling Bachelors Book 4) Page 23
