“He wants,” I pointed out, “for you to know it’s him.” A thought struck me. “Has he been here?”
She shook her head. “That’s the weird part, or one of the weird parts. All I’ve seen are these guys in black.”
“Have you seen their faces?” I asked.
“Ski masks,” she replied. “They all wear exactly the same clothes, black jeans and black turtleneck sweaters, and they all wear the same black ski masks.”
Brenda seemed to perk up. “I think that’s a good sign,” she said. “Because I saw in a movie once that if the kidnappers can hide their identities from the victim they don’t have to—Oh!”
“Uh huh,” Cece finished for her. “They don’t have to kill you.”
I decided not to dwell on that line of conversation. “How many of them are there? The guys in black?”
“I don’t know for sure. They come in two at a time, every time, but sometimes I can hear others when the two are here. They only come in twice a day, with breakfast and dinner. They never speak. The couple of times they wanted to tell me something they just handed me a sheet of white paper with a message typed on it.”
“What did they say?”
“The first message was on the first day. They’d tied me up like this when they’d brought me in, and the message said I could be released if I behaved myself. After that I had the run of the place. Of course I spent the first few hours trying to find a way out.” She shrugged. “But no such luck. After that I just watched movies and played solitaire. The note said all I had to do was sit on the couch with my hands on my knees when they came in the room.”
“And you did it?”
“Would you do it if someone offered to untie you right now?”
I would.
“What were the other messages?” Brenda asked.
“Just one, yesterday. It said I should be patient and soon I’d be rescued.”
“Rescued? Why would they say that? Why wouldn’t they say you’d be released?” Yesterday would have been the day they spoke with Harry. “Harry agreed to the ransom, so I don’t get it.” I looked at the two of them, Brenda’s face just as clueless as mine, and Cece’s suddenly curious.
“Speaking of which,” she asked, “what’s a wayward daughter going for these days?”
“Six hundred thousand.” I spoke without thinking, still puzzling over the wording of the second note.
“Six hundred? That’s a fucking insult!”
I tuned her out. Why would the note from Tom Nelson have told Cece she’d be rescued? The implication was that he had no intention of setting her free in return for the ransom. Was he going to ask for more? Did he think that asking for more would provoke a rescue attempt? He seemed to think a rescue attempt was a foregone conclusion, which was ridiculous considering the small amount of ransom he’d asked for. Of course Harry would pay. Harry wouldn’t even miss an amount like that.
“Harry wouldn’t even miss six hundred thousand!” I realized Cece was still speaking, heading into a full-blown rant. “I mean, do the goddamn math!” She was addressing Brenda. “If there are four guys in black, and there have to be at least that, but just say four guys in black, plus Tom makes five, that’s only a hundred and twenty thousand each. And that’s before expenses. I mean, you don’t just find a room like this, you have to put it together. So, say they went to garage sales or something, it still adds up. And where the hell are we? Someplace with enough property that they don’t worry about the neighbors, right?” Brenda nodded quickly. “So that’s rent, and probably a lease, because what kind of place rents by the month? I mean—” She realized I was listening and turned to me furiously. “Why the hell bother? For that amount of money, what’s the fucking point?”
“What if—” I began, but three sharp raps at the door caused us all to jump. The door opened and two black-clad men stepped in. They were exactly as Cece had described—black jeans, black turtlenecks, black ski masks. One was holding a sheet of white typing paper. They advanced into the room together and stood side by side. Their features were hidden and their builds were similarly tall and athletic. I could see why Cece had a hard time telling how many there were. The one on the left, without the sheet of paper, was a little taller, but that was the only noticeable difference. He closed the door behind them.
The man with the paper took the first step forward. He was headed for Cece, and, although my first reaction had been relief that Jack wasn’t being brought in as another prisoner, that was quickly replaced with an overwhelming curiosity about what the message would say.
Before I quite realized what was happening, the second man made a swift smooth gesture and the man with the paper sank silently to the floor. Brenda let out a short yelp and the second man, who was crouching over the first, looked up at her quickly with his finger to his lips. Then he looked at me and, I swear, winked.
What the hell— “Jack!” I whispered urgently. “Is that you?”
He was busy cutting through the tape that bound Cece’s wrists and ankles. Then he did the same for Brenda. They rubbed their wrists and looked dazed as he stood to face me. “Hi, Pumpkin,” he said through the mask. “You ready to go?”
Chapter 11
“What the hell—” I stammered as Jack cut my hands and ankles free. “How the hell—”
He pulled his mask up, kissed me quickly, then pulled it down again. “We’ll talk later, okay?” He turned to Brenda. “Nice to see you again.”
She nodded blankly. “Hi, Jack.”
“And you must be Cece.” My cousin had been eyeing the man on the floor with loathing. She looked up when Jack said her name.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
“Nice to meet you, too. Are we ready?” He looked at the three of us. “Nobody’s hurt? You can run if you have to?”
“We’re fine,” I said.
“Okay. Here’s the plan. I’ll lead the way and you follow me closely. As far as I can tell there’s a force of five tonight.” He looked to Cece for confirmation, but she was focused on the fallen man again. He went on. “So with this one down and the one I took out to get this,” he gestured to his clothes, “that leaves three more we need to worry about.”
What the hell did he mean, the one he “took out”?
“I heard two of them playing a video game in another part of the house, so they should still be occupied. If we’re lucky the third will be calling in to report on the mission, so we should be able to get out of here all right.” He pulled a gun from the small of his back and made a deft one-handed movement that caused metallic snapping-into-place sounds.
“I’ll go first, up the stairs as far as the kitchen door. If I don’t see anyone there, you follow me. We go straight through the kitchen and out the back door, then straight to the van in the driveway. The keys are in the ignition. Everybody clear?”
Brenda and I nodded mutely. “Cece!” Jack said sharply. “Do you understand?”
She looked at Jack, looked back at the man on the floor, then at Jack again. Then she viciously kicked the bound man in the head. “I’m ready.”
Jack nodded and went to the door. He gestured that we should all line up along the wall behind him. I stood closest to him, then Cece, and Brenda brought up the rear. Jack stood with his back to the wall, holding the gun in both hands at chest level. Then he spun quickly and opened the door, pointing the gun. He looked at us and nodded. All clear. We heard him mount the stairs swiftly. I peeked out when I heard the door to the kitchen open. He turned back and waved us on.
We got up the stairs as quickly and silently as we could. The kitchen was lit up like a football stadium, and open space stretched for about a mile to the back door.
While we waited, Jack stood beside the hall doorway in the same commando stance he’d used downstairs. Again he spun quickly to see what lurked beyond, and again he turned and waved us forward. “Go!” he hissed. We went.
At the other end of the kitchen, I peeked out the door. I didn’t s
ee anyone on the driveway. “It’s clear,” I whispered to Jack, who was still guarding the hall.
“Run!”
I could have sworn my feet never touched the ground, but I heard the crunch of the gravel so I knew that couldn’t be true. Cece stumbled and fell halfway down the drive. Brenda and I picked her up and half-dragged her the rest of the way. She mumbled “Weaker than I thought,” and we both hissed “Shut up!” I looked back and saw Jack silhouetted in the kitchen doorway, gun drawn.
We had almost made it to the van when I heard the first shout from the house.
“Get in!” Jack called, sprinting toward us. We piled in the driver’s-side door. I went first, then pulled Cece in behind me while Brenda pushed from behind. Jack spun and crouched in the shadow of the van, gun pointed at the kitchen door. He shouted over his shoulder, “Start the car!”
Brenda was in the driver’s seat. She looked wildly at me. “Do it!” I yelled, and she fumbled to find the key in the ignition.
Then the shooting started.
I screamed, and Brenda screamed, and I threw myself across her trying to get to Jack. She pushed me off, still screaming, but finally managed to get the van started.
Cece, in the back of the van, seemed to snap into focus with the sound of the first shot. When a bullet hit the van Brenda and I screamed again, but Cece yelled “Shut the fuck up!” and pulled open the heavy sliding cargo door.
I vaulted into the back of the van, calling for Jack, who I could now see was still firing from his position by the rear wheel. He turned around, yelling “Go!” and dove for the door opening.
Brenda hit the gas with Jack’s legs still dangling outside, and Cece and I hauled him in just before the van made a sharp turn onto the main road that could have sent us all flying out.
I lay on the floor of the van with Jack on top of me, both of us gasping for air, as Cece dragged the big door shut. The sudden quiet was deafening.
“Is everybody okay?” Brenda called from up front. “Is anybody hurt?”
“We’re fine,” I yelled. “Cece, find a light or something.”
She felt along the ceiling until she found a switch. The rear of the van was suddenly brightly illuminated.
“Pumpkin,” Jack said from on top of me, “I think I’m going to need a little help here.”
I looked down, saw the blood, and screamed.
***
My scream set Brenda off again, and this time Cece joined in. Over us all, Jack shouted “Calm down! Just calm down!” but it took us a while.
Brenda pulled off the road. “Why are you stopping?” Jack yelled. “Don’t stop! Keep going!”
“You’re hurt,” she shouted. “And besides—” she looked in the rearview mirror— “I don’t think anyone’s following us.”
“Still, keep going.” Jack struggled to sit up.
“Stay where you are,” I told him, wiggling out from under him and making him lie flat on the floor. “Where are you hurt? How bad is it?”
He managed a rakish grin. “Just a flesh wound, baby.” Then his eyes fluttered closed. “I’ve always wanted to say that.”
“Brenda, get us to a hospital,” I ordered. “Where’s the nearest one?”
“No!” Jack’s eyes flew open. “No hospital. They have to report gunshot wounds.”
“Which is what you have, which is why we’re going to a hospital.”
He leaned on his right elbow and managed to get himself to an upright position. “Charley, no hospital. It just grazed my shoulder. I’ll be fine. Brenda,” he said with raised voice, “how fast can you get us to Harry’s place in Hillsborough?”
She looked from me to Jack, then turned and put the van in gear. “Fast.”
“Don’t get arrested,” Jack warned. “Just get us there, okay?”
“Okay,” she said grimly.
Cece and I helped Jack to a fairly comfortable position leaning against the side of the van. Then I tore the black sweater from around his neck, using the bullet hole as a starting point. There was a lot of blood.
“Jack,” I said softly. “Please let us take you to a hospital.”
“It looks worse than it is,” he said. “Just make a compress for now to slow down the bleeding.” He closed his eyes.
I looked around for something to make a compress from, then settled for pulling my shirt off and tearing it into pieces. I ripped the sleeves off, then folded the rest into a large bandage, and used the sleeves to tie it around Jack’s arm and hold it in place. The wound was on his left shoulder, about three inches from his neck. I tried not to think about what would have happened if it had been a little further down or to the right.
“Hey,” Jack said, eyeing my bra as I tightened the bandage. “What are you trying to do? Give me something to live for?”
“I swear to God if you keep joking about it I’ll kill you myself,” I told him.
“Toll plaza!” Cece called from the passenger seat. “I need to turn off the inside lights if we don’t want questions.”
I nodded and she flipped off the light. Outside, we could see the beginnings of sunrise on the city.
We made the rest of the trip in silence. I wedged my body between Jack’s and the cold steel side of the van, and held on to him until we got to Harry’s.
Chapter 12
We made it to Hillsborough as the neighborhood was waking up. Papers were being delivered, landscapers were unloading equipment from battered pickup trucks, nannies were putting executive children into Volvo station wagons. It all seemed so normal. Except for us.
Brenda had begun to cry quietly as she turned onto Harry’s street, brushing her tears away angrily. Cece, who had been alternating between silent stupor and manic fidgeting for most of the trip, now kicked the fidgeting up a notch. By the time we turned onto the drive she was simultaneously biting her nails, tapping her feet, twitching, and humming tunelessly.
I held on to my bleeding husband.
“See? We made it. No problem,” he winced as the van lurched one last time before stopping. “Thanks, Brenda.”
She turned back to look at us, blinking back tears. “I’m sorry,” she said, gesturing helplessly to her face. “I can’t stop.”
“Well, stop,” Cece snapped. “We’re here, right? And everything’s fine, right? So cut it out.” She fumbled with the door handle, couldn’t open it, so settled for slamming her fist against the window.
“It’s okay,” Brenda said softly, and reached over to unlock the door. “It’s okay.”
Harry chose that moment to explode out the front door, running down the stairs and sprinting across the lawn yelling “Where is she? Is she all right?”
Cece squared her shoulders and took a deep breath, then hopped out of the van. “Hey, Pop,” she called with complete nonchalance.
Harry nearly knocked her over, throwing his arms around her and repeating “Thank God, thank God, thank God.” He just rocked her for a moment, then seemed to remember there were other people present. He pushed his daughter away, demanding “Are you all right? Did those bastards hurt you? If they did anything to you I’ll—”
“I’m fine, Harry,” Cece said. “Nothing a triple espresso can’t fix.” Harry clasped her closely again, and she submitted, but only for a moment. She pulled away, jerking her head in the direction of the van. “I think the new hubby is the one you need to be worried about.”
Harry looked up in panic as Brenda pulled the van door open, revealing Jack and his sodden bandage, me, shirtless, trying to help him up, and a whole lot of blood. “Goddamn!” he yelled.
“Not as bad as it looks, I’m sure,” said the calm voice of Gordon, who had materialized behind Harry with a blanket in his arms. He hopped lightly into the van and touched Jack gently on his wounded shoulder. “All right?” he asked.
“Never better.” Jack allowed his uninjured arm to be draped across Gordon’s shoulders. “What’s for breakfast?”
Gordon handed the blanket to me, averting his eyes from my
bra. “We wouldn’t want the neighbors to talk,” he said, and helped Jack out of the van.
“What the hell happened?” Harry demanded. Then, registering the fact that Brenda and I were present, “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Perhaps,” suggested Gordon, “we might better have that dis cussion indoors?”
“Absolutely,” agreed Jack.
“Well— What— Right!” Harry sputtered. “Yes, first things first, let’s get you taken care of.” He put his arm around Cece and followed Jack and Gordon up the path to the house. I opened the blanket for Brenda to come in with me, and we followed.
***
Gordon deposited Jack on one of the sofas in the great room and hurried off for bandages. He returned in seconds pushing a cart containing a variety of surgical-looking stainless steel instruments laid out precisely on clean cloths, along with a collection of medicinal bottles, cotton swabs, bandages, and white tape. Jack looked from the trolley to Gordon’s face and back to the trolley again.
“I thought some preparation for this possibility might not be inappropriate,” Gordon explained.
“Certainly not,” Jack agreed.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” I asked the chef, as he picked up a small, sharp pair of scissors.
“I have had some medical training, yes,” he replied, snipping at the makeshift compress that used to be my DKNY long sleeve silk tee.
“Then have at it.” Jack leaned his head back on the cushion and closed his eyes.
“Shouldn’t we call a doctor?” Harry asked doubtfully.
“No,” said a voice from across the room.
Jack opened his eyes and turned toward the stranger. “Hey, Mike.”
Mike? Computer guy Mike? He stood silhouetted in the doorway, but I saw it was the same guy who’d surprised me, in a rather similar state of undress, in my hotel room a few days ago.
“Mike,” I said, realization dawning. “You were driving the Lexus.”
Speak Now Page 11
