by Meg Gardiner
“Like that’s going to be in the Hummer?” Dustin said.
Gabe turned on him. “This was supposed to be a game, right? Did you bring stuff to play with?”
Kyle nodded. “I’ll look.”
“I have two knives. See if you can find any others,” Gabe said. “Maps. A compass—did you bring that? And GPS—the Hummer had a self-contained unit on the dashboard. See if by any chance it didn’t get smashed.”
Gradually, the group roused itself.
“First items—shelter and hydration. We need shelter from wind, cold, wet. Any two can kill you. Wish we could start a fire, but that would draw attention from Von and his gang.”
“What about food?” Peyton said.
“Gather it up. I hope we won’t be out here long enough to need to forage,” he said.
“Forage, like for nuts and berries? I’m allergic to everything.”
“Noted.” He panned the group. “And post a lookout. Von’s out there. Presume he can show up at any moment, with reinforcements. We’ll rotate. Kyle, will you take the first watch?”
Ritter nodded. “I can do that.”
“Safety is our number one concern,” Gabe said.
Kyle nodded, staring at Gabe with an intensity that almost sizzled.
Gabe paused. “Above all, we stay strong. We stick together. We pay attention, we hang in there. We’re going to get out of here. All of us.” He looked around at them. “Got it?”
Peyton didn’t move. Dustin nodded. Autumn said, “Got it.”
Gabe stepped into the center of the circle and held his hands out. “Got it?”
Stronger, they said: “Got it.”
Gabe turned to Jo. She said, “Let’s do it.”
They clambered over rocks to the riverbank. Jo shook dust from her clothes and hair, then crouched down and plunged her hands into the water. The cold sent an ache up her arms. She washed up and rinsed the dust and grit off her face. Gabe did too. Then they crawled back inside the Hummer. Jo took off her jacket, turned it inside out, and moved to Noah’s side. He was anxious, his eyes glossy with pain.
“This gonna hurt?” he said.
“Definitely.”
He let out a non-laugh. “I thought you’d at least lie to me.”
“It’ll be painful, but we won’t do anything that causes more damage. And reducing the fracture will be safer for you.” She put a hand on his uninjured shoulder. “It won’t take long. Then we’ll splint the leg. Can you deal with that?”
“Have to.”
“That’s the spirit.”
From the driver’s compartment, Lark called, “I found the first-aid kit.”
She scrambled through to the passenger compartment. Her face was drawn. She brushed dusty black hair back from her eyes and opened a red lunch-box-size kit.
“Band-Aids and gauze pads, iodine, athletic tape. An EpiPen for bee stings. Tylenol.”
Tylenol would do little for Noah, but Jo gave Lark a thumbs-up.
“Gloves?” she said. “Antibiotics?”
Lark squinted at the contents of the first-aid kit, tilting her head, concentrating hard. All at once, Jo wondered how poor Lark’s vision actually was.
There were no antibiotics, but the girl found latex gloves. Jo and Gabe put them on. Jo gave Noah two Tylenol. Then she packed his gunshot wound with gauze and immobilized his shoulder.
Noah’s jeans and gym sock had, thankfully, kept his leg from becoming impregnated with dirt and debris. The wound site was mercifully clean. Still, Jo opened a plastic water bottle.
She leaned over Noah. “Need to irrigate and disinfect the wound. Hold Lark’s hand.”
Noah reached up and grabbed Lark’s hand. Jo positioned herself at his knee and poured the water and then the iodine on his leg. He moaned and squirmed. She held his knee firmly and emptied the bottle.
“Done,” she said. “Now I need to put my jacket underneath your leg to keep the site clean.”
There was a huge risk of infection but this was the best they could do.
Gabe positioned himself at the boy’s feet. “Going to lift your leg so Jo can slide the jacket underneath it.”
When he put his hands underneath Noah’s calf and lifted, the young man writhed. Jo slid the jacket into place.
“Doing good. That was step one,” Gabe said. He took a distal pulse at Noah’s ankle to check for circulation. He nodded—it was good. “Now take a deep breath.”
“She already told me it’s going to hurt,” Noah said.
“Like a son of a bitch, but it’ll be over soon.”
Jo held the proximal end of his tibia—just below the knee. Gabe took hold of Noah’s ankle and foot. The grotesquely broken bones of his leg protruded through the skin.
Firmly, carefully, Gabe pulled on Noah’s lower leg. The young man went rigid. He kicked his uninjured leg, hard. Jo could hear him trying not to scream. Gabe pulled firmly and hesitated, testing, feeling his way. Then he pulled harder, and the exposed bones slid back beneath the torn skin and muscles.
“Almost there.”
Noah panted. He kicked the floor of the Hummer with his good heel. Gabe cautiously kept going until the bones seemed to realign.
“Done,” he said.
Jo looked at Noah. He was as pale as flour, and tears were leaking from his eyes. He was breathing like a fish on a dock.
“Let’s not do that again,” he said.
She touched his arm. “You did great.”
Gabe checked his distal pulse again. They splinted his leg from above the knee to below the ankle with the cardboard packaging from two cases of Heineken and a roll of athletic tape. Then they elevated the limb to reduce swelling.
Gabe said, “You’re doing good, man.”
He and Jo climbed back out the Hummer’s window. The shadows were deeper, and the wind was gusting higher. Gabe wiped his brow with the back of his hand. The back of his T-shirt was stippled with sweat, and blood.
Dustin, Autumn, and Peyton gravitated toward them, but Gabe said, “Just a minute,” and walked to the riverbank, crouched down, and washed his face.
Jo followed. Nonchalantly, she sat on a rock beside him. “That was good work.”
He nodded but didn’t look up. “We have to get these kids out of here. If Noah doesn’t get to a hospital, he’s not going to last. He needs surgery.”
And antibiotics, a blood transfusion, a warm bed, and more, Jo thought.
“You all right?” she said.
He nodded again. “Think I tore a shoulder muscle. And I sliced up my side.”
“About time you told me.”
“No point in worrying the others.”
You dumbass, she thought. You brave, stoic dumbass.
“Sit down, right now, and don’t get up.” She got the first-aid kit and came back. “Shirt. Off.”
With difficulty he pulled it over his head. A piece of metal, or broken glass, had cut a long slice up the back of his ribs. It was ragged, but not deep. Just incredibly painful.
She cleaned it, closed the wound with butterfly bandages, wrapped his ribs with gauze and strapped them with athletic tape, good and tight. Then she handed back his shirt.
“Don’t do any dancing tonight, Sergeant,” she said.
He didn’t laugh.
She gently put a hand against his heart. For a moment, emotion threatened to overwhelm her. Though she tried to stem it, he saw and wrapped his arms around her.
“Thank God you’re okay,” she said.
He held on to her. “We’re going to get out of here.”
She nodded, tightly. Hold it together. “Absolutely.” She blinked away tears and swallowed the tremor in her voice. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
He stepped back and she wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands. She exhaled. Then, lowering her voice, she said, “This situation is freakish.”
“That doesn’t begin to cover it. Was this an actual kidnapping for ransom?”
“
You have to be psychotic or a hard-core felon to risk kidnapping for ransom in America.”
After the Lindbergh kidnapping, the FBI had essentially shut down abductions for financial gain in the U.S.A. The crime was virtually obsolete.
Gabe said, “Still, the simplest explanation is most likely to be the right one.”
“Agreed. I just don’t want to discount the possibility that something less straightforward is going on.” She brushed her hair back from her face. “And I can’t let these kids get on my nerves.”
He put his hands on her shoulders. “Stay cool. They’re young and scared. And they’re not aliens. Autumn even looks like Tina.”
Jo glanced at Autumn: the jaunty Marine Corps utility cap, the gold cashmere sweater, the leather boots. Despite the straits they were in, she had an unassailable, alpha-girl air—like she was the Queen of All Prom Queens.
“Autumn is nothing like Tina.”
“But hang on to that idea. It’ll keep you from biting their heads off.”
In the distance, Kyle was watching them. “What’s the plan, Chief?”
Gabe gingerly pulled his shirt back on. “We get out of here. But first, we figure out what’s going on.”
He put an arm around Jo and walked over to the group. “How did you end up here, without even knowing your birthday party had been hijacked?”
Jo had another question. Why?
20
Ruby Ratner shuffled into the dim interior of the house, carrying the little dog under her arm. Evan followed.
The television was turned to a talk show. On a TV tray, Mrs. Ratner had a jigsaw puzzle in progress. The carpet smelled like Pepito.
The house was decorated floor to ceiling as if Mrs. Ratner had just stepped off a wagon train. On the mantel a collection of plates from the Franklin Mint memorialized Gunsmoke and Have Gun–Will Travel. Porcelain dolls were lined up on shelves around the room, like a firing squad: Paladin, Annie Oakley, Doc Holliday, the Earp brothers, the Dalton Gang. Above the mantel hung a paint-by-numbers portrait of Chuck Connors, decked out as the Rifleman. A dinner bell hung in the kitchen. Even her muumuu was gingham.
She sank onto the sofa, the dress softly pillowing, like a jellyfish. “Tell me what the fee is.”
“For the party?”
“Course, the party. Nothing’s free.”
Evan sat on a creaking Naugahyde chair. She was beginning to think she’d come on a wild goose chase. Either that or Mrs. Ratner was part of some super-kinky underground scene Phelps Wylie had secretly belonged to: Old West Swingers.
Pepito snuggled against Mrs. Ratner’s side, button-eyed and snarling.
“Hush, baby. Mama’s talking.” She peered at Evan through her cat’s-eye glasses. “Before I sign any contract, we nail down the details. Are we talking about the whole act, or just the puppet show?”
Evan didn’t know whether she was supposed to be buying or selling here. Much less what the product was. She hoped it didn’t involve sock puppets that fit over anybody’s private parts.
“What options were you considering?” she said.
“Two hours means the gunfight, the trial, and the hanging. Half a day means the entire jail setup as well as the rope tricks and the puppet show.”
“Mrs. Ratner, I have a confession.”
“Save it for the party. That’s what the gallows are for.”
What the hell kind of party? “Okay. But . . .”
“I know you just want somebody to handle odd jobs and cleanup at the venue, but you ought to seriously consider my entertainment package.”
Evan couldn’t help herself. “Does anybody?”
The woman stood up, rocking forward a few times to gain the momentum to hoist herself off the sofa. “I’ll get the flyers.”
If she came back with pictures of herself lap dancing with a pony, Evan was going to dive through the window. She’d throw the growling dog through first, to break the glass, then jump out after it.
Her phone buzzed. Checking the display, she saw it was her contact at the Santa Barbara Sheriff’s Department, Detective Lilia Rodriguez. She answered quietly, one eye on the hallway where Mrs. Ratner had disappeared.
“Evan, what have you gotten yourself into?” Lily said.
“Nothing but investigative journalism. Why?”
“Ruby Ratner. There’s a long jacket on this one.”
Evan’s stomach dropped. “Tell me.”
“Assault, armed robbery, grand theft auto,” Lily said. “By the time we get to the conviction for mayhem, we’re talking about real prison time.”
“Mayhem?” It was a common-law felony, generally involving physical mutilation or torture. “We’re talking about Mrs. Ruby Ratner of San Francisco. Lady’s about sixty, walks like she’s got arthritis.”
“No. We’re talking about Ruby Junior.”
“Who’s that?” Evan glanced at the dog. Pepito stared at her like an attack mop.
Lily said, “Mrs. Ratner Senior is the mother of the guy I’m talking about.”
“Guy?”
“Yeah. Ruben. Nicknamed Ruby Ratner, Junior.” Lily rattled off the phone number Evan had given her, along with the address. It was the same one.
“I’m at the house,” Evan said. “Quick, tell me about the son.”
“Ruben Ratner, age thirty-three, white, five foot eight, one-forty. Ex-con. He’s on parole for his last prison stint.”
“Parole since when?”
Mrs. Ratner shuffled back with some cheap flyers. “Who are you talking to?”
Evan tried to smile. She reached for the flyers. Mrs. Ratner held on to them.
Evan tugged harder. “Thanks.” She pulled them from Mrs. Ratner’s hand. “Sorry, got a call from a friend.”
“What did I hear you say about parole?”
Evan kept the phone line open. “It was nothing.”
The woman adjusted her cat’s-eye glasses. She lifted her nose to get a better look at Evan. “Who are you?”
“Mrs. Ratner, I think you’re under a mistaken impression.”
“You a cop?”
“No.”
“You got a warrant?”
“I’m not a cop.”
“Then get out of my house.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She was already moving toward the door. Her skin goose-bumped. She looked back, and saw Mrs. Ratner reach into a gingham pocket. She came out with a pearl-handled revolver. It didn’t look like a prop from Hang ’Em High.
“Off my property now.” Mrs. Ratner whistled. “Pepito, Mama needs help.”
Evan slammed open the screen door and was down the front steps and out the gate, past the insanely spinning plastic windmills, before Pepito could launch his stubby legs off the sofa. She ran to her Mustang, got in, stabbed the keys at the ignition a few times before she got it started, and over-revved it down the street. In the mirror she saw the little dog rush after her, yapping.
She didn’t stop until she was a mile down the road. She pulled over and picked up her phone again.
“Lily?”
“Not involved in anything?” Rodriguez said. “What just happened?”
“I think I’m on to something.”
“Yeah, Ruben Ratner. He’s seriously bad news.”
Evan looked at the flyers crumpled in her hand. “So where is he?”
21
Peyton bit her thumbnail. “Everything seemed normal, until the shooting started.”
Autumn crossed her arms. “Not exactly. The plan was changed a couple of hours before the game began.” She glanced at Kyle. “Right?”
“That’s right,” Kyle said. “I was supposed to show up at Candlestick Point with the rest of the game runners. Instead I got the call to pick you up.”
“Why you?” Jo said.
He considered it. “Because Coates had to get the speedboat. And because I have a commercial driver’s license.”
Jo looked at Autumn. “Who are you guys? Why are these hijackers after you?
What’s their goal? Because it sounds like they planned this very thoroughly.”
Kyle kicked pebbles with the toe of his boot. “Her daddy’s got megabucks.”
Autumn glared at him, and her eyes seemed to brighten with pain and alarm.
Gabe said, “Anybody else here have deep pockets kidnappers can empty?”
Autumn said, “My dad’s a hedge fund manager. Dustin’s dad is a lobbyist in Washington.”
“Excuse me for being intrusive, but how rich? How powerful?” Gabe said.
Autumn’s shoulders rose.
“I’ve served in countries where kidnapping is the equivalent of grabbing cash from an ATM without having to wait in line. But in America, generally you need at least eight digits in your bank account before a kidnapper will think it’s worth risking the federal prison time. So?”
“My dad arranged this weekend. He’s done Edge Adventures scenarios himself. Everybody knows he loves this stuff. It’s because of him.”
She looked around at her friends. Her eyes were shimmering. Then she turned away and hid her face, staring at the river.
“So what’s the kidnappers’ plan?” Gabe said. “Grab you, stash you in a barn up in the back of beyond until your dad ponies up the cash?”
Peyton hugged herself. “Who cares? Somebody has to climb back up to the road and flag down a car.”
Jo looked up the side of the gorge. “Not that way.”
“Why not?”
“Retracing the fall line’s too steep and slippery. And, like Kyle said, Von’s up there and his partners are coming,” Jo said. “We do need to contact help. But we have to do it safely.”
Peyton wiped her nose. “But somebody’s going to be looking for us, right?”
Gabe turned, a tight expression on his face. “The wrong people.”
Peyton made a no, stupid face. “The police. Forest rangers.”
Dustin said, “How come you think that?”
“The guys who picked us up from the beach in San Francisco weren’t the real Edge Adventures guys.” She looked at Kyle. “Right?”
“I never seen them before,” he said.
