As far as distractions went, that worked. He told her, and she nodded and made what she hoped were the appropriate responses as she turned, not toward home but toward the expressway. He would see they weren’t headed home soon and ask. . . .
Twilight had fallen, and her automatic headlights were now on. The twin beams arced over a stand of near-leafless trees, a closed-up-tight metal garage, and an empty lot as they left the residential neighborhood behind. Stopping at the stop sign just before the ramp to the expressway, she saw that it was ten minutes past six o’clock. Tom would be getting impatient by now. He probably wasn’t too worried about her yet, but he soon would be.
Oh, God, she didn’t want to leave. Her heart felt like a giant hand was squeezing it dry.
“Who’s that?” Ben gasped, startling her out of her reverie.
It was the only warning she received before the window behind her smashed with a boom. Little beads of glass hit her in the back of the head as she jumped and her head whipped around toward the sound.
“Mom!” Ben screamed in terror.
With a single all-encompassing glance, she saw that his window had been broken out and someone—a man, dressed in black, black gloves, black coat—had an arm in the opening, reaching down to open his door.
“No!” she screamed.
A car squealed to a halt in front of her, blocking them in, blocking her from stomping the gas and rocketing away. A man jumped out of the car, but all she saw of him was a blur as she turned in her seat, frantically seeking another way out. Behind her a second vehicle slammed on its brakes, stopping her from going in reverse. Screaming, shoving the transmission into park, adrenaline exploding like a bomb inside her, Kate surged partway through the opening between the front seats to grab her son, to keep him inside the car, to fight off the man who had wrenched the door open and, impossibly, unbelievably, was yanking Ben out.
“Let him go!”
“Mom!”
She couldn’t hold him. His blue jacket was satiny, slippery.
“Ben!” she shrieked as he was pulled from her grasp, then turned and catapulted from the car through the driver’s door to go to his rescue. “Help! Help!”
But they were alone at the stop sign, and it was almost dark, and the world was gray and full of shadows so no one could see, even if there had been anyone nearby. But there wasn’t, this particular spot was light industrial, with small businesses in warehouses and pole buildings that seemed to be deserted. No cars in the gravel parking lots, no cars on the street . . .
There is no help.
“Mom! Mom! ”
“Let him go!”
Even as she threw herself after him, something slammed hard into the back of her head. The pain was blinding. Kate dropped to her knees and saw stars, and no doubt would have blacked out had she not been so riveted on saving her son. As the world swam around her, her eyes never left him. Kicking and fighting for all he was worth, Ben was being carried away, screaming, in the grip of a large man in black with a ski mask over his face.
Toward the white panel van that was blocking in the Camry from behind.
“Mom!”
“Ben!” It was a choked cry uttered as she struggled to get to her feet.
She didn’t even see the man who punched her in the stomach until the blow landed. It felt like a train ramming into her just below her belly button. Folding forward, sick with pain, her breath exploding from her body, she collapsed to her knees again and at the same time caught a glimpse of her attacker—but only as a quickly moving shape. Then he was behind her, grabbing her around the neck in a choke hold as she held her midsection and gasped for breath.
“You shouldn’t’ve tried to run,” he said, as he yanked her upright. It was the same man as before, the voice from the restroom and the SUV.
“Mom!” Ben’s terrified voice pierced her like a spear.
“Mom! Mom!”
Hauled to her feet, shaking, her knees barely able to support her weight, Kate gagged and choked and fought, straining against the arms locked around her neck and waist as Ben, screaming, was thrust into the back of the van. The door rattled shut.
Ben.
But she screamed it only inside her head, because the arm around her throat was now too tight for any cries to escape.
Ben, she screamed silently again as the van reversed and then, with a squeal of tires, shot forward again, driving around them, disappearing into the dark.
“Ms. White, you need to listen closely,” the man holding her said. “You didn’t do what we told you once already, and now, see, you’ve put your son in danger. Tonight and tomorrow, you act normal, like nothing’s wrong. Tomorrow night, you go to that fund-raiser and you wait for us to call you and you do what we say.” He paused, and his arm around her neck loosened just enough so that she could suck in air. “You do that, you get your son back. You go to the cops or anybody with this, or you don’t answer the phone, or you don’t do what we tell you when we call, and your boy’s dead. You understand?”
“Ben,” Kate choked out, her eyes straining desperately in the direction the van had taken.
“You understand?” His arm forced her head up.
“Yes. Yes.”
He let go. Her knees gave way, and she collapsed onto the ground.
Chapter 29
THEY WOULD KILL HIM. The fear filled Kate with an icy dread, causing her heart to pound in slow, sickening strokes, making her pull over twice to vomit during the short drive back to her house. She was deathly afraid she knew how these people worked: Now that they had Ben, they would kill him no matter what she did. Oh, God, would they even wait until tomorrow? Or was he already . . .
She went dizzy at the thought.
Stop, she ordered herself fiercely as her mind reeled from visions of her terrified little boy being hurt, being . . .
Shuddering, she had to force the hideous images away. If Ben was to have any chance at all, she had to get and keep a clear head.
Dear God, please keep him safe.
As she pulled into her garage, she felt a wave of nausea so strong that she nearly didn’t make it into the house in time.
I shouldn’t have waited. I should have left yesterday, or the day before. . . .
She’d stayed to get more money. She’d stayed because she hated to leave. She’d stayed for Tom.
Tom.
The thought of him steadied her. There was someone she could run screaming to, someone she could turn to for help, someone on her side, after all.
You go to the cops or anybody with this . . . and your boy’s dead.
He was dead if she didn’t: She was convinced of it.
I have to be careful. They might be watching.
Okay. Make this look real. I’m home, doing exactly what they want.
Quickly, she went through the downstairs, closing the curtains, making sure the panels met at the center so that no one could see inside, turning on lights as she went. She went up to her bedroom—she couldn’t even look at Ben’s open door without tears streaming from her eyes—and closed those curtains and turned on that light, too. Then she called Tom.
“Where the hell are you?” he exploded at her over the phone when she said his name. “Damn it, Kate—”
“Tom, listen.”
He must have heard the distress in her voice, because he broke off in midtirade.
“What’s wrong?”
She took a deep breath. The idea that they were watching, listening, with eyes and ears everywhere, unnerved her. If she thought that by doing what they wanted tomorrow, they would release Ben unharmed, she would have done anything. But she didn’t. And so this was the only choice she could make.
Making it terrified her.
“Something’s happened.” Her voice sounded raspy to her own ears.
She heard him inhale. “I’m on my way.”
“No! No.” She tried to think. “Don’t come to the house. Go to the corner of Spruce and Mulberry”—two blocks away—“and w
ait for me there.”
“What the hell?”
“Tom, please. How long will it take you to get there?”
“Fifteen minutes, max.”
“Park. Stay in the car. I’ll come to you.”
“Jesus, Kate, what the hell is going on?”
“I’ll tell you when I see you,” she said, and disconnected.
She was already wearing her black pantsuit and flats, which was good because she wanted to blend into the night. She went out to the car to retrieve her black coat, doing her best not to look at Ben’s things that lay beneath as she uncovered them. Putting on the coat, buttoning it up to her neck, she wrapped the gray wool scarf around her head to hide her bright hair. Then she turned on the TV in the living room, just to make it look even more like she was still home in case anyone was watching and could tell about things like whether or not the TV was on. Then she went into the kitchen. Turning off the kitchen light, she waited a moment. Then, taking a deep breath, she opened the door and slipped outside into the dark.
There was a full moon, but it was still low in the sky and pasty white, and the light it gave off was faint. The night was cold and breezy, which was good because it helped clear her head. Heart pounding, casting furtive glances everywhere, keeping to the deepest of the shadows, she made her way to the intersection, watching for Tom, keeping carefully out of sight. Tom pulled up just a few minutes after she got there. Before he had time to park, she ran across the sidewalk and tapped smartly on the passenger window. The door unlocked with an audible click, and she slipped into his car.
The brief illumination of the interior light terrified her. What if they were nearby and saw her in Tom’s car? Her heart pounded. Her pulse raced. She glanced desperately all around. If they saw her they would kill Ben—but who would be watching here?
Please, God, let no one be watching here.
“What the hell is going on with you?”
The light faded. Kate sank down in the seat, wrapping her arms around herself, shivering, feeling as if all her bones had turned to jelly.
“Don’t sit here. Drive. Get us out of this neighborhood.” She sucked in air as, without asking any more questions, he did as she said. The car turned the corner, heading toward the entrance to the subdivision. “Oh my God, Tom, they took Ben.”
“What?” He stood on the brakes.
“Keep driving.” She was frantic. “If they see—”
“Who? If who sees? Who took Ben?” But the Taurus was once again moving. His hands were clamped tightly around the wheel. His face had gone hard and tense. But his voice had gone the other way, maximum calm and cool, and she was instantly reminded of the cop who had tried to talk Rodriguez down in courtroom 207.
“I don’t know.” Her voice was unsteady. “Mob, I think.
Or maybe—I don’t know. Everything you suspected about me—it’s true. I have been lying. About all of it. I . . . They said they’d kill him if I went to the police or anybody. But I think they’ll kill him anyway. You have to help me figure out what to do.”
She was shaking so hard her teeth chattered by the time she finished.
“O-kay.” She heard him exhale. “When did they take Ben?”
His steady self-control helped her get hold of herself. She couldn’t lose it. Ben’s life was at stake.
“Half an hour ago, maybe.”
“Where did this happen?”
“At the entrance to the Perrys’ subdivision. I was at a stop sign, getting ready to turn onto the expressway, and . . . they dragged him out of my car.” Her stomach twisted. Tears stung her eyes.
“Who dragged him out of your car?”
“I told you, I don’t know. I saw two men—they were wearing ski masks. One hit me, one grabbed Ben. There had to be more, though, in the van and the car.”
Tom swore under his breath. But when he spoke again, it was in that same controlled voice. “Can you give me any more of a description of the vehicles than that? It helps a lot to be specific when you’re putting out an APB.”
“It was a white van, a paneled van like workers use.
And a dark car. A sedan. Four-door.” Then it hit her, and terror shot through her. “You can’t put out an APB. They told me not to call the police. They told me to go home and act like nothing had happened. I turned on the lights and the TV so they’ll think I’m still in there.” She took a deep breath. “They want me to do something for them. Tomorrow night at that fund-raiser for Jim Wolff. They said they would call and tell me what it is they want me to do once I was there. And if I do it they’ll let Ben go, and if I don’t they’ll kill him.”
“Jesus.” For a moment, naked emotion came through in his voice. Then Tom cut his eyes at her. “Kate, listen: I need to put an APB out on those vehicles right now.” The steadiness was back. “And I need to call Rick Stuart on the Major Case Squad—they’ve got the expertise in kidnapping. And I need to call Mac Willets at the
FBI.”
“No.” Kate rocked back and forth in her seat, staring unseeingly out at the dark streets surrounding them. Panic rose like bile in her throat. “You can’t. They’ve been following me. They know things about me. What if they’re listening to police scanners to see if I called the police? What if one of them’s a cop?”
Tom was silent for a beat.
“You’re being paranoid.”
“No,” Kate said. “No, I’m not. You don’t know.”
“All right. Then you need to tell me.” He seemed to think for a moment. “We’re going to my place, and you’re going to tell me the whole thing, and then we’ll decide what’s best to do.”
Kate didn’t object. It was the closest to a plan she could come up with.
He made a right, and a few minutes later they were on the expressway. Fifteen minutes after that, they were walking into his living room, having, at Kate’s insistence, parked on a side street and entered through the back door.
In case someone knew that she’d been seeing Tom and was watching his place, too.
“Damn it to hell and back anyway,” he said when he flipped on the light and got his first good look at her. “Are you hurt? You said they hit you. Where?”
Kate had no idea what she looked like, but it was easy to guess that it was bad. She was shivering and sweating and nauseated and light-headed all at the same time. Her head ached and her stomach churned. Her eyes felt swollen and grainy. Her lips and mouth were dry. She had no doubt she was deathly pale.
“It doesn’t matter.” Her eyes met his. Her voice shook. “I’m so scared they’ll hurt Ben.”
“Yeah, I know.” He pulled her into his arms without another word, holding her tightly, offering her wordless comfort. Kate wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her face into his chest and breathed in the familiar scent of him. He was wearing his gray corduroy jacket. It felt cool and soft against her cheek. Beneath it she could feel the solid shape of his shoulder holster and the sturdy warmth of his body. If she hadn’t had him to turn to, she didn’t know what she would have done. He was so solid, so strong, and she trusted him absolutely, something she had rarely done before in her life. But she allowed herself only a moment of weakness before she pulled out of his embrace.
He let her go.
Clasping her hands together, she looked at him anxiously. “I need to tell you what happened. We need to decide what to do.”
“You’re not hurt anywhere? You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Then start talking.” He unwound the scarf from her hair, then undid the two buttons that fastened her coat.
She slid out of it, and he threw it and her scarf over a small rocking chair beside the fireplace. “Sit down first. You look like you’re going to pass out.”
She felt like it, too, and so she sank down on the couch and drank the Jack Daniel’s and Coke—heavy on the Jack—he brought her and quickly told him the whole story: her early history with Mario; David Brady’s murder; Mario’s recognition of her in th
e secure corridor and his subsequent shooting of Rodriguez and attempt to blackmail her into getting him out of jail; the visits to her house by Mario’s henchmen, which Tom fortunately had interrupted; that it was Mario in the back of her car and that he had been taking her to meet his “friends” when she escaped; about her decision to deal with (okay, kill) Mario on her own and how she had called Mario to set up a meeting at her house and how she had thought the whole nightmare was finally, blessedly, over when he had wound up dead in her garage, courtesy of someone else. Then she told him about being snatched off the street by Mario’s “friends,” and how they had threatened her and told her she was going to do them a favor or else, and about the man who had followed her into the ladies’ room at the Criminal Justice Center earlier that day. And finally she told him about Ben being snatched away.
By the time she finished, tears brimmed in her eyes, and she closed them to try to keep them from spilling over. But she could feel them seeping out, trickling down her cheeks, sliding hot and wet over her skin.
“Hey,” he said. He’d been standing over her, his face hardening, as he listened intently to every word. Now he took the nearly empty glass from her hand, and as she opened her eyes in response she saw him set it on the table/box beside the couch. He still had his cop face on, but as she looked up at him and their eyes met, his expression softened slightly. He bent, scooping her up in his arms, and sat down in the shabby green armchair next to the couch with her in his lap. “Don’t cry. It’s going to be okay.”
“It doesn’t matter about me.” Her voice was fierce as she tightened her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed and shook and let her tears soak into his jacket. “It’s Ben. We’ve got to find Ben.”
“We’ll find him.” His voice was soothing. His arms around her were comforting and strong. “It sounds like we’ve got some time. Whoever took him would be stupid to hurt him before they’ve got what they want out of you.” His hand was on her nape, long-fingered and warm, and then it gently burrowed beneath her hair. In the course of her narrative, Kate had told him how they had hit her in the back of the head, and now she winced as he found the bump. “How bad does that hurt?”
Guilty Page 34
