“Hey,” the driver yelled, “they got a bomb in my cab. Call the cops, will ya?”
“Shut the hell up.” I smacked my hand on the top of the front seat.
“A bomb?” the kidnapper said, barely able to contain himself. “You two are quite creative.”
“We don’t really have a bomb,” I said to the driver. “But a little boy will be killed if you don’t keep driving.”
“Fuckin’ A?”
His eyes caught mine through the rearview, and I nodded.
“Are you finished?” Without waiting for a response, the kidnapper continued. “Now that we’ve adequately separated you from the cops, we can now get down to business.”
“Please, yes. I’m ready,” William said eagerly.
“Tell your cabbie to go west on Travis.”
The driver jerked the wheel hard left, sending William into me. Tires screeched, the back end fishtailed.
“What are you doing?” I asked the cabbie as I pushed William off of me.
“I would have missed the turn. You said a kid’s life is on the line, right?”
“Yep.”
He gunned the accelerator, and we weaved in and out of traffic.
“What’s going on?” the kidnapper yelled.
“The driver’s speeding,” I said.
“Tell him to slow his ass down,” the voice over the phone said. “We don’t want to attract any attention.”
“Hey.” I smacked the top of the seat and signaled for the cabbie to slow down. He dropped down to about twenty-five miles per hour, and the engine noise became quieter. I noticed a sign on his sun visor. It was a picture of the driver. His name was Antonio.
“He slowed down,” William said. “Now what? Where are we going to meet and swap the money for Drew?”
“You’ll know in due time, old man.”
“But I want to know now, dammit!” William trembled with intensity, his knuckles white from gripping the phone.
I put my hand on his arm. “William, it’s okay. Please keep it together. For Drew.”
He hissed out breaths as tears welled up. He was crumbling before my eyes.
“Listen to the lady, old man,” the kidnapper said. “Keep your shit together. I don’t deal with hotheads.”
William wiped his hand across his face. Then, as his breathing came under control, he blinked repeatedly. I whispered, “Are you okay?” at the same time Antonio said, “Everything okay back there?”
“I’m fine.” William took a hard swallow. “Where do we go now?”
I looked out the window and noticed we’d passed over the River Walk.
“Gramps is back in the game. I like it.” The kidnapper chuckled. “Take a left on Flores.”
I tapped Antonio on the shoulder. “I heard him,” he said.
“But where are we going?” William was agitated again.
“You’ll know when I want you to know, so shut the hell up.”
The cabbie went south on Flores, and for a few seconds, we coasted without any conversation. I grabbed my phone out of my pocket and thumbed a quick text to Stan.
Heading south on Flores in cab.
I looked up ahead and wondered where he wanted us to go. A steeple arched above other buildings a block ahead of us. San Fernando Cathedral, if memory served me correctly. Did this guy have some kind of religious fascination?
“You should be coming up on Commerce. Go right,” the kidnapper said.
Antonio flipped on a blinker and then executed the turn. We passed City Hall on the left as Antonio reduced his speed even more. He looked in the rearview mirror, holding up his arms. He was waiting to hear more instructions. We drove by the Spanish Governor’s Palace and an open parking lot, and then we crossed Laredo. A Goodwill building was on the left, a strip mall on the right.
Up ahead I could see the green foliage of a park. Ever since I’d been kidnapped from a park—even though it had been in the middle of the night—a strange unease washed over me every time I got near one.
We were held up at a red light for a minute, then crossed over Santa Rosa and slowly cruised by the south end of Milam Park. A golden retriever broke loose from its owner and raced across one of the many brick paths. He nearly skidded to a stop just in front of a large water fountain. He stuck his head in and began to drink. I would have smiled had we not been racing to find Drew.
“What about El Mercado?” William said. I glanced to the left and saw the busy marketplace. It seemed like a good place to get lost in a swarm of people.
“Go under the interstate,” the kidnapper said, ignoring William. “And then go south on La Trinidad.”
Antonio did as the kidnapper said. William scratched his chin.
My phone buzzed. A text from Stan asked where we were. I punched in our location, but said we had no idea of our destination.
“Take a quick left on Dolorosa,” the kidnapper said.
Antonio hooked a left, heading east under the interstate again.
“We’re backtracking,” William said, his jaw beginning to jut out. He was about to have another blow-up. Doubt creeped back into my mind. Did this guy even have Drew? But if I were to call him out and he did have Drew, would he harm the child?
“Another left onto San Saba.”
We were pulling into El Mercado from the south side. Crafty. William and I locked eyes. The kidnapper told us to stop at the crosswalk. “Get out and walk into the market. Don’t stop moving. I’ll find you.”
He ended the call.
21
Inside El Mercado, shoppers fanned themselves while poring through products of all kinds. I signaled to William to walk down the first aisle, our eyes constantly scanning faces for the kidnapper or Drew. Merchants were hawking everything imaginable—colorful dresses, custom jewelry, ponchos, cheap souvenirs, more clothes, and even paintings. Booths were brimming with activity, and it took considerable effort to move through the crowds. While the shade was nice, the indoor temperature had to be above eighty. When I didn’t see William right by my side, I looked behind me to see him struggling to drag the duffel bag. I went over and put my hand on it.
“I’ll take it.”
“No, it’s okay.” He brought the bag close to his chest. “I can do this. For Drew, I can do this.”
“William, I don’t want you passing out on me.” He looked into my eyes with defiance. I’d bruised his ego. “Okay, sorry,” I said.
He gave me a quick nod. I waited for him to start moving, and I walked alongside him. Hyper, screaming kids ran down the aisle, bumping into us. For a few seconds, it seemed like we were climbing up hill. Damn, the kids were oblivious.
“No one is paying us any attention at all,” I said as we neared the end of the long row of vendors.
William shook his head, pressing his chapped lips together. A woman held up bottles of water and yelled out, “Agua for one buck. Agua for one buck.” I pulled out a dollar bill and handled it to her, then gave William the water without breaking stride.
Still scooting along, he cracked the cap and chugged half the bottle without taking a breath.
We rounded the corner and headed up another aisle going the opposite direction. William finished his water, then tossed me his bottle. “If you don’t mind.” I followed his eyes to a recycling bin. I dropped the bottle, then turned to see a mass of humanity huddled around a man next to an easel and paints. We wedged ourselves through onlookers to see he was painting a woman with a sleeping baby in her arms. The baby seemed so peaceful.
“Excuse us,” I said to a couple watching the painting come to life. They ignored me.
William was far less cordial. “Coming through.” He rammed right into them.
Bad move.
The man—at least thirty years younger than William and with arms the size of tree trunks—broke out of his stupor and pushed William so hard he stumbled to the ground, the heavy duffel bag falling on top of him.
“Fucking prick,” William said as he tried to get to hi
s feet.
It had suddenly turned into a machismo contest.
I went over and offered William my hand. He swatted it away, got to his feet, and moved within inches of the man’s face. Muscle Man laughed at William. “Get out of my face, you old fart.”
Within seconds, we were devoured by a crowd of people, some who obviously thought there was going to be a fight and others aimlessly walking and looking at all of the colorful booths. We became separated, but I saw William shove the larger man.
I forced my way between two onlookers just as Muscle Man threw a punch at William. I thrust my arms forward, ricocheting off the man’s arm, but his trajectory was changed and his punch connected with William’s shoulder. William groaned as he dropped to the floor for the second time in the last minute.
“Bitch can’t let her man fight his own battles.”
Before I could say a word, or just simply scoot out of there and get back to finding Drew, a hand gripped my neck, lifting me to my toes. I tried to speak, but I sounded like a cartoon character.
The man laughed. I slapped at his arm, but all he did was laugh more. I could see others talking to him, trying to convince him to let me go, but their words had no effect.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw William climb to his feet, rubbing his shoulder.
Where’s the duffel bag?
I jabbed a sharp edge of a fingernail into the nook of the man’s arm and scraped the skin until I saw blood.
“What the hell, bitch?”
He let go, and I tried to swallow. I blinked once, then realized a backhand was headed my way. Without thinking, I swung my leg forward with everything I had, cracking the Neanderthal between the legs. Lots of oohs and ahhs as he dropped me.
Another quick scan of the concrete floor. No sign of the duffel bag.
I flipped around, hopped through the crowd, bouncing off people. I saw a crack in the mass of humanity, pushed through it—and ran straight into a man. The cufflinks man from the Air Bar. For a moment, I was paralyzed. His steely glare bored holes right through me. I tried to look away, but I couldn’t. His deep-set eyes didn’t blink, they just seemed to widen as if he were devouring me with each passing second. This man was a parasite. I could feel it in my bones. The same bones that wouldn’t move, couldn’t move. Pressed against his chest, I felt his grip on my arms.
From behind me, I heard my name, but it hardly registered. The man had me under his spell. My legs gave out, and I slumped downward, but he wouldn’t release my arms. My brain had begun to block out everything around me.
“Ivy!” Someone yelled my name from nearby. Is that William?
And then reality broke through my mental shackles. Drew. I had to find Drew. My brain began to fire. A zap of adrenaline brought life back to my legs. I lifted up.
The man spoke. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I blinked, pushed away from him. “Stay away from me.” I jabbed a finger at his face.
A tap on my shoulder, followed by a moan. I turned to see William using his hand to hold up his shoulder, pain entrenched on his face. “The kidnapper has the bag of money.” I followed his eyes and looked beyond the man who’d temporarily immobilized me. I saw someone sprinting away from us. He was young, athletic, with shoulder-length hair flapping behind him.
I brushed by the man with the haunting eyes. “Didn’t mean to scare you,” he repeated. “I’m sorry,” But I was already past him, my sights on the kidnapper as I weaved through the maze of people. I was also looking for any sign of Drew…any young kid under five feet tall. Twenty steps into my sprint and my mind started wondering if this whole game had been nothing more than a ruse. The kidnapper didn’t have Drew. He’d likely never taken him. Somehow, he’d learned about Drew’s disappearance and then conceived this plan to extort a million bucks.
How did he think William could get the money? We’d been lucky. Zahera knew someone. If she hadn’t, then we would have never made the deadline.
I’d analyze everything later.
For a moment, I lost sight of the kidnapper and his floppy hair. I ran up behind an unsuspecting woman who was squatting in front of a basket of T-shirts and vaulted myself upward off her shoulders. Floppy Hair had just slipped while making a hard right turn at the end of the aisle. He glanced over his shoulder in my direction.
“What on earth do you think you’re doing, you crazy woman?” the lady said.
“Sorry.” I was back in a sprint in mere seconds, the crowd of shoppers suddenly parting like they’d been given a warning to clear the runway. I had to catch this cocky asshole, whether he had Drew or not. And if he didn’t, then who had him?
I pushed the questions to the back of my mind, pumping my arms even harder all the way to the end of the aisle. I took the turn at a high rate of speed—and I didn’t see the rolled-up carpet until I’d tripped, sailing through the air. It seemed like I floated for a good ten seconds, but nothing could prepare me for the unforgiving landing on my shoulder. I heard myself yell as I slid into a display of trinkets, which exploded upon impact.
Rapid-fire cursing. That was all I heard, both in English and Spanish. Still trying to ascertain my pain points from the floor, I looked up ahead. No sign of Floppy Hair. Then a woman crouched lower, got in my face, and cursed me out.
“Help the boy,” I heard a voice say.
I pushed off the floor, sending a ripple of pain up and down my arm. Trinkets crunched under my knees as I swung around to see two women standing by the carpet that had tripped me up.
The rolled-up carpet moved. Then I heard a high-pitched grunt. Still on all fours, I quickly crawled toward the women who were speaking in Spanish. I couldn’t understand a thing they said. One of them, a pear-shaped lady in a purple dress, got down to her knees, moving her arm near one end of the carpet. But I couldn’t see. She was blocking my view.
I reached the carpet; it was tied up in two places. I was able to peer around the woman. A boy’s head stuck out of the end, his eyes blinking. She was trying to peel duct tape off his mouth. I jumped to the other side of the carpet.
“Drew?”
He looked right at me, nodding and grunting like he was trying to tell me something. The woman was having no luck peeling off the duct tape. He grunted louder, his face now turning red.
I moved her hand off, then pried at the edge of the duct tape.
“You ready?” I asked.
Three quick nods.
I yanked off the tape in one quick motion.
“Ah!”
“Drew, is that really you?” William lumbered toward us, his grimace suddenly replaced by sheer joy. He dropped to his knees, rested his hands on the carpet.
“I gotta pee. Get me out of this damn carpet.”
William leaned across me, resting his calloused hand on Drew’s face. “My grandson. Safe and—”
“Did you hear me? I gotta fucking pee.”
We couldn’t stop laughing while we broke the bindings and finally let Drew go to the bathroom.
22
By the time Stan, Brook, and what seemed like half of the San Antonio police force arrived at El Mercado, the sun had finally dipped below the horizon. Initially, Stan ordered a lockdown on the entire facility while they conducted a thorough search for the kidnapper and the black duffel bag of money, painstakingly checking every nook and cranny on the premises.
As I suspected, it was a lost cause.
While Drew had asked to use the restroom again—his third trip since we’d untied him from the carpet—I’d just stepped outside to take in a few breaths of fresh air. Cars and trucks sped by on the interstate in the foreground of one of those picturesque Texas sunsets—swaths of purple and pink sprayed across the horizon, where I could barely make out a few lonely clouds.
I could feel my phone buzzing in my pocket. I knew I’d received countless messages from Cristina, Saul, and Zahera. They could wait. A light wind blew a lock of hair into my face. While it still felt like I was standing
in front of a furnace, the muggy air didn’t feel like it would choke the life out of me.
A quick recall of that ogre who’d grabbed me by the throat. The cocky asshole was as big as a bus, and probably just as smart. I took a hard swallow, appreciative of the fact I’d suffered no permanent damage. At least not to my throat. Thinking about my ungraceful dive over the carpet, I rotated my shoulder socket and winced, bringing my arm straight down to my side.
“Gonna need surgery?”
I turned to see Brook pulling up next to me. She was taking a drag on a cigarette, which surprised me. She had great skin, looked younger than she was—I was guessing she was approaching forty—and she didn’t seem like she had anxiety issues. Then again, if you were over the age of twenty, you’d probably mastered the art of hiding some demon. The method usually came down to one criteria: whatever worked.
“Didn’t know you smoked.”
“I don’t.” The end of her cigarette glowed orange as she took another puff, then pushed a stream of smoke out of the side of her mouth. “It’s not a regular thing. Only when I’m stressed.”
I nodded, looking back to the sunset. “This is the most relaxed I’ve been in twenty-four hours.” A gust of wind brushed across my face, and I found myself closing my eyes for a moment.
“Me too.”
I chuckled, then looked her way. She was using her shoes to snuff out her cigarette. She lifted her eyes to mine with no hint of a smile. “I’m going through a divorce.”
“Oh, sorry. Can’t be easy.”
“Prick served me papers today. Today of all days.” She shook her head in disgust. “We don’t have any kids, so things could be worse, I suppose. Just can’t imagine how.”
We turned around and walked toward the side door, an awkward silence between us as uniformed cops milled out. Stan peered through the glass, then held open the door for us.
“Quite the gentleman,” I said with a wink.
“Not many of those around.” Brook took a phone call and walked toward the area where we’d found Drew—or stumbled upon him, as the case may be.
Stan gave me the look, as if he was wondering what was going on with Brook. “Divorce,” I whispered as I passed by him. He acknowledged my comment by lifting his chin.
The Ivy Nash Thrillers: Books 4-6: Redemption Thriller Series 10-12 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set) Page 10
