“You are scary.” He kissed her quickly, then grabbed her hand and ran with her toward the path. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before he—”
“Gage!”
Turning to follow Emma’s line of sight, he saw Mac stalking toward them, letting loose with one of his knives. Gage threw Emma to the ground, his body shielding hers, the knife just barely missing them.
“Somebody call the police!” Emma yelled from beneath him. Looking up, Gage saw the people she was calling to—a group of multipierced teens strolling along the path through the woods, passing a little pipe between them. They paused, then continued their leisurely constitutional.
“No cops!” The voice came from a dark figure just visible in Gage’s peripheral vision; all Gage saw clearly was the gun in the man’s outstretched hand. He jogged past them toward Mac, growling in Emma’s direction, “That’s a good way to get your mother killed. I’m FBI. I’ll be in touch.”
Gage and Emma both turned to watch the man race toward Mac, yelling, “Give it up!” Mac swore rawly when he saw him, grabbed the plastic-wrapped ray gun and fled, about ten yards ahead of his pursuer. The two men disappeared into the woods.
Emma craned her head to look at Gage. “FBI? Where’d he come from?”
Gage shrugged and helped her to her feet “They do handle kidnappings.”
She dusted off her jeans, picked dried leaves off her shiny little T-shirt “Yeah, but how would he have found out about...?” The color leached from her face. “What if Mac decides we called the police, after all? He might—he might...”
Gage took her in his arms, cradling her head against his chest “Your mom’s gonna be fine, sweetheart. That guy’ll probably catch Mac, and all our troubles will be over.”
“My troubles,” she mumbled, then added, “But you’ve made them yours.” She looked up at him with her glimmery brown eyes. “Most people wouldn’t have wanted to get involved in a mess like this. You’ve been really amazing.”
“Yeah, well, have I thanked you yet for that sweatshirt stunt? You may have saved my life.” He tilted her chin up and lowered his head.
“Gage!” Emma took his hand in both of hers and gaped at it; it was covered with blood. “He got you!”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Look how it’s bleeding!” She took off his jacket and rolled his shirtsleeve up, exposing a laceration about three inches long.
“The bleeding has almost stopped,” he noted. “It’s not all that deep.”
“Deep enough. I think you need stitches.”
“Thank you for that assessment, Dr. Sutcliffe, but if I may offer a second opinion, I think all it needs is a nice clean hanky—” which he produced from his back pocket and handed to her “—and about sixty cc’s of Dr. Daniels’s Throwing Knife Tonic, administered orally, and I’ll be good as—”
“You need stitches,” she repeated as she tied the handkerchief around his forearm. “Look—the blood’s soaking right through.”
“We’ll compromise on butterfly bandages.” He put his jacket back on and took her hand, guiding her toward the path. “We can stop at a drugstore as soon as we get out of this park. And in the meantime you can entertain me by relating exactly how you managed to show up here just in the nick of time.”
“Nothing much to tell. I got to the lake and looked around and saw the two of you heading into the woods. I followed you, but it took me a few minutes to find you after you left the path. All I can figure is that FBI guy must have followed me.”
“Whoa, sweetheart. You’re skippin’ the best part. Start with how you pulled off an escape from a locked terrace seven floors up and made it to Central Park in less than half an hour.”
She sighed pensively. “It’s kind of a long story.”
“I don’t mind.”
“It ends with me wrecking a car.”
His grip tightened on her hand. “You were in an accident?”
“More like a whole lot of little accidents. I thought I could fake it on a stick, but—”
“Emma, Emma, Emma.”
“I made it all the way to the park before it started smoking, but by that time it had been bashed in on all four sides. It’s probably being towed even as we speak.”
“I hesitate to ask,” Gage said, “but whose car was this that took you mere minutes to demolish?”
“Ronald’s.”
Gage smiled. “Ah.”
“It’s a... was a Porsche. Insurance will take care of it, don’t you think?”
“Sure, I guess, but…” Gage winced. “Yikes. A Porsche. I’m surprised he lent it to you.”
“It took some convincing.”
“What kind of convincing?”
“You don’t want to know.”
After some thought, Gage decided, “No, I guess I probably don’t.”
EMMA LEANED on the railing overlooking Rockefeller Center’s spectacular sunken plaza, staring glumly as the last of the lunchtime crowd paid their checks and walked away from their umbrella-shaded tables. The sun glinted off the gilded statue of Prometheus on the Fifth Avenue side, and a palisade of international flags fluttered in the breeze. It was a crisp and perfect spring day; the plaza and the sidewalk above it were swarming with people, but none of them was Candy Carmelle.
“She’s not coming,” Emma said quietly.
“She might still—”
“Mac said she’d be here at two. What time is it now?”
Gage leaned back on the railing and checked his phone. “Almost 3:30.” That was the time they’d agreed they would call it quits.
Emma chewed on her lip. “Maybe the FBI guy captured Mac and he told him where he was keeping Mom, and she’s been released. Maybe she doesn’t even know she’s supposed to meet us here. And her phone is back at the apartment, so she can’t call me—for all the good it would do, since I don’t even have my phone. Or maybe... maybe she has to, like, file a report or something.”
“That could be it,” Gage said after a heavy pause.
Why did he have to be so understanding all the time? He was really getting on her nerves. She leaned her elbows on the railing and dropped her head in her hands. “He probably killed her.” Before the park, there’d been hope, and she hadn’t had to face that possibility, but now...
“No.” He wrapped his arms around her from behind. “Stop it. Don’t talk that way. Your mother’s fine.”
“My mother,” Emma countered shakily, “is tied up somewhere, maybe gagged, too. She’s probably terrified.”
“Emma—”
“That’s if she’s lucky.” She shook him off and turned around. “If she’s not, she’s dead. He said he’d make her scream first.”
“He just said that to scare you.”
“It worked!” Pedestrians all along 51st Street turned to stare at Emma, but she was beyond caring. “I’m terrified. Wouldn’t you be, if it was your mother?”
“Yes.” He closed his hands over her upper arms. “Absolutely. But you have to try and keep your cool, Emma. You’ve done great so far. Don’t fall apart now.”
“I know.” She slumped against him. “I hate this.”
“I know, sweetie.” He stroked her hair, kissed her head.
“I’m scared.”
“I know.”
“Let’s get out of here. She’s not coming. You have a plane to catch, and I—I...” She rubbed her forehead with a quaking hand. Keep your cool.
“I can’t leave you like this.”
“I need to get away from here. I’m going to go back to Zara’s place. That FBI guy said he’d be in touch—”
“Emma. Did you hear what I said? I—I can’t get on that plane. Not with you so upset.”
“I’m fine.” She backed away from him, not wanting his arms around her, although she wasn’t sure why. “No, that’s not true, I’m not fine, but that just means I’m normal, because when a person’s mother is being held hostage, they shouldn’t be fine. They should definitely not be fine.”
She sounded like Rainman; she should really get a grip.
“Emma.” He reached for her.
She shook him off. “Please. Don’t. I just... you have a plane to catch. Go catch your plane.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Bullshit! It’s all you’ve wanted for the past two days! It’s all you’ve been talking about! So go do it. You probably have just enough time to get to the Plaza and pack your bag before the flight.”
He grabbed her shoulders and compelled her with his gaze to look at him. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you. I don’t know how to say this. It’s probably the wrong time and the wrong place, but... I’ve been thinking maybe I should just try and forget... what you did.”
“What I did?”
“Lying to me. Pretending to be Zara. I should just deal with it. You had your reasons, and—”
“What are you saying? You’re ready to forgive me? Me?” He couldn’t be serious.
“I hold everybody to my own set of standards, and that’s probably a bad idea. No, it’s definitely a bad idea. I just wanted you to know that it’s okay. I’m not carrying a gr—”
“Well, I don’t forgive you,” she said flatly.
He just stared at her.
“I tried twice to tell you the truth,” she stated. “I don’t forgive you for refusing to believe me and then, when you finally got hit over the head with the truth, lumping me together with the rest of the worthless, scheming, lying human race and writing me off.”
“I didn’t. I cared about you.”
“Maybe you cared about me, but I was always a flawed creature. Not a noble, upright specimen like Gage Foster. You think you’re so perfect, but you’re really very judgmental. I didn’t quite measure up, but you made allowances for me. And now, in your beneficence, your godly, arrogant, know-it-all superiority, you’re willing to forgive me? Well, thank you very much, Dr. Foster, but I’ve had a really rough day, and I’m afraid I’m not in the mood to be forgiven right now. Or to forgive. Taxi!”
“No! Emma!” He grabbed her arm as she leapt for the curb, arm upraised, but she yanked herself out of his grasp.
“Let me go!”
“You’re upset about your mother. You’re not being rational.”
“I know.” She was going to cry again; she felt it welling up and didn’t want him to witness her tears a third time. “But I can’t help it. I’m sorry. Let me go.” The cab pulled over. She opened the door.
“Oh, Emma, please. Please. Not like this. We can’t part like—”
“What are we supposed to do, Gage?” she asked in a tremulous voice as she stood in the open door to the cab. “Say goodbye with a civilized little kiss and a poignant remark about it being better to have loved and lost—” Her throat closed up; the tears came despite her determination to keep them at bay.
He closed his eyes; she saw his throat working.
“Because,” she managed to say in a choked voice, “and you’ll get a kick out of this, the whole reason I didn’t tell you who I really was, after we… we slept together, was because—” she swallowed hard “—because I’d fallen in love with you. I know that sounds crazy. We didn’t know each other that long. I could hardly believe it myself.”
She slid into the back seat and closed the door; he leaned down and looked at her through the half-open window. “Emma...”
“The thing is, I’ve never been that kind of person, impulsive and so forth, but I did. I fell in love with you. And after I realized it, I just couldn’t try again to tell you who I really was. I didn’t want you to know I’d been lying to you. I just didn’t want to see the contempt in your eyes. You thought I didn’t tell you because I didn’t care enough. The truth was that I cared too much. Way too much. Way more than you cared.”
“I cared a lot,” he said gruffly. “I still do.”
“But you didn’t care enough,” she said softly—the same words he’d spoken to her just yesterday afternoon.
“I—”
“‘No complications,’ remember?” She wiped her face, calm now—horribly calm. “You can get on that plane and wash your hands of me and this city.”
He looked stricken. She stroked his coarse cheek. “There’s no good way to end this. This way is as good as any other.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, then grabbed her around the neck and kissed her, too hard. She broke the kiss and told the driver, “I’m going to East 86th.”
“Here.” Gage took out his wallet and handed her some bills. “Take this.”
“I don’t want your money!”
“How are you fixin’ to pay for this cab?”
The driver turned and stared at her.
Emma hadn’t thought of that. She plucked a twenty out of Gage’s hand with a sheepish, “Thank you.”
“Twenty should do it.” The driver turned the meter on.
As it pulled away from the curb, Gage slammed a fist on the trunk.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
NO SOONER HAD EMMA closed Zara’s apartment door behind her than her back jeans pocket started screaming, “Shark! Shark!”
“Hello?”
“I trust you spent a pleasant afternoon at Rockefeller—”
“Mac!” Emma sank to the floor, trembling. “Where’s my mother? Why wasn’t she there? What did you—”
“What did you call me?” he asked softly.
Mac. Emma closed her eyes and hissed “Shit.”
After a long, unnerving silence, Mac said, “This isn’t good. This isn’t good at all.”
There came a call waiting beep, which Emma ignored. “Look, you’ve got to believe me,” she pleaded in a desperate rush. “The only thing I care about is my mother. I don’t care who you are. I promise if my mother is returned to me safely, I’ll keep my mouth shut. It’s just that right now, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing with me. I don’t know whether she’s alive or dead, and—”
“That’s why I called,” he said. “To let you know she’s alive and healthy and even relatively comfortable. I’m not telling you this to ease your mind. I’m telling you so you don’t squawk to the police about how your mother’s been kidnapped and murdered. Candy’s alive and... remarkably healthy, actually.” He cleared his throat. “So don’t go dragging the East River quite yet.”
“When should I start dragging it?”
“Never, if you can keep yourself from dialing 911 long enough for me to implement phase two of my Candy Carmelle project.”
“Phase two?”
“That’s the part where I become a multimillionaire and Candy gets the dream life most women just fantasize about.”
“Dream life? What are you talking about?”
“You’ll find out—if you can manage to keep the cops out of things until phase two has had a chance to come to fruition.”
“And if I can’t?”
“Get ready for that trip to the morgue,” he said matter-of-factly.
“You could actually do that? To a woman?”
He snickered. “Such chivalrous distinctions are meaningless to me, as you, of all people, should be well aware. I won’t hesitate to use lethal force if I feel threatened, and gender is not a factor. Perhaps you felt it was, and that’s why you let yourself slip and call me Mac.”
“No, I...” What was he saying? Was he threatening to kill her?
“You’ve made me nervous,” he said. “I hate having to be nervous.”
“Look.” Emma raked a hand through her hair. “I said I wouldn’t call the cops, and I won’t. All I care about is my mother. So please don’t do anything—”
He hung up.
Emma sat on the kitchen floor gazing dully at the phone until a little red dot appeared on the voicemail icon. Given the events of the past two days, she was curious as to who might have left a message. Could just be one of her mother’s friends, or some erstwhile boyfriend who’d found out she was single again. Or it could be Zara, trying to get in touch with their mother.
/> Or it could be Gage, calling for you.
Of course it wouldn’t be Gage, not after how she’d burned him off, and it probably didn’t even have anything to do with the ray gun and her mother’s kidnapping.
But still, she couldn’t help wondering what Candy Carmelle had chosen for a passcode. It could be random numerals, or it might be something simple and intuitive. Knowing her mom, Emma would guess the latter.
She tried a few combinations based on Candy’s birthday, then on her birthday and Zara’s. Then a message popped up on the screen: iPhone is disabled. Try again in 1 minute. A few more tries and she’d be locked out for good, Emma knew.
She sat back, closed her eyes, and thought about it…
And pictured the little tattoo on her mother’s inner wrist, a commemoration of the day she was reunited with the twin daughters she hadn’t seen for almost two decades…
12•25
“Twelve twenty-five,” Emma said, sitting upright. Taking a deep breath, she tapped those numerals on the phone’s keypad, and…
“Oh, my God!” she exclaimed when the home screen appeared. “Oh, my God! Fuck yeah!”
She opened up the voicemail and heard a man’s weary, harried-sounding voice say, “This message is for Emma Sutcliffe. Ms. Sutcliffe, I hope this message reaches you. I’ve been trying to call you, but there’s no answer. We need to talk. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop and explain things in the park today, but I’m a lot sorrier I didn’t catch the son of a...” He muttered something under his breath. “Listen, I’ve really got to talk to you, and I’ll try you again later, but I just wanted to make sure you know I’m on top of this, and I’m confident I’ll have your mother back to you safe and sound in the near future. In the meantime, just hold tight. The FBI is on the case. I’m sure your instinct is to get the police involved, but frankly that would just jeopardize our operation. Anyway, it’s not a matter for the NYPD. Kidnapping is a federal—”
Beep
I’m on top of this....
No cops, Mac had said at the park. That’s a good way to get your mother killed. That was something both Mac and the FBI guy seemed to agree on.
Where had this mystery fed come from, anyway? There were too many unanswered questions, and too many complications. Mac had the ray gun, but that wasn’t enough. Now he’d cooked up some kind of scheme involving Candy, and who knew when she would see her mother again. At least it seemed as if Candy was safe for the time being. Although Mac was clearly a bit deranged, Emma believed him when he vouched for her mother’s well-being, simply because he seemed to be seriously trying to implement this lunatic “phase two.”
Good to Be Bad (Double Dare Book 1) Page 18
