A Father's Desperate Rescue

by Amelia Autin

  No one said anything more on the drive back. Dirk stared silently out the window at the passing scenery—metal and glass monoliths juxtaposed with older concrete buildings just this side of shabby, throngs of people walking purposefully along the sidewalks—no one in Hong Kong ever seemed to meander—or queuing up for the buses. But he wasn’t really seeing them. Instead he was seeing Mei-li’s face last night in his mind’s eye—nearly as excited as he’d been by the proof his daughters were alive...at least, right up until the photo was taken.

  Which maybe accounted for what he’d done next—pull Mei-li into his grateful embrace. Wrap his arms around her in a crushing hug she returned, as if she understood his sudden need to hold on to something. Then...having gone that far...he had gone right over the edge and kissed her. Endlessly.

  He told himself now that maybe he could have drawn back like the gentleman he’d always tried so hard to be...if she’d resisted. But she hadn’t. She’d given him back kiss for kiss, passion flaring between them the same way it had in the kitchen. He’d been that close—that close—to taking her right there on the sofa in the living room. But some shred of sanity had remained. Some shred of decency.

  When he’d finally raised his lips from Mei-li’s, her eyes had been glazed with desire. Her breasts—which he’d somehow managed to caress, even though he could have sworn not even a slip of paper could have fit between them—were so aroused the slightest touch had set her shivering. And her lips had been swollen and red—without a trace of the lip gloss she’d reapplied after dinner.

  He’d wanted. Needed. Even now, just thinking about making love to Mei-li had him hard and aching, and oh so ready. But when he’d looked down into her rosy face last night, alight with the same yearning he felt, he’d clamped down on his desire. It’s always difficult for me to maintain an emotional distance from my clients, she’d told him only that morning, and he’d known without a doubt it was true. Because of that, he’d also known he couldn’t take advantage of her emotional high. Couldn’t blur the lines.

  At least...that’s what he told himself last night. It had taken every bit of strength he could muster to brush his fingers against her cheek, to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, to rub his thumb against her swollen bottom lip...and then stop. He hadn’t wanted to. But he’d done it—he’d been a gentleman. And being a gentleman, he’d taken all the blame on himself, apologizing in a voice made husky with repressed desire and asking her forgiveness...even though he’d known deep down it was a lie—he wasn’t sorry. He would never be sorry. He couldn’t be—she’d brought him back to life. And she’d taught him things about himself he’d never realized before.

  Mei-li had surprised him then—she was always surprising him, so maybe he should have expected it. “There’s nothing to forgive,” she’d told him with a faint smile. Then she’d picked up her purse and looped the strap over her shoulder before walking to the door. She’d turned at the last minute, her hand on the doorknob, and added, “Except for stopping. But I’m not sure I’m ready to forgive you for stopping. I’ll have to think about it.” Her voice was light, musical and held just a trace of humor that somehow defused the situation. “Good night, Dirk. I’ll bring the brown wrapping paper and shopping bags for the four packages you need to prepare tomorrow—I have plenty, so you don’t need to worry about coming up with them.” Without missing a beat she’d said, “You’d better get some sleep.” Her faint smile had expanded ever so slightly, and her voice had dropped a notch. “Sweet dreams, tim sum. I’ll see you in the morning.” Then she’d left.

  Funny thing was, his sleep had been restful...when he’d finally slept. He’d spared five minutes to call Hannah and bring her up-to-date as much as he could, given Mei-li’s suggestion that Hannah might be involved and his own strong belief that she wasn’t. Then he’d fallen into bed. And his dreams had been sweet. He’d lain in bed in the darkness for a few moments, wondering what tim sum meant. Wondering why he’d been so drawn to Mei-li so quickly, why it seemed as if he’d always known her. Wondering about the kiss—the kisses—they’d shared, and what they might mean for the future...if he had a future. If he dared think of anything beyond tomorrow.

  He’d thought he wouldn’t be able to sleep. But either he’d been exhausted after having so little sleep the night before in the Peninsula Hotel’s lobby, or the adrenaline ebbs and flows of the day had worn him out. Because he’d fallen fast asleep between one moment and the next. But he hadn’t dreamed of making love to Mei-li. He’d dreamed he was cuddling Linden and Laurel—a soft, baby-powdered armful of daughter in each arm—and Mei-li was there, smiling at them all. “They’re yours, too,” he’d told her in his dream. “I wouldn’t even have them if not for you.” He hadn’t had to say any more than that—she knew what was in his heart. She knew, because she knew him. And somehow it was a very reassuring feeling.

  * * *

  Terrell Blackwood’s disposable cell rang just past 8:15 p.m. “Yes?”

  “There is another slight problem with your packages,” said a cold voice he recognized.

  “What problem?”

  “It’s being handled. But you need to be aware.”

  So tell me! he wanted to demand. Instead he said in as reasonable a voice as he could muster, “Explain.”

  “The owner of the packages was at the airport yesterday, asking questions.”

  Terrell’s heart skipped a beat, then settled back into its normal rhythm. “You said it’s being handled. How?”

  “Sleight of hand.”

  Misdirection, Terrell interpreted. Like a magician, diverting the audience’s gaze. Look here, not there. “Let’s hope it works,” he warned. “You’re the one who assured me the acquisition and disposition of the packages could not fail. That’s what I’m paying you for, remember.”

  “Don’t threaten me.” The cold voice took on a silky tone. “I could always return the packages to their rightful owner...for a reward.”

  “That would display an incredible lack of foresight on your part.” Terrell was too close to his ultimate goal to be cowed, and his voice took on a hard edge. “I would be forced to remind you that you are not invulnerable.” Terrell hadn’t spent nearly twenty years in prison without learning how to convey a threat—the iron fist in a velvet glove. I’ve insulated myself, he was reminding the other man. Of the two of us, who has the most to lose?

  * * *

  Patrick dropped Dirk, Rafe and Mike at the Peninsula Hotel’s front door at 9:30 a.m. and went to park the Rolls. The three men rode up in the elevator in silence and found Mei-li waiting for them outside the door, purse in one hand, a loaded bag in the other. When Dirk raised a questioning eyebrow, she said, “I rang and knocked, but no one answered.”

  Dirk frowned. “Where are Vanessa and Chet?” He wasn’t really expecting an answer, but he quickly unlocked the door and held it for Mei-li. Then he dumped the duffel bag on the floor by the door and moved through the suite, calling Vanessa’s name. There was no answer—the suite was empty. No Vanessa, no Chet. Chet had come to the suite first thing this morning with Mike and Rafe, and Vanessa had already been up and dressed at the time. Neither had mentioned going anywhere when he’d left for the bank, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all.

  He strode back into the living room. “They’re not here,” he said, even though it was obvious. “Did Chet say anything to either of you?” he asked Rafe and Mike.

  Rafe shook his head, and Mike said, “No, he didn’t. But...”

  “But what?” When Mike hesitated, Dirk added, “Just say it.”

  Mike blurted out, “What if they’re the ones retrieving the ransom for the kidnappers?” He glanced at Rafe, who was frowning ferociously. “What? I’m just saying what everyone is thinking.”

  Dirk’s eyes met Mei-li’s, and she shook her head slightly. Don’t say anything, her eyes warned him.

>   The doorbell drew all eyes toward the sound. Mei-li was closest, so she answered the door. “Oh,” she said to Patrick, who stood framed in the doorway. “I thought it might be Vanessa and Chet.”

  “They’re not here?” Patrick’s surprise was obvious.

  “No,” Dirk said. “They’re—” His smartphone rang suddenly. The “unknown caller” ring combined with a quick glance at the screen told him who it was, and he steeled himself. “Yes?”

  “Do you have the money?” said a voice he recognized. A voice he’d hear forever in his nightmares.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Instructions for the first installment should be delivered shortly.”

  “Where’s the next picture of my daughters? I told you I—”

  The kidnapper cut him off. “Don’t worry. The picture will follow the delivery.”

  “And I want to talk with them.”

  If anything the voice grew colder. “We’ll call you when you arrive at the first drop.”

  “How will you know—”

  “Trust me, we’ll know.” Then the phone went dead.

  Mei-li was standing at his elbow. “What did he say?”

  “Instructions should be here shortly...and another photo of Linden and Laurel will be emailed a few minutes afterward.”

  “Then we don’t have a lot of time. Let’s get the packages ready.”

  Five people, four packages, didn’t take long. They divvied up the money into four equal piles and wrapped them in the brown paper Mei-li had brought. As the others held the packages, Patrick tied them securely with the string she’d also provided. Dirk’s was the last, and Patrick wasn’t quite done when the doorbell sounded.

  “Here, I’ll hold that,” Rafe said as Dirk dropped his package and hurried into the foyer.

  Mei-li was right at his elbow when he opened the door. “Delivery for Mr. DeWinter,” said the man in the doorway, who wore the blue-and-gray livery of a local delivery service she recognized. He handed Dirk an electronic box. “Sign right there,” he said, indicating the touch screen and proffering a stylus. Then he took the box back, confirmed the signature and handed over a large envelope. “Thanks. Have a nice day.”

  Dirk let Mei-li close the door as he ripped the envelope open and took out the single sheet of paper it contained. His eyes rapidly scanned the few sentences.

  Victoria Peak, 11:00 a.m. Walk to the archway where you can see the words, The Lion’s Club of Tai Ping Shan—the stone lion overlook. Go to the farthest corner—past the stone railing to the metal railing—and pretend to take pictures like a tourist. When you receive the phone call, you will have one minute to talk with your daughters. Make it count. After you hang up, drop the bag over the railing. Leave and don’t look back. Return to your hotel and await further instructions. Don’t do anything stupid.

  Chapter 12

  Don’t do anything stupid, Dirk read again, gritting his teeth. As if I needed that reminder.

  Suddenly his smartphone dinged, signaling an incoming email. The message was blank, but there was an attachment he immediately opened. Then he just stared at the photo, relief his daughters were still alive combined with fury at the sight of them huddled in the corner of a filthy room somewhere. Their blond hair was tangled and uncombed, and their faces were none too clean—grimy hands had obviously wiped away tears, leaving smudges. But they weren’t crying anymore. And their hands and mouths weren’t bound as they’d been yesterday.

  Mei-li was looking at the picture with him, but her expression betrayed nothing of what she was feeling. Then her eyes met his, sending a private message. And as plain as if she’d uttered the words aloud, he knew she was telling him he needed to download the picture onto his laptop so they could check the GPS coordinates. See if they were the same as last night’s picture. And he needed to do it in private.

  “Victoria Peak at eleven,” Dirk announced with a quick glance at his watch, then added, “I’ve got map software on my computer,” disguising his true purpose as he headed for the study, where he kept his laptop.

  “You don’t need a map—I can take you,” Patrick volunteered. “Plenty of time if we leave soon,” he said, looking at his own watch. “Thirty-five, maybe forty-five minutes with traffic, but there’s always traffic on that road.”

  “I still want to know exactly where I’m going,” Dirk insisted. “I’ll be right back.”

  He’d no sooner closed the study doors behind him when one of them opened again, and Mei-li slipped inside. “I sent Patrick to get the car,” she told him. “Rafe and Mike are putting the packages of money in the shopping bags.” She took a manila folder from her purse. “I wanted to show you these.”

  These were the sketches made from the cabdriver’s descriptions of the two men he’d driven to the airport. They weren’t any more detailed than the ones done from the doorman’s descriptions, but they did match. Which meant the sketches they had were accurate depictions.

  Mei-li stood quietly with her back against the door while Dirk turned on his laptop and waited impatiently for it to power up. “What are you going to do about Rafe and Mike?” she asked. “Are you taking them with you?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t need a bodyguard, not even carrying a quarter million at a time. And if the kidnappers are watching me, I don’t want an entourage. I’ll ask Rafe and Mike to see if they can find out what happened to Vanessa and Chet.”

  “You still think Patrick might be guilty?”

  He grimaced. “Not really, but I—” He stopped abruptly to key in his password and tapped one finger impatiently on the corner of the keypad. “And besides, I think I really do need him to drive me—there’s no way I’m going to drive myself. Not on the wrong side of the street,” he added, referring to how Hong Kong’s drivers, like Britain’s, drove on the left side of the street instead of the right. “Unless you’d rather do it.”

  She shook her head. Just then the computer’s desktop appeared, with its charming picture of Linden and Laurel, and Dirk quickly opened his email program in a browser window. His haste had a two-fold purpose—to download the attached file...and to cover the picture.

  He remembered exactly how to access the data they needed—that was something he’d never forget now. He pulled up the properties on both photos, side by side, and dismay stabbed through him—he didn’t need to do the math to see the GPS coordinates weren’t the same.

  “The photos weren’t taken in the same place.” He tried to keep his frustration and disappointment from showing, but knew he was only partially successful.

  “Which just means the kidnappers have moved since yesterday,” she replied in a tone that told him she’d half expected it. “Doesn’t mean they’ll move again. They might—there’s no controlling what they’ll do. But they might not.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “And we’ll want to track them anyway and mark the locations on a map. We might spot a pattern. Pull up Google Maps quickly. Let’s see where each of these pictures was taken.”

  When he did that, she looked at the GPS coordinates on the first picture and told him, “Type this into the search bar.” She recited a number, followed by a comma, then another number.

  “Wait,” he said when he was done typing. “I thought you had to do the—” He stopped, impressed. “You already did the math. In your head.”

  A faint smile touched her lips. “I told you I was originally an engineering student before I changed majors. What I didn’t tell you is that before I settled on engineering I was toying with the idea of pursuing a math degree. I picked engineering because it’s applied math.” She switched gears. “Hit Enter. Let’s see where they were.”

  An inverted red teardrop appeared on the map. “That’s odd,” she said, frowning. “If the private plane couldn’t take off because all flights were grounded and they had to take shelter somewh
ere, they were already at the airport. Why would they come all the way back to Central?” she said, referring to the small district on Hong Kong Island right across from Tsim Sha Tsui that was the city’s main business district. “Why wouldn’t they just get a hotel room at the airport?”

  “Full up,” Dirk suggested. “No rooms available.”

  She nodded slowly. “Makes sense. And let’s not forget you could hear the Star Ferry in the background when he called the second time. Pier No. 7—the Hong Kong terminus of the Star Ferry—is only a few blocks from Central. Here, let’s see where this morning’s picture was taken.”

  She again recited two numbers divided by a comma. And once again an inverted red teardrop appeared on the map, but the location obviously surprised her. “Tai O?” she said in a disbelieving voice, referring to a fishing village on the far west side of Lantau Island, more than an hour away by car. “It’s the end of nowhere. Why would they go there?” Her face was a study in concentration as she considered this. “Look at the date and time today’s picture was taken, please.”

  When that info was displayed, she murmured, “Early this morning. I wonder why. They were supposed to—” She broke off, as if she didn’t want to stress that the kidnappers were supposed to take the picture right before Dirk was to deliver the ransom. Her voice turned brisk. “Forward this latest email and attachment to me—I should already be in your address book from yesterday.”

  Dirk did that, then asked, “Anything else I should do before I go?”

  “We,” she corrected him. “Before we go.”

  “You really think it’s necessary?” He couldn’t help it—he cupped her cheek with his hand, trying not to notice how soft her skin was. “I don’t want to put you in harm’s way.”

  “Don’t worry, you’re not.” Her cell phone rang, and she answered it. “Wei?” She listened for a minute, then said, “We’ll be right down.” She disconnected and told Dirk, “Patrick’s downstairs with the car. We should go. Better to be early than late.”