"Mine, too!" Nancy heard George's voice, but her request came too late. The doors closed and the elevator rumbled down to the fourth floor. Nancy walked briskly down the long hall, aware that the man was following. Black-edged gold lettering on glass door windows announced the names of some of the businesses; others had solid wood doors with nameplates attached. Many were real estate firms and insurance companies.
Nancy looked for a trace of light showing through the glass or under the doors of the offices as she hurried by. But she saw none. Behind which door was Shelley Lawson hiding? Somewhere to her left she heard the hum of a vacuum cleaner. At least there was someone else on the fifth floor besides her and her pursuer. And she knew that George had sensed the danger and would be getting off at the floor below and taking the stairs back up, probably two at a time.
The carpeting in the hallway mufiled footsteps, and Nancy resisted the urge to turn around to see where the man was. Maybe it was coincidence that he had asked her to dance, but she didn't think so. And had Shelley's glance across the dance floor been at Nancy and George, or at the supposedly tipsy reveler? Was he a cohort? Was Jeremy being held in one of these offices? And where was Kamla?
There was no place for Nancy to hide. She quickened her pace, half jogging. The building was like a maze with intersecting shorter hall ways curving to the right and left off the main hall. But a quick look verified that these were dead ends. Up ahead, she could see a green Exit sign, and underneath that. Stairs.
She was approaching the exit when, up ahead of her, the double doors to a large office opened, and a custodian came out pushing a cleaning cart. Brooms, mops, a dustpan, and other cleaning paraphernalia stuck out from the sides of the cart, which had a large bin in the center for trash. He was whistling.
"Wait!" Nancy called.
The custodian waved at her and continued along the hall, turning right at the next corridor.
Surely George would be coming up those stairs and through the door any moment. A sudden thought occurred to Nancy. Maybe the man following her worked in one of these offices. Maybe he was a real estate broker. Or an insurance salesman. Maybe he didn't have any connection with Shelley Lawson at all. Maybe this was just her overactive imagination. But then why was he suddenly so quick and alert, so different from the way he'd been at the party? Enough guessing. Nancy stopped and very deliberately turned around and looked behind her. The man was gone! He was nowhere in sight!
Feeling like an utter fool, she swirled back around, letting out a sigh of relief. But her relief was short-lived. She sensed, rather than heard, someone breathing behind her. He must have ducked into one of the intersecting hallways when she looked behind her! Before she could turn, the man spoke.
"We are going into that office across the hall, Ms. Drew," he said, firmly gripping her arm. Though it was the same man from the dance upstairs, his voice was cold sober now. "Don't make any noise, and don't resist me. What you feel pressing into your back is a revolver with a silencer, and I won't hesitate to use it."
Chapter Thirteen
NANCY DID EXACTLY as shc was told. She knew better than to argue with a gun. The man steered her toward the massive double doors of the office that the custodian had left just minutes before.
"Open the door," he said brusquely.
Nancy reached for the brass knob. A sign on the door said Office for Rent and listed a phone number. Before she pushed the door open, Nancy's eyes darted to the right for one last look down the hall. She was certain that she had seen a shadow just at the time the man stuck the gun in her back. It had to be George coming from the stairwell. She must have ducked into an alcove. Good! George would call Sam, and Sam would get here in a hurry.
She opened the door, and the man pushed her into the room. Shelley Lawson and the man in the suit—the same man George had seen in the TV repair shop truck—were standing by the window, arguing heatedly. A nighttime panorama of River Heights spread out below, with the usually sparkling lights of the city blurred by the driving sleet that was hitting the window. There were two desks in the room and several easy chairs. It looked like a reception office for a prosperous firm.
Shelley swung around to face them when the door closed. "There were two of them!" she yelled at the man who had brought Nancy in. "Where's the other one?" Without waiting for an answer, she turned to the man beside her and snapped, "Go get the other one, Frank!"
Nancy closed her eyes, hoping that George had immediately gone to call Sam. But deep down, she knew better. She knew that if she had been in George's shoes, she would have investigated the office Nancy was forced into before leaving. So when Frank yanked open the door, she wasn't surprised to see George crouched there, trying to hear the conversation inside.
"Surprise!" Frank said as George toppled into the room. He reached down and grabbed her arm, jerking her to her feet, and kicked the door shut. "Here's number two. Madam CEO," he said to Shelley, in a pronounced British accent and with a strong overtone of sarcasm. "And are we going to give these two a smashing train ride as well—or do you have other plans?" He waved a hand in a grand gesture at Shelley. "I could summon Ken to come back with an oversize custodial cart, but that's just a suggestion, you understand. I wouldn't want to interfere with your grand plan."
"Watch your mouth, Frank," Shelley said. "If you don't like the way I do things, then you can move on and form your own consulting group."
"I may just do that," he replied tersely.
Shelley opened a briefcase on one of the desks and smiled across the room at Nancy and George, who were both being watched by the man with the gun. "Girl detectives," she said, shaking her head as a mother would at naughty children. "You get yourselves into so much trouble. Although I must say you're brighter than most adult detectives I've run into." From the briefcase she took a small bottle of colorless liquid and two slim paper-wrapped packages that turned out to be hypodermic needles. "This will calm you down for a few hours while we conclude our project."
"Shelley," Nancy said, "quit while you're ahead. The police are onto you," she fibbed. "It's only a matter of minutes before they get here." She took a wild stab at a possibility. "They know you had Farmer killed—"
"Take off her jacket and hold her!" Shelley ordered, nodding at George and ignoring Nancy's monologue.
Frank and the other man slipped George's arms out of her jacket and held her.
"This won't hurt at all," Shelley said, deftly sticking the needle into George's arm. Instantly, George slumped over and, while Nancy watched horrified, the men dragged George over to one of the armchairs.
"You're next," Shelley said as she prepared a new syringe. She looked over at Frank. "When we've finished our other job, you come back for them with the van. Bert can help you load them."
It was the last thing Nancy heard before she lapsed into unconsciousness.
When she came to, her head was throbbing and her eyes wouldn't focus properly. She was lying on the floor by the desk. Her feet had been bound with tape and her hands taped behind her back. Muted ceiling lights gave the illusion of dusk. To her right she could hear George moaning.
"George," Nancy whispered. Her mouth was dry and her throat was sore. "George!"
There was a groan followed by a dry cough. "I'm over here," George said. Her voice was raspy and her speech was slurred. "In the chair."
"Did they tape your hands and feet?"
"I dunno." There were shufl[ling sounds from the chair. Nancy could tell that George was
making an effort to clear her head and concentrate on her hands and feet. "Yes, Fm taped," George answered. "Where are you?"
"On the floor by the desk. I'm going to roll toward you. We've got to get out of here before they come back for us."
"How're we gonna do that?" George asked sleepily, struggling to keep awake. "Not possible."
"It is too possible!" Nancy said sharply. "You're going to untape me, and I'm going to untape you." With a few gentle thumps, Nancy rolled across the floor toward
George. "Feet first," she announced.
Sitting on the floor at George's feet, with her back to George's legs, Nancy started picking at the tape around George's ankles. She worked slowly and clumsily, hampered by her own bound wrists, yet knowing that haste would not help.
"Okay, hands next," she said to George, when she had stripped the last piece of tape from around her ankles.
"Out of my way! I may fall over when I stand up," said George, who was becoming more clearheaded. Nancy rolled out of the way, and George stood up on shaky legs. "Maybe we can work on each other's wrists."
"I think one at a time," Nancy said. "Squat down here by me so I can get started. It's going to be slow, and they're going to be back soon."
"Hang on a minute," George said. ''I can see a drawer partially open in that desk. Maybe I can find a paper knife or something to give us a hand."
She walked to the desk, backed up to the drawer, and pulled it open. Then she turned around and surveyed the contents.
"Better than a paper knife! Nail scissors! Oh, I'm glad somebody left these babies behind." She turned her back to the drawer again and looped her little finger into the handle of the scissors. "Got 'em!"
Walking to where Nancy was sitting, George sat on the floor so they were back-to-back. "Okay," she said, "I can't see what I'm doing. Nan, so you'll have to yell if I cut skin instead of tape."
"Count on it," Nancy said, laughing.
It didn't take long for George to cut Nancy's tape, and shortly after, her own wrists and Nancy's ankles were also free.
"Let's get out of here," George said, "before those slimeballs come back."
"Wait a minute. I want to check out these desks first. It looks like they just helped themselves to a vacant oflftce. They probably got a key from somebody in the building, or picked a lock. But maybe Shelley and her goons left something behind." She walked over to the larger of the two desks and pulled open a drawer. "Three paper clips," she reported dejectedly.
"Nan, I think I've got something over here!" George's voice was excited. "Someone was using this phone, and they forgot to take their notes with them."
"What does it say?" Nancy reached for the pad and together, the two girls puzzled over the notations. Someone had scribbled "Brady," a phone number, and, below it, what appeared to be 12:32.
"Who's Brady?" George asked.
Nancy shook her head. "I don't know. It's a local number. Only one way to find out." She picked up the receiver and punched in the numbers.
George walked over to the window and stared out into the darkness. The storm had not abated. "We've got to get out of here," she said, looking nervously at her watch.
"Just a minute, it's ringing," Nancy said. "Let me see who answers."
"Midwest Railroad," an oificial voice announced into Nancy's ear.
Surprised at reaching a business, Nancy recovered quickly. "Good evening," she said, as if she had all the time in the world. "Mr. Brady?"
"Who?"
"Mr. Brady ... or maybe Ms. Brady . . . ?"
"Sorry, lady, no Brady working here."
"Oh." Disappointed, Nancy had to think fast. This was the only clue they had. Maybe if she kept the man on the line, she could find out why the railroad number was on that notepad. Something!
"Well, could you tell me when your next train comes in from . . . Chicago?" She bent down and picked up something from under the desk and stuffed it into the pocket of her jeans.
"Yup, that run comes in at ten-twenty tomorrow morning."
"Thanks," Nancy said. "I have to meet some friends . . . didn't want to be late ..."
There was a brief pause, and the man cleared his throat. "Excuse me, miss, that's a freight train. Don't think your friends would be on that one. Midwest isn't running any passenger lines anymore. You'd have to call Central Railway for their schedule."
"Oh," Nancy said. She looked down at the paper again. "Do you have anything going through at twelve thirty-two?" she asked him, acting on a hunch.
"Oh, yes, sure do! That's what we call the Midnight Flyer, even though it's not really midnight. Showing it on time right now, but with this storm, might be a few minutes late." He paused. "You realize that this is a freight train, right?"
"Yes, I do," Nancy assured him, as she studied the note. "I was just curious. I have another question, if you don't mind."
"Ask away."
"Does Brady mean anything to you?"
"Well, no person here by that name," said the man. "Only thing I can think of is the Brady Crossing. That's that bad one about ten miles east of town, where the old County Road Five intersects the tracks. The crossing's unmarked— no signal lights or arms or anything. We had a bad accident there four years ago. Fields all around it, nearest farmhouse is six miles. Usually not much traflSc out there, 'specially late at night."
*Thank you very much," Nancy said. She hung up the receiver, stuffed the note in her pocket, and moved to the door. "Let's get out of here. We don't have much time."
"Where are we going?"
"To meet a freight train at Brady Crossing."
As she reached for the doorknob, the door swung open and Frank entered.
"What the—" he started to say, but he never finished. Nancy's right arm went up with a sharp karate motion and clipped him under the chin, and he fell to the floor in an unconscious heap.
"Nice one!" George said admiringly. "May we go now?"
"After you," Nancy said. She pushed Frank out of the way and closed the door firmly behind them. The two girls ran for the exit.
"Take the stairs!" Nancy said. "We don't want to meet up with the custodian."
"Do you think he was in on it?" George asked. "Shouldn't we look for him?"
"Don't have time now," Nancy replied, as they hurried to the parking lot.
"What's the rush? Do you think they had Jeremy hidden in that cart?"
"No," Nancy replied. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a red silk hair scarf. "This was on the floor under the desk. I think they had Kamla in the cart, and I think they plan to kill her!"
Chapter Fourteen
"KILL Kamla! Why?" George asked.
"They've set her up to be a suspect. The heat will be off them if she's killed while running away," Nancy said as they hurried into the parking garage. She stopped at a pay phone. "I need to call Wright and see if he's received any instructions. Got any change? My guess is that they'll pick up the money before that train goes through at 12:32 and be long gone before anyone connects them with Kamla's accident."
Silently, George handed her a quarter and walked down the aisle looking at the parked cars. Nancy could tell that she, too, was worried.
Nancy dialed and listened to the rings. On the third one the tape recorder clicked in. The recorder was still connected. Did that mean the kidnappers hadn't called? Was her theory wrong?
Or were the police being extra cautious? Maybe Jeremy had akeady been returned.
"Wright residence."
Hearing the familiar deep voice startled her.
"Sam!"
"Nancy! Where are you?"
"I'm in the Olympia parking garage, but I won't be here long. Have the kidnappers called with instructions yet?"
"About an hour ago," Sam reported. "They'll meet us at the dock of the Blue Water Ballroom, out on the River Road."
"That old deserted place?"
"Yup. I'm sure they think that if they're on water and we're on land, they'll have a better chance to escape. Besides, they know we won't do anything to endanger Jeremy."
"What time?" Nancy asked.
"Midnight. I'll be leaving here soon."
"Is Wright making the drop?" Nancy asked.
"No, they want his housekeeper to do it."
There was a short pause while Nancy did some thinking. She had met Wright's housekeeper that evening when she brought coffee into the den. The wom^an was five feet tall and sixty years old. There was no way Nancy could impersonate her. Besides, there wasn't enough t
ime. It would be impossible to be on the River Road at midnight and at Brady Crossing at twelve-thirty.
"Nan, I know what you're thinking," Sam said. "Don't even consider it! It wouldn't work, and I couldn't—I wouldn't let you take that risk. I have a call in for one of our women officers. She's a good match for Mrs. Henry in physical size, and we can age her some with makeup. She'll exchange the cash for Jeremy. They've promised to have him at the drop site."
"Sam, did a man or a woman call?"
"A man, as far as we could make out. It was muffled. Why?"
"Because I think Shelley Lawson, Wright's law clerk, is Nora—the brains behind Jack Farmer's last job. But she has men working with her. A man named Frank, and somebody named Bert, and a guy dressed as a custodian named Ken."
"Keep talking," Sam said, "I'm taking notes. How do you know all this. Nan?"
"Because George and I just had a two-hour nap at their insistence. Sam, the person who called— did he let you talk to Jeremy?"
"Yes, the boy spoke to his grandfather. But just a few sentences."
Nancy breathed a sigh of relief. "At least he's still alive. And what about Kamla? Have you found her?" she asked, hoping that Sam would say the police had her safe in custody.
"Not yet," Sam replied. He sounded surprised at the question. "We may pick her up at the drop site. Frankly, at this point we're not sure who our suspects are."
"You won't pick her up there," Nancy assured him. "I'm sure Shelley Lawson has her. They're going to set her up. Sam, there are two kidnap victims. And I think Shelley's planning an accident at Brady Crossing to kill Kamla!"
People were drifting back down to their cars from the party, and out of the corner of her eye, Nancy could see George leaning against the wall near the phone. A man wearing a leprechaun hat and green shoes lined up behind Nancy.
Stolen Affections Page 8
