"There we go. Isn't that cozy?" The suit disappeared into the kitchen. He returned with a knife and motioned for Sam to turn around. She slid so her back was facing him, and a moment later, the plastic tie fell away.
She shifted her hands, turned, and met Garrison's eyes. "I'll be okay."
He held her gaze. "I'm so sorry."
"It's not your fault." She kissed him, a quick peck that had the suit sighing.
"You can do this." Garrison stared into her eyes like he was trying to impart a message. "Just another day at the office."
The office?
"Whenever you're ready," the man in the suit said.
She squeezed Garrison's forearm. "I'll be okay." Then she stood and approached the door.
"The white SUV," the suit asked, "is it yours?"
"Yes."
"And the keys are where?"
She had to think. "They're in my purse, in Garrison's rental."
"Okay." The suit turned to Garrison. "Is it unlocked?"
He shrugged. "I think so. We hadn't finished unloading it."
"And the keys to the Camry?"
"They're with it," Garrison said. "I don't have another set with me."
The man smirked. "Does it have an alarm?"
"Yeah."
"Of course it does." The suit looked back at her. "You know what the car looks like?"
"Black Camry, New York plates. There probably won't be more than one."
The suit nodded, his face solemn. He looked at the other prisoners, then approached her. Just a foot away, he stopped, looked into her eyes. "Listen closely."
She swallowed. Didn't speak.
"If you don't come back, they die. If my friend doesn't come back, they die. If the package doesn't come back, they die. You understand me?"
"Yes."
"If you try anything funny, you die. Any questions?"
"No."
He stepped back and smiled like he was sending them off for a holiday. "Hurry back."
The scary guy motioned toward the door with his gun.
She turned, met Aiden's eyes, then met Garrison's. With a deep breath, she stepped into the warm night air.
A breeze rustled the treetops and carried with it the scent of rain. Ever since little Ana had been rescued a few months before, she'd associated the scent of rain with the presence of God.
Maybe the scent was a gift.
Maybe it was a coincidence, and she was grasping for any reason to hope.
"Get your purse."
She jumped at the words. It was the first time the scary guy had spoken. She'd imagined him with an Indian accent, so the Brooklyn accent threw her.
She opened the passenger door of Garrison's rental and lifted her pocketbook. She started to reach inside it, but the scary guy yanked it out of her hand. He tipped it over and shook the contents onto the gravel at her feet. He toed the things there. In the dim light coming from inside the car, she saw her wallet, the little bag with her lipsticks in it, her cell phone, her checkbook, a couple of pens. And of course, her keys.
He stepped back. "Get the keys. Put everything else back in the purse, then put the purse in the car."
She did as she was told, then at his prompting, climbed into the driver's seat of her SUV. This was one of her safe places, but it felt anything but safe right now.
He climbed in beside her, rested the gun, his hand still ready to aim and fire, on his lap. "Turn left."
Though the highway was in the other direction, she turned left. They drove past a few cabins. When she reached the little parking lot beside the beach, he said, "Stop behind the BMW."
The luxury car was parked on the beach out of sight of the road unless you were looking for it. There was a dark sedan beside it. Like the BMW, it had New York plates. She did as she was told. The man took keys from his pocket and pressed a button. The trunk popped open. He stepped out of the car and pointed the gun at her head. She looked away, stared straight ahead at the gaping hole of the other car's trunk. Swallowed. Prayed.
"Don't move. I'll be right back."
This could be a moment of escape. If she could move fast enough. If he aimed and missed. She could imagine the gunshot reverberating across the lake. The man in the suit would hear it. Garrison would hear it. They would all hear it, and they would know something had happened. And then...what? The man would wait for his friend. His friend would return. They would start killing people.
Sam closed her eyes, gripped the steering wheel, and breathed deeply. In and out, in and out.
She heard the trunk slam. A moment later, her back door opened. Something metal clanked behind her before the door closed again.
And then he slipped in beside her.
"Good choice." He fiddled with his phone, and a woman's monotone voice prompted her to head east.
She backed out of the driveway and turned toward the highway.
They passed the cabin where Garrison waited for her to return. His words came back to her.
Another day at the office. That remark had made no sense, because she only had her office at home, and he'd never seen that. So maybe he'd just been trying to encourage her, but his words seemed so specific. A secret message she was meant to figure out?
She hadn't worked in an office since she'd quit her job with the town. They'd been talking about that on Monday night—which was only last night, which hardly seemed possible. They'd been talking about her job with Eric and Brady. She'd joked about how she never saw them anymore, since her office wasn't attached to the police station.
And that was it, of course. Garrison was telling her to try to get the police involved. Try to escape. Try to alert Brady or Eric or any of them to the trouble at the lake. But even if she had the opportunity to get away, would she dare? Could she risk all of their lives on that gamble?
Not a chance. She'd do what she was told. She wouldn't take any risks with Garrison's life. With Aiden's or the others' lives. Even if she had the opportunity, she knew she'd do everything in her power to return to the cabin with the package. It was her only chance to save the people she loved.
Chapter 43
Aiden glared at the dude in the chair, who smiled at him like they were friends or something.
"Isn't this nice," the guy said, "fathers and sons together."
Dad scooted a little closer to Aiden. "This isn't exactly what I had in mind when I brought us up here for vacation."
"A nice place for a week away," the dude said. "You guys do anything fun?"
"We went water skiing today." Dad was talking like he and this guy were old friends. "Aiden got right up, and Sam...she's really good."
"How about you?" the man said.
"Oh, I stink. Wiped out like the buffoon I am."
The dude seemed to think that was funny, but his smile faded fast. "You know where my name comes from?"
"Don't." Frank cleared his throat, said a little louder, "They don't know your name. No need to tell them."
"But you know it, Frank. And young Matthew knows it. Why not let them in on it?"
"We're not gonna tell anybody."
The man chuckled. "Right." He focused on Aiden's dad again. "My name is Lionel. Not a lot of Lionels in the world. You know where I got it?"
"Family name?" Garrison asked.
Lionel's chuckle turned to a sneer. "Far from it." He pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Seems my mother or father or, perhaps, both decided I wasn't worth keeping. The way I picture it, my mother gets onto the subway, pushing me in a stroller. Then she gets off and leaves me there."
"Sad story," Dad said. "Some women aren't cut out to be mothers."
"True, true," Lionel said. "Have you guessed?"
Aiden didn't have a clue.
His father paused, then said, "Ah. After the model train sets."
Lionel smiled, but there was no happiness in it. "Some boys are named after their fathers. I'm named after the place where my mother abandoned me."
"That's a real tear-jerker, Lionel." Dad sat up straig
hter and lifted his chin. "But I've heard a lot worse from men who grew up to be heroes, not villains."
What was his father doing, trying to goad this man?
"Is that so?"
Garrison shrugged. "You hear a lot in the forensic accounting game."
The man didn't respond. Seconds ticked by, dragging minutes with them like dead bodies.
Dead bodies. Not an image that would help him relax.
The silence in the room ticked away. It grew and expanded until it felt like an entity that might explode at any moment.
Aiden couldn't stand it.
His hands twitched. He could feel the trembling starting. The need.
If he could just focus on the situation, on the moment. But all he could think about were the feelings he craved. The emptiness, the high. Because being here, facing those guns, was bringing far too much to the surface. They said when you thought you were going to die your life flashed before your eyes. His past wasn't flashing so much as being projected like a slideshow.
His fifth birthday—a photo of him with his mother on one side, his father on the other, all smiling.
The Christmas Eve they'd driven to his aunt's house in Pennsylvania in the snow, singing carols all the way.
His father taking him and Matty for ice cream after they lost the championship, cracking stupid jokes to cheer them up.
Another image came. His mother, passed out on the sofa, an empty bottle of Kentucky bourbon on the coffee table. Aiden bent beside her, put his palm in front of her face to feel her breath. Because he'd thought painkillers and alcohol didn't mix. Since then, he'd learned they mixed really well.
His need settled inside him, expanded. He was sure it would swallow him whole.
Why didn't somebody say something? It was better when they were talking. At least then there was something to focus on. But now, whenever he looked up, all he saw were Lionel and his gun.
Obviously, this guy was going to kill them all as soon as Sam and the other dude got back. Especially now that they knew his name. Were they just going to sit here, wait for their deaths? Surely that wasn't Dad's plan.
He looked at his father out of the corner of his eye.
"It's going to be okay, son," Dad said.
Aiden looked down again.
It wasn't going to be okay. They all knew it. But what were they going to do about it?
Aiden would do something. He'd rush the guy in the suit. Then, maybe Dad could charge the creepy bald guy. With Frank and Matty sitting in front of them, it would be hard. If they could all, like, coordinate or something so everybody moved at once. Confuse the dudes. Maybe get them to fire wild. Maybe it would be okay.
He shifted from his cross-legged position to his knees.
"Don't." His father's voice was commanding.
"Just getting more comfortable," Aiden said.
In front of him, Matty twisted his shoulders to look. Frank kept his eyes forward, on the suit. See, they were already working together. Aiden would just stand up, see what happened.
He turned his toes under, preparing to stand.
His father shoved him with his shoulder, and Aiden tumbled onto his side. "What the—?"
"Don't do it, son."
The bald guy aimed his pistol at Aiden.
Lionel said, "Sit down."
Aiden's stomach filled with rage. What was his father doing? They had to do something. They had to try, didn't they?
He pushed himself back to his knees and glared at his father. Then he looked at Lionel. "Sorry. I was just trying to get comfortable."
"Not on your knees," Lionel said. "On your butt."
Aiden didn't want to go back to that position. He waited to see what would happen.
The man stood, aimed his pistol at Dad's head. "Your daddy pissed me off, anyway. Give me an excuse to shoot him."
Dad stared at the man, practically willing him to shoot.
Aiden shifted to his backside and crossed his legs. "Sorry. Sorry."
The man kept his arm outstretched, kept the gun pointed, kept staring at his father.
Seconds ticked past.
Dad shifted his gaze to the floor.
The man lowered the gun. "Well, that was fun."
Aiden's heart pounded like it was trying to escape. Crap, he'd almost gotten his father killed.
But somebody had to do something. How could they communicate? How could they get out of this? Aiden looked around, searched for something, anything he could use as a weapon.
His father turned his back to him, reached with his bound hand, and grabbed his arm. "Don't, son."
Aiden met Lionel's eyes. "I'm not doing anything."
Dad spoke again. "I can feel it. But it won't work, whatever you're thinking. So don't."
Fresh rage washed over him like lava.
"You think you can try something, maybe rescue us all." His father's voice was tender, his hand still gripping Aiden's arm. "You know what'll really happen? You'll get yourself killed, and that'll destroy me. Or you'll get someone else killed, and that'll destroy you. It's not worth it."
"Listen to the accountant, kid. He's a smart man."
"But he's not going to let us live, right?" Aiden voiced the question that had been fighting its way to the surface from the instant he'd felt the pistol against his head. They were going to die. There was no way out of this, because they'd seen these guys' faces. Knew this guy's name. As soon as Lionel got his package, they'd be dead.
His father slid his hand down Aiden's arm and took his hand.
Tears filled his eyes. This was not how he wanted to die. He couldn't die here, not now, not like this. Not after all the stupid stuff he'd done. All the time he'd thought he'd have. Time to get clean. Time to make things right with Dad. Time to have a good life, have a family, have a job, make his dad proud.
All that was gone now.
Dad squeezed his hand. "Let's just get through this minute. We'll face whatever happens together."
Aiden held onto his father and tried to believe things would be okay. He'd trust his dad.
"You're not going to kill us, right?" It was Frank who asked the question. "He's not going to kill us, because he's not a killer. A smuggler, yeah. A businessman who dabbles in the black market. But he's not a killer."
Lionel watched Frank, a slight smile on his lips. "I hope not to kill anybody today." He looked at Aiden. "I'm glad you decided to follow directions."
Aiden looked at the floor, tried not to think about what he could have done.
"But when you get your package," Frank said, "you're going to let us go, right? We don't need to tell anybody about what happened here. Everybody will be fine. No harm, no foul. You get away, maybe leave us tied up so we can't contact anybody until you're far from here. It'll be fine."
The man nodded slowly. "A good suggestion, Frank. I'll consider it."
Consider it. But it was a lie. If they didn't do something, eventually, this guy was going to kill them all.
Chapter 44
Samantha drove silently, slowly, through Nutfield. They passed a police car right after the only stoplight in town. In the glow from the streetlights, it looked like Donny in the driver's seat. He waved, and she waved back, as if her driving with an armed Indian-slash-New Yorker in the middle of the night were the most normal thing in the world.
"The cops wave to everybody in town," the man asked, "or do they know you?"
"I've lived here all my life. I know a lot of them."
Sam stopped at the only light in Nutfield and glanced at the man to find him looking at her, studying her. She turned toward the highway.
"Are you a cop?"
A chuckle powered by fear and nerves bubbled up. "A cop? Please."
"Answer the question."
She realized he was serious. "I used to be a glorified secretary. Now I'm a real estate investor."
As if she could have signaled Donny with a wave. Even if she could have, would she dare? Would she risk the lives of the people
back at the cabin? No chance. Which meant she had to get to Manchester, help this guy get the package, and get back. And then trust that these men would let them go.
She wouldn't think about that right now. One step at a time.
But the town line came up too fast. The invisible line she never crossed. She'd gone to Dover with Garrison the day before, but that was in the other direction. And she'd been with him. And it had been daytime.
But she could see it in her headlights, the sign marking the Nutfield border.
And the bridge just past it. She'd forgotten the bridge. It was just a normal bridge—nothing special about it. Not particularly high. Not particularly narrow. But it was a bridge, and a creek ran below it. Right now, in midsummer, the creek wouldn't be high. But she imagined running water. Icy water. Frigid temperatures.
Without her permission, her foot shifted to the brake. The SUV slowed to a stop.
"What are you doing?"
She opened her mouth, closed it, swallowed. Took a deep breath. But she couldn't get enough air. She took another one, then another.
The man beside her swore softly.
She tried to speak, couldn't make the words come. The world of night darkened further, the darkness so thick, she couldn't think through it.
The man beside her pulled in a deep breath. Then blew it out.
She couldn't do it.
The man did it again. "Inhale, exhale. Now."
He inhaled, she inhaled. He exhaled, she exhaled. Again, again, again.
Minutes ticked away while she fought for air, fought to stay conscious. She fought, and finally, she won. She breathed a silent prayer of thanks.
She wasn't sure what to say. She focused on her breathing and said nothing.
"Drive."
Could she? Did she have another choice? It wasn't like this guy would just let her go. And he wasn't going to go back to the cabin and switch prisoners. Her choices were to risk all their lives or drive to Manchester.
She would drive.
She took another deep breath and forced her foot off the brake and onto the accelerator.
They inched over the bridge. And just like that, they were on the other side. She managed to get through another few miles of country driving. Hers was the only car, though she had seen headlights behind her a time or two on the winding road. Odd, considering how slowly she was driving, but whoever was behind her clearly wasn't in much of a hurry. Finally, they merged onto the highway toward Manchester.
Generous Lies Page 24
