Erik nodded, and he knew by the grave expression on Curt’s face that he suspected the worst.
“It’s O’Sullivan. Look, get a team over to the Fairchild house. The place has been ransacked and Ms. Fairchild is, at this point, missing. My guess is that she’s been taken hostage.”
Erik felt as though Curt had dealt him a blow below the belt. He sucked in air and tried to force his lungs to accept the offering, but his head was spinning from the realization that they were too late. He hadn’t been able to save her from harm, and now she might well be dead.
Leaning back against his truck for support, Erik’s only recourse was to offer up a prayer. “Oh, God,” he whispered, as Curt continued to talk with his people, “please keep her safe from harm. Don’t let them hurt her. Please, God, don’t let her be dead.”
fifteen
Cheryl’s hip ached from the brutal way she’d been thrown into the back of the utility van. Ropes bound her hands behind her and prevented her from steadying herself as the van bounced mercilessly through a series of twists and turns.
Her mind blurred with images of the house being destroyed by the two thugs who now held her captive. Tears filled her eyes as she thought of all her treasures being broken to shards. So many years of memories now lay in ruin, and the thought of her loss was the only thing that drew her mind from her current predicament.
They’d wanted the contents of the lockbox. At least she knew from their demands that they wanted the list and the keys. No mention was made of the money, so perhaps the money had belonged solely to her father. She’d lied and told the men she had no idea where such a list might be. They’d slapped her, knocking her off her feet, so rather than fight, Cheryl remained complaisantly seated on the floor until their curiosity had been satisfied.
Now, in the darkness of the van, Cheryl choked back a sob and bolstered her resolve not to cry. I won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing me fall apart, she determined. Yet even as she thought this, fear gripped her body and held it as captive as the men who’d placed her in the van.
She tried to focus on Erik, forcing herself to remember his face. She outlined in her mind his sandy-colored hair and blue eyes. She mentally drew a picture of his impish grin and the way his face always suggested an inner joy and happiness. He said it was the peace of God acting in his heart. He had said on more than one occasion that the joy God gave him just bubbled out from the center of his being and flooded everything in its path. Cheryl couldn’t imagine having that kind of joy.
Oh, Erik, where are you now? Why didn’t I listen to you and stay with CJ?
But she already knew the answer to that question. She’d returned to the house with every intention of calling Curt and turning over the list that she’d safely replaced in the lockbox before going to CJ’s. Instead, she found herself taken hostage by two rather nasty-looking characters, and reconciling the past with Curt was instantly made impossible.
Remembering Curt and how she’d treated him, Cheryl found herself wishing she could at least set the record straight before dying. She didn’t really hate him anymore. The pieces of the puzzle had slowly come to-gether, and in spite of her desire to believe her loved ones free of guilt, the truth was hard to ignore. She could now accept that Grant had brought this trouble down around him. Little things popped into memory. Things that had transpired between her and Grant. Things that had seemed odd at the time but Cheryl had chosen to ignore in hopes that they were mere coincidence.
But neither coincidence nor chance had landed her in the back of this van on the way to an unknown destination. Struggling to sit up, Cheryl found herself unable to make out any detail of her surroundings. The van’s cargo hold was completely separated from the driver’s position. There wasn’t a single shred of light to give her even a hint of an image. She struggled against the ropes that bound her hands. They were too well tied to work loose, and each movement only managed to cause her more discomfort.
The van turned sharply, and Cheryl barely managed to balance herself by throwing her right leg out to the side. She came in contact with something metallic and maneuvered her leg across the top in order to get a better idea of what it might be. It seemed to be some sort of toolbox. The cool metal surface was evident even to her jean-clad leg, and in the center, a handle of some sort disturbed the smooth lines of the box.
She brought her right leg back and gingerly put out her left leg in the opposite direction. A soft mound of material easily gave way to her prodding limb before her foot made contact with the van wall. The van moved from the paved road to one of gravel. Instantly Cheryl lost her balance and fell back against the floor. She could hear the gravel striking the undercarriage of the van and felt as though her teeth would be jarred right out of her head by the sudden roughness of the road. Where are they taking me?
The van seemed to slow, and Cheryl felt her heartbeat pick up speed. Her mind began to race with thoughts of how she would handle herself. Could she talk her way out of the situation? Could she plot out a method by which she could dupe her captors? There has to be an answer, she thought. After all, I still have the list and the keys. She smiled to herself in the darkness. Maybe they were her trump card in all of this. Maybe she could face her captors with the same aloof toughness she’d given most everyone else for the past five months. It might work.
The van launched itself down an even rougher road, and Cheryl moaned painfully as her head slammed against the metal floor again and again. She struggled back into a sitting position but found this only marginally better. The ride seemed endless, and what little hope she’d managed to bolster within her heart died out when the van finally came to a screeching halt and slammed her against the cold steel walls.
This is it, she thought and waited for someone to open the door to the cargo area. But they never came. They left her alone and went off arguing between themselves. She heard the voices fade into the distance, and a sinking feeling came over her.
What if they never intended to give her a chance to come up with the materials? What if they were only bringing her out to some deserted place in order to kill her? Cheryl began to panic. She fought against the ropes with a vigor born of desperation. It was useless.
Cheryl began to pray. Fear and hopelessness made it seem the only thing left to do.
“God, I know I’m a mess. I know I don’t deserve any kind of consideration on this,” she began, “but I need a way out. I need help.” She swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice steady and her thoughts centered. “CJ and Erik have both tried to help me see the need for having You in my life, but until this moment I guess I figured I was quite capable of taking care of myself.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Guess I was wrong.”
Cheryl tried to remember what it was CJ had said about salvation. What was it she was supposed to do in order to be forgiven? Surely there was more to it than being sorry and asking for God’s mercy. It couldn’t be that clear-cut. Could it?
“God, I don’t know all the right words,” Cheryl admitted. “I am sorry for what I’ve done, and I certainly don’t intend to do anything like it in the future. Is that enough? Is being sorry and determined never to do wrong again enough to have Your forgiveness?”
Her heart was in turmoil. What if God couldn’t forgive her? What if the things she’d done were too bad to be forgiven? But CJ and Erik had both said that God loved her and that He wanted her to find the truth. What truth? Cheryl wondered. Maybe it was the truth of her own stupidity. If that were the case, she’d already learned that lesson.
Find the truth.
She pondered that for a moment. She remembered a verse from the Bible that spoke of the truth setting you free. Could the truth set her free now?
“God, I just don’t know what to do. I’m sorry for my life, and I ask You to forgive me. I want to be saved from this mess.” Then she remem-bered CJ speaking of God’s salvation. Salvation from Satan’s deceptions. Salvation from self-destruction. Salvation from eternal death.
/> “Yes, that’s it,” she murmured. “I want to be saved. I want You to save me, God. If I’m not too bad to save, then show me. Show me by saving me out of this physical mess, and then I’ll know that You are able to save me from my spiritual mess as well.”
For reasons beyond her understanding, Cheryl felt comforted. It wasn’t as if the doors had magically opened or her bonds had instantly fallen away. But a small portion of her anxiety had lifted, and in that, she found an understanding of peace. It wasn’t an emotional thing, because God knew her emotions were well out of control. The thought almost hit her as a settled matter. God not only could save her—He would save her.
Voices sounded outside the van, and Cheryl braced herself for what was to come. Could she hold onto that tiny slip of faith? The doors opened, and Cheryl blinked rapidly against the light of day.
“Come on,” the larger of the two men said and gave her legs a yank. He dragged her to the end of the cargo area and pulled her out by the shoulders. “The boss is ready to see you.”
Cheryl faced the man as bravely as she could. “Who is he, and why does he want to see me?”
Offering no explanation, the man grabbed her tightly around the upper arm and pushed her forward. The smaller of the two men glanced around nervously, and Cheryl followed his gaze. They were leading her toward a metal building. It looked like an old airplane hangar with two large doors slid back to leave the interior exposed. Looking beyond the building, Cheryl could see nothing but open space. She realized they were facing east. The mountains had to be behind her, and she tried to twist enough to look over her shoulders to assure herself of this fact.
“Stop gawking around,” her captor told her and roughly pushed her forward.
Cheryl would have fallen except for the man’s continued hold. She tried to think of where they might be. There were several old airfields in the area, but which one was this one? Could it belong to O&F Aviation? She tried to find some shred of evidence that might confirm or deny the possibility.
“I told you to knock it off,” the man said, growling out his displeasure. “It ain’t gonna do you any good, anyhow.”
Cheryl remained silent as they passed inside the hangar. She looked around and saw nothing but old oil drums, crates, and filthy workbenches. She’d focused on a rusted-out sign, when the man who held her pushed her forward and this time released his hold. She fell to the oil-stained cement and found, as she tried to get back to her feet, that another man had joined them.
“Help her up,” a deep, husky voice commanded.
Both men took hold of her and brought her back to her feet. Cheryl steadied herself before allowing her eyes to meet the face of the man who controlled her captors. With a gasp, she felt the strength drain from her body, and once again, she sank to her knees.
Looking up again, still unwilling to believe what she was seeing, Cheryl found the man’s amused expression. His dark complexion and dark eyes might have made him a handsome man in his younger days, but a thick ugly scar marred the left side of his face. That feature alone kept him from being an older version of Grant Burks.
“I’m telling you everything I can think of,” Erik said impatiently.
“I’m sorry, Erik,” Curt said. “It’s just that any detail might help us in figuring out what’s happened.”
Erik nodded. “I know that, and I want more than anything to help you get Cheryl back, safe and sound. It’s just that I don’t know what’s helpful and what’s not. I can tell you that there were what seemed hundreds of telephone calls daily. That’s why she changed her number. Some of them were legitimate enough, but Cheryl did mention that a great many calls were from people who claimed to be friends of the family and clearly weren’t.”
“Did she have any idea who the people really were?”
Erik tried to ignore the DEA agents working around him. It was distracting to see strangers going through Cheryl’s personal belongings, but he knew it was necessary. “Not really. I think she felt pretty certain that a lot of them were reporters wanting information on the drug situation and her father. When she had her number changed, the calls stopped.”
“What about last night? Did she say what she saw outside the window?”
Erik shook his head. “She only said that she’d thought she’d seen her father. But honestly, Curt, I think she only said that to throw me off. She didn’t want to admit at that point that she was upset about anything other than her father’s death and the fact that she missed him.”
Curt ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, start from the beginning. Why did you come over in the first place?”
“She called me. It was the first time she’d ever invited me over. She seemed pretty agitated, you know, kind of nervous and uptight.” Curt nodded, and Erik continued. “Anyway, when I got here, she opened the door and seemed pretty glad to see me. She was looking around like maybe she was expecting someone else, and I even asked her about it.”
“What did she say?”
“Only that there wasn’t anybody else coming.”
“Is there anything else that sticks out as unusual?” Curt questioned, his voice edged with desperation.
Erik started to shake his head, but then stopped. “I do remember asking her about the muddy tire tracks in her drive. Remember it rained early yesterday morning? Anyway, there were these muddy tracks in the drive, and I asked her where they’d come from.”
“What’d she say?”
“Only that CJ stopped by to check up on her.”
“But that isn’t true,” Curt said, suddenly seeming very interested in the matter. “I just talked to CJ to get the details on that Damon Brooks character, and she said she’d not seen Cheryl since that incident. She’d only talked to her on the telephone.”
“Then the tracks belonged to someone else,” Erik said flatly.
“Exactly where were they positioned?”
“Right in front of the garage.”
“Debbie, come here for a minute,” Curt called to an exotic-looking young woman.
Erik smiled as the woman approached. She was dressed smartly in a navy blue suit, with her black hair swept fashionably into a French twist. Erik recognized her as one of Curt’s DEA partners. She had been the one working with
Curt when he’d first met Christy.
“What is it, Curt?”
“I want you to go to the garage and check the vehicles there for any signs of mud or recent usage.”
“Sure thing.”
She took off, and Erik looked back at Curt. “What are you thinking?”
Curt shrugged. “Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. What if Cheryl, herself, made those muddy tracks?”
“But Cheryl hadn’t left the house since coming home from the hospital. Well,” Erik paused, feeling rather embarrassed to bring up his mistake of the past, “except for the time she went with me.”
“But what if she did leave the house? What if she went in search of something or someone?”
“But who or what? I know how upset she was about facing the public. It would have had to be something big in order to make her leave.”
Debbie returned just then. “There’s dried mud all over the tires of the green Volvo.”
“That is Cheryl’s car,” Curt said flatly. “She must have gone somewhere.”
“I can take a sample of the dirt and try to analyze where it came from,” Debbie suggested.
“She couldn’t have gone all that far,” Curt murmured, obviously thinking through the situation. “It would have had to be sometime either during or after the storm because everything was pretty dried up until then.”
“And as scared as she was of everything,” Erik offered, “I doubt she would have driven anywhere very far out of Denver.”
“I’ll get a sample and see what I can turn up. Maybe it will give us something to go on.”
“Thanks, Deb,” Curt replied, still deep in thought. “Someone figured out that Cheryl knew about the list. There’s evidence of that just
in the fact that Damon Brooks or whoever he was came to question her about it. What if Cheryl knew where the list was and tried to do some exploring on her own?”
“To what purpose?” Erik asked, seeing immediately the direction Curt’s thoughts were taking.
“Clearing her father,” he answered flatly. “It’s the only thing I know that she would have felt strongly enough about to put aside her own fears and leave the house.”
“But even if she had the list, chances are she doesn’t have it now,” Erik reminded him.
Curt shook his head. “I don’t think that’s necessarily true.” He looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time. “Either they got what they wanted and Cheryl surprised them, and they felt they had to take her with them to keep her quiet, or they didn’t find what they wanted and they took Cheryl with them to force her to help them.”
“Either way, it doesn’t look good for her,” Erik commented grimly. Things were definitely not shaping up the way he’d hoped they would.
sixteen
My name is Severon Burks,” the man told Cheryl. He maintained a regal bearing and an attitude of aristocratic disinterest. “As you may have already surmised, I am Grant’s father.”
Cheryl nodded, knowing beyond any doubt that the man was speaking the truth. Looking into his eyes was like looking into the ghostly image of the man she’d once loved.
“Why am I here?”
He smiled tolerantly and motioned to the two thugs. “Bring a chair and some rope. Ms. Fairchild looks a bit spent.”
“I’m fine,” Cheryl protested, not wanting to be any further confined than she already was.
Burks ignored her and waited until the men had tied her securely to the chair before continuing. “My son was a bit remiss in his duties. There is a list of information that I need to complete certain business transactions. I believe you have that list, and I want it now.”
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