The Ransom (The Munro Family Series Book 7)

by Chris Taylor

  “I’m afraid not. I guess the boy had no reason to suspect anything was amiss.”

  “What about a tattoo?” Zara asked quietly.

  Lane’s gaze locked on hers. Her heart pounded furiously.

  “He didn’t see a tattoo. Then again, unless the man’s left hand was high up on the steering wheel, it probably wouldn’t be visible from the driver’s side. It’s still possible the guy’s a member of the Redbacks.”

  Zara nodded agreement and licked her suddenly dry lips. Lane stared at her. The moment stretched on. Unable to bear it another second, she dragged her gaze away.

  Lane cleared his throat and addressed her father. “I’d like to talk to Brittany now, if that’s all right with you?”

  Her father stood and pushed away from the desk. “Of course.” He turned to Zara. “Would you mind going upstairs and checking if she’s awake?”

  Grateful for the reason to escape the intoxicating pull of Lane’s presence, Zara stood and left the room. Moments later, she reached her sister’s room and eased open the door. Brittany had pushed herself up against her pillows and was focused on the television. A children’s game show filled the screen.

  “Hey, sweetheart. How’re you doing?” Zara murmured.

  Brittany offered her a weak smile. “I’m okay.”

  Moving closer to the bed, Zara reached out and laid her hand on Brittany’s cheek. “This has been such a difficult day for you. I understand how much you’ve been through and you’ve been so brave and so wonderful, I can’t wait to tell Olivia what a good friend you are.”

  Brittany’s eyes clouded at the mention of Olivia. Zara cursed under her breath. She hadn’t meant to upset the child. Goodness, she was trying to prepare her sister for another police interview.

  To her relief, Brittany’s mouth tilted upwards in the tiniest of smiles, her eyes full of hope. “Do you really think they’re going to find her soon?”

  Zara’s heart clenched at the eagerness that filled her sister’s eyes. “Of course,” she replied with as much confidence as she could muster. “That nice Detective Lane’s working as hard as he can to bring her back. In fact, he’s downstairs right now. He’d like to ask you some more questions.”

  Brittany pulled a face and tugged the bedcovers up under her chin. Zara patted her knee.

  “This is so tough on you, baby. But I need you to stay strong. Detective Lane needs your help and so does Olivia.”

  “Can I go downstairs?”

  “Sure, if that’s what you want.”

  Brittany nodded and pushed back the bedcovers. Still dressed in the clothes she’d worn that morning, she slid off the bed, brushing tendrils of golden curls out of her eyes.

  “Here, put on your slippers.” Zara held them out to her and waited for the girl to slip them onto her feet. With an arm around her sister’s shoulders, she hugged her to her side and together they made their way down the stairs.

  Lane and her father were still in his office. Lane had moved to stand near the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto the lush gardens. He turned at the sound of their footsteps and smiled when he saw Brittany.

  “Hello again, Brittany. Thank you for coming downstairs.”

  Brittany peered up at him shyly. “That’s okay.”

  Tugging the envelope out of the inside of his jacket, he motioned for her to take a seat. She hesitated and Zara squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, silently urging her forward.

  Lane moved closer and placed the envelope on the desk within Brittany’s reach. He hunkered down beside her. Like the expression that filled his face, his voice was gentle.

  “I have some photos I’d like you to take a look at Brittany,” he murmured. “After we spoke about the man who attacked you, I went back to my office and my partner and I put together a page containing photos of men that look a little like the man you described. I’m hoping the man you saw in Myers might be one of them.”

  Brittany tensed beneath Zara’s fingers. Zara bent and put her face close to her sister’s. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here. It will only take a few moments. Remember what I said? Lane’s trying to find Olivia. You might be able to help.”

  The young girl drew in a shaky breath and nodded. “Okay.”

  Lane opened the envelope and drew out a legal sized sheet of thin white cardboard. On it were two rows of male head shots. There were ten altogether and they were all physically similar. Zara stayed close to her sister while Brittany examined the photos.

  “Take your time, Brittany,” Lane said softly. “Have a good look. It’s important that you’re absolutely certain.”

  “Th-that’s him,” she whispered, pointing to one of the pictures.

  Zara looked to the man Brittany had pointed to and gasped and then clenched her fist against her mouth, trying to push the sound back in. Her heart pounded. It was one of the men she’d seen in her father’s office.

  As if sensing something amiss, Lane’s gaze zeroed in on her and then slowly looked at Brittany. “Are you sure?”

  “Y-yes, I’m sure. That’s the man I saw in the change rooms.”

  Zara was still doing her best to get her emotions under control. Her heart continued to thump hard. She could still feel Lane’s assessing gaze.

  “Who…who is that?” she rasped, pointing to a second man she recognized. Her blood pounded so loudly she was sure everyone could hear it. She didn’t dare look at the detective—or her father.

  Lane glanced at the man she’d indicated. “Draco Jovanovic,” he replied, his lip curling with disdain. “Jovanovic’s the president of the Redbacks. He’s done serious jail time. Why do you ask?”

  Panic like she’d never known, suddenly seized Zara’s chest and it was all she could do to keep breathing. She searched frantically around for something to say, but try as she might, she kept coming up blank. She drew in a surreptitious breath and swiped at the sweat that had popped out on her lip. Lane continued to look at her curiously.

  “Who is he?” Brittany asked and once again pointed to the man she’d identified. The relief Zara felt when Lane’s attention was drawn to her sister nearly caused Zara’s legs to give out from under her.

  “That’s Boris Vukovic, another prominent member of the Redbacks,” Lane replied and then turned to address her father, his expression grim. “It looks like it’s just as you suspected: retaliation for threatening to tighten the biker laws.”

  Zara stared at her father. He’d paled beneath his perpetual tan and a frown left deep creases in his forehead. He exhaled on a heavy sigh.

  “Do what you need to do, Detective. I’m not going to let these outlaws dictate how we run this State. It’s easy for me to say because my daughter’s not the one missing, but I’m prepared to put all available resources at your disposal so that you can find this scumbag and bring him to justice.”

  “Thank you, Attorney General. Fortunately, we’re already in the process of forming a joint taskforce with the Australian Federal Police. They have more resources available to them than we do and given that you’re a political figure, their expertise is not only required, but necessary. We’ll also be calling on officers in the Organized Crime Squad and the New South Wales Crime Commission to assist. Their knowledge of these outlaw motorcycle gangs far exceeds ours.”

  Her father nodded and turned away. “Good, good. It sounds like you have everything under control, Detective Black. Keep me informed of your progress.”

  “Yes, sir. I will.” Lane paused and then added, “About the ransom money, Attorney General. Did you have any thoughts in that regard? I’m sure you know the government’s position on paying ransom demands and I understand it’s not your child who’s at risk, but—”

  “I still feel responsible and I want to help. I’m sure I can get my hands on some of it at short notice. Whether I can find the full million… I’ll have to see.”

  Lane started in surprise. “That’s awfully generous of you, Attorney General. While we’ll do our best to keep track of
it, there’s no guarantee you’ll get it back. Olivia isn’t your daughter—”

  “No, but I’m the reason she’s been taken. It’s the least I can do for the Munros. This had nothing to do with them. If I hadn’t been so vocal about my stance against the gangs, they would never be trying to retaliate. Besides, it could have just as easily been Brittany. In fact, if whoever has taken Olivia knew the girls better, it would have been Brittany…” His gaze drifted to his youngest daughter and he shuddered.

  Zara watched him and burned with the strain of remaining quiet. She wanted to shout out the truth, but fear and uncertainty kept her silent. Her father knew better than she did that two of the men in the photo line-up were more familiar to him than Lane could ever imagine: A fortnight ago, the very same men had been sitting right there, in the Attorney General’s office.

  * * *

  After promising to make the necessary phone calls to compile what he could of the ransom money, David asked the detective and his daughters to leave his office. He needed time alone to think. He needed to talk to Draco. With an unsteady hand, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed the number. It was answered on the first ring.

  “I see you got my note.”

  “What the hell are you doing? Are you crazy?” David whispered, hating the desperation in his voice.

  Draco didn’t seem to notice. “That bitch owes me. A million dollars. I told you a fortnight ago. I want it back.”

  “You’ll get your money. These things take time. You didn’t have to take the girl.”

  “Just be grateful Boris fucked up,” Draco snarled. “Next time, you won’t be so lucky. Besides, there’s always your other daughter.” His chuckle was pure evil. “Beautiful Zara,” he crooned. “She’s like a little china doll. So tiny. So perfect. All that black, silky hair… Me and my boys could have so much fun with her. Who knows? Maybe next time, we’ll take both of them.”

  David began to shake so hard he had to lean against his desk for support. His heart pounded. Sweat popped out on his brow.

  “You’ll get your money,” he wheezed. “Please, just leave my girls alone.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Saturday, January 27, 3:55 p.m.

  Olivia stared at the ugly man with the pockmarked skin and dirty jeans and tried very hard not to cry. He shone the flashlight he carried right into her face and the bright beam burned into her eyes. The man took another step toward her and terror pulsed through her veins.

  “Please,” she whimpered. “Please don’t hurt me.”

  The man merely snorted and scratched at his beard-roughened chin. Closing the distance between them, he squatted beside her and smiled.

  “You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

  He reached out to touch her cheek. Olivia shied away from him, pressing herself up against the wall. The man chuckled and cupped her chin in his hand, forcing her to face him.

  “I like ’em feisty, that’s for sure.” He turned her face this way and that, examining her in the yellow light. “You’re a bit on the young side, but you never know, I might be able to be persuaded.”

  He leaned closer and the smell of unwashed body and stale cigarettes made her gag. She struggled with the bindings around her wrists, but they didn’t budge. Fear clogged her airways. She gasped and choked and coughed, suddenly unable to breathe.

  Her tormenter thumped her on the back. Hard. She gasped again and sucked in oxygen.

  “Don’t go all silly on me, girlie. Draco’s entrusted me to keep you safe, at least until the ransom’s paid. I can’t have you dropping dead on me. Draco will have me hide. What’s your name, anyway?”

  Olivia stilled, hardly daring to believe that it wasn’t in his immediate plan to kill her. The tiniest sliver of hope trickled through her and she prayed with increased desperation that her father would find her.

  The man nudged her with his shoulder. “I’m Boris. Draco said you were Brittany.”

  Olivia gasped again and shook her head vehemently. “No, no, no! You’ve got it wrong! I’m not Brittany! I’m Olivia! I’m Olivia Munro!”

  Confusion appeared in Boris’ eyes, but then he shrugged as if it was of no consequence. “Brittany, Olivia—same difference.”

  “No, no! Please, it’s not the same. I’m Olivia. I’m not Brittany! Brittany’s my friend. You’ve got the wrong girl!”

  Boris stared at her a moment longer and then cursed viciously. Pushing away, he spun on his heel and headed toward the door, taking the light with him.

  * * *

  Lane dialed Clayton’s number on the way back to the station and quickly brought him up to speed. As Lane knew he would, Clayton exploded when he discovered Olivia hadn’t been the target.

  “You mean to tell me my daughter’s been kidnapped because of a monumental fuck up by some brain-dead, drug-infested, scumbag biker gang member who has a grievance with the AG’s politics?”

  Lane grimaced. “Yep. At least, that’s what it looks like. I’m sorry, mate—you don’t know how much. This whole thing is screwed up. The only good thing is, now we know who we’re dealing with and now that we know for certain the AG’s involved, we can get a whole lot more people in on this. The boss has already contacted the AFP. He’s putting together a joint taskforce as we speak.”

  “How long have they given Dowton to come up with the cash?”

  Lane bit his lip, trying to delay the inevitable. “Midnight, tomorrow.”

  “Who’s getting the money together?”

  “The AG’s offered to see what he can do. He feels responsible and he’s making phone calls right now. Let’s hope he gets it together in time.”

  “Well, I appreciate his support, that’s for sure even if it is true that my daughter’s life has been endangered because of his political views.” Clayton sighed heavily. His voice was devoid of emotion when he spoke again. “One million dollars in a little over thirty hours. What are his chances?”

  Lane chose not to answer. They both knew the outcome was far from certain. The first hurdle was to find the money. The second was to have the kidnapper fall for the trap the taskforce would set with it.

  “I’m going to call Dowton. Ellie and I have access to a bit of cash put away for the kids’ college fund. Not a million dollars, but between all of us, we might find it.”

  Lane pressed his lips together, but nodded. Clayton knew as well as he did that government policy dictated the police would never pay a ransom demand, but if it were his daughter, he’d do everything possible to get her back, even if it meant handing over every dollar he had.

  “I want to do the drop,” Clayton added, his voice rough. “I want to look this prick in the face when he hands over my child. I want to remember him for as long as it takes.”

  On the other end of the phone, Lane was already shaking his head before Clayton finished. “You can’t be involved, Clay. As far as Boris Vukovic knows, he has David Dowton’s daughter. It’s the AG he’ll be expecting, not you.”

  “What happens when this asshole realizes he’s taken the wrong child?” Clayton’s question was voiced in a tone that became softer and deadlier with every word, as if the reality of the situation had exploded in his head at the end of his chain of thought.

  Lane’s gut plummeted. He didn’t even want to think about the possibilities if the kidnapper discovered his mistake—including the consequences for Clay’s daughter. He remained silent.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! What the fuck am I going to tell Ellie?” Clayton’s agony reverberated through the phone.

  Lane’s knuckles turned white around the steering wheel. He squeezed his eyes shut against the surge of emotion that threatened behind his eyes. He let Clayton’s anger and fear and frustration and pain run its course in an ever-increasing volume of oaths and curses and vowed with every breath he took to find the little girl who was loved more than she knew.

  * * *

  Boris Vukovic heard the sound of a key turning in the lock only moments bef
ore the Prez’s impressive bulk filled the doorway of the safe house. Scrambling off the chair, Boris came to his feet.

  His gut lurched with apprehension at the look in Draco’s eyes. The Prez hadn’t made it to the top by fighting fair and when Draco came toward him with narrowed eyes and moved each booted foot in a slow, measured tread, Boris couldn’t help the shiver of unease that coursed through him. His fear skyrocketed when Toothpick made an appearance behind him, swinging a foot of loose steel chain.

  “P-Prez, I wasn’t expecting to see you here. Didn’t you get my text? I told you I had the girl. Everything went to plan, just like I promised.”

  Draco’s gaze turned meaner. Without taking his eyes off Boris, he whipped a pistol out of his jeans and fired off three rounds into the television set that blared behind Boris. Sparks flew out of the screen. Boris gulped and tried to remain calm.

  “W-what’s the matter, Prez? I did as you said. I got in and out with the girl and no one saw a thing. I—”

  “You got the wrong one.”

  Boris frowned. His lip trembled at the steel in Draco’s voice.

  “B-but I got the one you told me about. The one with the blond hair. She—”

  “She was with her friend. They both have blond hair, you fuckwit. You got the wrong fucking girl!”

  Toothpick stepped forward. The chain swung back and forth in his hand. Menace glinted behind his eyes. Boris’ bowels loosened. He groaned and dropped his head.

  The first he knew of the blow was when he heard the crunch of cartilage. Pain exploded in his nose and across his cheek and quickly spread over his ear and up the side of his head. Blood gushed from his nose and sprayed across the wall.

  “Fuck,” he moaned, holding onto his nose in an effort to stem the blood. “What did you do that for?”

  Toothpick lifted the chain again and Boris stumbled backwards. Draco raised his arm and Toothpick stilled. Boris gasped and gulped in air through his mouth, one hand holding his brutalized nose, the other one holding his head. He tried to stem the tears.