by Chris Taylor
“Look at Beefcake,” Toothpick sneered. “He’s sniveling like a girl.”
Draco’s lips curled up in an imitation of a smile. “I’m sorry I had to do that, Beefcake, but your fuck up made me mad and you know what I do when I get mad.”
He strode around the confines of the small kitchen/living room, his nose wrinkling in disgust at the sight of the half-empty pizza boxes and beer cans that lined every available surface.
“For fuck’s sake, Beefcake, what are you? A fucking pig? You’ve been here for less than twelve hours and the place looks like a shit heap. Didn’t your mother ever teach you any manners?”
Boris kept his head bowed and remained silent.
“The girl you grabbed doesn’t belong to Dowton. She’s the daughter of some fucking Federal agent. A fucking criminal profiler. It sounds fancy, but he probably gets paid shit.”
Draco spun on his heel and strode toward Boris who instinctively pressed himself against the wall.
The president pushed his face close to Boris’, his menacing eyes only inches away from Boris’ face. “How the fuck’s someone like that going to come up with a million dollars? Huh?”
“I-I dunno, Prez.”
Draco hawked a globule of phlegm and spat it at Boris’ feet. “You don’t know. That’s just fucking great.” He turned to Toothpick who remained close by, eagerly awaiting instructions. “How about that, Toothpick? He doesn’t know.”
Moving surprisingly quickly considering his size, Draco grabbed Boris’ shirt and shoved him hard against the wall. Boris cried out in surprise and fear, unsure whether his legs would continue to support him.
The president moved in close. “What are you going to do, cocksucker? What are you going to do now? And what the fuck are you going to do with the girl in the room next door whose usefulness just expired?”
Boris blinked rapidly in an effort to dispel his fear. “I’ll…I’ll fix it, Draco. I promise.”
Draco released him, his lip curling up with disdain. “Oh, you’ll fix it, all right. If it’s the last thing you do. Get rid of her and do the fucking job properly this time.”
“I will. I promise, Prez. I won’t let you down again.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Saturday, January 27, 5:15 p.m.
Clayton heard Tom’s knock on the front door and his shoulders slumped in relief. He stood and met his brother halfway down the entry hall. Another brother, Brandon, was right behind Tom. Emotion tightened Clayton’s chest at the sight of them.
“Clay, thank Christ you called me,” Tom said, his expression grim. He closed the distance between them and hugged Clayton hard.
“I can’t believe you’ve been trying to deal with this on your own,” Brandon added. “Tom said Olivia’s been missing since nine this morning.”
Clayton swallowed the fear in his throat and nodded. “Yeah.”
“Where’s Ellie?” Tom asked, looking around the living room.
“She must be out of her mind,” Brandon added quietly.
Clayton felt the weight of his guilt like a tonne of steel pylons. He closed his eyes against it. When he opened them again, his brothers stared at him with identical expressions of concern. “Yeah,” he said, not able to manage anything more.
“Is she okay?” Tom asked.
Anger suddenly gripped Clayton. “Was Lily okay when that asshole took Cassie? Were you? Of course she’s not okay. Neither of us is. We’re barely hanging on.”
Brandon stepped forward and took hold of Clayton’s arm and guided him to the couch. “Sit down, Clay and tell us what happened. After that, you’re going to tell us how we can help.”
Tom nodded, his expression grim. “Brandon’s right. We need a plan.” He stared hard at Clayton. “We’re going to find her, Clay. We’re going to find her and she’ll be fine. Just like Cassie was. Trust me. I know what I’m talking about.”
Clayton’s anger dissolved with a heavy sigh. He held Tom’s gaze, taking comfort from his oldest brother’s confidence. Tom had been there before. Tom knew what it was like to have a child stolen from him. Tom and Brandon would help him. They’d help bring Olivia home.
“I’m just so fucking scared,” he admitted with a harsh sob, his voice breaking. Tears burned behind his eyes. “I need to find her.”
Tom’s gaze burned into his. “We’ll bring her back for you, Clay. We promise.” He glanced across at Brandon, who nodded, his expression stoic. “Have we ever let you down?”
* * *
After Lane took his leave, Zara’s father ushered her and Brittany out of his office and had then sequestered himself inside for the best part of an hour. Although she needed to seek answers from him, she didn’t want to endure another round of bald-faced lies, so she hadn’t confronted him again. She now watched from her bedroom window as her father’s half million dollar LFA Lexus sped down the driveway and disappeared from view.
Undercover DEA agents, be damned. From the start, she’d suspected there was more to it than what he’d told her, but she’d wanted to believe him; hadn’t wanted to think he could be involved in something so sinister. Her mind shied away from it every time she dared to consider it.
But she had to consider it. She had to think about it. The evidence was on the piece of thin white cardboard. The men she’d seen in her father’s office were members of the Redbacks—and not just any members.
According to Lane, they were the worst of the worst; criminals who’d done lengthy time in jail. For what, she didn’t want to know, but after Brittany had identified a Redbacks member as the man who’d attacked them, it had become more and more obvious they were involved in Olivia Munro’s abduction.
Abduction. The word sent shivers down Zara’s spine. She thought of the terror the little girl must be feeling and anger kindled deep inside of her. Her father had left the house without speaking up. As far as she knew, he had no intention of telling the truth. Meanwhile, Olivia’s heart and mind must be terrorized as she wondered if she’d ever be rescued and prayed that she would.
Zara set her jaw in determination. She strode across the room and flung her bedroom door open. Hurrying along the carpeted hallway, she took the stairs two at a time. Within moments, she’d descended again and stood in front of the door to her father’s office. Her breath came in short pants. She glanced around. When she was sure the way was clear, she drew in a deep breath and turned the knob.
The room looked just as it had when she’d left it except for the empty tumbler which now sat on her father’s desk. She lifted it to her nose. The smell of scotch was still detectable. After what had occurred a little while ago, she understood his need for a stiff drink.
She set the glass back where she found it and went around to the other side of his desk. She rested her hand on the seat of his chair. The leather was still warm. With her heart in her throat, she pulled open the top drawer of his desk.
It opened easily and some of her tension dissipated. She riffled through an assortment of pens, paper clips, blank note paper, a legal pad and two packets of highlighters. She didn’t know quite what she was looking for, but mundane office supplies certainly weren’t it.
Closing the top drawer, she tried the bottom one. It was deeper than the first drawer and could hold something more substantial. She tugged at the handle. The drawer didn’t budge.
She tried again. Nothing. It was locked. Her imagination went into overdrive. Why had her father locked one of the drawers of his desk? No one had any interest in accessing his space. It was his private domain, where he went to work without interruption or to take important work-related calls. The only times she’d entered were to seek him out for one reason or another. Before now, it never occurred to her to go in and look through his private papers or anything else he stored in there.
And yet, his bottom drawer was locked, as if to keep out prying eyes… What could he be hiding? Did the drawer contain evidence indicating her father’s connection to members of the notorious Redbacks biker gang? Or wa
s the locked drawer nothing more than a way to keep private government papers private? There was only one way to find out.
Knowing she couldn’t break the lock, Zara hunted around for the key. In contrast to the mess of paperwork she’d spied on his desk earlier, apart from the empty scotch glass, a desk blotter and two family photographs, her father’s desk was now scrupulously clean. She tried to think where he might have hidden the key.
It made sense he’d conceal it somewhere in the room. He’d never know when he’d want to access the drawer. Besides, his office had been the venue for his secret meeting with the Redbacks. Evidence of such a connection, if there was any, would be locked away, hidden from prying eyes. The key had to be here.
She pushed back the chair and strode over to the bookshelves, running her fingertips along the shelves. A faint line of dust coated the bottom of her fingers. She checked each shelf carefully, even taking the time to drag one of the armchairs over and stand on it in order to reach the highest shelf. They were all coated with dust. It was obvious none of the books had been disturbed for some time. She swiveled slowly on her heel and surveyed the room.
Apart from the paintings on the walls and the bookshelves, the enormous desk and matching armchairs were the only other furniture in the room. She pursed her lips in thought. It had to be in the desk. It was the only place that made sense.
Returning the armchair to its place opposite her father’s desk, she sat back down in his chair. Leaning forward, she ran her fingers along the wood underneath the desk in front of her. Within moments, her fingers stumbled on something. A hard object was fixed to the wood in something soft and putty-like. Manipulating it with her fingers, she pulled it free.
Bingo. She’d found the key. It had been stuck to the desk with blu-tac. Simple, but effective, even if the hiding place wasn’t exactly inconspicuous.
Zara pressed the key into the palm of her hand. Now that she had it, she was overcome with indecisiveness. Did she really want to know what her father kept locked in his bottom drawer? Once she opened it and discovered his secrets, there would be no going back. The memory and knowledge couldn’t be undone. Did she really want that burden?
Images of Olivia as she’d last seen her—laughing, carefree, happy—reeled through her mind like a movie. Her stomach tightened. Dread weighed down her limbs, but she knew what she had to do.
With trembling fingers, she fitted the key into the lock, turned it and slid the drawer open.
* * *
The mood in the crowded squad room was charged with tension. Australian Federal Police officers and other police from the Crime Commission and the Organized Crime Squad milled around. Expressions were grim; conversation was muted.
Lane sat back in his chair and stared at the clock on the wall. It was already after seven. He still hadn’t heard from the AG or Clayton about the money. AFP officers had been dispatched to the AG’s house to keep watch and await the arrival of further instructions from the kidnapper.
Jett pushed away from his desk nearby and sighed. “Coffee?”
Lane grimaced. “Yeah, thanks.”
A few minutes later, his partner reappeared with two cups in his hand. Gratefully, Lane reached out for one and took a sip.
Michael Collins appeared in the doorway of his office, his expression taut. “Now that we know the man who took the little Munro girl is Boris Vukovic, we can fine-tune our plan of attack.”
Lane frowned. “It doesn’t seem logical that Vukovic is acting on his own. For one, although he’s a prominent gang member, he’s never before taken the lead. In every single one of his convictions, he was the one following orders. If this is politically motivated like we suspect, it makes more sense that this is a prearranged attack orchestrated by the Redbacks as a whole and I’m certain that someone other than Vukovic is calling the shots.”
“Like Jovanovic?” Collins asked.
Lane nodded. “Jovanovic’s the Redbacks’ president. He’s bright enough to put together such an assault. He’s made a lot of enemies over the last few months with his law reform platform and the subjects in his sights are not exactly afraid to take a stand.”
Collins narrowed his gaze at Lane. “You don’t sound convinced.”
Lane acknowledged his boss with a brief nod. They’d worked together for nearly five years. There wasn’t much Michael didn’t know about him.
“There’s something about the whole thing that’s got me jittery and it’s more than the fact that, as we speak, one of my mates is praying for the return of his little girl.” He grimaced and took another mouthful of coffee before continuing.
“For one, the ransom note’s suspicious. The wording of it is off. When I questioned the AG about it, he got all defensive and threatened my job.” Lane shook his head in bafflement. “Why would he do that? Why would he feel the need? Given the evidence we’re putting together, it was a natural question to ask and yet he went off half-cocked about me being out of line and that if I wasn’t careful, I’d be out of a job.”
A frown lined Michael’s forehead. “You’re right. It’s odd. But then again, he’s under a lot of pressure. Maybe he didn’t mean it to come out like that?”
“We’re all under pressure. It was more than that. Besides, why would a biker gang member demand a ransom of a million dollars? As far as the average Joe’s concerned, David Dowton’s an elected public official with job security only guaranteed until the next election. Not many people would think of a State politician and that kind of money in the same thought, not even one with as high a profile as the AG.”
“You’re right,” Jett agreed. “I for one wouldn’t have guessed he’d have access to enough money to be able to pay a million-dollar ransom.”
“Exactly. Unless you knew Dowton personally or did some pretty in-depth research, you’d have no idea he was loaded. Until I got a look at his place of abode, I had no idea and I work for the man, sort of. And yet some run-of-the-mill member of an outlaw motorcycle gang knew enough about him to know that he could find that kind of money…”
“What are you suggesting?” Michael asked, his expression darkening. “That he may have some kind of previous connection with them? Like a drug connection or something? We’re talking about the AG.”
Lane moved restlessly. “I don’t know. I really don’t. But something like that. Maybe. The ransom note gave no details about where the drop’s to take place, not even a contact number. It’s risky for the kidnapper to make contact with Dowton again and yet, he has to if he wants the money to be delivered, unless he and the AG have some prior arrangement. It stands to reason there’s a personal connection there, no matter how far-fetched it sounds.”
Lane shook his head and blew out his breath in frustration. “I listen to what I’m saying and I can’t believe it, but it’s the only thing that makes sense. The boys from the AFP would know him better. We could get their take on it. They can probably also tell us more about his daughter, Zara. That’s the second thing that’s bugging me.”
Michael frowned. “I thought the daughter’s name was Brittany?”
“Yeah, she’s the younger child. He has a daughter by his first marriage. Her name’s Zara. I don’t know how old she is, but if I were to hazard a guess, I’d say she’s in her mid-twenties.”
“What about her?”
Lane cleared his throat and chose his words with care. “Zara Dowton was present when I showed Brittany the photo line-up. Zara looked at it, too. I watched both girls closely and I noticed Zara’s reaction. She looked like she was going to faint.” Lane pushed away from his desk and began to pace.
“Granted, the guys who formed our line-up were a little on the brutish side, but even so, her reaction seemed over the top. I’m sure she recognized at least one of them. She specifically pointed to Draco Jovanovic and asked if I knew his name.”
Michael frowned. “How would the daughter of the AG know a criminal like Jovanovic?”
“That’s exactly what I wondered. So, I Googl
ed her when I returned to the station,” Jett offered. “She works for the law firm, Breakers. Her bio lists her area of expertise as commercial law and estate planning. She’s never done any criminal work or other litigation. I can hardly imagine how she’d come into contact with the likes of the president of the Redbacks.”
Michael’s frowned darkened. “It’s been a long time since Jovanovic’s last arrest. It’s not like he’s been in the public eye recently. He’s a big time supplier. He has a huge network of dealers. If the AG’s daughter recognized him, you’d nearly have to assume it has something to do with drugs..”
Jett shrugged. “There’s never been anything in the media about a possible drug connection to the AG. It hasn’t even been hinted at and he’s been in the game for a long time. He appears to be squeaky clean. You’d think, if that kind of thing was going on, at some stage someone would have gotten a whiff of it.”
“That’s what’s driving me so damned crazy,” Lane exploded, throwing his arms out wide. “My theory that Dowton is somehow involved in a drug deal gone bad sounds plausible, right down to the part where I look at the AG and his family and realize how ridiculous it is. I mean, they couldn’t have been more helpful. It was the AG who told us about the connection to his daughter and how he thought Brittany had been the target. He gave us access to her and let her speak to us. He even called us when the darn ransom note arrived.” Lane groaned aloud, his frustration evident.
“He didn’t have to do any of that,” he continued. “We’d never have known about the mistaken identity angle if he hadn’t told us. We’d never have known that Dowton’s daughter was the real target. We’d still be in the dark about the Redbacks, about Brittany, about all of it.” He scrubbed at his hair and swore. “And every bloody minute we don’t solve it is another minute we’ll never recover, another minute that poor little girl lives scared to death.”
A second or two passed. Michael broke the silence. “All right, what about Mrs Dowton? Isn’t the AG married?”
