by Lacey Baker
Opaline reached out immediately to accept it—probably thinking he was safe because he couldn’t be from Sweetland.
“Finally, some real law enforcement to handle this situation. I swear I don’t know what those others were talking about last night. They’re probably not even real officers.”
“I take offense at that statement,” Sheriff Farraway said, making his entrance into the dining room with Michelle right behind him.
“Well, I’ll get some lemonade and cookies,” Michelle said, looking around the room. “Everyone just have a seat and make yourselves comfortable.”
She left the room as quickly as she’d come while Ryan showed Mrs. Montgomery to her seat—passing Preston a knowing look as he did.
“The ransom request is for three million,” Ryan said, looking directly at Mrs. Montgomery.
She didn’t flinch, barely batted an eye. Mr. Montgomery, on the other hand, clutched at his chest as if a heart attack was imminent.
“Dear God,” he whispered. “She’s my baby. My little girl.”
Savannah stood and went to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Preston watched his younger sister, and felt a surge of pride at her selflessness at this moment.
“They won’t hurt her,” Mrs. Montgomery said. “She’s worth more to them alive.”
“Really? What makes you so sure?” Preston asked her. “How would you know what the kidnappers want with Heaven?”
She wouldn’t even look in his direction.
“Can you get the money?” Ryan asked.
Mrs. Montgomery hesitated. “Not all of it. Not without Heaven,” she finally admitted.
Ryan nodded. Preston sat back in his chair. It wasn’t a surprise to them, since Ryan had already told them she was running out of money. She needed Heaven to withdraw anything from her trust fund. Preston had a feeling that request had been made before and Heaven had declined.
“Do you know who has your daughter?” Ryan asked point-blank.
He’d leaned over in his chair, letting his elbows rest on his knees as he stared directly at her.
“No. I do not,” was her reply.
* * *
“I don’t like her,” Raine said standing in the kitchen with Nikki and Michelle. “What kind of mother uses her child for money?”
“I guess the same kind who leaves her kids high and dry when her husband dies,” Michelle quipped as she placed glasses on the tray alongside a pitcher of lemonade.
“Mom was nothing like this woman. Opaline Montgomery is a witch,” Raine continued.
Nikki shook her head. “No wonder Heaven left Boston.”
“Women are funny folk,” Mr. Sylvester said, coming through the back door and taking a minute to make sure the screen door didn’t slam behind him.
“Take your grandmother, for instance. She let me come and stay here and didn’t know a thing about me. My ex, Vera, I lived with her for near two years before I found out she was already married,” he finished.
The women looked at one another not bothering to mask their confusion, then back to Mr. Sylvester, who today wore seersucker shorts that touched his bony kneecaps, a white button-down shirt with small yellow birds on it, and a baseball cap, ragged around the brim.
“A woman can either hold a secret or she can trust a man with her heart. They usually don’t do both. And when they have children they change altogether. Like another species. Sometimes they love the child unconditionally, other times there’s a bit of jealousy that taints that love. Again, it’s one or the other, they can’t do both.”
“So you’re saying that Heaven’s mother is jealous of her and that’s why she treats Heaven the way she does?” Raine asked.
Mr. Sylvester had moved to the counter where Michelle was standing. He took one of the glasses off the tray and waited while Michelle filled it with lemonade. He took one long sip before looking over to Raine in response.
“I’m saying she made a choice a long time ago of what their relationship would be. Now it’s Heaven’s turn to choose.”
“But she’s being held against her will now. She can’t do anything if she’s in danger,” Nikki said.
“Your brother and that FBI guy came in this morning will get her. She’ll be safe, and then the real work will begin.”
Raine opened her mouth to say something else but Michelle interrupted.
“I’m sure you’re right, Mr. Sylvester,” she said, and crossed the room with the tray in hand. “Raine, you and Nikki come on out and help me. The guys will need our support while they deal with this situation.”
Raine and Nikki took the hint and followed Michelle into the dining room.
“All of you need support,” Mr. Sylvester whispered when he was alone. He took another sip of lemonade. “You need one another.”
Chapter 25
They had no intention of paying the ransom. Three hundred thousand flash money via the FBI was spread out in trash bags lined with stacks of newspaper. Ryan had settled on Tuscaverdi being the culprit in this elaborate scheme. He’d also verified through his confidential informants in the New York and New Jersey area that Tuscaverdi was not in Sweetland. This meant he’d hired someone to do his dirty work, which fit his reputation perfectly.
Opaline had been right about one thing: Heaven was worth much more to the kidnappers alive. If the Montgomerys didn’t pay the ransom, Larengetics just might to protect the trade secrets she held. But Ryan was positive Tuscaverdi just wanted the money. He’d been researching Johnny Tuscaverdi and the families he worked with for going on three years now. He knew them very well—too well for a man who’d always wanted to lead a normal life.
Today, normal would be leading his team of ten agents to the location where Heaven was being held and bringing the woman home. Without bloodshed, he prayed.
Sweetland, Maryland, was a quaint little town. A shootout on the streets definitely would not go over well. His director had said as much in their communication because he’d already heard from the governor, who had heard from authorities in the surrounding counties, who had heard from Sheriff Farraway’s desperate call to shut down all the roads in and out of town about the kidnapping.
He checked his gun, holstered it, and put a foot on the chair to check the backup he kept there. Then he smelled perfume and smiled.
“I could do that for you,” Savannah said.
When Ryan straightened, he saw Savannah Cantrell sitting on the table, legs crossed—long caramel-toned legs, glistening with either a fresh tan or oil. Either one was damned sexy and had his body reacting instantly. She wore high heels, very, very high heels that made him think of a stripper pole … and a naked stripper. But when he looked into her face all he saw was Preston.
Yeah, not cool.
Her eyes were so much like those of the man he’d gone to college with and had hit a few strip clubs with over the years. For that reason, Ryan laughed in an attempt to brush her off, again.
“I’ve got it,” he said instead and walked past her.
“It’s not going to work, you know,” she told him.
He should have kept right on walking. Instead Ryan turned back, looking at her over his shoulder. “What’s not going to work?”
She hopped down off the table, her breasts bouncing with the motion. He inwardly groaned.
“You can’t ignore me. It’s just not possible.”
And as she sashayed her fine ass—yes, her ass with its small handfuls of cheeks—out of the room, he wanted nothing more than to run after her.
But Preston arrived. Disaster definitely averted.
“Parker’s got some dumb-ass notion that I’m not going with you,” Preston said. “And before you say a word … and after you pick your jaw up off the floor and get images of my little sister out of your mind … I am going with you. Try to stop me and I’ll shoot you.”
Those words were punctuated by the gun Preston pulled from his back waistband.
“Whoa,” Ryan said, taking a step back and holding his
hands up. “I was with you when you purchased that gun, don’t point it at me.”
“I just wanted you to know how serious I am.”
Preston checked the gun and put it back, pulling his shirt out of his pants to cover it.
“She’s your woman, I get it. If it were my woman, I would want to go as well,” Ryan began.
“I’m going, Ryan,” Preston insisted.
It was quarter after four. Debating with Preston was going to waste more time than they had. Ryan finally sighed and wiped a hand down his face. “Fine. But you do not get to shoot, do you hear me? There’s no way I can explain that in a report.”
“If I see that bastard, I’m shooting,” was Preston’s response.
“Look, I’m going to take Tuscaverdi down, you can count on that. But today isn’t about him, it’s about getting Heaven back safely. Now, my guys have an idea of which one of Tuscaverdi’s boys are on this job. They’re not all that bright, and definitely not the killers Tuscaverdi normally hires. He probably didn’t want to waste too much money on this and figured what could go wrong in this small town.”
“Everybody’s always underestimating this town,” Preston said sullenly. “Do you know where they’re holding her?”
“We think it’s an old house near the interstate—that’s why the drop-off was named behind the church. Two guys will make the drop and wait for the pickup; another pair will hit the house simultaneously. In and out, done deal,” Ryan said, snapping his fingers.
“I’m going to the house with you,” Preston said. “Parker can go with the money since he knows the town.”
Ryan sighed, then shook his head. “Who’s running this operation, you or me?”
Preston didn’t reply, just turned to walk out of the room.
* * *
The Gallagher house was definitely not haunted, Heaven surmised when she’d awakened on the small bed and looked out the window. She remembered the yard that needed a tremendous amount of work from Friday’s day of house hunting. The floors squeaked—she’d heard them throughout the time she’d tried to sleep. There was no electricity, which meant no air-conditioning. That ultimately meant she’d stripped out of her robe when she scooped Coco up in her arms and headed for the door. Her puppy needed to pee and so did she.
She touched the knob with great care because it looked as if it was ready to fall off the dirt-stained door. It was locked. It made a clicking sound but didn’t move, reminding her quickly that she was being held against her will.
“Okay, what now?” she asked out loud to the empty room, then quickly clapped her lips shut.
Coco barked and licked her chin. “Right, I was asking you for suggestions.”
With a frown she moved back to the window and looked through the glass, which was covered in a few more layers of dirt than the door had been. She saw the yard once more, thick with overgrowth and a broken-down wood fence.
A cold breeze blew across her neck, and she jumped with surprise. Turning quickly, she looked around the room, only to see the same thing she’d seen before. Nothing. The only furniture was the bed she’d slept in. Her nightgown was stuck to her body, heat and humidity just about suffocating her.
But the breeze had been cool.
Coco whimpered, and she hugged her closer.
Heaven didn’t know why, but she moved toward the door once again. Her hands were sweating profusely, her heart beating so loud it echoed in her ears. She reached out and touched the knob. It turned.
Elated, she pulled the door open and let out one hell of a scream as she stared into the face of a masked man.
“Shut up!” he yelled in her face before grabbing her by the neck and pulling her out of the room.
Coco barked, almost falling out of her arms as she stumbled into the hallway.
“You’re never going to get away with this,” she said when she’d regained her balance and saw they were headed toward the staircase.
“Don’t tell me how to do my job,” he spat, all but dragging her down the steps.
“I won’t tell you about my research. You can’t blackmail them with that information,” she said.
When she hadn’t been thinking about Preston, which wasn’t very often, Heaven had been trying to figure out why someone would want to kidnap her. She thought about the explosion and the phone calls, and of course the black SUV. It all made sense now. It probably would have before if she hadn’t been so hell-bent on not wanting to accept it. Preston had asked repeatedly if she was in danger, and she’d denied it. Now she couldn’t deny it any longer.
This had to be connected to the explosion. Whoever set the explosion was now gunning for her. But if she were the original target, why not just kill her? No, they needed her; that’s why they were keeping her alive. They needed her, but the only thing she had was her research.
And money.
The thought hit her as she stopped on the last step. He pulled on her arm, but she wouldn’t move.
“How much do they want?” she asked.
“Come on!”
“No!” She said again, “Tell me how much they asked for me.” This time she glared right into the dark eyes she could see through the slits in the mask. “How much do they think will be paid?”
She had money, she could easily pay her own ransom. But she wanted to know who they’d asked and how much, because that made all the difference in the world.
He got up in her face, pulling her body close to his. Then she heard a click. It was the knife positioned right against her neck. Coco went wild in her arms, and she almost dropped her again as she tried to rub her ears to keep her calm, all the while swallowing against the rapid beating of her heart.
“We’re gonna make three million off you. Now shut up before I decide to go against his order and cut your pretty little neck.”
He wouldn’t, she thought with an inward sigh. He’d been told not to kill her, and three million dollars was on the line. She was safe, sort of.
“Is Larengetics paying you?”
“No more questions!” he yelled, the knife pricking her skin. “Shut up and move!”
Okay, she would do as he said. She walked fast behind him as he dragged her toward the back of the house. The layout was similar to The Silver Spoon’s—the same large rooms and French doors, only these had the glass broken out. When they reached the kitchen, he stopped and pushed her into a chair.
“Stay,” he warned her as he moved to a corner of the room.
Heaven looked around for something, anything. If she could knock him out she could run. But he came back too quickly. With a swipe of his arm he knocked Coco off her lap. The puppy whimpered and cried for a second, then got to all fours and barked with as much rage as her little body could manage.
“It’s all right, baby. I’m all right,” she tried to coax. Coco wasn’t worth millions of dollars, and the last thing she wanted was for this lunatic to turn that knife on her. “I’m right here, girl.”
Heaven patted her knee just before he jerked her hands behind the chair and began to tie them with rope.
Coco came to sit right at Heaven’s feet, looking up at her with concerned eyes, her little chest heaving. Heaven kept eye contact with her to keep them both focused on surviving, and for the first time since this ordeal had begun she prayed that someone cared enough about her to save her.
* * *
“It’s the old haunted house,” Preston said the moment the van they’d ridden in came to a stop across the street.
“Haunted?” Ryan asked.
Preston shrugged. “That was always the rumor. Never really confirmed except by a few kids who swore they felt a breeze or heard the wind whistling while they were inside.”
Ryan chuckled. “Good. Just what we need, a ghost to contend with.”
“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” Preston said. “And I don’t care, I’m going in.”
“No,” Ryan warned, putting a hand to his arm. “We go in first. You stay behind until I call for you
. Got it?”
He was shaking his head, not wanting to go through this with his friend again. “Ryan?”
“Or I’ll cuff you to this seat, Preston. This is serious business. While I don’t think these guys are smart enough to shoot us all, I’m not taking any chances. We’ll go in first and secure the scene. Once we have her safe I’ll call you in. Now, are we cool on this?” Ryan asked in all seriousness.
He was reluctant, but Preston knew that arguing was only wasting more time. He was a logical man, reacting in an illogical situation. But Heaven’s safety came first. The thought of her being hurt was not something he was willing to risk. With his lips closed tightly he nodded, hating every minute that Heaven was with the kidnappers.
Moments later Ryan and his men filed out of the van. They were all dressed in black Kevlar vests with FBI in bold white letters on the back. He watched as they surrounded the house, his heart hammering in his chest. A few minutes later they disappeared into the house. Preston counted. He reached into his pocket, held his cell phone in his hand waiting for it to ring. And when that took too damned long, he did something he hadn’t done in years. He prayed.
And then heard the gunshots.
* * *
Hoover King’s cab broke down.
Sweetland Presbyterian was within walking distance, but the sun was so blasted hot he hated to get out of the air-conditioned car. Well, it wasn’t going to be air-conditioned for long since it wasn’t running.
“Blasted, no-good piece of crap!” he yelled, kicking at one of the tires after he’d slammed the door getting out.
Something rumbled and fell to the ground with a loud clack. He was about to walk away when he forgot something and turned back. Reaching right through the window, he lifted his bottle off the passenger seat and put it to his mouth immediately.
“Freakin’ hotter than hell out here,” he murmured after swallowing. “Somebody’s probably in the church.”
It was late, and the church was the very last place Hoover wanted to be, but he didn’t have a lot of other choices at the moment. He walked, tripped a couple of times, wiped away, the sweat that dripped from his straggly hair onto his forehead and stumbled some more.
