by The Saint
Jake nodded. "They're taking Michael to the hospital, if you'd like to ride with him."
"He looks bad." Courtney's chin quivered when she spoke. She reached out and took Jake's hand. "Will you go with me?"
Jake squeezed her fingers. "Sure."
Right before they reached the ambulance, his cell phone rang. "Jake," he answered.
"Well, well, Mr. Deluka," Dirk drawled. "Or should I say Detective Ciora? I need to talk to your Mrs. Montgomery. No wait, I think I'd like you to ask her something for me."
Templeton's sardonic laugh flowed through Jake's veins like ice water. "What’s that?"
"Ask her if she knows where her daughter is?"
Jake's white-knuckled grip nearly crushed the receiver. His heart stopped. His mind shattered. "What did you say, you sonofabitch?"
"Now, now, Detective Ciora. Don't piss me off," Templeton warned.
Janey? He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. That monster had his daughter. Jake’s police instincts kicked in, enabling him to act, not react. "What do you want?"
"I want her Mommy, Jake," Templeton said simply. "And you're going to give her to me."
Courtney snapped her fingers to catch Jake's attention and point to the waiting ambulance. When she started walking toward the open doors, Jake snagged her by the arm and shook his head. He let go of her sleeve long enough to wave the driver on. "Go," he shouted. "Go on."
The bottom dropped out of Courtney's stomach as the ambulance raced Michael to the hospital without her. Jake's phone call must be bad, she thought. Really bad. When she whirled back around and faced him, raw terror snaked long, slimy tentacles around her throat.
Jake's face said what his words had yet to explain. Anguish contorted his sick expression. Grief slashed frighteningly grim lines at the corners of his mouth. His eyes raged with an anger that stopped her cold…and she knew. Somehow amid the flashing lights and whaling sirens she realized that, like her, there was only one thing in the world that could truly terrorize this man.
Janey? She mouthed the name, praying she was wrong–and knowing deep inside that she wasn't. When Jake held her gaze and nodded, she started to shake. She snatched the phone from his hand. "Mom? What happened?" Courtney blurted, knowing Janey was staying with her mother. In that
split second she hadn't stopped to think whoever called had phoned Jake, not her. "Is Janey all right?" "So far, Mrs. Montgomery, she's fine." Her worst nightmare. Courtney's most feared demon had just slithered to life and whispered in her
ear. "Templeton?" Frantic, she spat the name. "Where's my daughter, you murdering bastard?" "I'll warn you like I did your Detective Ciora," Dirk began with a bored sigh. "Don't cross me on this."
My God, Templeton not only had Janey, but he knew Jake was an undercover cop. Courtney's entire foundation for living crumbled like a house of cards. She might not have an ounce of faith in anything or anyone at this very moment, but she believed Dirk Templeton with all her heart. "What do you want?" she rasped.
"I get my information back," he told her matter-of-factly. "You get your daughter." "Deal." She squeezed shut her eyes and agreed. No questions asked. "Where and when?" "I'll be in touch." "Wait–" The click in Courtney's ear might as well have been the trigger of a .357 magnum. She
looked up at Jake. "He's got–" Unable to repeat her daughter's name, Courtney's voice trailed off. "He’s got the damn computer,” Jake barked. “Why in the hell does he need Janey?” “I encrypted the transmission,” she sobbed. “So when Lenny couldn’t break the codes, Templeton took Janey and the computer”–Jake raked
frustrated fingers through his hair—“leaving Eddie and Lenny behind to wait for you.”
When she nodded silently, Jake took her in his arms again and vowed as much to himself as to Courtney, "We'll get her back, Sweetness." If it's the last thing I ever do.
Courtney looked up in time to see O’Shea and another man emerge from the shadows close to the building. "Uncle Brian," she cried, racing from Jake's arms. "Templeton's got Janey."
"I know Lass," Brian called, hurrying to meet her.
"Barry?" She reached out to the badly beaten man, but hesitated touching him. His face was bloody.
Splatters covered his previously cream-colored sweatshirt and khaki slacks. Both eyes were already black and blue and well on their way to swelling shut. A nasty cut oozing from one eyebrow would probably take several stitches.
Barry? The Barry? Jake wondered, his mind still wrapped around the fact that O’Shea already knew about Janey. Jake stepped beside Courtney, slipping a possessive arm around her waist. For her? For him?
"What the hell happened to him?" Jake pointedly asked the Lieutenant, not Barry.
O’Shea purposefully held Jake’s gaze. "It seems Mr. Montgomery had the misfortune to be in his apartment when all hell broke loose."
"Oh, Barry, I'm so sorry," Courtney moaned.
"Oh, God, Courtney, I tried to stop them. I swear I did everything I could. Don't hate me," he whimpered, taking Courtney's hand. Trembling, he continued to babble, "Can you ever forgive me. Please just say you forgive me. Please."
"Don't worry," she soothed. “It was just information."
When Montgomery's eyes darted to O’Shea, Jake put two and two together. Jake met Brian’s sick gaze, then stepped into the injured man's face and demanded, "Tell Courtney the truth." His loud, short-clipped words caused Barry to flinch. Satisfaction flashed through Jake like a shot of warm whiskey on an empty stomach. "It wasn't just the information they took from you, was it?" he badgered, confirming his gut feeling with a nod from the Lieutenant. Without a word, Jake grabbed Barry, nearly jerking him out of his bloody shirt and shaking him until his teeth rattled.
"Stop!" Courtney snagged Jake's wrist, trying to keep him from breaking Barry's neck. "Stop it, Jake. Look at him. He didn't hand over the computer willingly. They nearly killed him."
"You're right about that, Sweetness," Jake growled. "Willing or not, your ex-husband didn't just hand over the computer, he handed over our daughter."
"That's impossible," she insisted, fighting her confusion, tightening the grip on Jake's arm. "Janey was with my mother–" Her breath caught the instant the words registered. In all the confusion, she hadn't even thought about Cathleen's safety. Courtney's knees went weak. "My mother! Oh, God, is my mom all
right?"
"She's fine," Jake assured her, turning his attention. "Isn't she, Barry?"
"Yes. Cathleen's fine," Barry swore, his wild eyes flitting from Courtney back to Jake.
"Because," Jake prompted, barely able to speak over the blood pounding in his ears.
"I got off work early, so I picked up Janey to go–"
"You what?" Courtney's shriek pierced the night.
"A movie," he babbled quickly. "Cathleen said you were out of town, so I thought Janey might like to see a movie."
When Barry fell to his knees in front of Courtney and buried his head in the hem of her sweater, Jake's desire to kill him dwindled. A little. The guy had obviously taken one helluva beating and judging from his shame over not protecting Janey–well, Jake knew first hand how devastating guilt could be.
Courtney knelt beside Barry and laid her hand on his shoulder. In a quiet voice, she told him, "I know you would never intentionally put Janey in danger."
"Never," he sobbed, resting his head against her shoulder. "I swear to God."
Jake's phone ringing shattered the moment like pane of glass dropped from a fifty-story building. "Ciora," he barked.
"Ready to deal?" Templeton goaded. "She's such a pretty little thing."
Jake moved several steps out of earshot. He not only had to take a minute to blank out Templeton's innuendo, but he had to try and distance himself from Courtney as well. Her agony only made it harder for Jake to keep any kind of emotional distance. And without razor-sharp perspective, he'd never be able to think straight. He'd gotten there too late to save his former partner, Juan, but failing this time was not an option. So, he
unclenched his fist and opened his mind. You know how this works, Ciora. So follow the rules and use your head.
"I want to talk to her,” Jake insisted, struggling to listen intently, "I need to know she's all right."
"She's fine," Dirk shot back.
Jake searched his soul. Janey or not, he had to stay detached and deal with Templeton like he would any other kidnapper. Stay in control. Pay close attention. Keep him talking.
"Prove it," Jake demanded, annoyed at the interference he kept hearing.
"I'm calling the shots,” Dirk ordered. “Not you.”
"I'm not going any further until you let me talk to her–"When Templeton hung up, Jake could only pray he had read the man right.
Courtney was helping Barry to his feet as Jake joined them again. "Is everything all right?" she asked.
Jake nodded. "Templeton's right on schedule."
"That was Dirk–on the phone," she stammered. "What the hell does right on schedule mean?" Courtney's voice took on a controlled tone as she closing the gap between them. "What does he want us to do?"
Jake leveled his gaze. "Don't know yet."
"Why not?" She planted both hands on her hips
"For men like Dirk, it's a sick game of cat and mouse. He wants to toy with us. Keep us off balance.
Bait us, then spring the trap." Jake began pacing as O’Shea returned to hustle Barry into a squad car and transport him to the hospital. Something was bugging Jake, but he couldn't quite piece it together.
"And we just sit on our thumbs and wait?" Courtney asked.
Jake brushed a lock of hair from her flushed cheek. "Not if I can figure out where Templeton's holding Janey."
“Can you?” Courtney held her breath, watching him begin pacing beneath the street lamp. Graceful and powerful as a lion confined in a cage, Jake stalked his shadow as surely as if it were Dirk Templeton himself.
"Dammit," he swore. "I'm missing something." Think. Think, Ciora. Your daughter's life is at stake.
Desperate to help, Courtney asked, "Did he do anything like this while you were working for him?"
"No."
"Would he take her back to the cabin where they held us?"
"No." Jake stopped long enough to qualify his reasoning out loud. "We could find that place again."
"Does he have other houses like that?"
"I've got a dossier this thick,"–still pacing, he indicated a couple of inches with his thumb and forefinger–"and I can tell you Templeton's mother's maiden name was Jawarski. He flunked ninth grade algebra. And he has a skull and crossbones tattoo on his left bicep." Continuing, he used his fingers to tick off more worthless information. "I know every restaurant he owns. The size of his payroll. And the name of the woman who knocks on his door every Friday night at ten o'clock sharp." He stopped and faced her. "So, what in the hell am I missing?”
Courtney tried to trigger something useful. "Are any of his restaurants around here?"
"No. He has three in Arlington Heights. One in Mt. Prospect. And four downtown."
"Would he take her somewhere close, or far away?" Courtney ached at the separation.
"I don't think he’d go too far," Jake told her. Thinking out loud, he continued, "What would be the point? Besides, according to our research he doesn't own any–"
Jake stopped mid-sentence as well as mid-step.
"What?" Courtney asked.
"Our research didn't know about the damned cabin–"
"It what?"
"Not exactly my words," Jake snarled.
"So maybe there's somewhere else they don't know–"
Jake snapped his fingers. The distraction on the phone hadn't been interference on the line–it had been those huge garage-like doors grinding open.
"I used to follow Templeton after hours. Just for the hell of it on my own. Plain car. No back up–"
"No brains." This time Courtney interrupted.
"There's a warehouse he went to a couple of times that's not far from here."
She grabbed his arm and tugged. "What are we waiting for?"
"We aren't going anywhere." Jake had already started walking toward his car. "I'm going. You're not."
Stomping along side him, Courtney caught up. "Well, I'm sure as hell not staying here."
Jake kept up his pace and without looking at her, instructed, "Then go to the hospital."
"She's my daughter, too, and I'm going with you," Courtney stated bluntly, matching him step for step.
With no time to argue, Jake did the manly thing. He caved. Ten minutes later Jake had advised O’Shea of the situation and the Lieutenant had partnered Jake up with Detective Flare. Ciora had arranged Harvey and Hall as back up and put Courtney in the back seat with a half-assed promise that she would do as she was told.
Jake drove, parking the car around the corner from the warehouse. Facing Flare, he instructed, "Cover the back."
Don nodded. "Gotcha."
Jake swiveled to face Courtney. "Stay put." Pulling his back-up gun, Jake handed her the snub-nose .38 revolver along with his car keys. "If anything goes wrong, just point and shoot, then get the hell out of here."
Before she could argue, he grabbed a small leather pouch from beneath the front seat, then got out.
Popping his head back in, he barked, "Shoot first and ask questions later."
Jake's cold, metal revolver felt as foreign in Courtney's hand as hers had the night she met Templeton. In her heart she deplored guns, but the thought of that monster kidnapping Janey–well, all bets were off. In her head, Courtney prepared to pull the trigger if she had to– to save her daughter's life.
"I will." Courtney knew Jake believed she meant using the gun to defend herself if one of Templeton's men found her. What he didn't realize was that she couldn't–wouldn't–just sit and do nothing, except wait to be discovered. Certain they would settle that little debate over semantics later, she reached out and touched his sleeve. "Be careful." His nod was quick; his exit quicker. And her heart had never beat faster than it did as she sat there alone and watched Jake disappear into the shadows.
The street appeared deserted. A gust of wind carried a used Styrofoam cup and yesterday’s food wrappers along the curb. Sheets of old newspapers slapped restlessly against the remains of a nearby, chain link fence. Templeton's warehouse was flanked by abandoned, graffiti-sprayed buildings, their shattered dreams spiked by broken windows and boarded up doorways.
Without a word, Jake signaled Don, and they split directions at the corner of the Templeton's building. Despite the chilly breeze, perspiration trickled between Jake's shoulder blades as he hugged the cool brick and made his way to the nearest window. Angling a careful peek, he squinted through the grimy glass. The room was huge and dimly lit, but Jake spotted a man–possibly Dirk–rifling through the drawers of a large wooden desk.
Look up, you sonofabitch.
As much as Jake wanted to storm the place, he held his position, clenching his jaw until the man inside lifted his head just enough. Templeton. Ciora identified him, no problem. Ducking below the sill, Jake inched his way along the outside of the building and located the doors he'd been searching for. The place he wanted to start.
Even better and less obvious from the street, he found a side window in the darkened garage area of the warehouse. Fast and efficient, Jake pulled a glasscutter and a role of tape from his satchel. Quickly, he taped the spot and cut a hole big enough to slip his hand inside and unlock the window. Easing out the circle of unbroken glass he flipped the latch and inched the window open.
Jake slipped inside the building and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark. The light from his small penlight flitted around the room, stopping on and outlining Dirk's car. Moving in for a closer look, he illuminated both the front and back seats, verifying they were empty. He approached the rear, forcing away the image of Janey confined in the trunk. Jaw clenched, Jake squatted at the bumper and listened.
He heard nothing.
He tapped sof
tly and held his breath. Dreading a response? Hoping for one? "Janey," he whispered
just loud enough to be heard. "Are you in there?" Still nothing. Fear tightened around Jake’s throat a like hangman’s noose. Desperate to open the trunk, Jake opted
for the most obvious and least likely solution he could think of–checking to see if the sedan had been left unlocked. Bingo. The driver's side door clicked open. No alarm. No sweat. No brainer.
He unclenched his fist long enough to locate and pop the trunk release. Ignoring the knot coiling in the pit of his stomach like a stone, he closed the door without a sound and stepped to the rear of the car. Horror, the likes of which he'd never known, came and stayed. Bone rattling. Teeth chattering. Gut wrenching. A single, solitary second of hell on earth guaranteed to bring him to his knees.
The agony… In one fluid motion, Jake lifted the lid. And the ecstasy… He found the large compartment empty. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Jake took a moment. To look again. To make sure. To wonder
if he should fall onto the cold, concrete floor and thank God–or curse him? Jake lowered and shut the lid. Unwilling to let go of so much more than the car, he braced both hands on the cool metal and took a moment to steady his breathing.
He didn't just want to find Janey. He wanted to find his daughter alive. Untouched. Unharmed. What he really wanted was to hold her in his arms for the very first time.
With that in mind, he hurried across the room. If Dirk hadn't left yet, Jake knew they were still at opposite ends of the building from one another. He pulled his gun, then turned the knob. No lock. He left the garage area with a silent prayer but without making a sound.
As he hurried down the pitch-dark hallway, Jake spotted a faint slice of light beneath the only other door he'd been able to locate. Approaching, he slowed his pace. What the hell? He stopped to listen. The faint sounds of Pavarotti’s signature piece, “Nessun dorma,” came from the other side.
Not crazy about going in blind again, Jake had no choice. He knew Templeton was on the other side
of this wall. Easing the knob, he cracked the door an eyeball's width. Dirk was still seated at the desk. Not reading. No books, magazines or newspapers. Not working. No papers, pens or folders. Not eating. No forks, plates or glasses. From this distance, Jake still couldn't make out what Templeton was doing. The solitary light was dim, at best, but as he strained to see, he watched Dirk pull something from the desk drawer, then moved toward the far wall.
