Snatched

by Pamela Burford

  “My grandmother’s,” she said. “Grandpa Will got them for her in Japan.”

  Hal opened another pouch. Big, juicy emerald-and-diamond drop earrings. He examined them closely, set them aside, and found the matching necklace in the next pouch.

  “Holy cow.” Lucy stared goggle-eyed.

  “They’re worth three point four million,” Judith said. “All the pieces in the roll, that is. The appraisal is in the side pocket of my bag. There’s an envelope of cash in there too. Twenty-seven hundred. It’s all I had at home.”

  Hal unzipped all the pouches and shook the contents onto the inch-thick glass. Rings, bracelets, necklaces, and earrings tumbled out, much of it one-of-a-kind antiques and all crafted of precious metals and gemstones. Most of the pieces were heirlooms passed down to Judith and her late husband. Some were gifts from Don during their marriage. A ruby ring their first Christmas together. A diamond bracelet for their tenth anniversary. Judith used to assume these pieces would stay in the family, that someday she’d hand them down to her own child.

  That assumption hadn’t survived Mick’s adolescence. Oh sure, she’d still prefer to keep these treasures in the family, which meant leaving them to Tom rather than Mick, who wouldn’t think twice about using them to enhance his slothful, druggy lifestyle. But fate had other plans.

  Hal studied a coral and diamond flower pin set in yellow gold, set it down, and picked up a diamond-and-platinum brooch shaped like a seahorse, with a magnificent black pearl at its center. He located the brooch on the itemized appraisal. “This won’t fetch any forty-five grand once it’s taken apart.”

  “Look, don’t ask me what the individual stones are worth,” Judith said, “but it’s got to be more than the two million you’re after.”

  “Oh, definitely.” Lucy nodded with vigor.

  “I don’t want any two million.” A vein bulged in Hal’s forehead; he tapped his chest with the gun barrel. “I want my two million. I want the money your brother swiped—” He stopped, his lips pressed thin, fingers clawing his gut. “What did you put in that food?” he asked Lucy.

  “You’re kidding, right?” she asked. “You ate too fast. Seconds and thirds. Plus a panful of brownies. Can I help it if—”

  “Shut up,” he growled, still clutching his middle. “Just shut up.”

  “The cash will get you a plane ticket anywhere,” Judith said. “And that’s where you can fence those stones—anywhere in the world. It’s the universal currency.”

  Hal was staring at the jewelry, poking at it with the barrel of his gun. That gave Judith hope. “I want my two mil,” he grumbled to a sapphire circle brooch, but with less heat than before.

  “See those diamond drop earrings?” Judith said. “Ninety-four thousand dollars. Look at the size of those yellow diamonds.”

  “All right, all right. Jesus.” Hal kept glancing past the curving staircase, where Judith assumed a powder room beckoned. He was probably trying to decide how to control her and Lucy while taking care of business. He turned to Lucy. “You have any rope?”

  Say no, Judith silently pleaded. You have no rope, no duct tape, no belts, scarves, or panty hose.

  “There’s some clothesline in the basement,” Lucy said. “Will that do?”

  Judith cursed silently. Her brother used to go for women with brains. What happened?

  “Lead the way.” Hal and Judith followed Lucy around the staircase, past the kitchen and laundry room toward the basement door. As they passed the powder room, Lucy slipped into it, slamming and locking the door before Hal could stop her. “Before you tie me up, I just have to pee,” she called from within. “I won’t be a sec.”

  “You’ll have to hold it.” He rattled the doorknob. “Get out of there.”

  “Just a minute,” she trilled.

  “I mean it.” He pistol-whipped the door, holding his gut in a half crouch. Sweat misted his brow. “Open this door.” He winced. “Now!”

  “Paper ran out. Gotta find another roll.”

  “Goddammit, Lucy.” Hal prepared to kick in the door, only to collapse against the opposite wall as another cramp seized him. He pointed the gun at the lock.

  Judith screamed, “Lucy, watch out!”

  BAM! The gunshot was deafening. The door slammed back on its hinges, a ragged hole where the knob and lock had been. An acrid smell hung in the air.

  Hal didn’t waste a second. He hauled Lucy out from under the pedestal sink, shoved the two of them to the floor of the laundry room where he could keep an eye on them, then dropped trou and enthroned himself in one swift, desperate motion. Judith tried to ignore the sensory input as he sought and found explosive relief from his overindulgence. Through it all, his gun hand never wavered. She didn’t doubt that if either of them made the slightest move, he’d blow them both away.

  Lucy tensed as if preparing to make a run for it. Judith’s suspicions were confirmed when Lucy whispered, very quietly, “Get ready.” She couldn’t be serious. Did the woman have a death wish?

  At last Judith heard the toilet paper unspooling. Seconds later, Hal muttered, “What the hell?”

  “Now.” Lucy jumped up, yanking on Judith’s arm. “Come on!”

  “Looo-seeeee!” Hal howled, pants around his ankles, struggling to push himself off the seat. “What did you do?”

  BAM! Judith sprang up as a gunshot cratered the wall next to her head, and raced Lucy to the front door.

  BAM! BAM! “You are dead, Lucy!”

  Lucy fumbled with the deadbolt for an interminable two or three seconds before the door swung open. The two of them pushed through the doorway together and slammed up against a tank of a man in an Armani suit. Judith screamed.

  “Whoa.” The man steadied them. “What’s goin’ on here, Lucy? I heard shots.”

  “Murray!” Lucy clung to him. “Oh my God, it’s Hal, he—he—”

  “Back up,” he said. “Who’s Hal? What happened to that other one? Mick?”

  “Mick is—is—” Breathless, Lucy wagged her hand to indicate Mick had vacated the premises. “Hal’s the one that shot that man in the park today. He’s holding me hostage and he has a gun, but he’s stuck to the toilet. Superglue.”

  Murray took this report in stride. “I knew something was wrong. I told Frank we hadda come back and check it out.” He led the women some distance from the house, where an errant bullet was less likely to find them.

  “Do you have a phone?” Judith said. “Call nine-one-one.”

  “Yeah, I’m on it.” He patted his pockets.

  Inside the house, Hal had grown quiet. No gunshots. No ranting. Judith was not reassured. Neither, apparently, was Lucy. They exchanged a look.

  “You did put something in his food, didn’t you?” Judith asked.

  “Ex-Lax brownies. Old family recipe. My sister, Ethel, made me a batch in the fifth grade. The glue stunt came from her, too. Timing’s tricky on that one. You’ve got to do it right before the victim sits down.” Which explained Lucy’s sudden need to pee.

  Murray was still hunting for his phone. “You always keep superglue in the john?”

  “Of course.” Lucy and Judith shared a Who doesn’t? look. “For nail repairs. Where’s Frank?”

  “In the car.” He jerked his head toward a gold Mercedes idling behind Judith’s Acura. A figure sat hunched in the passenger seat. “He’s pissed—’scuse me, ladies, annoyed—’cause he’s missing Survivor. Here’s the darn thing.” His huge hand dwarfed the cell phone as he squinted at the keypad.

  “What’s he doing in there?” Judith hugged herself, staring at the open front door. “It’s too quiet.”

  Murray started patting his pockets again. “I got some reading glasses somewhere.”

  Judith grabbed the phone from him. Unfortunately, her middle-aged eyes weren’t much better than his. She thought she’d punched in 911, but the phone’s display informed her she was speed-dialing someone named Nick. She groped for the end button just as someone in the rear of the hou
se hollered Lucy’s name. It was a voice she knew, and it wasn’t Hal’s. “Will. Oh my God.”

  Lucy looked stunned. “But he’s in jail.”

  “Will!” Judith sprinted across the lawn. “Will, be careful, he’s got a gun!” She took the front steps three at a time and ran through the open front door into the foyer, only to be clotheslined by a sinewy arm striking like a cobra from the adjacent dining room. Hal jerked her hard against him, plucked the phone from her hand, and threw it against the wall. “You never could stay away from me for long.”

  Chapter 31

  WILL, FERGUS, AND WESLEY were picking their way through dense trees and underbrush, heading for the cluster of lights that was the rear of Lucy’s house, when the first gunshot rang out. As one, they abandoned stealth and turned on the juice, tearing their way through the dark woods. A minute later, three more shots punched the placid spring night.

  Lucy.

  Was Will too late? Had he made a tragic mistake by not involving the cops? Hang on, sweetheart. He racked the slide on the SIG. I’m coming.

  It seemed to take forever to reach the backyard. Will hadn’t expected the injured, overweight PI to keep up. True, Wesley was huffing like the little train that couldn’t, and every one of those breaths had to be agony to his cracked sternum, but he was right there with Will and Fergus, robe billowing, sandaled feet eating up the manicured lawn. The trio parted around the covered pool and convened close to the French doors that led into the library.

  Fergus reared back to kick in the doors, freezing in place when Will produced a key. “From Ethel.” Will unlocked the doors. “When she hired me.” It was quiet inside the house now. Not good.

  Will led the way, pistol at the ready. He’d never aimed a loaded weapon at another human being. Would he be able to shoot Lynch if it came to that?

  Yes. He’d do anything he had to, to save Lucy.

  Wesley held his crossbow loaded and cocked. Fergus had reached into his right hippie stomper and retrieved an antique dirk. Will recognized it as one of his friend’s finer specimens, lovingly maintained and beautifully balanced. In a pinch it could double as a throwing knife.

  They paused inside the library, straining their ears, but heard only the babble of a radio from the direction of the kitchen. It was a big house. Lucy could be anywhere. Lynch might already have fled, leaving her bleeding to death somewhere within these four walls. The time for skulking had come and gone. “Lucy!” he bellowed, gesturing to his companions to fan out and search for her.

  They’d barely taken a step when Judith hollered from beyond the front door, “Will, be careful, he’s got a gun!”

  “Bloody hell.” Fergus emitted an anxious growl. “I told the woman to stay put. Why can’t she ever fekkin’ listen to me?”

  They charged into the greatroom just as Lynch lurched in from the foyer, naked from the waist down and towing Judith in a headlock. Her lip was split; a bruise was forming on her left cheek. Just then Lucy raced in, accompanied by a nattily dressed behemoth with no neck, the two of them skidding to a halt at the sight of Lynch and Judith. No Neck looked familiar somehow, but Will was too distracted to try and place him.

  Though he was relieved beyond words to see Lucy unharmed, his relief was eclipsed by the sight of his sister with the barrel of a pistol pressed to her head. She’d run into the house trying to warn him away. Trying to protect him.

  Lynch’s deranged gaze jittered between the two groups of intruders. He ordered Will and his companions to drop their weapons and kick them to him, and all of them to line up next to the curved staircase, hands high. Wesley’s outfit prompted a double take. “I get it.” Lynch wore a mocking smile. “You did die, and were reincarnated as a giant turd.”

  “That’s real funny, my friend,” Wesley said, “comin’ from a guy with a toilet seat stuck to his ass.”

  Okay, they all had eyes, but did Wesley have to come right out and say it? Will braced himself. He was standing right next to the loudmouth PI; he prayed Lynch was an accurate shot.

  “You did this to me.” Lynch’s malignant gaze was aimed at Lucy. “You better be able to undo it. I don’t have to tell you what’ll happen if you don’t.” He jerked his elbow, snapping up Judith’s chin.

  Fugitives from the law generally tried to blend in. Not only was Lynch a mass of cuts and claw marks, thanks to Quint, but his getaway outfit consisted of navy polo shirt, white crew socks, and a peach-colored toilet seat, its lid flapping against his back with every step. How the hell had Lucy accomplished that? When Lynch had found himself stuck to the seat, he must have reached around with a coin and unscrewed it from the bowl.

  “I’ll get you your money, Lynch,” Will said. “As soon as the banks open.”

  “You think I can wait for the goddamn banks?” Lynch was walking the razor edge of reason. His lips curled back like a feral dog’s. “You think I’ve got that kind of time?”

  “Hal, listen to me.” Judith’s voice was a strangled whisper.

  “I’ve listened to you plenty.” Lynch ground the gun barrel into her temple. She grimaced, and Will had to restrain an urge to pounce on him. “This is all your fault. Did you think of that? Huh?” Lynch squeezed her windpipe a little more, causing her to claw at his ropy forearm.

  “Take it easy, Lynch.” Fergus’s voice was tight.

  “You started it all, Judith, twenty-five years ago,” Lynch persisted, “you and your kid brother. The little star. My partner here got cold feet,” he told the rest of them. “Lost her nerve, so what does she do? Goes blabbing to the cops and gets me sent away for half my life.”

  This was news to Will. Judith had told him Lynch had done time for murder, but not that she’d turned him in.

  Somehow she found the strength to shoot back, “You’re delusional if you think anyone’s to blame for all this but yourself.” Before he could retaliate, she added, “Take the jewelry, Hal. Use it to start over somewhere.”

  Will followed Lynch’s gaze to the glass coffee table and the pile of baubles that had escaped his notice in all the excitement. He recognized a couple of pieces that had belonged to his grandmother. So that was why Judith was here.

  “Oh, I’ll take the jewelry,” Hal told her. “And you’re coming along, too.”

  “No.” Will and Fergus said it in unison.

  Lynch gazed almost lovingly at Judith as he tapped her temple with the gun barrel. “Your sister and I have some unfinished business, Will. I’ve had plenty of time to plan how I’m going to repay her for all she’s done for me.”

  Will could only imagine what gruesome form that repayment would take. Every muscle in his body tensed. No way was he going to stand by and let this psycho walk out of here with his sister.

  “She’ll be a liability,” Fergus said. “On you own, you can slip out of the country, sell the stones, make a new life, like she says.”

  Lynch regarded Fergus. “You’re the one that followed her to Bermuda, like a dog after a bitch in heat. Was she worth the airfare?”

  Fergus didn’t answer.

  “I’m gonna put my hands down now,” Lucy’s neckless friend said. He lowered his thick arms with a groan, and suddenly Will knew where he’d seen him: on TV. Specifically, on those outlandish wrestling matches Irving made him watch. Will wasn’t even going to guess how the Murminator got mixed up in all this.

  “Keep ’em up.” Lynch gesticulated with the gun.

  “It’s the joints.” The Murminator rotated his shoulders; it sounded like corn popping. “Too many powerslams. All right, all right.” He raised his hands again. “Listen, I dunno what-all’s goin’ on here. Well, I know some of it. Like that you shot that guy in the park today.”

  Wesley wagged one of his upraised hands. “That guy would be me.”

  “No kidding. Looks like you’re doing okay, though.”

  Lynch said, “You don’t need to know what’s going on, pal. Just stand there and shut up.”

  “Well, it’s just like, okay, I know you’r
e the one with the gun and all, and trust me.” The Murminator was the soul of sincerity. “I respect that, okay? But looking at these guys here, I can’t help but notice, well, like this one over here.” He indicated Fergus. “Fella with that kinda build, he wouldn’t have to bulk up all that much to meet me in the ring, you know what I’m saying? Will looks like he’s in decent shape. Even Mr. Private Eye here—you work out, am I right?”

  “My line of work?” Wesley said. “Be stupid not to.”

  “And then there’s me.” The Murminator gave a look that said, I’m not bragging, just stating fact. “Lucy doesn’t count. No offense,” he told her.

  “None taken,” she said.

  “Your point?” A tic jumped to life under Lynch’s right eye.

  “Only that you kinda got your hands full here,” the Murminator said. “The four of us come at you, sure, you got time to get off one good shot. Take out Judith there, or maybe one of us. But then? You’re back in the can, buddy, looking at life for sure.”

  Lucy spoke up. “He was in for murder before.”

  “Yeah? Then this’ll be number two,” the Murminator said. “So maybe it’s the needle, am I right?”

  The rest of them nodded. Yeah, maybe the needle this time.

  “Or,” Wesley said, “you can do the sensible thing, my friend. I dunno much about jewelry, but that stuff looks like the real deal.”

  Lynch’s gaze kept straying toward the coffee table. It wasn’t hard to read his mind. The instant he left with his loot, they’d have the cops after him. To Judith he said, “Go to the basement and get the rope—that clothesline. If you’re not back in two minutes, I’m gonna begin shooting. Starting with your boyfriend here.”

  “You’re not tying up anyone, Lynch.” Will was itching to follow through on the Murminator’s threat and rush the man, but that was a last resort. “You have my word that no one will call the cops for an hour and a half after you leave.”

  Lynch barked out a laugh. “You’re kidding, right? Your word?”