As he choked and gagged, she scrambled from underneath him and got up again.
On her feet, reeling with pain, her vision slanted drunkenly. She braced her hands against the wall to keep her balance.
Gotta get to my baby. .
Pulling in snatches of air, she ran down the hallway, bare feet slapping across the floor.
She rounded the corner. The staircase was ahead, near the end of the main hallway.
Jada was shouting at someone. Who else was in their home? In God’s name, who?
Mama’s coming, baby. .
As she grabbed the handrail and mounted the steps, a large object crashed into the back of her head, and her eyes exploded with brightness.
She fell forward against the stairs, and whatever had struck her shattered on the floor behind her. In her hazy peripheral vision, she glimpsed shards of a brightly colored item.
A vase. Leon had thrown a vase at her.
Her head burned as if molten lava had been poured atop her skull. Her jaw was swelling from when he had slapped her.
But she wasn’t going to let anything stop her.
Groaning and weeping, she clutched a baluster, and started to hoist herself to her feet.
Leon came around the corner. This time, he had a handgun.
He aimed the muzzle at her head.
She froze, staring into the dark bore of the pistol. It looked huge enough to launch a rocket.
“I. . I only want to. . help my baby,” she said in a raw voice.
Although his face was red with scars and he was out of breath, Leon had the audacity to smirk at her. With casual dexterity, he flipped the gun to his other hand, drawing her gaze along with it like a pin to a magnet-and suddenly hammered his free hand into her solar plexus, a punch that felt like a spear boring through her midsection.
She buckled over on the steps. Her mouth gaped open to scream, but only a dry rasp of pain came out.
“That’s. . for fighting back, bitch,” he said, chest heaving. “I’m not wasting any more. . time with you. . get up and make yourself presentable. . time to hit the trail.”
15
At the office, Corey sat at his computer, sipping coffee and searching on Google for information about guns.
He had brought his revolver to work with him. The gun was tucked inside the waist holster, hidden by his button-down shirt. He had a concealed carry permit, but except for the occasional visit to a firing range, he’d never taken the weapon out of the house.
Driving to work that morning, he’d decided that he was going to purchase another firearm, too. Perhaps two or three more. One to keep at home. One to keep in his car. One to keep in his desk drawer at work. One to keep on his person at all times.
His family was too precious for him to do anything less. He needed to be prepared for anything, anywhere, at anytime.
If Leon dared to show up again, he’d have something for him.
His desktop phone jangled. Caller ID showed his home number.
For no reason at all, an iron clamp of anxiety snapped across his chest. Somehow, he knew that something terrible had happened at home.
He hesitated for a beat, and picked up the phone.
“Hello?” he said.
“You’re a pupil of Ben Franklin, huh, home boy? Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.”
Leon’s voice blew through Corey like an icy breeze. He squeezed the handset, knuckles popping.
“Leon? What the hell-”
“I think you better come to the domicile with the quickness,” Leon said.
“-are you doing, you-”
“I think your beautiful wifey and your cute little munchkin need you.”
“-bastard, I’ll-”
“I think you better not make me wait too long. Au revoir.”
The dial tone drilled into Corey’s brain. Heart booming, he stared at the handset as if it were a viper.
Then he slammed it onto the cradle and ran like hell out of the office.
16
Speeding home, he used his BlackBerry to ring Simone’s cell, got no answer, dialed her office number, but got no answer there, either. He called home again, too, to no avail-the line rang and rang until voice mail picked up.
He desperately wanted to believe that Leon was playing a cruel joke on him, that he’d jerry-rigged their home landline somehow to make it only appear that he’d phoned him from their house. But his failure to reach Simone proved that this was really happening. Whatever this turned out to be.
God help me, if he hurts either Simone or Jada, I’ll kill him, I really will.
A few minutes later, he veered into the driveway with a squeal of tires.
There were no cars parked in the driveway or in front of the house. The only vehicle within a block’s radius was a white Ford van with an HVAC company’s name painted on the side.
He didn’t know what Leon was doing, but he thought it important to pay attention to everything. Every detail might prove meaningful later.
He got out of the car. Yesterday’s summer weather had abandoned them. The sky was the color of faded pewter, and there was an unseasonably raw bite in the air.
Drawing his gun from the holster, he approached the front door. There were no marks of forced entry on the door frame, and all of the windows were intact.
He twisted the knob. It was unlocked. Using his foot, he nudged the door open and crossed the threshold.
He didn’t see anyone. He heard the whispery hum of the air conditioner. But he heard no voices.
The house felt empty, too.
“Is anyone here?” he called out.
No answer.
Gun pointed skyward, finger on the trigger guard, he moved down the hallway.
At the corner, at the foot of the staircase, a vase lay shattered in a dozen pieces, a wedding gift from Simone’s aunt.
Fear squeezed his throat. What the hell had happened?
He ran to the interior garage door and flung it open. Simone’s SUV was parked inside, in its usual spot.
No, he thought, as a terrifying possibility began to brew in his mind.
He dashed to the master bedroom. The bed was in disarray. A couple of dresser drawers had been pulled open, and random pieces of clothing dangled from their edges and lay on the floor. Simone’s clothes. As if she had packed in a hurry.
Jesus, no. Nausea wormed through him.
He ran upstairs, taking the risers three at a time. He rushed headlong into Jada’s room.
Empty. The sheets on her bed were in chaos, too.
Mickey the bird lay dead on the floor in a heap of feathers, beady eyes fixed on oblivion.
He shook his head. No, no, no.
Jada’s speech processor lay on the nightstand.
No, God, not my little girl.
A scream boiled at the pit of his throat, and it was only through sheer willpower that he kept a lid on it. If he let the scream escape, he feared he would never stop, and he had to hold it together. He couldn’t fold. Couldn’t break.
The lives of his wife and daughter might depend on him.
Nearly tripping over his feet, he sprinted out of the room, into the hallway.
“Is anyone here?” he shouted hoarsely.
Hollow silence answered him.
On rubbery legs, he descended the staircase, clutching the hand rail in a tight grip to keep from falling.
He thought of calling someone. He didn’t know whom. Maybe the police. Maybe a friend. He didn’t know who could help him. Or if anyone could.
He staggered into the kitchen and dropped the gun onto the table.
That was when he saw the new cell phone standing near the napkin holder, nestled within the black coils of an AC adapter. A Post-it note was attached to it.
The handwritten text read simply: “Keep me on.”
He peeled away the note and carefully picked up the phone, as if it might detonate in his hands.
It was one of those inexpens
ive prepaid cell phones that you could buy at almost any retail store, the kind of phone that made it virtually impossible for the police to trace it to anyone because the purchaser bought air-time in blocks via calling cards, and didn’t need to supply a name or address to the wireless carrier.
The phone was already on.
Two or three breathless minutes later, it rang. The Caller ID display read Unknown Number, but Corey knew only one person could be calling.
“I’ve got your wifey and the munchkin,” Leon said. “Whether you ever see them again alive, old sport, depends entirely on you.”
17
Phone glued to his ear, Corey paced across the kitchen on legs so numb they felt disassociated from his body, as if they had been injected with a local anesthetic.
Whether you ever see them again alive, old sport, depends entirely on you.
A postcard photo of him and his family from last year’s holiday season was pinned by a magnet to the stainless steel refrigerator. The three of them sat on a love seat in front of the stocking-fringed fireplace wearing floppy Santa caps and cheesy grins. Corey hadn’t wanted to pose for the picture; he said they’d done it the year before and it was time for something new, but Simone and Jada had insisted, and as he often did when his ladies wanted something, he gave in-they both found the sight of him dressed up in anything absolutely hilarious.
A knot of anguish rose in his throat. He already missed the sound of their laughter.
“Why?” Corey asked thickly.
“Why?” Leon said, incredulous. “Why what? You sound woozy, kinda off-kilter, are you losing your grip already, have you flipped your lid? I always recalled you as having nerves of steel, the Iceman, taking care of business, standing and delivering, and I think you better dig deep down and rediscover those reserves of iron nerves again, keep it Ziploctight, ’cause things have only just begun, hear me?”
Corey stopped pacing and pressed his hand to his temple. His skin was greasy with cold sweat. His head pounded.
“I mean, why are you doing this? Kidnapping isn’t your style. You’re a thief.”
Leon released a ripple of manic laughter. “I’m broadening my horizons, expanding my repertoire, desperate times call for desperate measures. I have expensive tastes. I can’t realize Cristal dreams on a St. Ides income.”
“But I told you yesterday that I’d give you money! You didn’t have to do this!”
“You insulted moi yesterday with that insipid pin money offer, that was the coup de grace, I gave you a chance to do the right thing and you blew it. Screwed it up. Flunked out. Now you’ve gotta pay the piper, you’ve gotta do things my way or hit the highway, you dig, are we clear, huh?”
In the background on Leon’s line, Corey heard a rumbling engine. Leon was in a vehicle, he realized, presumably with Simone and Jada. Where was he taking them?
“Let me talk to my wife,” Corey said.
“Say the magic word, amigo.”
“Please.”
There was a lengthy silence filled with the sound of the grumbling vehicle and tires humming against pavement. . and then Simone’s thin voice crackled over the line.
“Honey. . I’m so sorry. . I tried to fight back. .”
“No.” Corey squeezed his eyes shut, struggling to hold back tears. “No, no, baby, I’m the one who needs to apologize. God, I should have known. .” He tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. What good were his flimsy excuses now? “How are you, sweetheart? How is Jada?”
“She’s. . okay. . she’s with me. . but she doesn’t have her speech processor. . she can’t hear anything.”
“I know, I know. I found it in her room. I’m going to bring both of you home safely. I promise you. You’ve gotta believe me. Okay? Please believe me.”
A ragged sob escaped her. It tore into his heart like a filet knife.
Only an hour ago, he had been touching her in their bed, gazing into her beloved eyes. How had their lives been upended so abruptly and tragically?
She sniffled. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, baby, I love Jada with everything I’ve got. I. . I’m just so goddamn sorry this happened.” His knees folded, and he had to lean against the counter. “Can you tell me where you are?”
“No. . blindfolded. .”
“Okay, okay.” He pulled in a shaky breath. “I’m going to bring you home. One way or another, I just need you to stay strong for me, okay? Please, just believe me and stay strong.”
“She’s plenty strong, all right,” Leon said, on the phone once more. “She put up a fight that would’ve made Laila Ali proud, no lie.” He whistled lowly. “Tough as nails and sexy to boot, you know when I got into the house, she was in her drawers? Damn near made me forget what I was there for. You’re a lucky schmuck having a fine piece like her to come home to every night, slammin’ bod’ on her, and that sweet chocolate skin makes me want to take a bite out of her as if she were a Hershey’s bar, matter of fact, before this is all over I might have me a nibble or two or three.”
Corey pushed away from the counter, hand clenching into a fist. “Don’t you dare touch her, asshole.”
“And if you could only see how my partner’s been ogling your little munchkin, whoa, that boy sure do love him some chil’ren.” Leon cackled.
Corey remembered the leering giant from the gas station. The thought of that monster within five hundred feet of Jada made him ill.
“For God’s sake, she’s only nine, Leon,” Corey said. “She’s a child.”
“You never told me she was deaf. How’d you wind up fathering a kid like that. You squirting jacked-up chromosomes down the chute. Is there a glitch in the man milk factory?”
Corey grabbed the gun off the table. “If you or your pervert partner hurt my little girl, I’m going to fucking kill both of you.”
“You aren’t going to do shit, comprende? You’ve met your Waterloo. Let’s be clear. I’m the one running the show, I’m the chief, I’m the HNIC. If I wanted to shoot your lovely ladies in their pretty heads right now and dump their bodies in the Chattahoochee River, there’s not a damn thing you could do about it but start planning a closed casket memorial.”
Clutching the gun, Corey fell silent.
“That’s what I thought,” Leon said.
Corey had to force out his next words. “How much will it take to get them back?”
“Let’s cover the ground rules of this engagement,” Leon said. “Numero uno. No cops. If I see a cop on my tail, if I even suspect that you’ve involved them in this private business matter of ours, I’m going to kill your family, and I’m going to make it exquisitely painful, worse than anything you can imagine, I promise, I’ll have my way with your cutie pie wifey, and I’ll let my partner do whatever he likes to your little munchkin, whatever unspeakable acts he can devise in that mysterious big cerebellum of his, and then we’ll waste them both and leave you widowed and psychologically half-Nelsoned for life. Are we clear?”
Corey lowered his head. His voice was soft and tight. “We’re clear.”
“We should be,” Leon said. “Because we both know there’s another major reason why you don’t want to involve the police. If by some miracle they nab me over this, I’m going to have quite a story to tell them about how Mr. Corey Webb was intimately involved in a certain unsolved case that went down in Motown sixteen years ago, which begs the question, actually-have you told your wife what we did?”
Gnawing his lip, Corey didn’t answer.
“Does she know anything at all about how we used to rock and roll back in the day?” Leon asked.
“Let’s keep this between us,” Corey said. “Leave my family out of it.”
Leon laughed. “Wait, wait, wait! The Webb domicile is built on a faulty foundation? How could you ask a woman for her hand in matrimony, yet not tell her the truth about yourself? I mean, seriously, what kind of man does something like that, something so deceitful, what kind of lowdown dirty dog are you that you would omit
such an essential piece of vital information from the woman you claim is the love of your life?”
“Shut up!”
“Wow, you haven’t changed at all,” Leon said with what might have been a trace of surprise. “The only difference now is that you’ve bought yourself some better window dressing, that’s all, sweeter butter cream icing, the big house, the luscious wife, the precocious kid, the lucrative white-collar business, all the cozy superficial trappings of the American dream, but I know the truth about you, even if su familia doesn’t. Once a hood, always a hood.”
“I’m not like you,” Corey said firmly. “I never was.”
“Repeat that to yourself enough times, maybe you’ll start to believe it.”
“What will it take to get them back?” Corey asked.
“Five hundred thousand dollars brings the clan home safe and sound.”
Corey was speechless, convinced his ears had heard wrongly.
“Why do I suddenly hear crickets?” Leon said.
“How much?” Corey said.
“Did I stutter? Five hundred thousand.”
Breathing shallowly, Corey said, “I don’t. . I don’t have that kind of money.”
“It’s Wednesday, around eight o’clock,” Leon said. “The money’s due by close of business on Friday. Five o’clock. We’ll work out the particulars of the exchange later.”
“You’re not hearing me, Leon. I don’t have five hundred grand!”
“You’ll find a way to get it, by hook or by crook.” Leon snickered. “Hey, maybe you can rob a bank. Get your face on all the Most Wanted posters, walk a few miles in my shoes, feel my pain, deal with my struggle.”
“I can get you. . I can get you fifty thousand,” Corey said, pacing again, mind spinning. “I can get that to you by Friday, I know I can pull it together. Fifty thousand dollars. That’s a lot of money, Leon. It’ll go a long way for you.”
“The price is fifty thousand times ten.”
Corey’s head felt as though it would explode. “Listen to me, okay? I don’t have that much money. I don’t know what you think you know about me, but I don’t have half a million dollars!”
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