by Diane Capri
“Were? What’s your news?”
“Roger Grantly collapsed during the flight. Heart attack, most likely. I’m on the way to the hospital to check on him.”
Morris whistled. “And his wife?”
“She went with him.”
“And they’re heading to Rome.”
“They have tickets, but now? Who knows?”
He cleared his throat. “They confirmed he’s being held for ransom?”
“Uh huh.”
“You got anything more specific?”
Jess looked at Omar. He had his hands on the wheel, intently maneuvering through traffic, but he could easily hear everything she said.
She took a deep breath. “The Grantlys were told the exchange would happen at the Rome airport.”
“It’s not likely to be that easy. What’s the ransom?”
She looked at Omar. The money was in the trunk. As nice as he appeared, the last thing she wanted to do was put temptation in front of a stranger. “I can’t say.”
“You don’t know?”
“No. I just can’t say.”
“Okay. I get it. But do they have it?”
“Yes.”
“Ready? In Italy?”
“It’s not in Italy.”
“Er…”
“Yet.”
“Hell, Jess. Are you telling me they’re carrying it?”
“Yes.”
“If they get caught, they’re looking at a butt-load of unhappiness, at the very least. Since 9/11, no government has been lenient on illegal transfers of money.”
“I know.”
“Is it cash? Have they been that stupid?”
“Uh-huh, and you have to understand, they lost their first child in Iraq. Wilson is all they’ve got. Unfortunately. He’s no prize.”
“You can say that again.” Morris sighed. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m sympathetic. But the law—”
“The law can be an ass.”
“Maybe, but since the ’90s, US dollars have a metal stripe. Easily visible to the TSA. It’ll be stopped. They’ll be stopped.”
“Well, they weren’t and it wasn’t. But they might not be so lucky on the next flight. We have to do something.”
“We’re trying, Jess.”
“Yeah, well—”
“And don’t go getting any ideas about going to Rome.”
“Taboo already bought the ticket.”
“No, Jess. No. You’ve been incredibly helpful. You’ve turned up all this. But now—”
“I have a ticket to one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Be a shame to waste it, wouldn’t you say?”
“These people aren’t playing for fun. Even if this doesn’t work out, we’ll be better prepared the next time they start this scam,” Morris said. “We’ll catch them, Jess. Maybe not now, but we will.”
“How can you say that? You want them to come back and—”
“You’re a reporter. A civilian. And whatever happens, I don’t want a bad situation made worse because you get caught up somehow. Understand?”
She blew out a long breath. “You should have seen the Grantlys.”
“I know it hurts. It hurts all of us. We just have to do our best, and when that isn’t good enough, we get back up, brush ourselves off, and start again.”
The Town Car passed a large sign indicating Antigua Hospital. Omar took the exit.
“I’m almost at the hospital.”
“Which one?”
“Antigua. They took Roger there in an ambulance from the plane. He’s probably in Cardiac O.R. by now, if I had to guess.”
“Okay. Just keep them talking, and I’ll be there. We’ll see what we can do.”
“Keep them talking?”
“We flew to Newark. Preferred airline crap. Quickest I could get here. We’re half an hour from you.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. She wanted to help the Grantlys. She had to help them. But handing everything over to the FBI was a better idea. Morris had been more than cooperative. They both got what they expected, but there was one more thing to do before Blazek’s gang could be wrapped up. And Wilson Grantly’s life, his parents’ last son, miserable as he was, was one big thing.
“See you soon,” she said.
Before she could hang up, Morris said, “You were right about the connection between Zimmer and Blazek’s extortion ring, too, Jess.”
“How do you know?”
“We dug a little deeper into the Zmich and Warga murders. We found paintings by Zimmer at all three crime scenes. Thanks to you.” Morris paused. “That ties all of them together and also ties them all to Blazek. If Grantly’s the mastermind here, we want him, Jess.”
“His parents say he’s a victim of the scam, not the leader of an extortion ring, though.”
“What else is a parent going to say?” Morris sighed before he hung up.
The hospital building loomed ahead. Various signs pointed to buildings and departments. Omar weaved between cars to get as close as possible to the curb at the visitor’s entrance. A driver pulled out around them, gesticulating.
She leaned forward, her head between the two front seats. “You’re booked all night, right?”
“All the way till midnight. Later, if you want, but you pay extra.”
“Midnight’s fine. Drop me by the front entrance, and wait.”
Omar shook his head. “I can’t.”
Jess frowned. “Can’t what?”
“Wait. It’s a drop off zone.” He waved his hand at the columns of traffic. “They’ll give me a ticket.”
Jess sighed, “Well—”
“There’s a parking garage, one block over. Multi-story.” He handed her a card. “Call me when you’re ready.”
She looked at the card. The thought of letting him drive off with the Grantlys’ money in the trunk scared her, but it wasn’t much different from asking him to wait at the entrance. She couldn’t keep an eye on him either way.
She handed him one of her cards. “Text me when you get parked. So I know where you are.”
He took the card, and shrugged. “Whatever you say.”
Omar inched to a stop at the front entrance. Jess hooked her bag over her shoulder, her Glock settled inside. She tapped the back of his seat. “Don’t forget, text me.”
“Yeah, yeah. No problem.”
She hurried along the sidewalk toward the hospital’s main entrance, placing a phone call as she moved. After several rings, the operator answered.
“Antigua Hospital, David Gardner speaking. How may I help you?”
“I’m looking for Roger Grantly. He was delivered by ambulance from JFK about an hour ago. Can you tell me where I can find him?”
“One moment,” Gardner replied.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
New York City, New York
May 11
Luigi struggled to see the American’s limo from the rear seat of his taxi. The driver followed the American woman’s vehicle along the Van Wyck Expressway to Antigua Hospital without question. He’d actually been pretty adept at staying a few cars back, but when her car turned for the hospital, his driver glared at him. “I thought you said she was cheating on you?”
Luigi briefly considered silencing the man with a bullet, but the area around the hospital was far too busy. He waved at the hospital. “He’s a doctor.”
His driver nodded sagely. “Ah. The worst.”
The American’s limo had stopped. Luigi watched as she emerged from the back seat. The driver had released the trunk from inside and she ducked half her body into the dark cavern. She was probably retrieving something from the luggage. He felt his gut tense while she rooted around in there. If she took the cash, he’d have another set of challenges and he was running out of time to dispense with them all.
When the American raised her body from the limo’s deep storage, she had nothing with her except the oversized handbag he’d seen her carrying since the Orlando jet way.
His breat
hing returned to normal and his gut relaxed. She didn’t find the ransom. Or if she did, she’d left it in place.
Which was both the good news and the bad news. Good because she didn’t find it. Bad because now he had three different sites to cover.
Then again, he’d been craving excitement. Killing two old people and a small woman while carrying ten pounds of cash wasn’t that challenging, but it was better than watching them from the sidelines until they reached Rome.
She slammed the trunk lid down and the limo driver pulled away.
Luigi tapped his driver’s shoulder and pointed forward. “Drive past. Stop a few cars down.”
Fifty feet on, his driver slowed, his indicator blinking as he waited for a minivan to pull out, leaving him a space at the curb. Luigi looked back at the American.
Her limo drove right by him. A big black Lincoln Town Car. He slid down in his seat as she watched her limo depart.
So he’d guessed correctly. She had befriended the Grantlys and enticed them to trust her with the ransom. Which meant they had also trusted her with at least some information about their son’s situation. Which also meant the American was now another problem that had to be eliminated. Not ideal, but he’d handled bigger problems in this case already. He wasn’t worried.
He had a small vial containing cyanide capsules in his pocket. He’d saved two for this occasion. But he hadn’t expected to need more. Another elimination method would be needed for the American. A minor irritation. He was aware of the weight of the pistol in his pocket, but the possibilities for using it were limited because of his requirements.
She was small enough. He could overpower her and break her neck. An undesirable choice because he’d need to get her alone and get close enough, which he couldn’t count on.
Perhaps a better option would present itself. It usually did. The only obstacles were timing and witnesses.
But he wasn’t worried about those, either. He didn’t worry about much of anything after all these years. He was an expert and she was nothing but a nuisance. His confidence was supported by the several million Euro bank account that proved it. He smiled again.
Prioritize. Compartmentalize. These were his strengths. The Italian made a quick decision.
Luigi handed the fare to his driver, and stepped out. The Town Car was pulling into a multi-story parking garage. She had obviously asked her driver to wait.
He turned around, but she was gone. He swore as he jogged to the front entrance. She was talking to a woman at a giant curved reception desk. A smile drew across his face. She was locating the Grantlys. She’d collected their luggage for them, and now she was returning it.
He stepped back from the entrance, keeping out of sight of the receptionist. His anger turned to lust as he watched her walk down the corridor into the building. He grinned. She had turned from a meddling irritation to an unwitting ally.
He had two options. Follow her through the hospital to the Grantlys and eliminate them now. Or give her time to leave, and find the Grantlys himself. He preferred the latter. If the old man was in a hospital room he’d be alone or maybe with his wife. The fewer people he had to deal with at one time the better.
He moved farther away from the main entrance, passed a gaggle of smokers, and stopped beside a statue where he judged he would have the best view of the entrance. The place was busy. The area’s walking wounded traipsed in and out. A steady stream of ambulances stretchered in the more desperate cases.
He shuffled his weight from foot to foot, and considered joining the smokers, but he resisted. Cigarette smoke was an identifying feature. Stale tobacco smoke attached itself to clothes, skin, and hair. People latched onto it fast. They remembered the smoke, and the smoker. The last thing he wanted was anyone remembering him.
An orderly brought a man out in a wheelchair. An SUV pulled up, and the driver and the orderly helped the man into the passenger’s seat. The SUV drove away.
Luigi checked his watch. He had started with plenty of time, but he wouldn’t wait until the last moment. He gave the American ten more minutes, checked the knife and gun in his pockets, and headed for the reception desk.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Jess hurried through the hospital’s maze of corridors looking for the elevators. The receptionist had said Roger was on the fifth floor, the cardiac floor. She saw the elevators, and ran to catch the doors before they closed. A young couple stepped aside to let her in. A punk rocker, complete with zips and chains leaned against the rear wall, snapped chewing gum in time to the music in his head. He licked his lips as he looked at Jess, which made her skin crawl.
She was sorely tempted to take her frustration out on him, but inside a hospital, on the way to see a heart attack patient, wasn’t the best place for an incident with a loaded Glock. She bit her lip. Loaded Glock. What were the laws about concealed weapons on hospital property? Not that it mattered. She had to go inside and she wouldn’t leave the Glock behind. If she got stopped, Morris would fix it.
She took a deep breath and turned her back to the punker. She needed to focus. She needed to know everything the Grantlys could tell her about the handover, about Wilson, and about the kidnappers. She needed as much from them as she could get. Because if the FBI wouldn’t, or couldn’t, take the Grantlys place and rescue Wilson, then she would.
If she were old, and her son was in danger, she knew that is what she would want. The Grantlys wanted the same thing, only they were from an age which left them too proud to ask.
The elevator stopped on the fifth floor. She stepped out and the doors closed, taking the punker away. The corridor was painted flat white and blindingly illuminated by too many fluorescent bulbs. Two scuffed dark lines on the floor bore witness to many years’ passage of rolling hospital beds.
Her phone buzzed. She glanced at a terse message from an unknown number. B34 floor 4. Omar. The parking garage. She pushed the phone back in her pocket, hoping the man was as good as his word.
The cardiac care unit was easily identified by a large sign and another reception desk. She walked up to a rotund woman, brown hair, mid-sixties. “Is Roger Grantly here?”
The woman looked up at her, wearing a kindly expression. “Are you a relative?”
Jess nodded slightly, an involuntary part of the lie she had to tell. “He’s my father.”
The woman looked her up and down. Jess’s heart beat faster. Roger as her father would be one hell of an age gap, but it was too late to take it back. She breathed in. If she screwed this up, she had no way to get to the Grantlys.
The woman opened her mouth to speak.
Jess held her hand out. “I know, I know. He’s really my grandfather. They raised me. My real family,” she shrugged, “you know…”
The woman’s head bobbed in a slow nod. “Name?”
Jess knew she was going to ask for ID next. She had no option but to use her real name. “Jessica Kimball.”
“Kimball?”
“Married name.”
The woman bobbed her head again. “I think I’m going to have to check with them.” She picked up her phone, and placed it back on the hook.
Jess frowned. “You can check. Give them my name. I’m sure they—”
The woman held up her hand and pointed behind Jess.
A nurse wearing a nameplate identifying her as Denise Shaw was guiding Mrs. Grantly along the corridor.
Jess smiled. “Harriet.”
Mrs. Grantly waved but her eyes focused well beyond Jess.
Jess held her hand out. Harriet took it.
Jess looked at Nurse Shaw. “How is he doing?”
The nurse smiled. “Are you a relative?”
Harriet held Jess’s hand and said, “It’s all right. She’s with me.”
“He’s had a heart attack. Possibly two.” Nurse Shaw breathed deeply. “He’s on oxygen and nitro. We’re prepping him for angioplasty.”
“You’re going to operate?” Harriet’s tone was calm, simply seeking informat
ion.
“It’s a small procedure. We’ll put a stent in, to open his arteries. So he’ll get better blood flow.” The kindly Nurse Shaw patted Harriet’s hand. “He’ll feel better.”
“When will they do the procedure?”
“Soon. It’ll only take an hour. But you won’t be able to see him until the morning. Do you live nearby?”
Jess shook her head.
“I’d recommend you find a hotel.” Nurse Shaw squeezed Harriet’s hand and looked directly at Jess. “I have the feeling traveling to New York was a little more than they’re used to.”
Jess wrapped her arm around Harriet’s shoulder. “We’ll be okay, won’t we?”
Harriet nodded, and the nurse left them.
Jess steered Harriet to the elevator. “How about something to eat before we look for a hotel?”
Harriet leaned close to Jess. “Where are our bags?”
Jess smiled. “They’re okay. I have a car.”
She whispered, “But the money?”
“It’s okay,” Jess said. “It’s perfectly safe.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Luigi stood near the hospital entrance, the curved reception desk in front of him. He bit his lip. The American woman had walked this way. She had stood where he stood, talked to the receptionist, and disappeared deeper into the building.
He remembered her body as he’d followed behind, the swing of her hips and the bounce of her blonde curls.
He spun on his heels, and walked out of the hospital. She hadn’t been carrying the suitcases. Her driver had loaded them into the limo, and she had got out without them. Could she have been so stupid as to trust her driver with the money?
He jogged toward the multi-story car park. There was only one place the money could be. He followed the roadway into the building, scanning the signs for limo parking. There was no such sign. He swore. He couldn’t be that lucky. He would have to search the whole building.
He checked his gun, and jogged a path around the first floor.
