Then she saw the wall-mounted telephone on the right side of the archway and remembered the card she had in her back pocket. Something about the lady P.I.’s manner had made Francine transfer Paulina’s business card from her apron pocket to her jeans when she’d finished her shift. Francine threw an apprehensive glance through the family room toward the screen porch. She could see the back of Doug’s head where he was seated in an iron lounge chair, keeping a close eye on Paulina.
Setting the duct tape and scissors down quietly on the glistening ceramic countertop, Francine withdrew the card from her pocket and eased the receiver from its cradle.
Maybe she still had a choice, after all.
“GOOD AFTERNOON. Stewart Investigations, how may I help you?” Andrea answered the phone pleasantly, hoping Mr. Boyer was finally getting around to calling. Paulina had been uncustomarily anxious about him when she’d returned from lunch and there’d been no message from him. That phone call from his secretary ten minutes ago had spooked Andrea. Why was he relaying messages?
Andrea wasn’t looking forward to telling him that Paulina wasn’t available at the moment and she had no idea where her boss was or when she’d be back.
“Hi, you don’t know me,” a woman’s voice whispered, sounding theatrical.
“I would if you could tell me your name,” Andrea quipped, suppressing a smile. Answering the phone around here was never boring.
“There’s no time for that,” the woman replied, urgency straddling her tone. “Your lady P.I.’s in trouble, they’re gonna kill her—”
Andrea snapped to attention. “Who’s going to kill her?” she demanded firmly, concentrating on the woman’s voice and the background noises. She could hear something—a man’s voice, but it sounded muffled. “Where are you calling from? Tell me so I can help you,” Andrea said, her pen poised over a message pad.
The line went dead.
“Hello?” Andrea gaped in stunned dismay at the telephone. Had Paulina followed that waitress and got into trouble? Or was this some kind of a prank? What should she do? What would Paulina do?
Anxiety pinched Andrea’s heart as she punched in *69 and jotted down the phone number of the last party that had called. She quickly dialed the phone company’s service number which provides the name behind the number for customers, but the operator informed her it was an unpublished listing and the information was not available.
Andrea tucked her hair behind her ears and told herself to stay calm and think. The library. She should phone the library and see if someone in the research section could cross match an address with the phone number in the city directory. Andrea flipped through the card file on her desk for the Ottawa Public Library’s phone number.
She’d just given the researcher the phone number when the second phone line rang. Andrea put the researcher on hold and answered line two. “Stewart Investigations, may I help you?” she said, praying the woman had called back. Or even better, that it would be Paulina reporting in.
“Andrea, this is Gil. Put Paulina on.”
“I can’t, Gil. She’s not here. She went to Joe’s Diner to talk to that waitress and decided to follow her home. She hasn’t checked in since she left and I think she’s in trouble. I got a call a few minutes ago from a woman who told me someone was planning to kill Paulina.”
She heard Gil swear.
Andrea told him what the woman had said verbatim.
“They?” Gil said. “That must mean—”
“Hold on,” Andrea said, suddenly remembering she had the researcher on line one. “I’ve got the library on the other line checking out the number.”
Gil pulled his car off the roadway and spent the longest thirty seconds of his life waiting for Andrea to come back on the line. The worry in her voice had been unmistakable. Gil felt as if a wall of offensive linesmen were using him to wipe their cleats. Had Paulina followed Francine to Lydia’s place?
Andrea returned. “Gil, there’s no match.”
That wasn’t the news Gil wanted to hear. “What’s the number?” he demanded. He reached onto the passenger seat and scanned Lydia’s personnel file. Andrea read out Lydia’s home number, digit by digit. “Listen, Andrea,” he said, “I have a hunch the paralegal, Lydia Kosak, is behind the illegal adoptions. She lives with someone named Doug Clark.” He gave her the exact address on Iona Street.
Gil pulled out into traffic with a squeal of tires. “Phone Robbins and Zuker and tell them to get there ASAP. I think Mikey could be there—or with some social worker named Susan Clark-Fitzhugh, whom I suspect is related to Doug Clark. I’m on my way to Lydia’s address now. Call me back as soon as you’ve gotten through to Zuker.”
“Gil, you shouldn’t go in there. It could be danger—”
“Just phone the police,” he growled and promptly hung up. He settled both hands on the wheel and pressed the gas pedal to the floor, terrified that once again he’d arrive too late.
A RUMBLING JARRED Paulina awake. It took her a moment to realize the noise wasn’t generated in the darkness in her head, but was instead the mechanical grind of an automatic garage-door opener. From beneath lowered lashes, she noticed the light shift from pitch-black to shadowed daylight. She heard the purr of a car motor and felt the motion of a vehicle between the sensations of pain registering in pounding waves throughout her body. Every inch of her felt bruised and sore as though she’d been battered by a methodical maniac.
Details came to her consciousness as she took stock of her predicament.
She was seated in the first rear passenger seat of a minivan, her head propped against a window. From the sound of the voices talking sporadically, she realized Lydia had joined them and was driving the minivan. Paulina tilted her head back slightly, changing her viewing angle through the veil of her lashes. The slight shift of position caused new waves of pain to slam inside her skull like a punishing fist. Lydia’s ponytail curled like a yellow ribbon down the back of the driver’s seat. A haze of turquoise told Paulina that Francine was seated in the right front passenger seat. The occasional sniffling sound coming from behind her suggested Doug was in the back seat.
Either Doug had postnasal drip or she’d connected solidly with his nose. Paulina wished her aim had been more precise with that rock. She could have avoided this car trip altogether.
The interior of the van was burgundy. The windows were tinted black, which explained why someone had thought there’d be no harm in slapping a piece of tape over her mouth. Her hands were bound together at the wrists with duct tape.
She grimaced, flattered good ol’ Doug was worried about her hands.
Paulina drew a calming breath through her nostrils, struggling against the upsurge of panic running riot in her chest. She tried ever so carefully to move her legs, feeling the bite of rope slide against her nylons at her ankles. Her right ankle had swollen so badly she couldn’t slide her heel down into her shoe—not that she’d want to put any pressure on that ankle.
She was incapacitated and surrounded. Things couldn’t get any worse.
“Where are we going?” she heard Francine demand. “I think I have a right to know what I’m involved in.”
“To Gatineau Park. We’ll dump her there and no one will be the wiser,” Lydia replied, her voice ringing with confidence. “You have a specific spot in mind, Doug?”
“Nah, we’ll just drive until we find a secluded place. This time of year, there’s all kinds of people driving through the park watchin’ the leaves change.” Doug cleared his throat noisily. “We don’t want her turning up any time soon. But I was thinkin’, once it’s done I’ll clean the gun and then slip it inside Cindy’s brother-in-law’s car along with this little lady’s car keys after I move her car tonight. That should keep the police busy and keep the brother-in-law off our backs. I don’t think he’ll go hiring any more private investigators. So, stop worrying, Francine. We’ve got it covered.”
Paulina glanced through her lashes out the window, trying to determine
their location. They were on Island Park Drive, presumably heading for the Champlain Bridge which spanned the Ottawa River, linking the provinces of Quebec and Ontario. The Gatineau Park was on the Quebec side of the river.
“I wish I’d never laid eyes on Cindy,” Francine mumbled.
“You and me both,” Lydia replied. “We’ve been operating without a hiccup. Then along comes Cindy. None of this would have happened if she hadn’t changed her mind about the adoption at the last minute and Jean-Luc had bought my story about her screwing us both and running off on her own with the baby. Jean-Luc thought Cindy had pocketed her percentage and left him high and dry. Can you believe that jerk waited for me outside the firm and demanded a cut of the money?”
“I never met him. Cindy mentioned him, of course,” Francine commented, “but he doesn’t sound like much of a prince.”
Lydia snorted. “He was not very smart, either. But Doug took care of him. He’s good at covering my behind.”
“You got that right, sweetheart,” Doug piped up in a lascivious tone. “And that’s a sweet, little behind you’ve got. I like covering it every chance I get—and you love every minute of it.”
“You bet I do, hard stuff.”
Paulina thought she was going to be sick. None of these people knew anything about love. Not the commitmentforever kind of love. Not Gil’s kind of love. The only thing they knew was that it was a valuable commodity when it came to couples who were desperate enough to pay anything to have a child.
Gil.
A picture of him formed in her mind, comforting her with the haziness of a fond dream that she couldn’t completely recall.
Lydia hadn’t mentioned Gil’s being at Newcombe and Bullhauser today. Maybe that meant he was safe for a while—at least until the gun linking him to her murder was recovered by the police. That, Paulina thought miserably, would make Robbins’s day.
And the idea of Gil facing such a battle on his own gnawed at her heart. If her life had been different, Gil would have been exactly the kind of man she’d want to fall in love with. Successful. Caring. Sure of himself. Now that she was minutes away from being killed, she could admit to herself that Gil challenged her heart in a way Karl never had.
She’d fallen in love with Karl over a period of months, as she’d gotten to appreciate his intelligence and skill as an RCMP officer. The fact her father knew Karl well and approved of him had heightened his appeal. Paulina had thought Karl was a blue knight in uniform; the perfect mate for her, considering her interests. But there had been none of the wild, instantaneous craziness—the tumultuous warring with desire that she felt whenever she was near Gil. That deep-rooted feeling of knowing it wasn’t right, but not giving a damn anyway. Was that how Cindy had felt when she was with Jean-Luc?
Cindy hadn’t had the strength of mind to withstand the wants of her body. But at least she’d possessed the strength to stand up for her baby. Paulina was convinced Edison Tweedie had given Cindy the reassurance she needed to fight to keep her baby.
Paulina wasn’t going down without a fight, either. Once they got her to the secondary location, she was dead meat anyway.
Through her lashes, Paulina saw the two neat rows of white globe lights that ornamented the bridge like pearls on a tarnished silver bracelet.
She had to act fast or she’d lose her chance.
She had a lot of children to live for—who needed her. And there was the very pleasant thought of seeing Gil’s face when he was reunited with Mikey.
The bridge was narrow and two-laned; a corridor filled with witnesses if Paulina could find a way to attract attention. She inhaled and exhaled deeply, gathering her strength. The bridge leap-frogged over three islands. If she was going to try anything, better to do it over open water before they hit the first island.
Adrenaline enhanced her courage as she lurched forward and grabbed hold of Lydia’s ponytail, jerking hard to the right as she fell to her knees. Her sore ankle throbbed in protest to the sudden pressure of her body weight. Shards of agonizing pain vibrated through her shins, but Paulina was beyond caring.
Lydia let out an unearthly scream. The minivan swerved and jumped the curb. Her balance precarious, Paulina mulishly held her grip. The deafening roar of an explosion—like hundreds of paper bags bursting at once—drowned out Lydia’s cries. Paulina felt a stinging sensation rip through her side as the minivan crashed into the low black iron guardrail.
That bastard had shot her…she realized in stunned disbelief.
With a screech of crumpling metal, the van tilted and slowly flipped over into the river below.
Paulina tumbled around inside the interior of the van like a rag doll in a clothes dryer. Something hard prodded her in the shoulder as she was flung against the side passenger door, then gave way with a grating sound as she slid across the ceiling.
At least, she wasn’t going to die in isolation, she thought fleetingly as her head smacked against a window with a dull thump and she saw a kaleidoscope of colors. Her mother and Gil would be spared the agony of wondering where she was and what had happened to her.
Then, blessedly, Paulina didn’t feel anything at all.
Chapter Fourteen
“Where the hell are your men, Zuker?” Gil barked into the receiver of his car phone from the intersection of Island Park Drive and the Ottawa River Parkway. “They’re heading onto the Champlain Bridge.” Sweat beaded his forehead and trickled down his temples. The light changed to green and Gil surged ahead with the other traffic. He was seven cars behind the burgundy minivan that had left Lydia’s house minutes ago.
After he’d checked out Paulina’s abandoned car—hoping to find a note of some kind—he’d driven down Iona Street to Lydia’s house on the corner. He’d been making a rapid U-turn on the cross street when the garage door had opened and the van had shot out.
“Don’t worry,” Zuker responded in a conciliatory tone. “They won’t make it across the bridge. The Aylmer police will stop them on the other side. The OCP will close off this end. They’ll be boxed in. Robbins is en route.”
“You’re damn lucky I saw them leaving the house,” Gil groused. He didn’t feel lucky at all. His heart was riddled with fear, knowing Paulina must be in that minivan—maybe dead.
Was Mikey in the van, too?
“Hang in there, Mr. Boyer, it’ll be over soon. We’ve dispatched two cars to the house, in case Mikey’s there. Just stay out of the way and let us handle it.”
In the distance, Gil heard the faint wail of sirens and muttered a word of thanks.
Please let her be alive, he prayed silently, hugging the bumper of the station wagon in front of him. His knuckles glowed bone white on the receiver.
The seconds ticked like hours. Gil’s mouth dropped open in horror as he saw the van veer suddenly, jump the curb and clip the right guardrail.
His heart vaulted from his chest as with a slow surrealism the van somersaulted over the rail and plunged to the rapids below.
Gil’s mind went blank with petrifying fear—for Paulina and Mikey.
“Oh, God, they’re in the river!” he shouted at Zuker, bringing his car to a screeching halt. Gil flung open his door heedless to the traffic around him. His legs couldn’t seem to move fast enough as he sprinted to the rail, legs and arms pumping. The van bobbed and swayed with the current, the heavier front end sinking fast.
Gil didn’t think twice. He aimed for a patch of blue water and jumped, hoping he wouldn’t hit a rock.
PAULINA REALIZED she wasn’t dead. If she were, why was someone ripping her mouth off her face and tugging insistently on her arms?
“We have to get out of here or we’ll drown,” a woman’s shrill voice clamored in her brain. “The water’s coming in.”
Paulina forced her eyes open. Cold water lapped at her body, numbing her pain. She was lying on the floor of the minivan. Francine was bending over her. The side passenger door was open about eight inches and bright sunlight beamed through the gap, turning Fran
cine’s hairstyle into a glowing ginger beehive. Blood dripped from a cut on Francine’s cheek. The minivan lurched and swirled around, jostling them as if they were on a dizzying ride at a fair. The nose of the vehicle was going down, forcing the rear up. The water level was rising fast.
Something sharp dug into her wrists. Francine was jabbing at the duct tape with her long fingernails.
“I got the rope off your legs, but I can’t get the tape,” Francine wailed. “Oh, my God, you’re bleeding bad. I can’t believe he shot you.”
Paulina glanced down at her right hip. She could see blood seeping through her suit, but she didn’t feel any pain.
“Can you swim?” Francine asked, helping Paulina up onto her knees.
Paulina nodded and moved her lips weakly. “Yes. I can float.”
“Good. I’ll help you, if you need it.”
Francine squeezed through the narrow space toward the rear side passenger door.
The van swung around suddenly in the current and Paulina teetered, instinctively propping her arms against the back of the driver’s seat for support. She glanced anxiously at Lydia, who was hunched over the wheel, one arm hanging limply.
Francine grabbed the handle of the door and tried to push it open, grunting with the effort. She didn’t quite make it and the door slid down again. “Damn!”
Doug moaned from somewhere in the back of the van, but Paulina couldn’t see him.
Terror lanced through Paulina’s heart. She had no idea where the gun was, but she had no intention of hanging around to find out. Her mind was still trying to deal with the fact that the blood on her clothes belonged to her. Maybe if she lived through this she was going to call her mother. They hadn’t talked since Mother’s Day—and Paulina had only phoned then because despite her mother’s disapproval of Paulina’s work, Sarah was still her mother. Hand-sewn Halloween costumes, countless Girl Scout meetings and her college education still counted for something.
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