“Luce, wait.”
“I’ve got this. Just follow me. I’ll distract him long enough for you to catch up and grab him.”
“You,” Tim said to the jogger, “beat it. Get out of here now before you get the crap kicked out of you by Joe Rizzo’s son.”
Who knew Tim was such a namedropper? A pause ensued. She stole a quick glance at her family.
The jogger put his hands up. “J-Joe Rizzo?”
“The one and only,” Tim said.
“Shit. O-okkay. Sorry. Sorry. Didn’t mean any disrespect. Lady, I hope your leg is okay.”
“Beat it,” Tim hollered, his voice tight enough to strangle an elephant.
Her man was about to lose his hot Irish temper.
Backpack.
Lucie picked up her pace, following the path into the trees, out of sight of her family.
“Luce? Where are you?”
“I’m on the path heading to the exit. This guy is moving quick, so hurry. “
Beanie Boy reached the park exit and Lucie broke into a dead run, chasing him down, keeping him in sight as he raised his arm. She drew closer, maybe twelve feet away. A black sedan eased to the curb. Beanie Boy stepped back, waiting for the car to stop.
No.
If he got into that car, the money would be gone. He opened the door and Lucie’s panic hit hyper-drive. Still running, a fierce blood rush blurred her vision. She blinked a couple of times, set her mind on the task of focusing.
Do something.
She ran harder, her feet slamming against the pavement, sending shocks of pain up her legs. But Beanie Boy was right there. Just feet in front of her. Stop him. Her breaths came in short, angry bursts. She leaped, her arms outstretched as she flew. Boom! She slammed into the guy.
“What the…hey, watch it lady!”
Lucie careened off him, plowing into the doorframe, the impact nearly tearing her torso apart. Her head snapped sideways. The force knocked her wig askew and her earpiece loose. She landed half on the back seat, her lower body hanging off. Quickly, she pressed her finger to her ear, securing the earpiece.
“Get her out,” the driver yelled.
No, sir. Uh-huh. They weren’t leaving with that money. Lucie poked a finger. “I want that backpack.”
“Luce!”
Tim’s voice. Not in her ear. Coming from the park. Beanie Boy spun around. Lucie followed his gaze to where Tim sprinted toward them.
Something clamped on to the back of Lucie’s coat. The driver. Hauling her into the car. She reared back, smacked at the arm of a big, beefy guy.
“Get in and you won’t get hurt.”
Lucie grabbed on to the doorframe, pulling against it for resistance. “Ha! Are you kidding me? The victim should never allow herself to be taken to a second location. Tim!”
The young guy with the backpack grabbed her feet. She kicked out, got him in the shoulder.
“Ow,” he said. “Stop it. Just get in.”
He locked one arm around her legs, lassoing them. He shoved and her grip loosened on the doorframe. Another bout of panic exploded. If they got her into that car, it was over.
Beanie Boy shoved again and the driver came half over the seat, grabbing her with both hands. Ohmigod. Too much. The force was too much. Her fingers slid and Beanie Boy pushed and…no.
She lost her grip.
Momentum rolled her backward, flopping her onto the floorboard. Seconds. That’s all it took to get her into that car. The self-defense gurus would be mortified.
She smacked her hand against the back of the front seat. “Let me out!”
Beanie Boy hopped in and slammed the door. “Go.”
Lucie kicked out again, landed a blow to his shoulder this time. “Ow. Quit it. I won’t hurt you.”
“Let me out of this car.”
She kicked him again. Couldn’t hurt.
He shifted sideways, his back against the door, and held his hands up. “Can’t. You shouldn’t have come after me. What the hell are you doing anyway?”
These idiots had no idea how bad they’d just screwed up. “Morons,” she screamed. “Antoine thinks I’m the blackmailer. If I let that money disappear, I’ll never clear myself.”
“This was supposed to be an easy job,” the driver said, his voice flat and totally unaffected.
“Kidnapping,” Lucie cried. “You’re kidnapping me. Federal offense!”
“Technically,” the driver said, “it’s abduction.”
Verbal swordplay? Now?
“Whatever. You’re doing it, and guess what? That big guy screaming my name? He’s my boyfriend. And he’s a Chicago cop. A detective. You guys are toast.”
“Luce,” Tim said in her ear, “I’m right behind you. In a cab. Don’t let them see the radio.”
Whew. She fought the urge to look out the rear window, to see him and know that he was with her. That he’d take care of her.
I can do this.
Still on the floor, she wiggled to a sitting position and smoothed a hand over her wig, giving it a surreptitious straightening while making sure it covered her ear and the radio hooked around it.
Beanie Boy pushed his hands into his forehead. “I need to think.”
“You’d better think about letting me go before this gets worse.”
Lucie scooted back, closer to the rear driver’s side door. Maybe, when they stopped for a light, she could roll out. Make a run for Tim just behind them.
The clunk of door locks sounded. “Nice try,” the driver said. “Child safety locks are now on. You’re not going anywhere.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Baby girl?” Dad’s voice streamed through the earpiece. “Are you okay?”
Um, no. Not okay. She’d just been kidnapped. Of course she wasn’t okay.
“She can’t answer,” Tim said. “They’ll know she has a radio.”
Thank you, O’Hottie.
Tiny prickles traveled along the bottoms of her feet. Being crunched on the floorboard inhibited her circulation. She looked up at her abductor. “Can I move to the seat?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“Tim,” Joey said, “we just got to the car.” His voice held a breathy edge as if he’d sprinted a mile. “Where are you?”
“About to jump on Lake Shore. She’s in a black Lincoln Continental. I’m calling it in.”
“No!” The word flew from her mouth—dang it—and Beanie Boy narrowed his eyes. Uh-oh. Think fast. She kicked him in the thigh. “No! You can’t take me.”
In the world of fast thinking, it wasn’t great, but Beanie Boy simply rubbed his thigh.
“Hey, take it easy.”
“I’m sorry, Luce,” Tim said. “We’re beyond a blackmail scheme. Way beyond. If I hadn’t run after you, we wouldn’t even know where you are right now.”
“Call it in,” Dad said. “I want these guys fried.”
The driver cruised down Lake Shore, obviously sticking close to the speed limit.
Lucie sat forward. “Listen, driver, you can still pull over. Just let me out and I’ll forget this whole thing. Take the money, I don’t care.”
“Oh,” the driver said, “we’re taking the money. As soon as I dump you two off, I’m taking my cut and I’m gone.”
Greedy little bugger. But, hey, she’d learned a few things growing up in Villa Rizzo. She waved her hand, got his attention via the rearview. “What are they paying you? I’ll double it if you let me go.”
“Fifty grand.”
Fifty! Wow. She was in the wrong line of work. “Fine. $100,000 if you let me out.”
Not that she had that kind of money to spare, but he didn’t know that. Plus, Dad probably had bricks of cash stashed in the attic.
“Shut up,” Beanie Boy said.
“Baby girl, do these dumbasses know who they’re messing with?”
“Good point.”
She winced. Dad had to stop talking to her before he got her killed. Or worse. She faced Beanie Boy. “Hey, genius. Do yo
u even know who I am?”
He rolled his eyes. “The mayor’s kid?”
“Ha. Very funny. You should be so lucky. Try Joe Rizzo’s kid.”
“Joe Rizzo?”
Lord, leave it to her to find the only kidnapper in Chicago who didn’t know who Joe Rizzo was.
“What?” The driver screamed.
Blood surged and for the first time, Lucie experienced the full weight of throwing her father’s name around. Not that it was anything to be proud of, but if it got her out of this car, she’d leverage it as far as she could.
“Yep. Joe Rizzo. That Joe Rizzo. He was in the park, you know. Probably saw this whole thing. And, just so you know, he’s extremely protective. Emphasis on extremely.”
A loud, deep woof sounded in her ear.
Dear God, they had Otis with them. Where were the girls?
Beanie Boy whipped out his phone.
“Who’re you calling?” Lucie asked.
“None of your business. And stop talking. You’re the prisoner, you don’t get to talk.”
Oh, she’d talk. If only to rattle these two.
“Keep talking, Luce,” Tim said.
“It’s me,” Beanie Boy said into his phone.
Lucie leaned toward him, hoping to horn in on his conversation with whoever sat at the other end of the line.
The guy shoved her back. “Go away.” He went back to his call. “She just said she’s Joe Rizzo’s daughter.”
“The Joe Rizzo,” Lucie announced.
“Whoever the hell he is.”
“Seriously?” Tim said.
Female yelling streamed from the other end of Beanie Boy’s phone.
“Quit screaming. What was I supposed to do? She ran after me at the park and your goon friend pulled her into the car. Now she won’t shut up.”
Beanie Boy pressed his free hand into his forehead again. “What should I do?…Okay…You’re sure?…Okay.” He disconnected and looked at the driver. “We’re going to the office.”
In the rearview, Lucie caught the driver’s eyebrows shoot up. “The office?”
“That’s what she said. She knows what she’s doing.”
Lucie met Beanie Boy’s eye. “What office?”
“You’ll find out soon enough. Now be quiet.”
“It’s okay, Luce.” Tim said. “I’m with you.”
“We’re all with you,” Joey said. “I’ve got Mom and Dad in the car. The dogs, too.”
This might take some explaining to Mrs. L and the Bernards. Gee, sorry your sweet babies rode shotgun on an abduction rescue.
Lucie sat back and let out a long breath. If nothing else, wherever they were going, she’d soon know who the blackmailer was.
Tim rode in the back of the cab, his head swiveling to check the alleys and side streets in search of the Lincoln they’d just lost at a stop light. Lucie, for the first time in her life, had gone silent.
“Luce? Where are you?”
The line stayed quiet, but she let out a heavy sigh, letting him know she’d heard him.
Good. Still there.
Can’t talk.
“When it’s safe, let me know where you are.”
She coughed. “Oh, look,” she said. “One of the Cubs is doing a book signing at Gillespie’s. I’m a huge Cubs fan.”
Gillespie’s. The big independent bookstore. Back when he was a rookie, he’d cruised that neighborhood thousands of times. “Make a left,” he directed the cab driver.
“Sure. Who we chasing?”
In the tradition of psycho Chicago cab drivers, the guy hit his brakes way too late and swung the turn, nearly fishtailing the car.
“Thanks,” Tim said, ignoring the driver’s question. “Just stay straight. I’ll tell you when to turn again.”
Seconds ticked to minutes and his pulse hammered, the bhum-bhum-bhum reminding him Lucie had been taken hostage.
An agonizing five minutes passed as visions of his sweet, funny Lucie strapped to a chair filled his mind.
“Luce? Breathe or cough or something. Please, let me know you’re there.”
“Huh,” she said. “Molly’s office? Why are we at Molly’s?”
That set Tim back some. Jacardi’s office. Huh, was right.
The cab driver jerked to a halt at a stop sign then swung back to look at Tim. “Where to now?”
If Tim survived this cab ride without winding up in traction, it’d be a miracle. And he was a cop used to defensive driving.
He pointed. “Make a left. Then stop at the next corner. I’m hopping out.”
“Really?”
Tim dug into his wallet, praying he had enough cash to cover the ride. Otherwise, he’d be handing over his credit card and running. “Yeah. How much?”
The driver, an older man with shaggy gray hair and glasses, rolled his bottom lip out. Seriously? The guy was pouting.
“I can keep driving,” he said. “No charge.”
“That’s okay. Thanks though. Appreciate it.” Tim checked the meter. Twenty-eight bucks. He could do that. He tossed a couple twenties over the seat and reached for the door handle.
Molly’s office was three blocks west, but they were city blocks and he’d get there faster on foot. He picked up his pace while calling in Lucie’s abduction. Later, he’d have a boatload of explaining to do, but currently he needed to manage this situation.
Cars lined the street in both directions, so he jaywalked, jockeying between the lanes.
A cabbie rolled down his window and shouted something in Spanish. Tim held up a meaculpa wave. “Joey? Did you get that? Molly Jacardi’s office. Where are you?”
“I’m on it. We’ll be there in two minutes.”
“Okay. Don’t go in. Do not.”
“Why?”
He’d need a week to explain all the ways it could go wrong. Possible weapons, all of them taken hostage, perp panicking and shooting up the place.
Or killing himself by blowing his head clear off in front of Lucie.
The thought twisted Tim’s gut. Having seen suicide victims and the ensuing result, he knew she’d never recover from that. He sure as hell hadn’t.
“Get out,” a male voice came through the radio.
Kidnapper.
“Are we going inside?” Lucie asked.
“Yeah. Now shut up and move.”
Good girl. She’d kept her head about her and fed him information without tipping them off that she had a radio clipped to the inside of her sleeve.
He turned right on Molly’s block. A horn honked and he peered left, but kept running as Joey’s Jeep slowed to a crawl in the middle of the street. Lucie’s father sat in the passenger seat. Ro and Mrs. Rizzo in the back. The dogs had to be in the cargo area.
“We’re goin’ in,” Lucie’s father said.
Tim anticipated that. Joe Rizzo wasn’t about to let his daughter be taken hostage. Tim kept running. If he stopped, he’d lose time. With Lucie in trouble, he couldn’t have that. Not today. He drew a long breath of cold, winter air. Let the chill settle in his lungs for a few seconds before he exhaled. Patience. Dealing with this crew took every ounce.
He met Joe Sr.’s direct and challenging glare. “You’re going in? Great. Then you’ll all be taken hostage. Trust me on this. Stay outside. I’ve already called it in. SWAT is on the way. They’ll take care of it and nobody gets hurt.”
“If anyone gets hurt,” Joe Sr. said, it won’t be us.
Finally, Tim stopped running and Joey hit the brakes. Tim walked to the car and held a finger up. “You have no idea what you’re walking into. All we have is ears. We can’t see if there’s a gun or the office is wired with explosives. We know none of that. All due respect, but you’re not going in. I don’t care if I have to handcuff you to a light pole. I’ll go in alone.”
Joe’s cheeks hardened and a red flush drenched his face. “She’s my daughter. I’m not leaving her in there.”
“Of course not. But you going in won’t help her. Please, trust me
on this. I love her. If I thought you busting in would fix it, we’d all go in. I was just there yesterday. They know I’m a cop. I’ll act like I’m doing another check and walk right in.”
After sending the driver on his way, Beanie Boy shoved Lucie through the door. She stumbled inside, momentum carrying her to the empty receptionist’s desk. She locked onto to the edge and righted herself. The top of the desk was clear of any folders or papers. If someone was working there today, they sure were neat about it.
Lucie stood tall, pushed her shoulders back. In times like this, Rizzos didn’t show fear. Or weakness. Predators pounced on weakness. “Where’s the receptionist?”
“Day off, I guess.” He grabbed Lucie by the elbow and held her in place while he peered down the hallway. “We’re here!”
A second later, the clunk of a door handle disengaging sounded and Molly stepped out of her office. She wore her typical high-end suit and her honey-blond hair had been pulled back into a French twist. Formidable. That’s how she looked.
Well, she wasn’t the only one.
Molly stared at Lucie in the stupid blond wig. “Lucie? Is that you?” She glanced at Beanie Boy, her eyes a little wary. “Who’re you? What’s going on?”
Lucie gawked. Seriously? She dragged her back here, pretending to have no idea it was happening? After they found that recipe in her office?
Puh-lease.
“What’s going on,” Lucie said, “is your henchman took me hostage. That’s criminal! God, I knew it was you. You should be ashamed of yourself. Trying to blame me for this.”
Molly’s head snapped back. “What are you talking about?”
Now she wanted to play dumb?
“Nice try, Molly. I was at the park. Watching the drop. You didn’t think I was going to just sit back and let this happen, did you? I’m not taking the blame while you walk off with Antoine’s money. No way.”
She took a step, but Beanie Boy gripped her elbow, holding her.
“Annalise!” Molly said. “Call the police. Lucie Rizzo is here making ridiculous accusations.”
Annalise rushed into the hallway, her long hair flying. She spotted Beanie Boy holding onto Lucie and stopped short. “Lucie? What are you doing?”
Another one. Terrific. “Ha! It’s not about me. Molly is the one. She has Antoine’s recipe behind her bookcase.”
Dog Collar Cuisine Page 17
