The space seemed smaller now. She could barely crouch in it.
She lay down, stretched herself out on the floor and tried to listen, but just as she did, something behind her grabbed onto her leg.
“No!” she screamed.
It pulled her backwards, away from the little green opening, across the slick floor.
“What are you doing here, you whore? You don’t belong here.”
She knew that voice.
Leon.
And then she was sliding down, down, down, into more darkness. Her body spinning and turning and twisting. Frantically she stretched out her hands, trying to find something to hold onto. Anything. But the surface all around her was as smooth as glass.
Finally she hit the bottom.
Her head ringing, her body aching, she rose and turned around. She was in a small dimly lit room with no windows. The walls were painted black. It smelled of soot. The only piece of furniture stood in the corner.
A cradle. An empty cradle. Amy’s cradle.
Pressing her hands to her head, she spun around in circles and screamed into the air. “What have you done with her, you bastard? Where have you taken her?”
“Why, she’s right here.”
With a gasp she turned around again.
Two tall men stood in the shadows across the room. The one on the right was thin. He had long oily black hair, a scraggly beard, and narrow, mean black eyes.
The one on the left was tall and big shouldered. He wore his shaggy dirty blond hair in a cut that came just under his ears. He had grass green eyes and a sickly grin.
There was a little dark-haired girl between them. Each of them held one of her hands.
“Where are you taking her?” she cried.
The man with the stringy black hair smiled. “Away from you.”
“No.”
“You don’t deserve her,” said the other man. “She belongs to me. I’m her father.”
They turned around and began to lead the girl away.
“No!” she screamed.
She raced across the room, hands outstretched. Her fingers found fabric. She dug them into the material and shook the man wearing it with all she was worth.
“You can’t have her. She’s mine.”
He merely laughed.
She shook him harder. “Give her back to me. Give her back.”
“Miranda. Wake up!”
Miranda opened her eyes with a jolt and looked around. She was on the hotel bed with Parker.
Her fists were tangled in his shirt, tearing at it. She’d already popped two of the buttons.
She loosened her fingers and buried her face in his chest. “Oh, my God.”
His arms went around her, his lips kissed her hair. “It’s all right. It’s all right.”
No, it wasn’t. “I dreamed about them. Leon. Tannenburg.” Again.
“I know. I know.”
Of course, he knew. “They had Amy.”
“But they don’t have her. Your daughter is in Atlanta. Her name is Mackenzie Chatham. She’s safe and sound. You know that.”
He sounded like a therapist. And he meant the words to comfort her, but instead they made the guilt rush in. She had found her lost daughter, thanks to Parker. And yes, she was safe and sound.
But Olivia Wesson’s daughter would never be.
She pressed her face into Parker’s neck and let herself cry while he rocked her like a small frightened child.
She used to hate feeling so vulnerable. Now she relished his comfort.
After a while her tears were spent. They would do no good, anyway. She lifted her head, sniffed, and wiped her face with her palms. “I don’t know what to do, Parker.”
“At the moment, I don’t, either.” He sounded so defeated.
Not good to hear. If Parker couldn’t find a missing girl, who could?
“The team is in Holloway’s room,” he said quietly. “We should meet with them.”
She nodded, feeling wearier than when she went to sleep.
She got to her feet, went to the bathroom to wash her face and straighten her hair. She put on some jeans and a dark blue top with a matching sweater, while Parker slipped on some informal clothes as well.
Then she headed out the door and down the hall with Parker at her side.
Chapter Forty-Six
Miranda found her team sprawled about the fancy hotel suite.
Hunched over his laptop, Becker sat at a round marble table with a brass lamp atop it. Wesson was in a blue-and-white chair near the window staring out at the city, a small bag of chips in her lap. Holloway was sprawled out on the blue velvet sofa with his tablet. Everyone was still in their jeans.
“We’re trying to get something on the guy named Crow,” Becker told her.
“Oh?”
Becker shook his head. “His files are as clean as the other two. No social security records. Nothing in the DMV database.”
So Crow was connected, too. Made sense, though she hated to hear it.
Her heart breaking for Olivia, Miranda turned to Parker. “We’re at the end of our rope. I don’t know what else to do.”
He was silent. Parker never liked admitting defeat. Especially this kind of defeat. But he gave her a solemn nod.
Time to draw things to a close.
She took a deep breath and addressed her team. “Sloan’s theory about Savko was total BS. We won’t find Draco or this Crow guy unless we go to the police and they put out a BOLO. And if we do that, they’ll kill Imogen for sure.”
“She might already be dead,” Holloway said grimly. He always liked to be up front about things.
Wesson let out a small moan and stared at the wall.
But Holloway was right. Odds were Imogen was dead. They all knew it.
They could end up hunting the little girl forever. But Becker had to get back to Fanuzzi. She was having a difficult pregnancy and needed him. And Miranda knew Holloway wanted to see his ex-wife.
She hated to admit it, hated herself for thinking it, but it was time to call it quits.
She waited a moment, then said the words. “I think it’s time we turn the case over to Sloan and his men.”
Wesson jolted upright. “To Sloan?”
“To the FBI. They’re better equipped to handle it from here.” She steadied her shoulders. “We need to head over to Olivia’s and let her know.”
Her words were met by silence. Becker put a hand to his face as if he were going to cry. Wesson hugged herself tightly, bracing herself against the pain.
“C’mon, let’s go and get this over with.” Miranda took a step toward the door.
Just as she did, Wesson’s phone rang.
Wesson rose, tossed her chips into the trash, and picked up the phone from the table where Becker was sitting. “It’s Olivia.”
“Put her on speaker,” Miranda told her.
Wesson nodded and answered. “Olivia, I’m sorry we haven’t gotten back to you before now. The team is here. We’ll be heading your way in a few minutes. We have some news.”
“I have some news.” Olivia’s voice sounded hollow.
Miranda marched over to where Wesson stood. “What is it, Olivia?”
The words that came through the phone’s speaker made Miranda’s head spin.
Slowly and distinctly Olivia said, “I just got another call from the kidnapper. He told me where to leave the money.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
“Play it again.”
It was twenty minutes later and Miranda, Parker and the rest of the team were gathered in Olivia’s apartment. The poor woman stared down at her cell phone on the little coffee table like it was a hissing cobra.
Sitting across from them on her blue sectional sofa, Olivia’s fingers shook as she leaned forward and pressed the button.
Once more, the horrible mechanical voice filled the room.
“Listen carefully and do exactly as I say. Put the money in a grocery bag. Tonight at midnight go to Thunde
rclap Studios in Culver City. Enter at Gate Two. Go to Sound Stage Twelve. The door will be unlocked. At the far end, you’ll find the set for ‘Three’s A Party.’ There’s a kitchen with an island. In the back of the island, there are drawers. Put the bag with the money in the left drawer and proceed to the sci-fi set. You’ll receive further instructions there. Remember, no cops. No FBI.”
He rattled off the code for the gate and hung up.
Miranda was glad Olivia had had the presence of mind to activate the recording app when she got the call, but her brain spun with the details. Draco wanted Olivia to take the ransom money to the place where he worked? The place with the back lot Ostap Savko was negotiating for?
Becker cocked his head and pointed to the phone. “Three’s A Party?”
“It’s a popular sitcom,” Olivia said. “I watch it all the time. I know the set he’s talking about.” She looked up at Miranda, her eyes filled with tearful hope. “Are they really going to give me my baby back?”
Miranda couldn’t answer that question. She wanted to believe they would, but she didn't think so.
This sounded like a trap.
Instead she put a hand to her head and turned to Parker. “Thunderclap Studios?”
His expression was dark with wariness. “We’ll have to tell Sloan about this call.”
“No.” Wesson said. “The kidnapper said no FBI.”
“We don’t know what we’ll be up against.” Miranda didn’t want to say it out loud. They hadn’t filled Olivia in on all the horrifying details Sloan had told them last night. But what if his hunch had been right? What if there was a Ukrainian connection?
Wesson looked unmoved.
“Don’t be so hard on the guy,” Miranda said, surprised she was defending Sloan to her. “He’s had some personal losses. A brother, a sister-in-law, and a man under his command. He took them hard.”
Olivia stood to her feet. “I don’t know what you people are going to do, but at midnight, I’m going to Thunderclap Studios.”
And she marched down the hall to her bedroom and slammed the door.
Wesson started after her, then stopped. She turned and looked at Holloway and Becker for support, then her gaze went to Miranda, her green eyes pleading with her. “We can’t let my sister go to that studio alone.”
Miranda straightened. “No, we can’t. But we have to let Sloan in on this. We’ll tell him to be discreet. You know he knows how to do that.”
Reluctantly Wesson nodded.
“It’s settled then,” Parker said in a commanding tone, and he took the secure FBI cell phone from his pocket.
Chapter Forty-Eight
A little before midnight, Parker pulled the Navigator up to the side entrance of Thunderclap Studios marked Gate Two and punched in the code Draco had given Olivia in his call.
While they waited for the decorative iron gates to open, Miranda eyed the high concrete walls guarding the vast movie-making fortress. Protection in mortar from paparazzi and over-enthusiastic fans and desperate wannabe stars. She hadn’t felt her spidey sense much on this case, maybe because it was so personal.
But right now it was going off on high alert.
Shivers danced up and down her spine like a chorus line. What in the world were they heading for?
Draco had said no FBI, but he hadn’t asked Olivia to come alone. And why drop the money in a place like this?
For one thing it was deserted, she realized as the gate opened and Parker cruised through.
She checked the mirror and saw Sloan and O’Cleary following close behind in a dark colored sedan. How Parker had been able to talk the g-man into bringing just one man along instead of the army he’d wanted, she would never know.
Before them stood a massive three-story office building decorated with ionic columns and tall palm trees. Parker turned left and made his way around the building to a parking lot.
“Looks like we’ll have to walk from here,” he said.
The lot was well-lit and pretty much deserted, but on the other side under the shadows of a tree, Miranda spotted a tan sedan that looked like it had a dent in the passenger door.
An itchy sensation slithered up her spine. “Is that what I think it is?”
Wesson pulled herself up to peer out the windshield.
“He’s here,” she whispered.
Olivia strained to see out of her window. “What? Who?”
“The kidnapper. That’s his car.”
“He’s here to pick up his money,” Miranda said flatly.
“Does he have Imogen? Is he going to give her to me?”
Miranda peered across the lot. “I don’t think anyone’s in that vehicle.” She turned around. “Holloway, Becker. Why don’t you go check it out.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Becker said.
“Be careful.”
“We will.”
She watched them trot over the pavement and peer into the windows. A moment later Holloway turned back and shook his head.
“He’s not there,” Wesson said, caution in her voice.
Parker turned around and touched Olivia’s hand. “We’ll have to wait and see what happens. Do you think you can do that?”
“I’ll do anything to get my baby back,” she said.
Miranda shifted toward Olivia and saw iron determination in her face.
She gave her and Wesson a confident nod. “Let’s go then. Everyone stick together.”
They all climbed out of the van and made their way over to the FBI vehicle where Sloan and O’Cleary stood.
Sloan nodded toward the dented car. “I see our host is here.”
“Yeah,” Miranda said. “Guess he wants to make it a real party. Must be inside somewhere.”
Waiting for them.
“We ran his plates,” Sloan said. “They belong to a Jamael Hadad who resides in Eugene, Oregon. Mr. Hadad reported his Grand Voyager missing a month ago.”
So the tags were stolen. The Grand Voyager had probably been dismantled in some chop shop weeks ago. Just another one of Draco’s hobbies.
Parker introduced Olivia to Sloan and O’Cleary.
Sloan shook her hand. “Sorry to meet under these circumstances, ma’am.” His voice had an unusual note of tenderness in it.
“Thank you for helping,” she said.
“It’s my duty,” Sloan told her as he moved to the trunk of his car. He opened it, took out a set of maglites. He handed them all around. “Thought you might need these.”
Might come in handy. “Thanks.”
Parker checked the time on his cell. “We need to get going. It’s almost midnight.”
Miranda nodded. “We’ll stick to the plan until something alters it.”
Wesson squeezed her sister’s hand. “You can do this, Olivia.”
“I’m going to do this, Janey. Where is Sound Stage Twelve?”
Holloway peered through a walkway between two of the surrounding buildings. “Over there, from the map I downloaded earlier.”
“Let’s go.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Miranda led the way through the buildings with Parker at her side.
Sloan, O’Cleary and Wesson came up behind them, on either side of Olivia. Holloway and Becker acted as the rear guards.
They still had the weapons Sloan had loaned them earlier. Miranda’s was tucked in the shoulder holster under the sweater she found she needed. The night air had a chill in it.
Parker and the rest of her team carried their guns under lightweight jackets. She was certain Sloan and O’Cleary had arms somewhere under their black suits.
There was enough of a glow from lamps posted on the walls that they didn’t need the maglites as they picked their way through the maze of the huge hangar-like buildings.
Each sound stage was maybe a hundred and fifty feet long and almost as wide. The paved streets running between them turned the network of structures into their own sort of boxy city. A busy city.
Abandoned work trucks and golf cart
s had been left parked alongside the sheet metal exteriors. Construction crews had strewn all sorts of equipment and material between the vehicles. A blue tarp lay on the ground near a stack of windows leaning against a trailer, waiting to be used in some set. Behind a pickup truck, boxes and plastic bins had been stacked in rows. They passed tripods and folding chairs and piles of lumber.
During the day this area must be abuzz with activity. Now it was dead still.
Miranda eyed the numbers painted on the large barn-size doors of the sound stages. Twenty. Fifteen. Thirty-six. They didn’t seem to follow any pattern.
And then they turned a corner and she spotted the number they were looking for across the road.
Sound Stage Twelve.
She stopped and pointed. “There it is.”
The rest of the team came to a halt behind her.
“We should let Olivia go in first,” Sloan said.
Miranda tensed. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”
Sloan was determined. “We’ll all cover her. We can stay several feet behind and keep in the shadows as best we can.”
“You think we’re being watched?”
“I’m assuming we are.”
He was probably right, given that empty dented car in the lot. “Okay,” she said. “But let’s stay as close to her as we can.”
“Are you ready?” Wesson said to her sister.
Olivia straightened her back. “More than ready.”
“All right,” Miranda said. “Go ahead.”
She watched the woman march with determined steps across the pavement to the door, open it, and disappear inside.
Then she gave the team a signal and they hurried after her.
Chapter Fifty
Drawing her weapon, Miranda stepped inside the sound stage. It was cooler in this building than it was outside. The place was massive and smelled vaguely of paint and makeup.
Low security lights spaced around the perimeter provided a dim glow. An empty space through the center made a kind of aisle between the shooting areas.
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