I crossed the distance between us, getting right up in Wendell's face, my anger barely contained. With my heels, I might have even had an inch on him. "Apple's safety is worth everything you own and then some. She's kind, compassionate, and brave. Character traits you couldn't pull out of your big fat as—"
"I'm in!" Caleigh called from the desk, saving me from calling a spade a spade.
I turned my attention away from the pompous idiot and back to Caleigh. I thought I heard Wendell sigh in relief, but I couldn't swear to it.
"In where?" he said. Yeah, his voice was definitely an octave higher.
"In the bank's system," I replied. "We're planning to fake a transfer."
"You can do that?" Wendell asked me.
I shook my head. "No, but Caleigh can."
"I hope I can," she corrected, typing away on her keyboard.
"But surely they'll figure it out? I mean, if it's fake, there's no real money there?" Wendell reasoned. "Right?"
I nodded. "I'm sure they will. Eventually. But this may buy us a little more time." At least I hoped. As I well knew, not all kidnappers were men of their word. As Aiden had so aptly pointed out, even when a ransom was paid, there was no guarantee the abductee would make it home. I just prayed they kept her alive a little longer.
"How much time?" Wendell asked.
I glanced at him. His face was contorted into a frown. I had a hard time believing it was over concern for "that dancer."
"At least until this evening," Caleigh said. "Maybe longer. The security system cycles every twelve hours, so our smokescreen won't hold forever."
Wendell paced beside his desk. "I don't know if this is a good idea."
Was he reluctant because he was actually guilty and wanted a real transfer to go through to facilitate a real tax write-off? Sure, Delphine King had been associated with the bank account, but it could just as well have been set up by Wendell. Delphine had said as much when she'd mentioned other producers setting up shell corporations with her in an officer role. As much as he protested paying the five million, maybe it was an act? Maybe he'd expected us to push him harder? I wasn't ready to knock him off my suspect list yet.
"Unless you have a better idea, this is what we have," I told him, watching his face carefully.
He must have felt it as he looked up and instantly smoothed out the frown on his features. "Whatever. Let's just get this done quickly. I don't like Kendall having to rough it away from home."
I bit back a smart remark about just how rough the girl had it as I watched Caleigh's fingers continue to fly over the keys. The laptop's light illuminated the hard line in her jaw and the intensity in her eyes. "Almost there," she mumbled more to herself than to us.
I held my breath. This had to work. I was out of options, and Apple was out of time.
Finally Caleigh looked up and blew away a lock of blonde hair that had fallen into her eyes. "Got it."
"The transfer is done?"
"Seemingly." She grinned.
"Now what?" Wendell asked.
"Now we wait for the kidnappers to call and tell us where Apple is."
Wendell took out his cell and set it on his desk. We all stared at it. Seconds ticked by, the only sound in the room the distant hum of a vacuum somewhere in the house.
I checked the time. Ten minutes past our 24-hour deadline.
Had they seen the transfer? How closely were they scrutinizing it? Had Caleigh managed to make it look legit? Was Apple okay?
Questions swirled through my head, almost screaming at me in the quiet.
Finally Wendell's cell phone buzzed, making all three of us jump. He looked at the screen and then turned it for us to read. One text from an unavailable number.
Will call later with details on where to collect your daughter.
It had worked. At least for now.
Relief flooded me so hard, tears sprang to my eyes, and my knees almost buckled. I wanted to find a private corner and sob, but there was no time for that.
While they'd said they'd let Apple go, I only halfway believed that. And I knew for sure her safety would be in jeopardy when they realized the transfer was fake. We'd bought ourselves some time, but it was limited.
"We've got to go," I said, nodding to Caleigh, who was already packing up her laptop.
"What do I do when they call?" Wendell asked, pointing to the text.
If Apple really was in Palm Springs, it would be a moot point. But I didn't want to tip that hand to him yet. "Answer it," I told him. "Then call me."
He opened his mouth as if to say more, but I was already hauling back through the house, Caleigh at my heels. We had no time to waste. We had to get to Palm Springs.
* * *
We dropped my car at the agency, and Caleigh drove us into the desert. My knee jiggled up and down the entire ride in her passenger seat, my fingernails tapping out a similar nervous rhythm on the armrest. The only thought running through my head was hope that we weren't too late. If we were even on the right track at all.
Just under two hours later we arrived at the address Candy had given us for Kent Perkins' half-finished house. It was a two-story large home in a sprawling neighborhood where homes actually had room to breathe between them. It was on the outskirts of the city, in one of the areas where the population was pressing closer to the desert. The house was painted stark white—clearly they hadn't picked trim colors yet. Windows were uncovered, landscaping nonexistent, plastic sheeting billowing in the breeze from the back where clearly some project had been abandoned midway. It almost reminded me of a big white ghost house.
While it was missing finishing touches, this—as opposed to the suburban bungalow in Pasadena—was the type of house I'd expected Kent to live in. It was modern, sleek, and pure pretension. The roof had an angular, architectural pitch, and I could tell it would have been a spectacular home.
Caleigh passed the house slowly, checking for other cars. None in view. The home had a large garage just off the street, but doors had yet to be added, and we could see it was empty. Everything about the home felt abandoned, making my heart sink. If we were wrong about this, we'd just wasted precious time. And might have sealed Apple's fate. I shoved that thought down as Caleigh parked a couple of yards up the street.
We stepped out and doubled back to Kent's house, our feet crunching in the gravel on the unpaved driveway. From our vantage point, I could see only two other homes and two more being built, in various stages of construction. None of them close enough to hear a yell or cry for help.
Caleigh and I walked to the front of Kent's smart house. The door was heavy and locked. But we'd come prepared this time, Caleigh pulling out her lock-pick kit. Once she had the manual lock picked, we stepped inside, and as I looked around, she put her technical know-how to the alarm system hanging on the wall. The foyer was a grand two-story affair with a chandelier the size of my car dangling above us in sparkling crystal. To the right was a sunken living room with a mantel-less fireplace. The early afternoon sun was blazing outside, illuminating the dust in the semi-finished construction zone into eerie dancing beams of light.
Subfloors had been laid, but there was no wood flooring or tile finishing them. Various construction materials filled the room, and we carefully walked around a stack of two-by-fours, a scattering of fallen nails, an upside-down bucket, and other items I didn't stop long enough to make out. There were several large drop cloths strategically placed over equipment, as well as some tossed into corners. They hadn't fallen flat, and their bulky shapes hiked up my fear. It would be easy to hide a body beneath them.
I gingerly stepped across loose boards to get to the largest one. Reaching down to grab the stained cloth, I noticed that my hands were slightly trembling. I took a deep breath, grabbed the covering, and yanked it up. The spot underneath was filled with a pile of bathroom tiles. I dropped it, trying to breathe my anxiety away.
"I don't think she's in here," Caleigh informed me, holding back a similar tarp across the r
oom.
"Agreed." We moved on to the adjoining room, what looked like a dining room. Floor-to-ceiling windows capitalized on the view, and another chandelier hung above us here, but the walls had yet to be painted, and the floors were still just poured concrete, leaving the opulence looking incongruent in the setting.
My toes connected with a bit of metal piping on the floor, which rolled several feet on the concrete, echoing in the cavernous room. Caleigh and I both froze, hoping we hadn't just given away our presence.
Then I heard it.
My ears strained to catch the sound. It was faint, and at first I almost thought I imagined it. But it sounded like a muffled cry from somewhere deep in the cavernous house.
I shot a glance at Caleigh. She was stark still, her eyes going toward the second floor. She'd heard it too.
I quickly moved toward the sweeping staircase that wound toward the upstairs. Caleigh was a step behind me. I gingerly took the steps one at a time, testing each one before putting my full weight on it. The plywood bent in a few places, but it held as we hit the second floor landing. Several doorways stretched in each direction, none fully finished with doors yet. We paused, and I closed my eyes, training all of my senses on listening.
Several long seconds passed before I heard it again. Definitely a moan. Muffled. But louder than it had been downstairs. And coming from the end of the hall.
I took off at a run this time, my heart pounding in my chest, hope blossoming to an almost painful degree.
I hit the last room and stepped over the threshold, eyes adjusting to the darkness here as I scanned the room. A bedroom. The only one I'd seen so far with window coverings—electric room darkening shades that were doing a bang-up job of keeping out any light. I made out the bones of a small bathroom through a doorway to the right, and doubled doors sat to my left, leading to a closet. I walked to the closet, the only place I'd seen so far with doors. I laid my hand on the cool doorknob. My fingers trembled as I twisted the knob. The door eased open.
And I felt my entire body cry out in relief.
Sitting in a crumpled heap on the closet floor was a woman in a black designer jumpsuit, wearing a black hood over her head, and bound at the hands and feet.
Apple.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
"Apple," I breathed, falling to my knees beside the girl. She moaned in response, but that was all I could hear. I pulled the hood off, my eyes scanning her for injuries. Her hair was disheveled and so knotted that it almost looked like she had teased it in preparation for an '80s themed party. But it was nothing that a washing, comb, and gallon of detangler couldn't fix. There was duct tape wrapped around her ankles and hands, and a generous portion stuck over her mouth. A thick rope nearly dissected her waist, winding around several times through a metal loop fastened to the wall.
Apple's eyes widened at the sight of us, and she cried more loudly behind the duct tape.
Caleigh worked on the rope as I pulled off the piece of tape across her mouth.
"Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?" I asked. I didn't see any blood, and nothing appeared bruised or broken.
"Ohmigod, I thought he was going to kill me," she chocked out. Apple's voice was hoarse, and she began to cry in relief.
I wanted to join her and sob for days. I was so grateful we'd found her. I hadn't wanted to admit it, but in the back of my mind, I'd feared the worst several times.
"We need to get out of here," I said as Caleigh struggled with the tape at Apple's ankles that had been wrapped around several times to form a thick, sticky mass.
"Are you hurt anywhere?" I asked Apple again.
This time she was coherent enough to shake her head. "No. My butt's numb, and I'm cold. And hungry. But he didn't hurt me."
Caleigh finally got the tape off Apple's ankles, freeing her feet. The tape at Apple's wrists wasn't wrapped quite so many times, and I was able to get her upper body free faster.
Apple rubbed at the red rawness on her skin that the bondage had left behind.
I placed Apple's left arm around my neck and helped her to her feet. Caleigh went to Apple's other side, and soon we had the girl upright, even though she didn't look steady. I wasn't sure if it was the shock, the cramped position, or the lack of food, but she felt frail in my arms and winced as we walked her slowly down the stairs.
"Are you sure you're okay?" I whispered to her.
Deep lines traveled the length of her forehead, and her thin eyebrows were drawn together. She nodded and whispered, "Yeah," but she was obviously in some kind of pain.
I wanted to stop and give her a more thorough exam, but I was worried that if we didn't hurry, the kidnapper could be back. I had no idea if he'd driven all the way back to LA or just gone on a Starbucks run.
She'd squeezed her eyes shut, and as we limped through the foyer, I realized there was something wrong with her left hip. I put my hand on her waist and pulled her closer to me, pushing her weight onto me, and hoped that would help ease whatever she was feeling.
Caleigh fumbled with the front door, and as it opened, a soft breeze caressed my face. We weren't safe yet, but at least we were out of the house.
Caleigh left us to pull the car closer. Standing exposed on the front porch, my nerves were strung to the limit. I intently listened to every sound—a nearby rustling in some brush, the distant bark of a dog. I was on high alert. Luckily the only car I heard was Caleigh's as she pulled up to us.
I opened the passenger door, carefully helping Apple. As I climbed into the back seat behind Caleigh, I watched the pained expression on Apple's face soften. She'd shut her eyes and leaned her head back on the rest. She was safe and alive, but my stomach still clenched. She was obviously in pain, and just how alright could a kidnapping survivor be?
That was when I realized she was trembling. Caleigh turned the car on and blasted the heat as I instructed her to drive a few blocks, back to a more populated area we'd passed through on the way there. She pulled into the lot of a strip mall, parking in front of a busy grocery chain. Then I dialed Aiden and told him where we were, that Apple was safe but could probably use a paramedic, and that a forensics team was needed at Kent Perkins' halfway finished house. I listened as he dispatched the appropriate local law enforcement to our location. He offered to come meet us, but considering how long that would take, I told him I'd fill him in in person later. I didn't want to stick around Palm Springs any longer than I had to. By the time I finished, Apple seemed to be breathing more normally and had stopped shaking.
"Help is on the way," I reassured her.
She opened her eyes and gave me a weak smile. "Thank you. For everything."
I swallowed down grateful tears that I felt backing up in my throat. "Can you tell me what happened?"
She hugged herself and nodded. "I don't even know where to begin."
"The party," Caleigh prompted. "You were there with Wendell Manchester?"
She nodded again. "I was. At least, for a while. After I spilled a drink on myself, he kind of lost interest. He told me to just go mingle." She shrugged. Clearly Wendell hadn't told her that she'd reminded him too much of his daughter. "Anyway," she went on, "I did. I was dancing near the pool, and that's when…" She paused, licking her lips.
"It's okay. Take your time," I prompted, rubbing her shoulder.
She gave me another weak smile. "One of the caterers told me my daddy wanted to meet me by the pool house. Which, I thought was kinda strange. I mean, that Wendell would want me to call him Daddy. But, you know, if he wanted to role play, I was cool. I've had kinkier."
I shook my head at the misunderstanding but didn't interrupt her. "What happened then?"
"Well, I guess I figured Wendell changed his mind about hanging out with me. So, I went to the pool house. But as soon as I stepped inside, it was all dark, and someone came up behind me and shoved some cloth into my mouth that smelled like feet. I must have passed out, because the next thing I remember is waking up in some dump of a house with a huge
headache."
I shared a look with Caleigh. It sounded like Pete Rivera had chloroformed Apple before taking her to Riverside.
"Did you see the man who took you?"
She shook her head. "I know it was a guy though. His voice was deep when he yelled at me." She paused, her eyes tearing up. "He wasn't nice."
I squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry, honey."
She took a deep breath and let it out. The heat must've been helping because she began to look more angry than scared. "He kept me there for a few days. I was totally freaked. He said he would kill me if I didn't do exactly what he said."
"He's dead now," Caleigh said. I could see the anger on Apple's behalf on her face.
"Really?" Apple turned in her seat to face Caleigh.
Caleigh nodded. "We found his body in the house where he'd been keeping you."
I saw emotions warring behind Apple's eyes. Finally she nodded, her jaw hard. "Good."
My heart went out to her. The Apple I'd come to know wouldn't hurt a fly. Her newfound hardness spoke to the ordeal she'd been through. Suddenly I was glad Pete Rivera was dead too. Otherwise, I might be tempted to kill him myself.
"That must have been the fight I heard," Apple added.
"What fight?" I jumped on the comment.
"After a couple of days—I think. It was hard to tell time, since they kept that hood over my head. But someone else came to the house. I heard their footsteps, and then the main guy and the other person went into a different room. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but it sounded like arguing. The main guy got kind of loud and yelled. Then I heard some noises. Like banging and stuff falling. Then someone came in and dragged me out to a car." She paused. "I could tell it was someone new because the hands were different. Bonier and not as calloused."
"Did you see the second person?" I asked. I could definitely see Kent Perkins' hands being bonier than Pete Rivera's.
Apple shook her head. "No. My face was covered the entire time."
"Did they say anything? Did you hear a voice?" Caleigh asked.
Fatal Bond Page 17
