by Andrea Kane
"So that's where your agents have been looking, at Walker's development sites?"
"Not just the sites currently under development. Those previously developed by his company or that his company's invested in. Plus his personal land holdings. Walker owns a great deal of property in his own name. Then there were his employees' homes and apartments, the residences belonging to everyone from his hired hands to his reputable staff members. Any of them could have been aiding and abetting Matthews in his attempts to frame Walker. Trust me, it was a tedious process."
"I'm sure." Stephen felt another surge of gratitude. "What made you zero in on this site?"
"We blew through the list of possible locations we'd compiled as quickly and methodically as we could. When we got to the site in question, we discovered that all construction there had been temporarily suspended. Which meant the site was deserted. Shut down. Walker's equipment was still there, but his workers weren't. No one would have reason to visit the place. It was perfect for keeping a hostage. Martin Hart checked it out personally. He spotted tire treads, fresh ones. The rest was easy. Our agents found Brian and transferred him to an FBI car. We kept him all wrapped up in that blanket, so his rescue could remain our little secret." Patricia grinned at Brian. "Brian here helped us out by yelling, stomping, making as much noise as possible so our people could find him."
"Kind of like what I do at a Yankees game," Brian explained to his father.
"Ah, then, no wonder they heard you."
Brian fidgeted, having grown bored with the recap of events. "Dad, can we go home now? And can we stop off for that cheeseburger and fries?"
Stephen's jaw set. He would have liked nothing better than to say yes, but he couldn't. Not with Greg still out there. For security purposes, it was imperative that Brian, Nancy, and Julia remained hidden until Greg's capture was a fait accompli.
He met Patricia's sober gaze and saw the confirmation of his reasoning reflected there.
"You know what, champ?" he told Brian. "Not yet. First of all, Dr. Tillerman's around here somewhere. And I'd really like him to take a look at you, just like he did at Mom. You had a pretty rough time yourself."
"I guess so," Brian grudgingly agreed. "Mr. Matthews didn't make me drink that stuff he gave Mom. But he did put something stinky over my face that made me go to sleep. He must have done it a few times, 'cause I don't remember the car ride."
Stephen wanted to choke Greg Matthews all over again. But this time, he kept his cool for Brian's sake. "Exactly. Also, you'll need more antibiotic for that ear infection of yours. You were supposed to be taking ten days' worth. So I think we should hang around for a while."
"I need a checkup, too, Brian," Julia told him. "I'm not allowed to leave without one, either. So we'll keep each other company." A teasing smile. "Only no curve-ball practice. My arm's out of commission for a while."
Brian's brows drew together sympathetically, the thought of not being able to pitch tantamount to torture. "What kind of accident did you have?"
Julia opted for a vague response. Brian had been through enough trauma for now. He didn't need more gory details. "I went to the mall to see your dad make a speech. The parking lot was really crowded. I got hit by a car that was driving too fast."
"Wow." Brian's eyes widened. "That's almost as exciting as my getting kidnapped."
"Almost," Julia agreed.
While Brian was occupied, Patricia turned to Stephen and Nancy, lowering her voice so that only they could hear. "I wish I could say go home, but I can't. Not yet We have some unfinished business to complete."
"Nailing Greg Matthews to the wall," Stephen concluded.
"Right. He doesn't know anything—not that Walker's cooperating and in custody, not that Julia's conscious, not that Nancy's home. And certainly not that Brian's been rescued. We have to keep it that way, for obvious reasons." Patricia folded her arms across her breasts, gazing from Stephen to Nancy. "I realize you want to be with your family, to go home and put this behind you. I'm asking for a few more hours to complete our charade and set our trap."
"You don't need to ask," Stephen assured her. "You couldn't stop me. I want this guy locked up with the key thrown away."
"What do you want us to .do?" Nancy a sked.
"You stay here with Brian and Julia," Patricia instructed Nancy. "Meredith will take up her post by the door. I need Connor to pick up the cash, as planned, and Stephen to drive it to the airport. Stephen, follow Matthews's instructions to the letter, just as if Brian's life were still on the line. Leave the sports bag in your car, and go to the lounge. Wait for the skycap to give you your directions. By then, Matthews will be dealt with, and this whole masquerade will be over."
"The FBI's going to grab him in the middle of the airport?'
Patricia smiled. "Better and more subtle. Remember your concerns that Matthews might try to take Brian along with him as an insurance policy? Well, that thought occurred to us, too. So we sent along our own insurance policy to nip things in the bud, just in case." A quick glance at Brian. "Thank heavens it never came to that. Still, the strategy we implemented will keep the arrest quiet, with as little sensationalism as possible." A hint of biting amusement. "I'm sure that'll please your father. He's been rather vocal about his desire to keep things low-profile."
"Yeah, right." Stephen didn't need to ask what Patricia meant. The minute Harrison Stratford had blown back into town at midnight, he'd descended on the Leaf Brook police like an avalanche, making sure they were executing discretion at every turn.
Frankly, Stephen had steered clear of his father. He'd been consumed with just one thing: finding Brian. After that, well, he was still reeling from his father's part in Walker's scheme, especially given what it had snowballed into.
But when all this was over, he and the imperious Harrison Stratford were going to have quite a conversation. Stephen had a few choice words to get off his chest. After that, he'd drop the professional bomb that would close this chapter of his life for good.
"So," Patricia concluded, "If there are no more questions, let's get started. You do your part, and we'll do ours."
"Done." Stephen gazed across the room at his brother. "Hey, Connor, we've got an appointment to keep," he announced pointedly.
Connor understood. "Gotcha." He leaned over and gave Julia a tender kiss. "I'm going to help Stephen get that son of a bitch who ran you down," he muttered, his voice low enough so Brian couldn't hear.
Julia nodded. "Be careful."
"I will be." Connor's gaze softened. "In the meantime, tell Louis I'm expecting to take you home, so he'd better give you a clean bill of health. If you need TLC, I'll supply it—but in your bed, not the hospital's."
"I'll tell him," she promised, a hint of a smile curving her lips. "Hurry back."
"I'll just pick up the ransom money and help Stephen stuff it into the sports bag. After that, he'll take care of the rest." Another kiss. "In the meantime, start planning our wedding."
Her eyes danced. "And our honeymoon?"
"Especially our honeymoon. Pick somewhere you want to stay for a month. And a luxury hotel with great room service and a view from the bed. Because you won't be leaving it."
Julia laughed softly. "Yes, sir."
Straightening, Connor walked over and rumpled Brian's hair. "You and your future Aunt Julia get good checkups," he instructed in a normal tone. "We'll be whisking you out of here right after lunch. I'll be back before your dad is, so I'll bring cheeseburgers and fries with me. But you'd better not stuff yourself. I'm planning a pizza-eating contest for tonight. I expect you to be my main competition."
"Ahem," Stephen interceded, clearing his throat. "I think you're forgetting me. I can eat more slices than both of you put together."
A broad grin split Brian's face. "No way. Right, Mom?"
Nancy rolled her eyes. "Why is everything a competition to men?"
"It's in our blood." Stephen met his wife's gaze. "But this competition's just for fun. No bets on
who the winner will be. No bets at all." A silent communication ran between them.
"Stay safe," Nancy murmured, laying her palm against his jaw. "No heroics. Let the FBI handle Greg. Brian and I need you."
"Good," he said softly. "Because you've got me."
* * *
32
11:30 a.m.
Westchester County Airport
Greg stood in the shadows, watching Stephen Stratford's Explorer pull into the parking lot. Excellent. Right on time.
He himself had gotten there at eleven and had sought out an eager young skycap to do his bidding. He made sure the guy understood the importance of delivering the letter to Mayor Stratford. It was a way of ensuring that his conscience was clear. After all, he didn't want the kid to die. All he wanted was to get his five million bucks and get out of the country.
He watched Stephen get out of the car. He looked drawn and haggard, as if he'd been through hell. Well, his hell was about to end—at least for now. Given the guy's compulsion for gambling, it wouldn't be long before he got himself into another jam. Soon enough, he'd be misappropriating campaign funds again, then relying on his brother to bail him out.
Eventually, Stratford would blow his marriage and his political career to bits and self-destruct.
Philip Walker wouldn't be the one to light that fuse. Not anymore. The slick bastard would be rotting in jail. After months of ordering Greg around like a flunky, he deserved nothing less. It was a little bonus Greg had orchestrated for himself, by dropping clues like bread crumbs. Walker would go down for the big stuff. It didn't matter that Greg wouldn't be there to witness it Just knowing he'd bested Walker—and knowing that Walker would realize it, too—was enough.
He stopped musing as Stephen left his car and glanced around briefly before heading to the door leading into the airport.
Good. Almost home free.
Still, Greg gave it a full five minutes, just to be safe.
The minutes ticked by. No sign of Stratford returning to his car. And no sign of any cops or other Stratfords acting as backup for the mayor.
Long enough.
Greg strolled out to the Explorer. He could see the sports bag through the passenger window. Casually, he opened the door and swung the bag out and onto his shoulder. He unzipped it enough to check inside. The cash was there. With a quick slam of the car door, he walked away, heading in the opposite direction from Stephen, toward Walker Development's private jet."
He climbed on board, prepared for the questions that Jerry Baines, Walker's private pilot, would have.
Jerry came out of the cockpit, his brows drawn in puzzlement. "Mr. Matthews? What are you doing here? Where's Mr. Walker?"
"A last-minute change in plans," Greg told him. "Mr. Walker had an emergency stockholders' meeting. He wanted me to get his Switzerland deal under way. So he brought me up to speed. He said for you to fly me over there, then head directly back. He'll call during your return flight and issue instructions about when he'll need you to fly him over to join me. Don't worry. He'll give you a day or two's rest in between." Greg dug in his pocket and whipped out some bills. "By the way, here's your thousand bucks, plus a little extra."
Jerry took it. "Okay, thanks." He pointed at the sports bag. "I thought you said a large attaché case."
Greg had anticipated this, too. "Walker's got that," he explained. "Along with the papers he needs to close this deal. He'll be bringing them with him. Ail I had time to throw together were some preliminary notes, a change or two of clothes, and my shaving kit. Just enough to get started. After that, Walker will take over. I'll fly home commercial." Greg glanced into the cockpit, nodding a greeting at Jerry's copilot.
The guy nodded back. He was a young, clean-cut type, who was yakking on his cell phone. Greg had never met him, nor did he care to. All he cared about was getting the hell out of there.
"I checked," he prompted Jerry, turning to walk into the main cabin and get settled in his seat. "We've got clear skies and no turbulence. Takeoff should be prompt." He started heading in.
"Sorry, Mr. Matthews." It was the young copilot who replied. He strode out of the cockpit, angling himself so he blocked Greg's path. "Takeoff has been delayed indefinitely."
Greg's insides clenched, an ugly premonition forming in the pit of his stomach. "What does that mean?"
"It means you're not going anywhere. Except to prison." The copilot raised a pistol, simultaneously flashing an official ID in Greg's face. "Special Agent Carver, Federal Bureau of Investigation," he introduced himself. "I've been waiting for you." He reached over, unzipping the sports bag enough to peek inside. "You're under arrest for the kidnapping of Brian Stratford, the attempted murder of Julia Talbot, and a long tist of other crimes that Police Chief Hart will be glad to tell you about."
For one frozen moment, Greg stared, watching his future disintegrate before his eyes. "But it's not even twelve o'clock yet," he muttered aimlessly. "How.. ."
"Because the mayor's got his son. We found him three hours ago. Now, let's go."
* * *
From across the field, Stephen watched Greg being led away and taken into custody. He looked dazed, as if he still didn't believe he'd been one-upped at the last minute. The cruel, greedy bastard.
Stephen continued to watch until Greg's head had disappeared into the backseat of the FBI's unmarked car and the car had pulled away. There was a finality about it that evoked a powerful sense of justice, retribution, and, most of all, closure.
The nightmare was over. The rest was up to him.
Infinitely lighter of step and heart, Stephen hopped back into his Explorer and headed for the hospital—and his family.
Time for starting over to begin.
* * *
33
April 23
The announcement of the mayor's resignation and withdrawal from the senatorial race was carried by all local and regional newspapers.
His decision to retire from politics and go back to practicing law, as well as the family crisis that prompted it, appeared in major newspapers throughout the state, as well as a host of tabloids and quite a few society pages. After all, the mayor was, first and foremost, a Stratford.
Media everywhere jumped on the personal interest story of how Mayor Stratford's son was kidnapped by Greg Matthews, the Leaf Brook city manager. The stories went on to describe Matthews's drugging of Nancy Stratford, his abduction of young Brian, and his attempted murder of Julia Talbot, Connor Stratford's fiancee and Brian's second-grade teacher, when she tried to reach the Stratfords with her suspicions of his involvement. The exceptional role of Leaf Brook police, in conjunction with the FBI, was reported, together with their successful recovery of Brian and their well-timed capture of Matthews as he attempted to flee the country with the ransom money.
On a less significant note, the stories mentioned that land developer Philip Walker was mixed up with Matthews in criminal offenses consisting of money laundering, car theft, and extortion.
Walker, it was reported, had cut a deal with the DA and was serving a reduced sentence.
Matthews, on the other hand, was up on federal charges and wouldn't be seeing the light of day for a long, long time.
* * *
In response to the public's clamoring for an emotional and personal take on what had happened, Connor Stratford acted as the family spokesman. He gave an exclusive full-page interview to the Leaf Brook Herald, which just happened to be the chief competitor of Cheryl Lager's newspaper, the Leaf Brook News. In that interview, he described the anguish his family had endured during Brian's disappearance, as well as their overwhelming gratitude when Brian was safely returned and his captor apprehended. Connor gave a hats-off to the Leaf Brook police and the FBI for their incomparable dedication and professionalism.
He also gave effusive, if not unbiased praise to Julia Talbot, speaking with pride of the role she'd played in Brian's rescue, as well as of her loving dedication to her students. He went on to discuss her commitment
to children in general and her association with the APSAC. Speaking highly of the organization that had put him in contact with Patricia Avalon and subsequently with the FBI, he made sure to give the APSAC a strong plug and to advocate the workshops Julia and her mother gave at area hospitals.
The subject of hospitals brought the reporter back to Julia's hit-and-run, and Connor frankly admitted how much he'd agonized during the hours she'd remained unconscious and his inexplicable relief when she opened her eyes. He made no secret of his feelings for Julia and, on a more personal note, happily announced their upcoming wedding, which was set for June—giving Julia more than enough time to heal physically, then to return to her classroom and finish out the school year. The details of the ceremony and the reception would be released at a later date. Not so for the honeymoon destination. That was being kept under wraps for good, ensuring that the bride and groom enjoyed the privacy they deserved.
One entire paragraph of the interview was devoted to providing tongue-in-cheek praise for Cheryl Lager, who'd turned out to be an excellent, if unknowing, ally.
Elaborating, Connor explained that Ms. Lager's overzealous invasion of the Stratfords' privacy, particularly heightened during the ongoing crisis, had triggered his idea to use her to feed information to the kidnapper rather than to follow his original intent, which was to sue her for slander and harassment.
To that end, he'd supplied Ms. Lager with the false lead that Julia remained comatose, knowing full well that the reporter would jump on the opportunity to print an exclusive story, embellishing on it in her customary manner. And it had worked beautifully.
