Racing Through Darkness Page 9

  Before I made it out of the building, my phone rang. “Evelyn and Peter want you on this. They will only work with you,” Heathcliff relayed the message. “They received a delivery today via courier. We have proof of life and a ransom demand.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  * * *

  The Cales’ house was full of FBI negotiators, technicians, police detectives, and some other armed men whose actual jobs I couldn’t decipher. Heathcliff was seated at the kitchen table across from Evelyn and Peter. The rest of the investigators were setting up in the living room. Being escorted into the house by an armed guard, Evelyn glanced up with red, puffy eyes.

  “I told you we’re not talking to anyone else or cooperating. Not until we talk to Alexis,” she sounded resolute, and Heathcliff stood and nodded encouragingly.

  “I’ll see how the equipment’s getting set up,” he offered.

  “Evelyn,” as usual, I was confused, “what’s going on?”

  “When you phoned, you asked if you could tell the authorities that our daughter was missing, and that’s fine.” She sniffled loudly, and Peter pushed the tissue box closer to her. “But Nicky said to trust you. Not them. You.”

  “I’m not a negotiator.”

  “I don’t care what you are.” She was agitated. “Can you help get my baby back?”

  “I’ll do everything I can but don’t shut out the guys with the suits and badges. They know how this goes better than anyone. Detectives Thompson and Heathcliff have worked with your brother for years. There is absolutely no reason not to trust them. They’re his family, and that makes Catherine theirs too.” She fell silent, and Peter nodded. “What did you receive?”

  “Photograph,” he swallowed and pushed it across the table, “and this note.” The items were sealed in an evidence bag but still on the table. The techs hadn’t collected them for fingerprinting or other evidence yet. Taking out my phone, I snapped a quick picture of each, just in case I needed access for some reason.

  “Rudimentary demand. Simple instructions. Basic photo with today’s paper from a Polaroid film camera. Old school technology which means less chance of evidence being doctored,” I said, summing up the basics. In the photo, Catherine held up the paper. There were no obvious signs of abuse or injury. The instructions requested two million dollars, and a follow-up communication would provide a location within the next forty-eight hours. No cops.

  “What if they find out everyone is here?” She sounded on the verge of hysterics.

  “Don’t worry about that right now. They’re more interested in keeping their eye on the prize.” It might not be true, but it sounded good. “I’m sorry to pry, but realistically, how much money can you compile if you liquidated everything?”

  Peter had apparently given this some thought because his answer was quick. “Three hundred thousand, maybe. We’d have to mortgage the house, clear out all our savings, sell the cars, jewelry, everything. Borrow from everyone we know, but maybe three hundred thousand. Still, there’s no way we could do all of that in two days.”

  “What would it matter?” She started to cry. “It’s not two million. It’s not even close.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You’re not in a position to pay which means either they have no idea who they’ve taken, or they actually want something else. This is a scare tactic. They want you frenzied and willing to give up or do anything. The point is to cause a panic. So whatever you do,” I tried to put a positive spin on things, “don’t panic. Everything is negotiable, and some of the best people are working on this.”

  “Parker, do you have a minute?” Heathcliff called from the next room.

  “I’ll be right back. Take a breath. This is a marathon, not a sprint. Okay?”

  Going into the next room, Heathcliff opened the back door, and we went outside. Whatever was about to be said didn’t need to be overheard. “Good job calming them down. Hopefully, your little cheering session will get them to work with us, instead of against us. But for my own curiosity, how much of it do you actually believe?” he asked.

  “Can’t hurt to put it out there, right?”

  “We have the phones, internet, everything wired. There are a few teams outside, keeping watch. Whenever another message comes in, we’ll know about it, and we’ll trace it. With any luck, it’ll lead right to these assholes and Catherine.”

  “It won’t.” My words confused him. “The Four Seasons, the men responsible, they know what they’re doing. They know how to do it. If we want to find them, then we have to figure out who the hell they are first.”

  “All right, you stay here. I’m going back to the precinct, and Thompson and I will start digging.”

  “See if you can figure out who else they abducted. There was a third girl taken, but she was released. Oh, and speak to the Estes family. They might have received another message from the kidnappers. And Derek,” I sighed, “spring Mercer. Call Jablonsky first and have him send his best guy to tail the douchebag. Whatever Mercer knows, it’s a whole hell of a lot more than he’s bothered to share.”

  “Okay. Hey, I’ll swing by Moretti’s office and warn him you’re back to causing trouble in his house.”

  “Face it, you’ve missed me.”

  With Heathcliff gone, there were no friendly faces in the house. The government employed investigators viewed me the same way I viewed Mercer, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. If the Cales weren’t willing to fully cooperate with anyone but me, then we were all stuck in this very uncomfortable boat for the duration.

  Once again, I asked Evelyn and Peter to go over the entire situation from the beginning. The cops pretended not to listen, but the point of this rendition was for their benefit. A few scribbled notes; others ran background checks and placed requests for DOT cameras around the school and museum. Afterward, Evelyn went upstairs, and Peter remained at the kitchen table.

  “She’s not handling this situation well,” he commented.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Catherine’s my daughter too, but everything has been ‘my brother this’ and ‘my brother that’.” He was annoyed. “Nick’s a good man. Hell, he would have died to save our baby, but she still thinks he’ll ride in on a white horse and save the day. She doesn’t get that the people in this house are our last chance.”

  “Mr. Cale,” I tried to be encouraging, “we will all do everything in our power to get Catherine back. The more you can convince Evelyn to cooperate, the greater the probability of a positive resolution.”

  “Be honest with me.” He stared at the surface of the table, steeling his nerves before meeting my eyes. “Realistically, what’s the chance we’ll see our baby girl alive again?”

  Hesitating, there was no way to answer his question, but he needed to hear something. “If we can identify the kidnappers, there’s no reason to think we won’t be able to bring her home safely.” Rule one, never make a promise you can’t keep. I promised O’Connell, and now I was promising Peter. Hopefully, the Four Seasons wouldn’t make me into a liar.

  Fourteen

  The day was shot to hell. I arrived at the Cale residence late in the afternoon, but there wasn’t much I could do at their house. Unfortunately, every time I tried to leave, Evelyn or Peter had another concern to quell or a question that no one else would answer. Hand-holding might be part of the job, but it wasn’t bringing any of us closer to tracking down Catherine’s abductors.

  It was after midnight when I made it to the precinct. Thompson and Heathcliff were buried under a pile of paperwork as surveillance footage played on every available screen in the bullpen.

  “Coffee, thank god.” Thompson was relieved when I placed an extra large cappuccino on his desk. It was my peace offering. We were on the same team and needed to act like it.

  “I thought you guys could use it.” I handed Heathcliff a cup and sat at O’Connell’s desk with my own coffee. “Any leads?”

  “We sent a few unis to gather information from the s
chool, the museum, the chaperones on the field trip, but we haven’t heard anything back yet. It was too late in the day to track down a lot of people, so we’re starting fresh in the morning,” Heathcliff offered.

  Thompson pulled a folder free from the pile on his desk and tossed it in front of me. “That’s the third victim, Sonia Casanov. She’s a diplomat’s kid, but we’ve had no luck opening lines of communication. She and her parents checked out of the country immediately after the recovery.” He sighed. “On the bright side, at least we know one of the girls is safe.”

  “Did anyone contact the Estes family?” I asked. “Has there been any news on recovering Adalina?”

  “We sent officers to their house. I swear the legal team they have could get known terrorists freed from Gitmo,” Heathcliff growled. “You know kidnappings have their own set of rules, and since they don’t want us there, we’re out. Jablonsky put a guy on Mercer, but there’s been no word on that front either. Did you discover anything new from Peter or Evelyn?”

  “They’re scared. Evelyn’s in denial, and Peter is trying not to give up the last remaining ounce of hope. This is complete bullshit.” I sighed. “Have either of you talked to O’Connell?”

  Heathcliff shook his head, but Thompson shrugged. “He was released from the hospital today, and Jen’s put him under house arrest. I wouldn’t be surprised if she handcuffed him to the furnace to keep him from doing something stupid. Well, something else stupid.”

  “Apparently there’s plenty of stupid to go around,” a voice said from behind. Turning, Mark walked in, carrying a stack of files. “This sure as hell doesn’t look like the beach.”

  “The guys swept away the sand because people kept falling in it,” I responded. “And don’t even get me started on all the issues due to the standing water.”

  “Julian Mercer,” Mark said, ignoring my quips, “has been a professional negotiator for the better part of the last decade. He knows his shit, and without getting too bogged down with the logistics, he’s had more positive outcomes than not. Last I heard, he’s still at the Estes’ country estate. We pulled some phone records, and immediately after the girls were taken, Miguel Estes phoned his business advisor who put him into direct contact with Mercer. Like clockwork, the guy shows up within the next eight hours to handle the situation.”

  “Are you saying he’s involved in the kidnapping?” Thompson asked, bewildered by the possibility.

  “No,” I interjected. I knew how things like this worked. “But Mercer had days to work out the details.”

  “Bingo,” Mark focused on me, “so why are you drinking coffee when you should be crawling into bed with Julian, metaphorically speaking.”

  “We didn’t exactly hit it off, and when I turned over his negotiation to the authorities, well, you can imagine how many brownie points I earned.”

  “Demerits,” Heathcliff corrected. Glaring at him, I picked up my half-full coffee cup.

  “Wish me luck,” I said to the room, “I’m off to woo Mr. Mercer.”

  “Parker,” Mark’s voice held a commanding quality, “keep your phone on. It’d be nice to know where you are in case something goes sideways.”

  “Remember, I’m at the beach.”

  * * *

  “Now I find you waiting outside my flat,” Mercer said, approaching his front door. He arrived home a few seconds ago, and I wondered if his tail was still somewhere nearby. “It’s two a.m. If you’re looking for a shag, you’ve come to the wrong place.”

  “I hate to break it to you, but you’re not my type.” Without waiting for an invitation, I followed him inside since he was in a talkative mood. “What’s your next move?”

  “Parker,” he sat on the couch and stared at me, his gun still holstered, “what the bloody hell do you want?”

  “Catherine. By any means necessary.” The slightest sign of dark pleasure crossed his eyes before vanishing away.

  “And you think I can help you?” It was a challenge.

  “Name your price.” He cocked his head to the side as if listening to something before getting up and moving toward me. Before I had time to react, he backed me against the wall, placing his forearm along my clavicle. His gun was in his other hand, against the wall near my head.

  “Quiet,” he commanded.

  Shutting my eyes, I swallowed and took a deep breath, weighing my options. The pressure eased off my neck, and I turned to look at him. His back was against the wall. What the hell just happened? Meeting my eyes, he silently signaled, and I pulled my nine millimeter and crept to the other side of the front door and glanced out the window.

  “What?” I mouthed. Two seconds ago, I was convinced he wanted to paint the walls with my grey matter.

  “Cover me,” he whispered and opened the door, going out high, so I could cover him from a crouched position at the front door.

  “Bastian, Donovan,” he lowered his gun, and I followed suit, “where’s Hans?”

  “You know Hans,” one of the two men said. They exited an SUV with rental stickers on the windshield. One of the two hefted a sniper rifle over his shoulder and offered a grin. “We didn’t realize you were entertaining. Shall we come back?”

  “I’m not,” Mercer practically snarled. Apparently I wasn’t his type either.

  “Who’s the bird?” the second man asked. “And if you’re not entertaining, someone really should.” He walked over and extended his hand. “I’m Bastian. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said in a thick Cockney accent.

  “Just because I holstered my gun two seconds ago doesn’t mean I won’t still shoot you.” I responded. My guess was these two blokes were part of Mercer’s team.

  “Ooh, sassy.” Bastian raised an eyebrow. “I like a girl with spice and an excellent shooting record. Agent Parker, isn’t it?”

  “Let’s take this off the streets,” Mercer commanded and stalked inside without another word.

  “He’s rather curmudgeonly, but you’ll get used to it. We have.” Bastian winked and followed Mercer. Donovan, the man carrying the sniper rifle, kept his eyes on the ground as he went past. Two strong silent types and a class clown, it was going to be a long night.

  Mercer must have silently conveyed to his fellow ex-SAS members to keep their mouths shut because no one said a word about recovering Adalina or the plan they were setting in motion. Since Mercer was still our best bet for making a positive I.D. on the Four Seasons, I took an unobtrusive seat on the sofa and crossed my legs. Donovan, the tactical support, was in the other room, skimming through all the blueprints and photos pinned to the wall. Bastian, whose role I had yet to decipher, was sifting through the contents of the fridge, and Mercer was seated across from me, staring at nothing. Not moving or speaking, it was hard to be certain if he was even breathing.

  “I believe you were about to name your price,” my voice cut through the silence like nails on a chalkboard.

  “Was I?” He tilted his head ever so slightly. The crack in his hard exterior vanished as soon as his cohorts arrived.

  “It’s obvious you’re waiting for me to leave, so you can discuss matters with your mates.” Ridiculing his vernacular probably wasn’t the smartest idea, but it was almost three a.m. and I was too tired to care. “Why don’t you save us both some time and tell me what you want. I’ll tell you what I want, and maybe we can reach some kind of agreement.”

  “Trust me, you don’t want to know what this one wants. He’s into too much kinky shit for the likes of a lady like yourself,” Bastian interrupted, taking a seat on the edge of the coffee table directly between the two of us. “I, on the other hand, have only the most honorable intentions. No kinky shit, scout’s honor.” Mercer and I simultaneously glared at Bastian.

  “Bas,” Mercer dismissed him with a look, and silently, Bastian went back into the kitchen.

  “Nice trick. You think you could teach me that?”

  “You will not get in the way. The authorities will not interfere with my meth
odology, and when the time comes, you will do what I say, when I say it.”

  “I want everything you have on the kidnappers. If the cops get there and resolve the situation before you do, that’s just how it is. If you’re in the midst of a negotiation, with or without heavy artillery, it’s your show. First on scene gets to call the play. Deal?”

  “Whose side are you on? Mine or theirs?”

  “There are no sides. We’re all on the same team. But I’m getting Catherine out one way or the other. If the cops get there first, I’ll be there. If you get there first, I’ll be there.”

  “Isn’t that cheating?” Bastian asked from the kitchen, but Mercer ignored him and continued to study me.

  “You pull another cheap shot like you did today and I’ll have no problem putting a bullet through you.” His threat didn’t sound hollow.

  “Do we have a deal?” I asked, and he nodded, retrieved a USB drive, and handed it to me.

  “This is everything concerning the Four Seasons, their suspected locations, and a copy of all the ransom demands up until this point. Stay away from the Estes family or we will have a problem.”

  “Fine. You get a location, give me a call. You need support, give me a call. If not, let’s stop running into one another like this.”

  “I wouldn’t be certain of that.” His tone was somewhere between a threat and utter resolve, but he had bigger problems than me. Although, the information could be completely bogus and just an excuse to get me to leave, but there was no way to tell.

  At the doorway, Bastian reappeared, leaning against the jamb as I let myself out. “See you around, love,” he called.

  Fifteen

  After spending the rest of the night reviewing the data stored on the USB drive at the precinct with Thompson, I changed clothes and went back to the Cales’ house. No other communications were received. The only familiar face was the lead FBI hostage negotiator. Everyone else went home at shift change and was replaced by a crack team of fresh-faced law enforcement officers. Evelyn and Peter were in a zombified state, staring at the remnants of breakfast on their plates.