Best Defense (15 page)

“You better get over here. We have an email.”

twenty-five

He glanced around and
seeing no one, entered the house and walked into the front room. “Okay, the email's on its way. I did like you told me. Used a library in Boca this time. Phony name, the whole bit. I'd feel better though if you did it. I ain't as comfortable around computers as you.”

“You know I have to stay with the kid. She's scared of you. She's never been around anyone as big and ugly as you.”

“Yeah. Well, I just hope I didn't do nothing wrong. Nothing that'll bring the cops to your door.”

“If you followed my instructions, you didn't. Sit down, and let's talk about tonight. My guess is they'll send that PI, Beth Bowman, to pick up the message again. If so, I think it's time we let her know she's in over her head, and let Hammonds know we're onto his crap. I want you to grab her, spook her some, then turn her loose. I want her to know we're serious. That way, she'll not only take the instructions back to Hammonds, but she'll reinforce them with her fear. A few bruises might help her on her way.”

He flopped onto the sofa, a big smile on his face. “Piece of cake. Should be fun. But if she's jumpy like the last pickup, I'll never get near her. I mean, she grabbed that envelope and ran like a deer on the second day of hunting season.”

“Not to worry. I thought of that. I'm fixing it so she walks right into your hands. You just be ready. That doesn't mean I want her getting a good look at you, though. We'll go with disguise B.”

_____

I called Mom to let her know my plan had changed, that something important had come up on the kidnapping. I told her I wouldn't be able to go home until later—maybe. She didn't exactly threaten to write me out of her will, but her tone said it was a possibility. Story of my life, disappointing my mother.

After running the police gauntlet in Hammonds' front yard, I was inside with Hammonds, Maddy, and Sargent.

“What's in the email?” I asked. “Did they give us the drops and exchange info?”

“No such luck,” Sargent said. “They're still playing cute. I'll read it to you. It says, Same time, same place. Follow the instructions in the zip lock. Three a.m. sharp. Come alone. If you involve the police, your daughter will pay.”

I looked at Hammonds. “Sounds like another DVD coming. Are you ready for what it might contain?”

“I'm more than ready to get Ashley home, if that's what you mean. I hope they're ready to release her.”

Maddy's stony expression said she agreed with him.

Sargent asked, “Are you up for another trip to the soccer field? This time, we might be able to nail them.”

“Oh, no,” Hammonds said. “I've already told you we play it however the kidnappers say. No deviations. I will not risk Ashley's life.”

“But—”

“No buts,” Hammonds said, raising his voice. “What does it take to get through to you people? I don't give a damn about the money. I don't give a damn about the kidnappers. All I want is my daughter. Don't make me call Chief Elston.” The glare he gave Sargent raised the temperature in the room by several degrees.

Maddy laid her hand on her brother's arm. “Easy, John. Maybe you should listen to the experts a bit more and the amateurs a bit less.”

I bit my tongue to keep it from flapping and making a bad situation worse. This was between John and Maddy. I shouldn't even have been there.

“As I've told you before, Maddy,” John said. “I'm doing it the way I think best. It's not that I don't trust the police. It's just that I have to follow my instincts. Those instincts say no publicity and no police presence.”

Sargent looked at me, then Hammonds. “I understand, sir. But you're asking Ms. Bowman to take one helluva chance. She got away with it once. She might not—”

As Maddy nodded, Hammonds cut in. “Beth? Do you have a problem with this?”

“None whatsoever,” I said, then grinned. “That's why you're paying me the big bucks.” My attempt at levity fell flat as the faces of Sargent and Hammonds stayed ugly, and Maddy continued to frown.

Sargent broke first. “I don't agree. Everything I know says this is wrong. But I recognize when I'm whipped. We operate same as before.” He rose and turned toward the door.

“Wait,” I said. “If it's another CD or DVD or thumb drive or whatever, can you have a team ready to get us into it?” His eyes flashed, so I added, “You were great on the first one, but we did lose an hour or so. We might not have that luxury this time.”

Hammonds nodded, and both of us looked at Sargent.

“Bowman, you're a real pain in the ass.” He paused and sighed. “I'll have a team here. We'll be prepared for whatever you deliver.” He started out of the room, but stopped in the doorway. “Be careful. I'd hate to lose my favorite skirt-PI.”

He grinned, spun, and clomped down the hall.

“Damn,” I said. “I don't know whether to be insulted or complimented.”

“From him, hard to say,” Hammonds said. “Whichever though, I echo his words. Be careful. You're my best bet for getting Ashley home.”

“Good luck,” Maddy said. “Ashley is depending on you.” Her tone said a lot more, something like,
You're so out of your league.

_____

After calling Bob to bring him up to date and ask if one of his
invisible
people could keep an eye on me, I headed for my house. My hope was things would stay quiet for the afternoon, and I could enjoy some time with Mom. It did, and it was nice. We spent the afternoon mall-crawling, sipping lattes at Starbucks, and just being Mother and Daughter. As with mothers everywhere, she forgave me for neglecting her. As for me, it was a pleasure being with her.

I knew better than to tell her about my early morning rendezvous at the soccer field. She'd tell me it was too dangerous, then insist on going with me. The first I didn't need to hear, and the second was out of the question. Instead, I told her I would stay at the Hammonds' residence that night. We had hopes of a break in the kidnapping.

At five, I took her to my house where she picked up her rental
and headed for the airport to meet Ike. I wanted to go with her, but
she insisted I go about my business. So, with a kiss on her cheek, I sent her off on her latest conquest. I had little doubt Ike would love her. How could he not? I did.

I showered and dressed in clothing more suitable for a middle of the night soccer field rendezvous—jeans, T-shirt with a scoop neck, and tennis shoes. Yes, I wore a gun bra with my derringer safely tucked away. My purse didn't change, continuing to weigh in heavy enough for a solid weapon if swung by its shoulder strap. I settled at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and my guns and gave them a close inspection. After satisfying myself they were in
perfect working order, I put the Walther in my purse and holstered
the derringer. Taking a last look around, I sighed and walked out the front door.

My mind buzzed with doubts about the situation. Was I right in backing Hammonds about keeping the police away? Were my stubbornness and my bias against Sargent and Bannon swaying my judgment? Would a stakeout give us the best opportunity to grab one of the kidnappers, then rescue Ashley? Maybe if I moved in early, I could spot whoever put the package on the field. Doubts. Doubts. Filled with doubts. If something bad happened to Ashley, could I live with myself?

No. The note said show up at three a.m. sharp and come alone. It warned about involving the police. Hammonds' call was the right one. It was up to me. No police, no backup. Well, except Bob's people—I hoped.

_____

It was two-forty-five, and I cruised Royal Springs Drive at about twenty miles per hour, my eyes glued to the soccer field. All I saw was darkness. If anyone or anything was out there, I couldn't see it. I continued north under the Sawgrass Expressway, then U-turned a few blocks later. I wanted another look at my target before having to do the walk at the top of the hour.

At the intersection with Wiles Road, I turned left and examined as much of the field as was visible. Wasted effort.

I U-turned again, then stopped in a right-turn lane. There was no other traffic, so I used it as a parking space while my watch ticked toward the appointed hour. A couple of minutes before three, I pulled out and hit the soccer field parking lot on time, hoping the kidnappers gave points for punctuality.

As I lowered the windows, the pounding in my chest smothered any outside noises. I put my hand over my heart, willing the sound to lessen so I could listen. No luck with the thump-thump-thump, but the feel of my derringer brought a degree of confidence. I quickly squelched it, no time for overconfidence. There was a job to do. Taking a deep breath, I pulled on a pair of latex gloves. I climbed out of the car and looked around. There were scattered clouds hiding a three-quarters moon. When the moon found a hole, it cast enough light to see a few feet, but when it went away, everything was black.

As on my previous visit, I left the engine running, headlights on, and car door open, ready for a quick exit. I took the Walther from my purse and clenched it in my fingers. In my left, I carried a small flashlight. Taking a deep breath and closing my eyes, I took a first step toward the field. When I opened them, I had crossed the sideline. Good. I was on my way. Staying out of the beams cast by my car, I shined my light left and right, then toward the center circle. Around me, I saw nothing, but there was a reflection from the middle of the field. That was my target.

My heart continued its loud thumping, seeming to accelerate with each step. I dared not hesitate, or I might bolt from the field. I shuddered, realizing this was worse than my first trip. It must have been the knowledge of the unparalleled cruelty the kidnappers were capable of that caused it. Cold sweat coated my forehead.

After an eternity, I reached my target. A clear plastic bag lay in the beam of my light, a piece of paper inside. Frowning at the change in routine, I balanced my gun and the flashlight in one hand and scooped up the bag while scanning the field, wondering if anyone watched. Nothing to see so I turned my attention to the paper.

Special instructions at north end of field.

A shiver raced up my spine. Not good. Not good at all. I started northward, questioning my intelligence. What kind of crap were they pulling? A trap—obviously a trap. But why? It didn't make sense, but I had little choice but to follow their rules. Ashley's fate depended on it.

My small light made little difference when I shined it toward the north end of the field—too much darkness too far away. But as I walked in that direction, I saw a large hedge forming. From having reconned the area in daylight, I knew the growth separated the field from the noise-suppression wall along the Sawgrass Expressway. I shuddered again—couldn't help it.

A book I'd quit on recently popped into my mind. It featured a young woman stalked by a vicious serial killer. The story wasn't bad until she woke to strange sounds in the house at two in the morning, noises like a large person moving around. The squeak of a floorboard, followed by soft shuffling. The heroine threw back her covers and crept to the bedroom door. The sounds grew louder, coming from the direction of her downstairs kitchen. Now, any halfway smart person would have barricaded herself in her room, then grabbed the phone and dialed 9-1-1. Not this young woman. She was too spunky. She started down the steps in her sexy, three-inch high heel, pink Marabou bedroom slippers to investigate. I had no idea what happened next because I slammed the book shut before she reached the lower floor.

Now here I was doing the equivalent of the same thing. Following instructions and walking into a probable ambush. I felt like my eyes were bugging out as they alternated between squinting and staring wide-eyed into the darkness. That's all I saw—darkness. I looked up and saw the moon in hiding again. Maybe I should give that book a second chance.

About twenty yards out, I stopped and forced my breathing into a more normal pattern. I couldn't be hyperventilating when I reached my target. Too much at stake. When I had myself under control, I continued at a brisk pace. Since I anticipated danger, there was no point in protracting it. Might as well get it over with.

My light bounced off a package. It appeared to be an envelope, such as the one I found on my first trip to the field. Instructions for Hammonds, or I had to believe it was. It lay on the end line between the uprights of the netless goal. I stopped, my danger antenna sending out a constant beep, beep, beep. Five more yards.

I was there. The envelope lay at my feet. All I had to do was stoop and pick it up. I cradled my flashlight under my armpit, keeping my head up, my eyes peering, scanning, zipping left to right and back, wishing the moon would show itself. My fingers found the package. I curled them to lift it. It didn't move. Something held it down. Damn. I knelt on one knee, my fingers slipping around the edges. It still didn't move. I had to look to discover the reason. With a last sweep of the area, I turned my vision downward.

A hand grabbed the back of my neck and propelled me upward. At the same time, another hand swept down my right arm, jerking my pistol out of my hand. I swung with my left, but I was too slow. The grip on my neck tightened, sucking all the effort out of me. All I could do was cry out in pain.

“Now, bitch,” a deep voice said, “we gonna talk. But first, take a look, a good look. Make sure you memorize everything you see.”

His hand twisted my neck with my shoulders following until I was face-to-face with him. The moon picked that moment to find a hole in the clouds. What I saw was hideous—a series of oozing sores and scars and all shades of black, blue, and red. A smell of death rose from him.

“Seen enough?” He shoved me back onto my knees, my head into the ground, never letting up on the pressure on my neck.