Captive Justice: A Private Investigator Mystery Series (A Jake & Annie Lincoln Thriller Book 4) (13 page)

She stared up at her abductor. “Why . . . why are you doing this?”

“You’ll be set free if your husband pays our ransom.” He paused and added ominously, “That is, as long as he doesn’t call the police. If he does, well . . . bad things could happen, but let’s not think about that right now.”

She caught her breath and felt panic rising inside. So that’s it. A ransom. She was sure Walter would pay whatever they asked to get her back. But he would be sure to call the police and she hoped they would find her first. Otherwise, she feared for her life. She had no doubt the kidnapper would hold good on his unspoken threat and she knew what that would be.

She swallowed hard and implored with her eyes, now streaming with tears. “If you let me go, I . . . I promise not to say anything.” She dropped her head. “I just want to go home.”

“That’s not my decision.”

She looked up and begged, “Please . . . you can let me go.”

He shook his head. “No, I can’t,” he said, as he wrapped the cloth around her mouth again and tied it securely behind her head. “I can’t let you go.”

Then he hurried up the stairs, two at a time and the door banged shut behind him.

~~*~~

JAKE AND ANNIE had barely made it home and into the kitchen when Jake’s cell phone rang. Caller ID showed an unknown number.

Annie sat at the table and leaned forward as Jake sat down, set the phone on the table and touched the screen to put the call on speaker. “This is Jake Lincoln.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Lincoln. It’s a fine day to do business.”

It was him.

Jake got straight to the point. “I talked to Walter Coleman. He’s agreed to pay your ransom.”

“And I assume our good friends down at the precinct are unaware of our impending arrangement?” the deep voice asked.

“I advised him not to call the police. I can’t assure you he won’t.”

“Excellent work, my friend.”

“He’ll get the money from the bank in the morning.”

“Wonderful.”

“How can we be sure Mrs. Coleman will be returned once the ransom is paid?”

“You need to be more trusting, Jake. I’ve given my word. Isn’t that enough?”

“Frankly, no. Your word means nothing.”

A sigh came over the line. “I realize it takes time to build trust, but you shall see, I’m a man of my word. Keep your end of the contract and I’ll keep mine. After a few transactions, I expect we can build that bond between us.”

Jake gritted his teeth. “There’ll never be a bond between us.” He dearly wanted to catch this scumbag before more innocent people were harmed, but feared going to the police. He couldn’t even tell his best friend, Hank. Hank would be bound to report it and get involved. His hands were tied and he was torn between doing what he was legally obliged to do and what was best for the victim.

“There’s one small change in our contract,” the kidnapper said.

Jake frowned. “What’s that?”

“I want your loving wife, Annie, to deliver the funds this time.”

Jake looked at Annie and shook his head vigorously. “Never.”

“Just this once.”

Jake raised his voice. “I will not endanger my wife. I’ll deliver the funds or nobody does. There’s no bargaining with that. Take it or leave it.”

Silence on the line and then, “Very well, Jake, we’ll do it your way. I just wanted to make things more interesting for all of us and I assumed Annie would like to be involved in our little escapade.”

“She doesn’t,” Jake said flatly.

“Then I’ll call you tomorrow morning with delivery instructions,” the strange voice said. “In the meantime, I wish you and your wife a pleasant evening and we’ll talk tomorrow.”

The line went dead.

Jake hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair. “I wasn’t about to get you involved in this.”

“I’m already involved.”

“You know what I mean. I don’t think I’m in any real danger in delivering the money, but you never know. I don’t trust this character and we need to be careful.”

Annie leaned her elbows on the table and cupped her hands under her chin. “We need to come up with a better plan this time. This is not going to stop until we, or the police, catch them.”

“Them? You’re sure there’s more than one?”

“I think there’s two. The leader, who makes the calls and arranges everything, and I believe he has someone to help him. Someone to drive for him and likely to guard the prisoner. I might be wrong, but I’m not sure one person could handle everything.”

Jake nodded. “I think you’re right, so let’s hope Hank’s guys come up with something before it’s too late for Rosemary Coleman.”

Chapter 27

Thursday, September 1st, 8:45 PM

ROSEMARY WAS PRETTY sure of one thing; if she didn’t escape from this dungeon and soon, she would be dead.

By her best estimate, it was a couple of hours since her tormentor had brought her the water she so desperately needed, and now her throat was dry again, and her stomach was aching for food.

Occasionally, through the overhead floorboards, she heard the faint sounds of someone moving about, probably one of the kidnappers, stationed there to guard her.

She had thought long and hard about how to free herself; first from the chair, and then from the house. It seemed like an impossible task, but Rosemary was determined.

Her bonds were secure and the wooden chair she was fastened to was solid, but she had an idea.

She rocked back and forth and then sideways. The chair slid an inch or two but held solid. She continued to rock, forcing her weight back and then forward as much as the ropes would allow. She set up a rhythm. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Every few minutes she stopped for a break to catch her breath and relax her tiring muscles. But she wasn’t dreaming; the legs were beginning to loosen, ever so slightly, and if she kept it up, something would snap.

And it did.

The right front chair leg was ready to give out. Just a few more careful heaves and then, crash . . .

Rosemary’s shoulder hit the concrete as the chair leg let loose and sent her tumbling forward. With a little more effort she was able to kick her right leg free, slipping it over the end of the now useless chair leg. And then she twisted about and managed to loosen her other leg and it too, slid free.

Now what? She was in an awkward position, still fastened to the back of the chair, but at least her legs were free.

The cumbersome chair forced her to bend at the waist, making it hard to keep her balance, but she managed to stumble to her feet and she stood precariously. Then leaning sideways, the left chair leg on the floor at an angle, she forced her entire weight to bear, and the already weakened leg snapped free and she went down again.

But she was making headway.

She rolled over and pushed to her feet, the remains of the chair still clinging to her back, her wrists still tied to the arms, but now she knew she would succeed.

She waddled over to the stairs and was able to wedge the left arm of the chair between the third step and the floor. Then using that as leverage, she threw her weight the other way. The arm came loose and she slipped her hand free. Then the other arm of the chair got the same treatment and both hands were free. She slipped the gag from her mouth and took a deep breath of the stale air.

After that, it was just a matter of twisting the ropes that bound her chest to the back of the chair until she was able to reach the knot. In a few minutes, she worked it loose, the ropes fell to the floor and she was free.

Well, not exactly free. She was still a prisoner in the basement.

She had two options. Bring him to her and subdue him somehow, or go up the stairs and try to get through the door. She was pretty sure she’d heard him lock it when he left, so trying to break through a locked door would be futile.

She only had one logical choice and she hoped there was only one person she had to deal with. Then at least she would stand a chance.

She picked up one of the chair legs and hefted it. It was solid and would make a good weapon. Good enough, she hoped.

Then taking a few deep breaths to calm her nerves, then a final one to fill her lungs, she screamed, over and over. “Help. Help.”

There was the sound of running footsteps on the floor above. He had heard her. She slipped behind the stairs, out of sight, and raised her weapon.

The door at the top rattled and then creaked open, and through the space between the steps a pair of legs descended one step at a time.

Her grip tightened on the chair leg. She poised herself, and when he reached the final step and touched the floor, she stepped out, swung with all her might and the solid wooden weapon connected with her abductor’s forehead. The makeshift club flew from her grasp, rattled across the floor and into the wall.

He went down, stunned, groaning, and lay still at the foot of the stairs.

His eyelids fluttered and he looked up with vacant eyes as she stepped carefully around him and scrambled up the steps.

She chanced a look over her shoulder as she neared the top. He wobbled as he rose to his feet and glared at her.

“Stop,” he shouted.

Rosemary paid no mind. She clambered up the final step, tripped and fell through the doorway. As she struggled to her feet, she heard him behind her, coming up the stairs, slowly, but getting closer.

She looked around her for a doorway to freedom. What was this place? It wasn’t a house. It seemed more like a small warehouse, or perhaps an empty store. To the right was a door, framed by a large window on either side, but the door and both windows were boarded up securely. To her left, at the rear of the room, was another door, a smaller one, made of metal.

“Stop.” Much closer this time, almost behind her.

She slammed the door to the basement and as she wrestled with the lock, he rammed into the door from the other side. It burst open.

Her heart pounded. She was out of time. She dashed to the rear of the room toward the metal door. It was locked and bolted from the inside. She struggled with the lock on the knob first and then slid back the bolt and turned the knob.

In her peripheral vision she saw him stumble over a loose board. He sprawled across the floor.

She pulled at the door, metal squealing against metal, then felt a hand grip her heel. She wrenched loose and half-ran, half-fell through the doorway. Weak and tired from her exertion, she scrambled to her feet and looked frantically around.

She was in a narrow alleyway. In front of her loomed tall buildings, old and run-down, much like the one she’d escaped from. She dove to the left, screaming, her attacker panting behind her. A hand touched her shoulder, his labored breath almost in her ear.

In desperation she mustered up a little more endurance, but it was futile. Her shirt was gripped from behind and she stumbled and hit the ground, her assailant on top of her.

He growled at her, his voice raspy and angry. “Thought you could get away, did you?”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. A hand over her mouth cut off her screams and her breath as his other arm wrapped around her neck.

“Stand up,” he said, as he held his grip, heaved her to her feet and then half-carried, half-dragged her back to her musty cell.

Chapter 28

Friday, September 2nd, 10:15 AM

THE MAN SHIFTED his position on the uncomfortable street bench, slid forward, leaned back and yawned. He dropped one arm across the armrest and stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles.

From where he sat, he had a clear view of the bank across the street. He knew what his job was. There was a small element of danger, but still, everything should go off without a hitch. After all, he was an expert and he had no fear of getting caught as long as he stuck to the plan.

The fake beard he was wearing was itching him something awful, but he resisted the desire to scratch and kept his eyes on the bank.

He’d been waiting for more than an hour, ever since the bank opened. To kill time, he’d read the morning newspaper almost all the way through, where news of the murder of Mrs. Gould still demanded the front page. Today, it was a story on Dr. Gould. The whole thing was a shame, but it had to be done that way. His boss knows what he’s doing and as long as he gets paid, who was he to argue with the methods used?

The boss had given him an earful the night before, after the Coleman woman almost escaped, and he counted his blessings he’d been able to capture her again and the boss didn’t fire him. But that was then and this is now, and he wasn’t going to allow anything to go wrong this time.

He was pleased the boss took care of most of the dirty work. The final disposal of Mrs. Coleman’s body would be up to him, but at least he wasn’t the one who had to do the unpleasant task of taking her life. It made him a bit squeamish and he had to draw the line somewhere.

He straightened up and leaned forward when he saw his target round the corner and enter the bank, carrying a briefcase in one hand. He would give it a few minutes. He assumed Coleman had called ahead to arrange for the money to be ready, so it wouldn’t take him long to get the funds and leave.

He waited five minutes and then sauntered up the sidewalk to the corner, waited for the walk signal to appear and then crossed the street behind a couple of old ladies who took their sweet time about it.

He walked a dozen yards and leaned against the wall at the corner of the bank, lit a smoke, slipped on a pair of thin leather gloves and waited. Before long, he butted his half-finished cigarette on the sidewalk as Walter Coleman stepped from the bank and turned his way, a briefcase dangling from one hand.

Now.

He slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and tightened his fist around the grip of his trusty pistol, his finger poised on the trigger. This was gonna be easy.

He withdrew the pistol, took two steps forward and stopped as Coleman approached. He held the weapon at arm’s length, pointed straight at the heart of his target.