Final Deposit (17 page)

“What stopped you?”

“God pumped some sense back into me and made me realize that I have to trust Him no matter what. Sin was never in His plan, but He can work things together for good.”

“Even in losing Michael?”

“It was the toughest thing I ever faced, but yes.” He flipped his book over and set it in his lap. “Since Michael's death, I've been able to help dozens of people who have fallen for various scams. None of it will ever take away the hurt or regret over his death, but it does make me feel as if something good has come from it.”

“I don't know if I can do that.” She bit her lower lip. “I mean, I trust God and understand that there are consequences to sin, but when those consequences affect others, it's just not fair.”

“No, it's not.”

“What about Anya? You can't tell me that you've forgotten about her. Michael had a choice, but in reality, she was responsible.”

He combed his fingers through his hair. “That's why I'm so determined to bring down as many of these scammers as I can. Stopping them from victimizing someone else is my way of getting back at Anya.”

Lindsey sighed. “It's just so hard.”

“It is.”

Feeling restless, she reached for the phone on the back of the seat in front of her and studied the directions. “I'm going to check my messages. Maybe my father has called.”

The first message was from Sarah, who was back from her honeymoon. The second was from someone selling time-shares in Vegas. She almost laughed at the irony. The last message was from her father.

“Lindsey, this is Dad. I'm calling from London, and…” There was a crackling sound. “I'm sorry, Lindsey. Maybe Uncle Lewis might be able to help.”

Someone else came on the line. “We're holding your father, Miss Taylor. You've got forty-eight hours to wire one hundred thousand dollars.”

“W
hat's wrong?” Kyle asked as he watched the color drain out of Lindsey's face.

“You were right,” she said, putting the phone back with trembling hands. “They're holding my father for ransom. He spoke for a moment, then someone else came on—someone with a strong English accent—and demanded money.”

Kyle wanted to slam his fist into the seat in front of him. He'd prayed this wouldn't happen. “How much do they want?”

“A hundred thousand dollars.” She grabbed the air-sickness bag and scribbled the details of the demand. “Might as well be a million. I can't access that kind of money in forty-eight hours.” She glanced at her watch. “Forty-two hours now.”

“He knows about the life-insurance money and thinks he can play ball for more.”

Kyle knew the amount seemed astronomical, but he'd seen this scenario play out before. It had amazed him how quickly family members had managed to pull the sum together. And Omah knew it. The amount was large enough to fatten the crook's pocketbook, but small enough to make it possible for a desperate family to scrape it together. Omah also knew Lindsey would have her own set of credit cards to max out and a whole other set of friends to borrow from. He was determined to get every dime he could.

And when he was done?

Kyle's jaw tensed. He knew all too well the odds of Mr. Taylor getting out of this alive.

Kyle angled the bag where she'd written out the message, trying to decipher her handwriting. “Who's Lewis?”

“Lewis?” She angrily wiped away a tear with the back of her hand. “He's my father's uncle, but he's been dead for fifteen years.”

“Maybe he gave your father something of value that he's kept all these years.”

Her laugh was raspy. “The only thing my father has from my uncle is a package of cigars from twenty-odd years ago. They were never close.”

“How much are the cigars worth?”

“A couple hundred dollars, if that much.”

Kyle tried to stretch out his legs in front of him. The cramped quarters of economy class weren't made for his six-foot-one frame.

Lindsey dug through her purse looking for gum or a mint—something to erase the dryness in her mouth that always came with a roiling stomach. “What do we do now?”

There had to be something they were missing. “Think hard. Your father might have been trying to tell you something. A savings bond…a valuable painting…a family heirloom…”

“But there isn't anything.” She dropped her purse to her lap, her search fruitless. “Even if he did have something of value from Uncle Lewis, he would have sold that before getting rid of Mom's figurines.”

He could tell they were both tired of all the dead ends. “Are you sure that's what your father said?”

“Positive.”

The Fasten Seat Belt sign came on as the plane lurched slightly. Kyle checked to ensure his belt was snug. “People don't always make sense when they're under stress, Lindsey.”

“The fact that he's under all this stress worries me. He sounded confused. If he's had another stroke—”

“Don't.” He clasped her hand, lacing their fingers together. “We're going to get through this.
He's
going to get through this.”

“I didn't think it would really happen. I thought my father would convince Mr. Omah that there was no more money left and then Omah would let him go.”

Kyle sighed as Lindsey turned away from him and stared into the sea of darkness that surrounded the plane. Across this vast ocean, Lindsey's father was a prisoner. And at the moment, there was nothing either of them could do. Waiting, Kyle thought, was a form of torture.

His heart ached for her—she looked so defeated, so hopeless. “I'm sorry, Lindsey. I know how hard this is.”

She looked up at him, her lashes wet with tears. “I just don't know what I'll do if I lose my dad. He's the only family I have left.”

He squeezed her hand. “At least we know what we're up against. And they don't know we're coming,” he added. “That's to our advantage.”

“What good is the advantage of surprise when we don't even know where they're holding him? Chances are they're not going to keep him in his hotel room if they've kidnapped him. Right?”

“Probably.”

So much for trying to be positive. He ran his fingers through his hair. He was really out of his element now. His expertise was securities and due diligence, not ransom. He'd only been involved in two similar cases in the past five years. Both times, the local authorities had stepped in and taken over. And both times, despite the law's best efforts, the two victims involved in the cases had been found dead.

Kyle eyed the phone in front of him. He needed to notify his contact in London about the ransom demand. They still had forty-two hours to come up with something. Not a lot of time, but if they worked fast and caught enough breaks, they just might get Mr. Taylor out alive.

“I've got about seven thousand dollars in savings I can withdraw, and a couple of credit cards,” Lindsey said. “Sarah's parents might be able to loan me the rest.”

“I can probably come up with five or ten thousand—”

“Not unless there's no other way, Kyle. You've done enough already.”

“If you need it, I'll get it for you.”

She nodded and offered him a weak smile. “I know.”

“I'll notify the lead investigator on the case about the ransom, and I'll have someone stop by the hotel and check your father's room,” he said, picking up the phone. It wasn't much, but it was a start. “It will save us time, knowing for sure whether he's there or not.”

“And if he isn't?” Her eyes pleaded with him for answers.

“I don't know, Lindsey. I just don't know.”

 

The plane shook beneath them, Kyle talked on the phone beside her, and an infant cried three rows in front of them. Lindsey felt numb. She kept waiting to wake up from the nightmare that had haunted her for the past week.

God, I want to see my father again.

She wanted to ask God why, to demand to know how He could have allowed this to happen. Instead, she stared out across the black expanse surrounding the airplane, feeling small and vulnerable. The only thing visible beyond the darkness was yellow rays of light on the horizon.

The heavens proclaim the glory of God, the skies proclaim His handiwork.

The words of the psalmist resonated deep within her. She couldn't deny it. No matter what happened, God was still in control. It was the only thing she had left to hold on to. There were no other options. No middle ground. If she'd learned nothing else this week, it was that she couldn't do this on her own.

Kyle hung up the phone beside her. “We've got some news.”

“What is it?” She hoped she was ready for the next round.

“Omah's getting lazy. We were able to trace the call from the kidnappers to a rented house in south London. We've also managed to locate several beneficiaries of your father's money. They tie in to the ring we've been tracking. This might be what we want, Lindsey.”

“Are they going to the house?”

Kyle nodded. “As soon as they can set things up.”

“I want to be there.”

“I figured that. I've got a driver meeting us at the airport, but I had to promise we'd stay out of the way. These guys are big time, and they are not going down quietly.”

 

Kyle sat beside Lindsey in the backseat of a silver sedan. At eight in the morning, traffic crawled and progress was slow. Two employees from his company sat up front, Daniel Rodgers at the wheel, Marcus Dodson sitting shotgun. Both were former Secret Service and some of the best employees he'd hired.

If all went according to plan, they'd not only find her father but take down a kingpin connected to over a million dollars in fraud that more than likely supported heroin trafficking across Europe. Kyle wasn't the only one wanting to bring this organization down, which gave them another advantage. They were going to get this guy one way or another.

The authorities had traced the benefactors of George Taylor's transactions to more than two dozen properties on the outskirts of London, but they didn't have the resources—or the time—to check them all before the deadline ran out. Lindsey had made some calls before landing, but collecting one hundred thousand dollars was going to take time. There was no way around it. They had to get it right the first time.

Lindsey's hand brushed against his and goose bumps surged across his forearm. He glanced up and studied her profile. Lost in thought, she fiddled with a broken nail. She was so beautiful it took his breath away. Yes, when all this was over, he was going to sweep her off her feet.

He cleared his throat and pulled out the map he'd brought. “Do you want to see where we're headed?”

She nodded.

“The city's divided into thirty-two boroughs. We're headed to this one,” he said, pointing. “If all goes well, your father will be eating dinner with us tonight.”

His cell phone rang. It was Charles, another inside source, high up in British national security, who'd provided valuable information throughout the years. Charles and his uncanny ability to trace the untraceable was part of the reason they were so close to taking down these guys.

“Where are you?” Charles asked.

Kyle glanced outside at the familiar, busy streets. He'd spent two years living in this neighborhood before moving back to Washington, D.C. “Fifteen minutes away at best. Traffic's slower than normal.”

“No, it's not. You've just forgotten the grind.”

Kyle chuckled. “How long till you make your move?”

“The team is getting set up right now. There appears to be at least two people in the house. We want to make sure nothing goes wrong.”

“Nothing better go wrong. I want Mr. Taylor out alive.”

“Don't worry. We all do.”

Lindsey looked up at him as he spoke. Too much was riding on this. The sooner it was over, the better.

“Do you have an ambulance there?” Kyle asked. “Lindsey's father walked out of the hospital in Dallas and straight onto a plane. It's possible he's experienced another stroke.”

“They can be here within two minutes. We've got our own medic on the ground if we need him.”

“Great. Call me when the team moves if I'm not already there.”

“You got it.”

 

Lindsey felt a rush of adrenaline as the car squealed to a halt a block away from where five marked vehicles were parked. Kyle had told her they'd have to stay in the car, but she wasn't sure she could do that. Her hand gripped the door handle as she strained to see down the quiet neighborhood street that had been blocked off at both ends.

A row of narrow, one-story houses lay before them. A hedge blocked part of her view, but she could still see a half-dozen officers surrounding the place. She caught sight of the butt of a weapon and shuddered. If her father was caught in a cross fire…

Please, God. Don't let anything go wrong.

“They've got someone.” Kyle pointed as he peered through the binoculars Daniel had handed him.

She strained to see. “Let me look.”

He gave them to her. The police were leading a handcuffed man away from the house toward a squad car. Balding, thick glasses, reddish hair…Abraham Omah? She scanned the front yard. Another officer followed carrying a computer screen. A moment later, more office equipment was carried out, and then another man in his late thirties emerged in handcuffs.

Where was her dad?

“I can't see him, Kyle.”

Kyle's cell phone rang again. “Yeah?”

A moment later, he popped open his door. “The scene's secure, Lindsey. We can go. Just stay back from the house.” Lindsey was out of the car and down the sidewalk before Kyle's feet hit the ground. He had to run to catch up with her. Daniel and Marcus followed them.

She scanned the property. Computer equipment filled the driveway and men in uniform stalked the perimeter, but her father was nowhere in sight.

“What's going on, Kyle?” She didn't even try to curb the panic in her voice. “My father's not here.”

“Lindsey.” Kyle grasped her elbow at the edge of the property and motioned for her to stop. “This is as far as we can go.”

“But my father…”

A man in his late forties joined them and shook Kyle's hand.

“Charles, this is Lindsey Taylor,” Kyle said. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close to his side. “Charles is an old friend who has led part of this investigation.” Kyle turned back to Charles. “Where's her father?”