The Ransom (29 page)

Her captor started forward. Zara tensed and tried to resist, but she was no match for the brute strength of the man who held her. Before she knew it, they’d shuffled across the road and he’d thrust her up against the side of a vehicle that was half concealed by the darkness. With the gun still trained on her head, he let go of her and pulled his keys out of his pocket.

Oh, God, he was going to abduct her.
Any minute, she’d be forced into the car and taken to who knew where. Thoughts spun through her mind—frantic, scattered thoughts that refused to cement into actions.

Staring at her through narrowed eyes, he tugged the rear passenger door open and waved the gun toward her, indicating without words, that she was to climb in.

Her heart thumped harder. Time was running out. If she was going to make a run for it, she had to do it now. She might never get another chance.

She eyed the man who looked vaguely familiar and then eyed the gun. The headlights from another passing car glinted off its shiny metal barrel. She’d never been this close to a gun. She shuddered and prayed silently for the courage to challenge its deadly promise.

Knowing it was now or never, she flung up her arm to ward off the weapon and spun around, ducking under the meaty arm the man swung in her direction. Tensing, she took off at an awkward run, her wedges making progress difficult. She’d barely made it past the end of his car when she turned her ankle on the loose road base that lined the shoulder of the highway.

She yelped in pain and then in fear when her captor hauled her up by the hair and turned her to face him. Seconds later, his fist hurtled toward her. It connected with a loud smack against the soft skin of her cheek. Fire exploded across her face. Her mouth filled with blood. The fist came out again. This time when it connected just above her ear, she felt nothing.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Tuesday, January 30, 8:28 p.m.

Lane picked half-heartedly at the ham and pineapple pizza he’d had delivered a little earlier. Despite his hunger, the weight of confusion and uncertainty in his gut now prohibited even the smallest bite.

He sighed heavily and wished for the thousandth time that he wasn’t so damaged. He’d resisted the urge to tear off after Zara and beg for her to stay. He knew she needed time alone. They both did.

He’d replayed their last conversation until he was exhausted and determined to claw back a semblance of his sanity. Coupled with the stress and lack of sleep he’d endured over the past forty-eight hours or so, it was all he could do not to push away from the table and head down the hall to his bed.

He stood and dragged himself over to the couch. Weariness dodged his every step. The smell of her perfume hit him the moment he sat down. His single-minded efforts to push aside memories of their time together evaporated like fog in sunlight.

All at once, she surrounded him. Her smile, her laughter, her warmth. His body tightened at the recollection of her pressed against him and he groaned aloud.

He wanted her: now, tomorrow, forever. And yet, the promise of what could be wasn’t enough for him to take this leap of faith. His parents had loved each other to distraction. He’d only been a child, but he’d still been aware of the soft looks, the tender words, the close embraces. His parents had loved as much as anyone could and it hadn’t been enough.

Zara’s words came back to taunt him. He couldn’t deny she was right. It
was
cowardly to be unwilling to take the risk, but it was also supremely unselfish.
Why couldn’t she see that?
He was thinking of
her
in all of this.
Wasn’t
he?

Shucking off his shorts, he tossed them to the floor and headed toward the bathroom. The sound of his phone ringing pulled him up short. Hope flared inside him and his heart skipped a beat.
Zara.

The next instant, he was shaking his head, telling himself not to be stupid. There was no way she’d be calling him after the way they parted. Besides, she was probably still on the road.

Picking up his phone from where he’d left it, he glanced down at the screen. He couldn’t help the rueful smile that tugged at his lips.

“Hi, Mom, how are you?”

“Lane, I’m fine. More importantly, how are
you
? I just saw the late news. I recognized you and your men from the footage. I’m so glad everything turned out all right.”

“Thanks, Mom. So am I. We were lucky.”

“It was more than luck, Lane. You’re a fine detective.”

He instinctively ducked his head. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

“I’m so proud of you, Lane. That little girl and her family don’t know how lucky they were to have you on their case.”

“Mom…” he protested. “It wasn’t just me. We all helped out.”

“I’m sure everyone did their bit, but some people go above and beyond. That’s just the way it is.” She paused and her voice roughened with emotion. “Your father was like that, and so are you.”

A lump formed in Lane’s throat. He tried to say something, but found he couldn’t. He swallowed and tried again.

“Mom, you don’t have to say that.”

“I’m not just saying it, Lane. I mean it. Your father was a man of honor and integrity, a man of determination and courage. He always gave everything he had, every single time. It didn’t matter who needed help. He gave it freely, without complaint and came home after every shift a contented man.”

“Until he didn’t.”

His bald statement was met with silence. Guilt surged through him and then he immediately felt angry for feeling guilty.

It was the truth, wasn’t it?
His increasingly heated thoughts were interrupted by his mother’s resigned acceptance.

“You’re right, Lane. You’re absolutely right. One night, he didn’t come home. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Why weren’t you mad? I never saw you yell or shout or cry at the injustice of it. I never saw you throw plates or slam doors or…or hit something. How come, Mom? How come you never got mad?”

“Who says I didn’t? You were only a child, Lane. You couldn’t have possibly understood everything you saw or didn’t see. There were plenty of times when I ranted and cried and yes, I even threw a few plates, but I made sure I did it when you and your brothers were out—either at school, or at the park. There were a handful of times I even did when you were asleep.

“There was a long, long time when I was mad at everyone—and particularly your father. What had he been
thinking
? How could he have left us all alone, to fend for ourselves when we needed him so badly?”

Her voice cracked. She dragged in a deep, shuddering breath. He wanted to tell her to stop. He wanted to offer her comfort. But he couldn’t. For far too long, he’d wanted to ask the questions that had circled in his head for so many years.

Respect and love for his mother, and fear of the answers, had held him back but he couldn’t hold back any longer. He had to know. He
needed
to know. For his sake, and for Zara’s.

“Would you have done things differently if you’d known?” he asked.

“No.” Her answer was swift and decisive.

“How can you say that?”

She sighed heavily. “Your father and I loved each other more than we thought possible. We met when we were just out of high school. Within months, we were married. Of course, there were plenty who criticized us, told us we’d never last, but we ignored them all and got on with our lives.

“I went to secretarial school and your father entered the Police Academy. It was hard, but we managed and we had each other, and a few years later, you, the first of our boys arrived. We had no need for anything, but each other. Our family was all that mattered.” She gave a sad, little laugh. “It sounds like something out of a sappy old movie, but it’s the truth. We were happiest when we were together.”

“It must have made it that much harder to go on without him.”

“Absolutely. There was a long period when I didn’t think I’d survive on my own. My heart had shriveled and died and was buried in the ground right alongside him. If it hadn’t been for you boys, I don’t know what I would have done. I knew I had to live for you. And so, I did.”

“It makes us sound like such a burden,” Lane said.

“
Never!
Lane Francis Black! Don’t you
ever
say a thing like that! I loved your father more than life itself, but I loved my children, too. Even in the depths of my grief and despair, during the darkest time of my life, I never once wanted to leave my boys or relinquish any burden. Our family was worth my all.”

Tears pricked Lane’s eyes. He drew in a deep breath and bit his lip against the surge of emotion that tightened his chest.

“Do you believe me, Lane?” Her question was pitched low. He strained to hear it. A sob escaped his tightly compressed mouth and he bit his lips harder.

“
Do
you?” This time, her voice was louder and tinged with panic.

He nodded and then verbalized his response. “Yes, Mom, I believe you.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you. I’m so glad. You don’t know how much that means to me. I-I’ve never talked to your brothers about this. Perhaps, I should.”

“Perhaps,” Lane agreed, “but I think you should wait until they ask. It might not be the right time for them.”

“Why now, Lane? Why are
you
asking, after all these years? Is it the right time for you?”

Images of Zara crowded Lane’s mind and the tightness in his chest eased. Love and tenderness filled his heart. All of a sudden, he knew he’d found the woman he’d love until the day that he died. Whenever that would be.

“I’ve met a girl.”

“Oh, Lane! I’m so pleased. I’d almost given up on you finding someone to settle down with. I take it that things are serious?”

Lane filled his lungs to capacity and then blew it out. “Yes. I think I’m in love with her.”

“And does she love you?”

“I’m not sure, but she definitely cares.”

“I’m so happy for you. I had begun to wonder if your father’s death had affected the way you felt about a family. You’re thirty-one and so far, I’ve never seen you date a girl longer than a week or two. I was hoping it had nothing to do with how things turned out for me.”

Lane shouldn’t have been surprised by his mother’s perceptiveness. As a kid, he’d never been able to keep anything from her.

“I can’t tell you that hasn’t been a part of it,” he admitted quietly. “In fact, up until now, I honestly didn’t think I could handle the risk of dying young and leaving a family behind to struggle onward without me. But after talking to you, I think my outlook has changed. For the first time, I can see it from your point of view. That the short years you and Dad had together brought you more happiness than a lot of people have over a lifetime and that’s something to be cherished and celebrated and remembered.”

“Lane, you’re a police officer like your dad and there’s always a chance you won’t come home. We both know that. But you have to remember the thousands of officers who go to work every day and
do
come home. Focus on them, the ones who make it, not on the handful who don’t.”

“I want to.” His voice was a husky whisper. He cleared his throat and tried again. “You don’t know how much I want to.”

“There isn’t a day goes by that I don’t wish your father was still here beside me, but I never regret a single moment of our time together.” She paused for a moment and then said, “Do you remember how much I like Fleetwood Mac?”

Lane frowned and tried to keep up with his mother’s sudden shift of topic.

“Yeah, I guess so. You used to play their CDs until we were ready to leave home.”

His mother chuckled in memory. “I did, didn’t I? Anyway, what I wanted to tell you was, Stevie Nicks sang a song called
Love’s a Hard Game to Play
. Do you know the one I’m talking about?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“It’s a great song and I played it a lot during the years after your father died. There are a couple of lines toward the end of that song that helped me through the darkest times.”

Lane’s chest tightened. “Okay.”

“It goes like this: ‘
Just when I feel like I’m losin’ you, I hear them voices call. They say it’s better to have lost at love than never to have loved at all.
’”

His mother’s sweet voice sounded softly in his ear. Emotion surged through him. Tears spilled over and ran down his cheeks.

“That’s how I feel about your dad,” she whispered, her voice choked with tears. “That’s exactly how I feel.”

“I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, Lane, and I hope this girl comes to love you as much as you deserve.” She paused and then her voice lowered on a ragged sigh. “If she loves you even half as much as I loved your father, it will be enough.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Tuesday, January 30, 8:42 p.m.

After what seemed an interminable amount of time being jostled, bound and gagged, on the back seat of the kidnapper’s car, the vehicle turned into what looked like an industrial area. From Zara’s prone position and through her uninjured eye, she caught glimpses of large sheds lit with security lights. The headlights picked up the shape of a low building hunched away from the others behind a high wire fence. The driver headed the car toward it.