Vision Impossible (14 page)

When the dust settled, I got to my feet and tried to catch the sedan’s license plate. “Are you okay?” asked a middle-aged woman in a long camel coat.

I nodded, and took a step out into the street just as the sedan was turning the corner. “Miss!” she said. “You’re bleeding, honey.”

Sirens sounded in the distance and it seemed the whole street was looking anxiously at me. “The police will be here in just a minute,” the kindly woman said.

I nodded because I couldn’t really talk. I was still processing what’d happened. “Did you know that man?” she asked, her brow creased with concern.

I tore my eyes away from the corner where the sedan had turned and disappeared, staring at her for the first time. “What?” I whispered.

“The man they abducted,” she said, pulling me gently over to a stoop. “Did you know him?”

I swallowed back the large lump forming in my throat. The sirens were getting closer now, the police were closing in, and I had nothing to tell them. Dutch and I were in deep cover, and I’d been warned not to leave a paper trail or call attention to myself under any circumstance.

“Where’s my purse?” I asked, searching the ground desperately.

“It’s right there,” said the woman, pointing to my new purse, now covered in coffee grounds. I took a step toward it and winced. “You should see a doctor about that cut,” she told me.

My knee was slashed up pretty good, but there was no way I was going to take the time to worry about it now. Wiping away some of the grime, I dug through my purse and lifted out my cell phone.

The helpful pedestrian was looking at me curiously, and I attempted a small smile. “I need to make a call.”

She nodded, but continued to stare at me curiously. The sirens were much closer now. The police would be here in about ten more seconds. Looking back to the woman, I pointed to the bar we were right next to and said, “I’ll just be in there for a minute to make my call, and then I’ll be out to give the police my statement.”

“I’ll tell them,” she assured me.

“Thanks,” I said, before ducking quickly into the establishment.

There were no patrons inside, and most of the staff were ogling out the window. When I entered, one of them stared at me in shock and said, “Shit, lady! You almost got run down by that car! You okay?”

I nodded. “Is there a restroom I could use? I want to get some water on my knee.”

“Sure,” he said, and pointed to the back of the bar. “Head down that hallway. It’s right next to the exit.”

“Thanks,” I said. “If the police come in here looking for me, would you tell them I’ll be right out?”

“I will,” he said, before handing me two clean, folded bar towels. “Use these to clean your knee,” he instructed.

I took the towels and hurried away. The screech of tires outside let me know the police had arrived. Ducking into the back hallway, I cruised right past the ladies’ room and snuck out the back exit, which put me in an alley.

Moving through the narrow street, I turned right the first chance I got, and continued to work my way west until I was about four blocks away from the scene.

Once I was safely out of police range, I flagged down a cab and gave the address for the condo. He gave me a once-over before putting the car into drive. Looking down at myself, I could hardly blame him.

As he drove, I pressed one of the bar towels to my knee, and finally selected Frost’s number from the contacts list on my phone. I waited anxiously until he picked up. “What?” he asked, getting right to the point.

I was about to tell him everything that had happened before I remembered that I had an audience. “Meet me at the condo in ten minutes,” I instructed and, not wanting to argue about it, I simply hung up.

 

 

T
wenty minutes later I’d told Frost everything I knew about Dutch’s abduction. My knee was still bleeding pretty bad, but I was so worried about Dutch I hardly cared. “I never should’ve left him!” I growled, so angry at myself for making a food run, for cripe’s sake!

Frost had his phone up to his ear, waiting on hold for Director Tanner. “If you’d been there, Cooper, they’d have shot you first.”

I considered that for a minute, and realized that was probably why my crew had made an effort to keep me away from the office until I’d seen Dutch being dragged out. Still, it didn’t make me feel any better to know that I’d been unable to help him or prevent his abduction.

“Yeah,” said Frost, his voice tense and edgy, “I’m still waiting for the director.” He shook his head and rolled his eyes at the person on the other end of the line. “I don’t care if she’s in a meeting!” he practically yelled. “You get her a message from me to take my call right now, goddammit!”

I watched as Frost clenched his fist and turned away to pace the floor. It reminded me of what I’d done earlier that morning, and what had inspired the pacing, and I felt immediately that I knew what I had to do. “Hang up the phone, Frost,” I commanded.

Frost pivoted and held up his index finger in a “hold on a minute” gesture.

“Hang up the phone, Frost!” I yelled so loud he jumped.

He looked at me in stunned surprise, then pulled the phone away from his ear and hit the speaker button. It was the best compromise he could offer me, I guess.

“You have to get me a phone number for Grinkov,” I told him.

“Why?”

“Will you just do it?!” I yelled. “I think I know how to help Dutch, but we have to move on it right now, okay?”

Frost stared moodily at me, probably trying to decide if he should tell me to go sit down, shut up, and let him handle it.

I got up from the chair where I’d been sitting, and approached him. When I was well into his personal space, I said, “You have no reason to trust me, but you know I love Dutch more than anything in the world. I would
never
put him in jeopardy, Frost. And the only way I can help him now is to listen to my intuition, which is insisting that you get me that number so I can call Grinkov.”

“There’s no way we’ll get approval for the half mil today,” Frost told me bluntly.

I didn’t even blink. “I know. I have something else in mind.” Again he wavered for a minute before sighing heavily; then he hit the end button to disconnect the line. Scrolling through his own contacts, he found the number he wanted and tapped it. A moment later he said, “Agent Dobbs, it’s Frost. I need a number. . . .”

 

 

F
ifteen minutes later I sat on the white leather sofa staring at my cell phone on the coffee table. The display showed a keypad and the number I’d just plugged in. Out of the phone’s speaker came the tin sound of ringing, and finally the line was picked up. “Ya?” a male voice asked.

“I need to speak with Mr. Grinkov,” I said crisply.

There was silence on the other end of the line, but I could hear some background noise, so I knew that whoever answered hadn’t hung up on me.

“Who is this?”

The man on the other end had a smooth masculine voice and a very slight Slavic accent.

“My name is Abigail Carter. I am Richard Des Vries’s business partner.”

Across from me Frost’s eyebrows rose and he looked at me skeptically.

On the other end of the line there was a long pause, and I waited with bated breath for the guy to react or speak or tell me “wrong number” and hang up.

“Richard has been very bad boy,” said the voice, and I closed my eyes and used every ounce of control I had not to shriek or cry or beg the man to spare my fiancé’s life.

Swallowing hard, I said, “I understand Richard is late on a payment or two for a loan taken out with Mr. Grinkov.”

There was a chuckle on the other end of the line that sent a chill up my spine. “Is that what he told you?”

I ignored that. “
Is
this Mr. Grinkov?”

“Maybe yes, maybe no,” he replied coyly.

“I see,” I said, not really knowing where to go with that.

“Why are you calling?” he demanded.

“I would like to make payment on Mr. Des Vries’s debts,” I said. “And I would like Mr. Des Vries returned. Alive and in one piece.”

Across from me, Frost looked at me sharply, but I ignored him, and waited for my answer. “The loan must be paid in full,” said the caller.

I almost sagged with relief. He wouldn’t have said that if Dutch had already been murdered. “It will take a bit of time to gather the money,” I told him.

“How much time?”

“Two or three days,” I said, squeezing my eyes closed and crossing my fingers that he’d give me that long to reach Dutch’s best friend and business partner, Milo, and liquidate some assets.

The man on the other end sighed dramatically. “This is no good,” he said. “I need some money now, Miss Carter.”

My eyes shot open to meet Frost’s. He shook his head. He couldn’t promise that.

“Of course,” I said easily, my heart thundering with anxiety. “I knew you’d want some sort of deposit in good faith. But I’d also like some assurances that Mr. Des Vries is unharmed.”

“You would, eh?” he said, his voice mocking. “Well, unfortunately, Mr. Des Vries had a little accident on his way to meet with me, Miss Carter.”

I gripped the arm of the sofa, hard. “But he’s still alive, correct?”

“He is,” he assured me. “For now.”

“I will bring you the money tonight,” I said. “I have fifty thousand dollars.”

“That’s not enough,” the man said. “I will need one hundred thousand of the five hundred he owes me.”

I was afraid of that. “Yes, all right,” I said, glaring hard at Frost. “I will need the afternoon to gather the rest of the money together. Can you give me until this evening?”

“Yes, of course,” said the man. “I’m not unreasonable, after all. You will come by and have dinner with me. We will discuss the terms of repayment.”

Frost was shaking his head vehemently and mouthing the word, “No!”

“That sounds fine,” I told him. “Tell me where to go and I’ll be there.”

 

 

“
A
re you out of your fucking mind?”
Frost shouted the moment I’d hung up. Hmm, I doubted I’d be able get him to cough up a quarter for the swear jar. “Cooper, you can’t go to Grinkov’s house! We’ll never see you again!”

I stood up and limped over to the sink, dousing one of the towels under the faucet and holding it to my knee. “If you guys want to fire me, Frost, then go right ahead, but I’m going there tonight and I am going to make sure Dutch is still alive. And then I’m going to negotiate the terms of his release.”

Frost followed me over to the counter, where he stood angrily with his arms crossed over his chest. “I can’t give you a hundred thousand dollars, Cooper! Do you know how many people would have to sign off on that?”

I glared hard at him. “One,” I said, and limped back over to my phone. There were three people I personally knew that I could ask for a loan as large as one hundred thousand dollars, but only one of them wouldn’t ask me too many questions.

I dialed the phone while Frost watched me as if I’d just gone mad.

“Abby!” Milo said. “Long time no see, girl. What’s up?”

“Dutch is in trouble,” I told him, getting right to the point.

I could practically see Milo snap to attention. “Where?”

“I can’t tell you,” I said, blinking back the moisture that was flooding my eyes. I couldn’t involve Milo in our espionage, but that didn’t mean I didn’t long for him to fly in and help me rescue Dutch. “I need money to help him, Milo. A lot of money.”

“How much?”

“Two hundred thousand.”

“How soon?” He’d said that without even a pause, and the moisture leaking from my eyes got harder to hold back. God love Milo!

“As soon as humanly possible.”

“Can you e-mail me some wiring instructions to the nearest bank?”

My eyes flickered to Frost. He nodded. “Yes, Milo, I can.”

“You’ll have it by five,” he assured me. “And Abs?”

“Yeah?”

“If things get worse and you need me, you call back, you hear?”

I could barely speak, but I managed a throaty, “Thanks, buddy. I will.”

 

 

I
t was nearly eight when I pulled into the long drive at the top of a very big hill overlooking a tony part of the Toronto suburbs called Yorkville. The house I rolled up to wasn’t really a house—it was more like a compound . . . or maybe a castle. It didn’t have a turret, but it seemed to have a tower. I wondered briefly, as I waited at the gate, if that’s where they were keeping Dutch. My stomach clenched again. I had no idea what little “accident” had befallen him, and just prayed he was okay.

The guard approached the car and asked me to step out. I complied and he first searched my purse, then the small attaché I’d brought along; then he gave me a good pat down. He didn’t take the opportunity to cop a feel, which I mentally gave him credit for, and finally he swept some sort of handheld gizmo over my body and told me to stretch out my arms and legs.

The gizmo made little crackling noises, but other than that, no loud squeaks or squeals went off, much to my relief.

Appearing satisfied, the guard stepped back from me and held out his hand. “Cell phone,” he said.

My brow furrowed. “Why?”

“You want to go in there?”

“Yes.”

“Then you give up your cell phone.”

I hesitated. What if he went through all the numbers loaded onto my phone? What if he called people and asked them about me? What if he downloaded my pictures and saw the cute ones I’d taken of Dutch and me right after he’d proposed?

The guard squinted at me, and I knew I had little choice. “Fine,” I said, reaching into the car and pulling it out. He went to grab it, but I held it away from him. “Just a second, buddy,” I said tersely, pulling out the clip holding my hair up and using one of the prongs to depress the button that released the SIM card. “You may have my phone,” I told him once I’d tucked the small piece of plastic into my pocket and locked the phone with a password. “But you can’t have my personal information.”