Slowly the words rang in her ears—about a minute after he’d said them.
“Where…are…your…other…guests?”
The train toot echoed strangely above as the engine came around for another lap. Suddenly the little cars looked fuzzy. The whole room did. Whoa. Was the floor moving?
She looked up at her host and saw his mouth move but his words were more garbled than Parker’s.
Something about cancellations?
She tried to turn her head to look at Parker. It seemed to take all the effort in the world. When she finally managed it, her heart began to race.
Parker was slumped in his chair, his eyes closed.
She reached for the arm of her chair and struggled to get to her feet. The room spun. She felt herself wobble. As she fought to stand on her legs she spotted something on the floor sticking out from underneath a sofa.
A toy soldier.
DeBow reached out for her.
Her knees buckled, her head rolled back and she looked up into his smiling face. She knew that smile.
The smile of a killer.
“Help,” she murmured weakly as she sank into his arms.
But she’d said the code word only in her own mind.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Dylan pushed his face into the big soft pillow and cried.
He was in the big room where he’d slept every night since the big man brought him here. It was full of shelves filled with all sorts of toys, and the bed was bigger and softer than any he’d ever been in. But he didn’t want to play with the toys. He didn’t want to go to sleep.
He wanted to go home.
He missed Mama so much. He missed Daddy, too. Daddy was supposed to help him with his science project at school. He must have forgotten about that by now. He must have forgotten about him, too.
And what about Ms. May, his teacher? She’d left him all alone in that strange house where she’d taken him.
She must have forgotten about him, too.
He thought about the little blue house. Ms. May told him they would have to wait there a while. She would take him back to his mother and father, but he would have to wait first. She never said why.
Over and over she promised she would take him home soon. But she didn’t. Instead she left and the big, scary man came.
And now his stomach hurt from the ice cream he’d eaten with the smaller man. The man always wanted to eat ice cream, but Dylan didn’t want any more ice cream.
He wanted to go home.
He had spent the whole morning with the smaller man. At first he had liked the smaller man. He was nice. He let him play with his train sets. There were so many. All over the house. Though he wasn’t allowed to go everywhere.
The big man wasn’t nice. He was mean. He made Dylan clean toilets. That was so awful. Mama never made him clean toilets. But the big man said it was good for him.
And he hit him. Hard.
Dylan was so frightened of that man.
It still hurt where he’d hit his arm.
But the big man wasn’t there today and Dylan had spent the morning with the nice man laughing and playing and eating ice cream. At first it was fun.
They played with the trains. Then the nice man picked him up and twirled him around, just like Daddy used to do. He sat down in a big chair and held him in his lap. He rocked him the way Mama used to do when he was little.
But then the man took his hand. He looked at it a long time. Then he began to kiss his fingers. And then—Dylan squeezed his eyes tight, wishing it were just a dream.
But it wasn’t.
The man had made him touch him—there. The man grabbed his hand and held it there. He wanted to cry but he didn’t dare. It made him sick. It frightened him. Now the smaller man frightened him as much as the big, mean man.
If only he could go home. If only Ms. May would come and take him home.
Tears welled up in his eyes. “Mama,” he bawled. He didn’t care if they heard him anymore. He cried harder. “I want to go home!” he dared to say aloud.
But no one heard. No one came.
After a little while he sat up and dried his eyes. Was anyone here? Had them left him alone in the house the way Ms. May had?
He got out of the bed and ran to the door. He tried the knob but it wouldn’t turn. The mean man had locked him in.
He was so afraid. He looked around.
Across the room was a tall window. It was pointed at the top and had wires in it like a castle window. But it had a handle. If he could reach the handle, maybe he could open it and climb out and get away.
He grabbed the chair near a desk where more toys were stacked and dragged it over to the sill. He climbed on top of the chair and stood on tippy toe.
His fingers just reached the handle. He pulled it and the window came open.
He looked down.
A steep roof stretched below him. It was so far to the ground. And outside there was a high brick wall all around the house. He could never get out.
His lips trembled and he started to cry again. No. He had to be brave. He had to think.
Suddenly he got an idea. What if there were neighbors beyond that wall?
Where he lived with Mama and Daddy there were neighbors. Friendly people.
“If you ever need anything, let me know,” the lady next door would say.
Maybe someone would help him if they knew he was in here with the mean man and the small man.
He thought about a story Ms. May read him when they were in the little blue house.
It was about a boy who got lost in the woods. He made a signal and someone saw it and came and rescued him. Maybe he could make a signal.
He looked around. There were lots of toys. So many toys. He needed something red. Red was the color for help. The boy in the story used a red hat. He shot it up into the air with a bow and arrow he’d made. There were no bows or arrows here and he didn’t know how to make one.
There were red stuffed animals but they wouldn’t work. There was nothing he could use for a signal.
Dylan sank down onto the floor. He stuffed his fists into his cheeks and began to cry again. Mama. If only he could see Mama. He wanted so badly to go home.
The floor was hard and uncomfortable. Still crying he pulled himself up and went to the bed. If he fell asleep maybe when he woke up this would all be a bad dream. But before he laid down again he blinked down at the sheets.
They were red.
They had comic book pictures and had lots of other colors but they were mostly red.
He could use his sheet as a signal. He jumped off of the bed, pulled off the cover and dragged the sheet over to the window. Carefully he tied one end to the handle and pushed the rest of it outside.
It worked. The wind flapped the sheet around like a flag. He just had to make sure it didn’t fly away. He checked his knot and made sure it was tight. It held.
All he had to do now was wait for a neighbor to see his signal and come and get him. He sat down in the chair and waited.
He only hoped the big mean man wouldn’t see the flag first.
Chapter Fifty
Janelle Wesson finished reapplying her apricot lip gloss and pushed the visor back up in place. Staring out the windshield she studied the black van down the street from the white Parker Agency one where she sat.
Its windows were lightly tinted but she could see a man in the passenger seat giving orders to the driver. She recognized him from the photo she’d seen.
So that was the infamous Simon Sloan Steele had told them about. He was even more of a looker in real life. Hubba hubba.
He turned his head caught her watching him. For an instant their gazes locked and she felt something…electric. Must be the things Steele had said about him. He seemed spooky. Well, he was a spook, ha ha.
She glanced away and tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. She rolled her shoulders and pretended to suppress a yawn as she tried to peer into a window beyond the front lawn of the hug
e mansion.
It was a gorgeous place with classy stone siding. If she ever got to live in a house she hoped it would look this nice. Hard to imagine someone who did the things Steele talked about living in such a beautiful place.
She let out a breath of impatience.
How much longer were Steele and Mr. Parker going to be in there?
In the passenger seat beside her, Curt Holloway twitched restlessly.
He sighed echoing her annoyance. “I don’t know about this so-called plan, Janey.”
She didn’t like it when he called her Janey but she decided to let it pass. “Are we going to play another round of Second-Guess-Steele, Curt?”
He turned and narrowed his eyes at her. He was good-looking in a lanky sort of way. He had nice brown hair and eyes that could be sensitive at times. She’d give him about a seven on the Wesson-O-Meter. She’d dated him a couple of months ago because she thought he got her and what she wanted out of life. But it hadn’t worked out.
“I just want a chance to prove myself,” Curt said in a sulky tone.
“You’ll get it. Sooner or later.”
“And she’ll get all the glory.”
“You know Steele’s not like that.”
“How come you’re suddenly on her side?”
She shook her head in disgust. “How many times do I have to tell you? There are no sides. There are only good or bad choices that affect your career. In my opinion, your attitude is a bad one.”
He grunted in reply and turned away to stare out the window. They sat in silence for a long while.
Suddenly Curt sat up. “What is it?”
“What?”
He pointed out the window. “Look over there. Am I seeing things?”
She leaned over to squint through the passenger window. “There’s something red hanging out of that window on the third floor.”
“Distress signal?”
“Could be.” She didn’t know what to make of it.
“We should go check it out.” Curt opened the door.
“We’re supposed to stay here until we get word from Steele.”
Ignoring her he hopped out of the van.
“Hey.”
She was about to go after him when Becker popped his head in from the back. He had a wild look on his face.
“Something’s wrong,” he said in his Brooklyn accent.
“What are you talking about, Becker?”
“I can’t get a feed. They were chatting away. I could hear them plain as day. They were talking about model trains. It sounded like he’s got them all over the house. Then they were somewhere upstairs having tea and suddenly the mic went dead.”
“Dead?”
“There’s no sound at all. Here, listen.”
He held half the head phone to her ear. All she heard was a low buzz.
She felt a stab of panic. Had their suspect found the wire?
“This isn’t good.”
“No. What do we do?”
She thought a minute then pointed out the window. “See that red thing hanging from the third story?”
Becker scooted up to get a better look. “Yeah. What is that?”
“I don’t know but Curt just went to check it out. I’m going to follow him and try to get inside the house. Do you have a two-way?”
“Yeah, just a minute.” He scrounged around in the back of the van and came back with a communicator. He handed it to her.
“You stay here. Let me know if you see anything.”
He nodded toward the black van on the other side of the street. “What about those guys?”
She hesitated a minute. “We can’t tell them anything yet. We could put someone’s life in danger.”
Becker nodded. “You’re right.”
“Just don’t say anything until you hear from me.”
“Okay. Good luck, Janelle.”
“Thanks.” And she got out of the van and scooted across the lawn after her stubborn cohort.
Chapter Fifty-One
Parker opened his eyes and saw a large blurry object wagging beside him.
Bald head. Tattoo. Foul-smelling breath.
He roused a little more and recognized the figure.
It was the Ukrainian man in the photo Agent Sloan had shown them. The one Dave Becker had found information from the DNA under June May’s fingernail. The one with papers under the name of Tamarkin. The one who had killed Sloan’s agent with his bare hands.
Tea. Lemon. Laced with something.
He opened his eyes and forced in a deep breath. His mind cleared and he realized he was in the big man’s arms being carried down a set of steps.
Miranda. Where was Miranda? And where did Tamarkin think he was taking him?
Parker let his head rest on the large man’s shoulder as he took in the surroundings. They were in a dark narrow stairwell, descending. Ten steps behind them. He didn’t know how many to go.
Slowly he let his outside arm slip down and dangle at his side. He fisted his hand tight. Then he inhaled hard and brought his fist up as fast as he could.
He slammed it into the big man’s face and heard a crunch.
“Argh!” Tamarkin cried out in surprise.
His knees buckled. As he fell backward onto the stairs Parker scrambled out of the big man’s grip. The man was quicker than he thought.
Just as Parker raised his fists to deliver another blow a leg shot out and a size thirteen boot caught him in the gut.
Parker tumbled down the rest of the stairs and landed hard on the cement floor below with a thud.
Basement. Not good. Where was Miranda?
But he couldn’t think about her now. Tamarkin had come down the stairs and another kick was heading toward Parker’s face. Just as it reached him, he grabbed onto the leg with both arms and let his weight drag the big man down to the floor.
Tamarkin crashed to the floor like a felled pine and Parker swore the cement shook. He twisted and began ramming a big fist into Parker’s side, adding to the pain in his stomach from the kick.
Parker let go of the leg and used his weight to climb on top of the man’s torso. Clenching his jaw he pummeled his face like it was a punching bag but the big man barely flinched. Instead of blocking the punches he got Parker under the arms and tossed him away as if he were a dog.
Parker fell back onto the floor again and just managed to keep from slamming his head against the concrete.
Mistake, he thought. Now he had a chance to get to his feet. And his weapon. Had they taken it? He reached behind him and found it still in his belt.
Wondering how it hadn’t discharged he pulled it out and pointed it at Tamarkin.
“Where’s my wife?”
“You’ll never see her again. My boss is taking care of her.”
He had to finish Tamarkin off and get to her fast. “Step back,” he ordered.
Instead the man stepped toward him.
“We can work something out. I have connections.”
Tamarkin laughed and took another step. “I don’t think so.”
“Get back, Tamarkin.”
That brought him to a halt. “You know my real name.”
“I know a lot about you. I don’t want to kill you, but I will.”
“And I know about you.”
His big hand swung toward Parker.
He fired. Nothing.
They’d taken the bullets.
The big hand grabbed Parker’s shoulder. With the other hand Tamarkin turned the knob of a door and hurled Parker into a room.
Parker rolled onto the floor and slammed into the leg of a table.
He got to his feet. The table he had crashed into was a stand for another model train. It was covered with green felt and track. There was a single light overhead illuminating a dozen shelves holding dozens of cars and engines of all types and colors.
But what caught Parker’s eye was a large syringe on the green felt table.
His stomach tensed. “You like experimenting
with drugs, do you?”
Tamarkin closed the door behind him. “I do what they tell me.”
Parker put his useless gun in his pocket and adjusted his coat jacket as if he were having a casual chat. “They? You mean the kidnapping ring you work for?”
The man’s leathery face darkened. “How do you know about them?”
“It’s my business.”
“And it is my business to take care of you. Sit, please.” He indicated a wooden chair in the corner. A coil of rope lay on the floor beside it.
Parker ignored the command. “You’d do better working for the right side. Doesn’t it make you a little sick? What your master does to little boys?”
“I said I do what they tell me. Please, sit,” he said again.
“I’d rather stand. And so you’re their slave, too?” Parker let a little derision into his tone.
Tamarkin’s eyes went dark. “They have taken care of me since I was in the Ukraine.”
“Did they blackmail you into working for them?”
This time the big man pushed Parker down into the chair. “My family was poor. They gave us money. Took care of my brothers and sisters. Even now they take care of my mother. She is old and sick. They are good to us. I will not betray them.”
He picked up the rope, began to unwind it.
“But they’d betray you if they had to.”
It was just what he needed. A second of hesitation.
He shot out a foot, hooked it around Tamarkin’s calf and jerked as hard as he could. Down the big man went for the second time.
Parker was on him before he’d realized what happened. He snatched a length of rope out of his hands and wrapped it around the man’s throat. Then he pulled as hard as he could.
“I told you I didn’t want to kill you. So I hope you’ll reconsider my offer.”
Tamarkin didn’t answer. He couldn’t speak. His face turned a sickly shade of blue that didn’t go well with his skin tone.
Parker waited until his body went limp beneath him.
He felt along the neck for a pulse. He wasn’t dead. He’d just passed out.
As quickly as he could Parker tied his hands and feet. Then he pulled the secure cell out of his pocket, thankful they hadn’t taken that.
The Boy Page 20