Lethal Ransom

by Laurie Alice Eakes

  Now to get out of the city.

  Afraid the two stations for the commuter rails would be watched, Kristen coughed up the money to take a taxi she merely flagged down on the street. With cash for payment, no record of who she was or where she had gotten on or off would be connected to her name or her bank or credit card accounts.

  The ride north took forever. Kristen employed all her willpower not to look behind her, check the back window to see if anyone followed. Of course they didn’t. No one knew where she was.

  They would know where she was going, though. She didn’t doubt it for a minute. Some sort of law enforcement would wait for her, would try to stop her from meeting her mother’s kidnappers. Nick? Maybe. She wondered if he had gotten into trouble for letting her slip away. That was the problem with going off on her own—others could get hurt in the process. She hoped her actions didn’t damage his career, or at least not beyond repair. He had merely been following orders when he intended to turn her over to other marshals for confinement. “And I was only doing what I needed to for my mother’s sake.”

  “Beg pardon?” the driver asked.

  “Nothing. Just thinking aloud.” She smiled. “I talk to myself sometimes.”

  “It’s okay, just don’t answer.” The driver laughed as though he had made a great joke.

  Kristen forced herself to smile in acknowledgment of his attempt at humor. Then she turned her attention to her purse, removing things she could tuck into her clothing in the event the pocketbook was taken from her or she had to abandon it. The sheet with phone numbers. The burner phone. The rest of her cash... That task done, she faced the window, seeking the correct exit for the nature preserve along the Des Plaines River.

  “There.” She tapped the side window.

  “You sure?” The driver, who looked like he’d been at the job of ferrying people around for half a century, gave her a concerned glance in the rearview mirror. “They close soon.”

  “I know. I’m meeting someone who is...um...working here.” She hoped that wasn’t too much of a fib.

  It was, in a sick way, the truth. The kidnappers were working there, and she intended to meet them.

  Law enforcement could enter the park after closing hours, but she, a mere civilian, could not. She had to find her way in and hide until the rendezvous time. So did the kidnappers. So might law enforcement, figuring she and the men who had taken her mother would be there.

  For a moment, as she paid the driver, she panicked over the thought the park might be closed already. The marshals might have ordered it to stop the kidnappers from using the area. Yet if they did that, they wouldn’t have a chance of getting the judge back.

  If they ever had a chance of getting her back.

  Kristen was about to ask the driver to wait in the event she couldn’t get into the park by any conventional means, when she spied three cars exiting. Two SUVs and a minivan, to be specific. All of them teemed with children and women who were probably their moms. It looked like the end of an elementary school picnic and nature hike. The park possessed many activities for children, Kristen remembered from her own childhood. She had gone there with her Sunday school class, the only child without some relative present in the form of a mom or dad, a cousin or sibling. She had gotten stuck in a bathroom stall with a lock that refused to budge. With no one specifically looking out for her, she had been there for half an hour before someone noticed her absence.

  She hadn’t thought of that incident in years. Now, watching the vehicles full of children and adults cruise past her, memories of that day, at least eighteen years earlier, flashed through her mind, and her breath snagged in her throat. Her heart began to race.

  No, no, no, no, no, she would not have a panic attack now. She needed to remain calm, clearheaded, strong.

  She slipped from the cab and took a deep breath of sweet-smelling air. This was as close to country air as she ever got. She couldn’t remember the last time she spent any time in nature.

  She was going to spend some time now.

  Head down in the event the reserve shone cameras on the entrance, she entered the grounds. The river was her goal. She could find a place to hide and wait by there. It wasn’t far. She knew the way. She had printed off a map in the library.

  Striding with purpose, the best way not to get stopped, she headed down the trail. She smelled the coolness of water, the freshness of greenery. Birds sang their joy in the clarity of the late afternoon, drowning the sound of her footfalls on the path and the splashing of water.

  She had escaped from Nick and the marshals. But she hadn’t taken a moment to think and pray about the danger of what she was doing. She might have just given up the safe confinement of the marshal’s safehouse for the treacherous captivity of ruthless kidnappers. Yet she didn’t know how else she could save her mother.

  * * *

  Nick sprinted across the landscape toward the tall woman with a baseball cap minimizing the shine of her hair.

  She rounded a bend in the path.

  Nick put on a burst of speed and caught up with her. Though always reluctant to touch a woman without permission, he caught hold of her arm, compelling her to pause.

  “Kristen, you can’t do this.”

  She wrenched her arm free and faced him. “You weren’t supposed to find me.”

  “It’s my job.”

  “Pretend you couldn’t find me.”

  “I can’t do that. You have to come back with me, not go meeting up with criminals.”

  “I have to. Don’t you understand?”

  “No.” Nick set his hands on his hips. “I don’t understand why you want to put yourself in harm’s way when we have a plan in place to get your mother released.”

  “I’m sure you do. But will it bring an end to whatever these men want?”

  “If—” Nick caught himself and corrected, “When we catch them we will.”

  “And that if. If you don’t, or if one gets away, or if there are more, when will this end for me?”

  Nick held her gaze. “Tonight, if you don’t interfere.”

  “Is that a threat?” She held his gaze with her eyes wide and bluer than the sky.

  And doing something odd to his middle. Softening it like a square of baking chocolate he’d seen his mother liquefy in a pan.

  He took a step back as though the action could return his core to its solid state. “I don’t threaten civilians. I was merely warning you that you can be locked up, charged with interference, or you could be hurt if those men want to harm you.”

  “They don’t want to harm me yet. That was obvious when they didn’t just do so at the accident site. They want something from me.”

  “And you have no idea what?”

  Nick studied her face, seeking a hint she wasn’t telling the truth when she answered.

  “I have no idea.” Suddenly her shoulders sagged and she leaned against a tree, arms crossed at her waist. “I don’t know.” She closed her eyes. “I’ve looked through the few files on my computer, and I’ve had hours to think about everyone I’ve worked with whom I can remember, and nothing comes to me. Or maybe it’s more like too much comes to me. I’ve helped wives get away from abusive spouses, and more than you might think were from well-off families. Same with some kids I’ve helped. And then we have assault victims...” She trailed off and opened her eyes. “I just don’t know. I won’t ever know if I don’t confront these men.”

  “Let law enforcement catch them and then find out.”

  Nick didn’t want to so much as think about her face-to-face with men who would dare kidnap a federal judge, even if they were just using her to get to her daughter instead.

  “And you can guarantee whoever shows up tonight are the only men after me?”

  “We can never guarantee anything of the kind. I won’t lie to you.”

  “And wha
t will you all do? Have a female marshal or special agent pretend to be me and identify herself after Mom is free?”

  “I don’t know the plan,” Nick admitted.

  Her eyes widened. “You’re not a part of the operation after babysitting me for the last day?”

  “I let you escape.” Nick looked away, his ears growing hot. “My boss sent me home.”

  “I’m so sorry.” She sounded sincere. “I was afraid this might interfere with your career.”

  Nick shrugged. “It happens. Callahan doesn’t like me much, so he’s always looking for excuses to keep me out of important tasks.”

  “Why doesn’t he—” She stopped.

  Nick felt how stiff his facial muscles had grown and guessed why she hadn’t completed the question as to why Callahan didn’t like the youngest deputy marshal under his command.

  “We need to get out of here.” Nick changed the topic. “Whatever is going down here, we will get in the way.”

  “So you haven’t listened to me at all.” With a sigh, Kristen turned toward the head of the trail, toward the park entrance.

  Nick fell into step beside her. “I’ve listened. I just happen to disagree with your reasoning. You work with the victims of crimes, not the criminals themselves.” He let out a rueful laugh. “I haven’t dealt much with criminals other than making sure they get to the right courthouse at the right time.”

  But he’d been trained to handle crises, trained to watch and listen and take in his environment. At that moment, his environment felt off and he couldn’t place why. Birds still sang in the trees and swooped overhead, though they seemed fewer than they had a few minutes ago. No car doors slammed, and no parents called to children to get into vehicles. The park was deserted, empty of employees and visitors alike.

  Except for the quieter birds.

  His and Kristen’s presence could have disturbed the birds into toning down their singing. Yet they had been carrying on just fine when he followed her down the path toward the river.

  The river.

  He heard it then, the whine of an outboard motor on the water. Not unusual. Motor craft were allowed on the Des Plaines, but mostly people used canoes and rowboats because of a scarcity of boat launches. So in the quiet of the park after hours, the motor sounded as annoying as a single mosquito in the dead of night. Again, nothing to worry about. The river wasn’t closed to traffic. Daylight was still strong. But something was off.

  Why wasn’t the river closed? If law enforcement intended to catch the kidnappers, surely they would have checkpoints on the river as well as the land.

  Too early. That was it. The rendezvous wasn’t for another four hours and no one wished to tip their hand too much ahead of time. He was worrying for nothing. Still, he wanted to get Kristen out of the park and to safety as quickly as possible.

  He touched her elbow with the tips of his fingers. “Let me take you back. You’ll only have to be under guard for one night.”

  And Callahan would forgive some of Nick’s shortcomings if he returned Kristen to the marshals’ custody.

  She didn’t flinch away from his touch. She didn’t argue. In fact, she nodded and kept walking toward the road.

  “They’re not going to hurt Her Honor, you know.” Nick offered the little comfort he could. “That would be beyond foolish.”

  She snorted. “And criminals are never beyond foolish?”

  Nick laughed. “You’re right about that. But, seriously, this will all work out just fine.”

  Behind them, the whine of the outboard motor stopped. Someone with mechanical trouble or simply deciding to halt in midstream. Nothing more.

  Ahead of Nick, Kristen tilted her head. She kept walking, though.

  He heaved a sigh of relief, glad she had decided to go along with him, with what the Marshals Service wanted. This was for the best. This was how she would remain safe.

  They reached his car, parked along the road. The top was down on such a beautiful day. In a hurry to look for Kristen, Nick hadn’t raised the roof before exiting the vehicle and hadn’t bothered to lock it, a pointless exercise with the car exposed to the world. He still opened the door for Kristen. She slid into the seat and caught hold of the door to close it herself before he could do it for her. Letting her have her moment of independence, he shrugged and walked around the hood toward the driver’s side. He had barely shut his door before a semi roared up the road like some mammoth bearing down on a fox. Nick turned his head to ensure the truck didn’t remove his side mirror.

  And in those moments, when the towering wheels of the tractor-trailer loomed beside him, Kristen pushed her door open and was out of the car and racing toward the river.

  SEVEN

  She might have bruised and scratched feet, but Kristen Lang was a runner. By the time Nick was able to scramble from his vehicle and dash after her, she was almost at the river.

  “Kristen, stop,” he shouted several times.

  She continued to sprint around a curve, between trees, out of his sight. Though he couldn’t see her, he heard her, the crunch of gravel beneath her sneakers, the crackle of branches she brushed past. Then nothing.

  Nick halted, listening. The woods were quiet. Too quiet. The birds had fallen nearly silent. Kristen no longer sprinted along the path, or she had figured out how to run without making a sound—an impossible feat.

  Something was wrong. Nick didn’t need to see what had happened ahead of him to know trouble had fallen on Kristen. On Kristen and, by association, on him.

  Part of him thought he should get out of earshot of the river and call for help. Help, however, would probably take too long to get there, especially if he turned back and crept away as quietly as he could manage.

  He did the next best thing and texted his boss. KLang at rendezvous site. Maybe trouble.

  He waited for a response. None came. He texted again. Advise course of action. She won’t come with me.

  The response came at last. Make her.

  Great. He was to forcibly remove Kristen from the park. How did Callahan propose he do that? He didn’t have handcuffs, moving her at gunpoint seemed ridiculous overkill, and he could hardly pick her up and toss her over his shoulder.

  Though he hadn’t minded carrying her the night before when her feet were bleeding.

  He shoved that memory aside. Now was not a time to think about his attraction to a lady he scarcely knew.

  Will do my best. He had barely hit Send when he heard the whine of the outboard motor.

  The outboard. A boat. A wide-open river.

  Nick started to run. So what if he sounded like a heard of cattle charging across the prairie? He knew how to put two and two together and jump to an all too likely conclusion.

  Kristen’s running stopped. Silence. Then the starting of the motorboat.

  He prayed he was wrong. She was merely crouching behind bushes watching and waiting. The motorboat had started up because the passengers wanted to be on their way.

  He broke through the trees to see the river flowing slow and smooth before him. Yards of river between the bank and the boat. And in the boat, a man twice her size crowded beside her, sat Kristen.

  Nick didn’t think further than tossing his cell phone and gun onto the riverbank and kicking off his shoes. Then he dove into the river and began to swim. He was a strong swimmer, but he was swimming in a race against a motorized boat. If the men in the craft, the one driving and the one seeming to guard Kristen, looked back, they would see him. They could run him down, tear him up with the blades of the motor, swamp him with their wake.

  He stayed below the surface as much as he dared. The water was murky. Fortunately, the current was slow on this prairie river through flat land. And they were moving downstream with that current.

  Still, he would never catch them. Strong swimmer or not, the motor pulled the boat farther
and farther ahead of Nick.

  Until he noticed the tone of the engine change from the high whine of speed, to the putt-putt-putt of a boat slowing.

  He lifted his head from the water in time to see the boat turning toward him, coming straight at him.

  He dove deep, reaching for the bottom of the river. Water magnified the motor to a roar above him. He saw the shadow of the craft slip over him, then swing around for another pass.

  He had to surface. He couldn’t hold his breath any longer. If he came up at the wrong place and time, the boat could plow him under, injure him, even kill him.

  Maybe they would move on. They had what—who—they wanted.

  Kristen captive in their boat.

  With Kristen captured, they wouldn’t let Nick, a deputy U.S. marshal, go. Killing him was their intent.

  He would drown and do the job for them if he didn’t surface. Attempting to swim toward the bank, more out of the boat’s trajectory, he pushed himself to the surface and gasped for air. Before he had inhaled a lungful of oxygen, the driver of the boat saw him and drove straight at him. For a heartbeat, Nick looked into the man’s eyes, saw the murderous intent. Then Nick dove. The water rocked him with the boat passing too close overhead.

  Passing over and stopping, motor whining to a painful pitch before dying altogether.

  Nick surfaced again, treading water as he saw the boat trapped in a tangle of brush along the bank. Intent on running Nick down, the driver had plowed the prow right into the soft bank.

  Under other circumstances, Nick would have laughed. But he was cold and wet, his clothes beginning to feel like leaden weights on his arms and legs, and Kristen was in that boat.

  All he could think to do was attempt to tip it over. Not that difficult. The boat was barely large enough for the two men and Kristen. In the ensuing scramble to not drown after he capsized the boat, he could grab Kristen and get them away.

  He swam toward the craft and launched himself out of the water high enough to grasp the gunwale. The boat tilted, but not enough. The prow in the bank kept it from tipping.