by Karen Rose
“I’m Detective Harris, ma’am,” he said, showing her his badge. “What time was the black Expedition here?”
“It was daylight,” she said. “Maybe quarter to eight? He didn’t stay long.”
Harris wrote it down. “You’re sure?”
“Yes. My husband had just left for work. Chris, your guest from up north went with him,” she said and looked over at Harris. “She got in the backseat, not the front.”
Christopher steeled his body to stay upright even though every drop of blood had drained from his head. “He’s got her, Harris. Just like Tanya.”
“But now we know who we’re looking for, Professor,” Harris said. “I’ll put out an APB for Dr. Townsend. I want you to focus on finding your daughter.”
Chapter 9
Wednesday, March 3, 11:00 a.m.
The gravel crunched under her shoes as Jerry dragged her. She was blindfolded and her hands were bound in front of her. They had driven for hours, she thought, but she didn’t know how far she was from Christopher’s house. Jerry had made a lot of turns before arriving here. Wherever “here” was. She was dragged up three steps, then pushed through a door into a stuffy room. Pushed into a chair, her feet bound to the chair legs. Someone else was here. They were smoking, but didn’t speak. Finally Jerry pulled the blindfold from her eyes and Emma looked around.
It was a small trailer, dingy and hot. A large man with a nasty sneer was looking her over, head to toe. A shiver of fear ran down Emma’s back, which seemed to amuse the man. “So you’re the famous Dr. Townsend,” he said sarcastically, taking a drag on his cigarette. “What took you so long?” he snapped to Jerry. “We’re only a half hour from Walker’s house. You drive around for hours, losing your nerve?”
Jerry said nothing and Emma felt a spurt of hope. Jerry was weakening. Maybe she could use that to her advantage.
“Why am I here?” she demanded with far more bravado than she possessed.
“Because your boyfriend can’t keep out of matters that don’t concern him. I know you were at the Costaine construction site yesterday, gathering samples.”
Emma did her best to appear confused. “We were at so many sites yesterday. I’m not sure which one you mean.” Then she cried out when the man struck her, harder than Jerry had.
“Maybe you’ll remember now. It’s a pretty little place. Two big condos. One enormous medical center.” Her eyes must have flickered, because he grinned. “Good. Now we’re speaking the same language. Did you analyze the samples you took?”
She said nothing. His lip curled. Another blow knocked her to the floor, chair and all. “Don’t even consider lying to me,” he said quietly. With one hand he jerked the chair back up and Emma felt a sob build in her chest, but ruthlessly battled it back.
“What does it matter what I say?” Emma said, her breath hitching. “If I say we found nothing, you won’t believe me. If I say we found something, which we didn’t, you’ll kill me.”
He shrugged. “I’m going to kill you anyway. I just want to know how much damage control I have to do. What did you find?”
She looked into his stubbled face, at his hard jaw, his crooked nose, and knew he spoke the truth. She was seeing his face. There was no way he’d let her live. Panic welled, but like the sob, she battled it back. At this point, all that mattered was protecting Christopher. “We found nothing. We were only able to test about half the samples. We hadn’t gotten to the samples from that construction site yet.” She narrowed her eyes. “You can believe me or not. It’s the truth.” Carefully she turned her head toward the door where Jerry stood, pale, his pipe clenched between his teeth. Ignoring the pain shooting down her spine, she shook her head. “How could you?” she asked. “Christopher is your best friend. How could you betray him this way?”
“Money is a powerful motivator,” the man with the crooked nose said, humor in his voice. “Professor Grayson here has a bit of a gambling problem. We offered to help him out of his dilemma in exchange for a small favor.”
“You betrayed your best friend,” Emma said quietly. “You killed Darrell and Tanya. Will you kill Christopher too?”
Jerry flinched. “I brought her to you, Andrews. I fulfilled my end. Let me go.”
Andrews stood abruptly when the door opened. Filling the opening was yet another thug, this one older and balding. But it wasn’t his receding hairline that had both Emma and Jerry gasping. It was the young girl whose shoulders he held in an iron grip.
Megan.
“She was in Grayson’s SUV,” the man said, his voice raspy. “She was trying to sneak away.”
“Megan,” Jerry whispered. All the color had drained from his face. “What—”
White-faced, Megan said nothing, just stood looking at all three men. And Emma. Andrews made the floor creak as he crossed to her. Ran a fingertip down her cheek. “Pretty,” he murmured mockingly.
Emma lunged to her feet, bringing the chair with her. “Don’t you touch that child,” she snarled and Andrews just laughed.
“My taste doesn’t run this young,” he said, his voice back to amused contempt. “But I know lots of people who would pay good money for a girl this pretty.”
As if the words were a whip to her back, Megan began to frantically struggle.
The man holding Megan shoved her at Andrews and with excessive force pushed Emma back down, her teeth jarring in her head as her chair made contact with the floor. Horrified, she could only sit there and stare at Andrews. “You monster.”
Jerry put his pipe in his pocket, his hands shaking. “Surely you can’t be serious,” he said, trying for calm reason even though his voice was shaking nearly as badly as his hands. “She’s just a child.”
Andrews shrugged. “Then kill her. But she’s not leaving here free.” He flicked a finger at Jerry’s shirt, bloody where Emma had spat on him. “Kill her or I’ll sell her. I like the second one because it makes me a profit. But I’ll let you choose. I have to go deal with Walker. With his daughter gone, we’ll have no leverage, so he’ll have to go, too. He’s got an old car, doesn’t he? Too bad about old cars. Their brakes go bad.”
“No,” Megan whispered harshly. “Uncle Jerry, please. Don’t let them hurt my dad.”
“You don’t think anyone’s going to notice all these missing people?” Emma asked derisively. “You don’t think anyone will figure all this out?”
“Probably,” Andrews said smoothly. “But none of it can be linked to me. Grayson will go down for all the murders.”
Jerry made a choking noise. “But—”
Andrews just smiled. “Never forget, Professor, when you gamble, the house always has the advantage. Always.” He grabbed Megan by her arm and forced her into a chair. “Sit down, Princess. Your uncle’s about to decide your future. Wait outside the door,” he said to the balding man. “Don’t let him leave unless Townsend is dead. Then bring the girl to me. If he doesn’t come out in twenty minutes, go in and kill him and Townsend yourself.” He smiled. “Then bring the girl to me. I have some calls to make.”
The door shut, leaving Emma, Megan and Jerry alone.
“You can’t kill her,” Emma said, her voice husky with fear. “You can’t. You are her godfather. You vowed to care for her. You promised, Jerry. Kill me if you must, but you have to get her out of here alive.”
Wide-eyed, Megan sat and cried quietly.
“You don’t understand,” Jerry said pathetically. “These men are powerful.”
“For God’s sake, Jerry,” Emma exploded. “Be a man, dammit. You’ve got a gun. Use it on them.”
“You think it’s just the two of them?” Jerry laughed hysterically. “There are ten men out there. Even if I kill Hudson out there on the stairs, two more will take his place. I’ll be dead. I can’t run. They can get to me anywhere. They got to you in your own house, a thousand miles away. They’ll kill me.
”
“You are an adult, Jerry,” Emma said levelly. “You made choices that brought you here. Megan did not. You have to find a way to get her out of here and keep Christopher safe. You owe that to them, Jerry. Whatever the cost to yourself.”
“What about you?” Megan whispered, her voice small.
Emma turned to her, saw the girl wince at the bruises on her face. “I don’t want to die, Megan. I’ll fight to live. But you’re a child. Adults . . .” She glared at Jerry. “Good, responsible adults care for children. You are important to your father. He’s important to me. I don’t want to see either of you hurt.”
Jerry pulled his pipe from his pocket and tried to light it, but his shaking hands extinguished every match he lit. Finally he sank into the chair at Andrews’s desk and covered his face with his hands. “I don’t know what to do,” he murmured.
“Yes, you do,” Emma said, injecting into her voice all the authority she could muster. “Untie me, Jerry.”
“Please, Uncle Jerry,” Megan sobbed. “Please don’t do this.”
He dropped his hands and looked at her sadly. “I’m sorry, Megan. I’m so sorry.”
* * *
Wednesday, March 3, 11:00 a.m.
Harris slipped his cell phone into his pocket. “Do you know a soil testing firm by the name of Seymour and Elliot?” he asked Christopher, who sat in a chair at the police station, numbly watching the activity. All available personnel had been put against finding Jerry. And Emma.
Jerry. There was still a piece of Christopher’s heart that refused to believe his friend could be involved. I’ve known him for fifteen years. Since before Megan was born. Since before he’d married Mona. The Jerry Grayson he knew could never do something so vile. But pictures didn’t lie. While the surveillance cameras in the chemistry lab had been disabled, the cameras in Jerry’s condo complex had not. There was proof in black and white that Tanya had visited Jerry the afternoon she disappeared. Right after two big men wearing baseball caps had visited Jerry. Harris was circulating photos of the two big men, but held little hope as their caps hid their faces.
“Professor?” Harris snapped his fingers under Christopher’s nose. “Seymour and Elliot. Have you heard of them?”
Christopher shook his head to clear his thoughts. “No. Should I?”
“According to the state records department, they’re the testing company that gave that contaminated land the thumbs up. We’ll check their records, find out who knew what and when. A land management company in Atlanta holds the title, so they’re suspects as well. A company named Costaine is managing the construction at the site you took the samples from. Owner’s name is Andrews. We’ll audit his records, too.”
Christopher blanched. “Now?”
Harris’s mouth quirked in sympathy. “Not now. Maybe tomorrow or the next day.”
“When Megan’s home,” he murmured. “And Emma.” His cell phone shrilled and with unsteady hands he answered it. “Hello?”
“Chris, this is Stella.” Debbie’s mom. His heart started to race.
“Does Debbie know where Megan is?”
“Not directly, no. I just got a call from Debbie at school. She promised Megan not to talk, but her conscience has been bothering her all morning. She lied to both of us, Chris. Apparently Megan was hiding under her bed all along. When you’d left, Megan told Debbie she was going home. That she’d watch your house from across the street to know when Emma had gone home. She left here a little after seven fifteen. I don’t know where she is now. I’m so sorry, Chris.”
“I’ve got to go,” he murmured, the implications already flashing through his mind.
“Chris, call me when you find her, please.”
“I will.” Slowly he hung up and looked at Harris. “Megan left her friend’s house after seven this morning, headed for home. She would have gotten there right about the time Jerry did.” Numbly, he rubbed his face, barely feeling the stubble scratching his palms. “Last night she said she wanted to stay with Jerry. If she’s with him . . .”
Harris sighed grimly. “Shit.” He stood up and shouted for the attention of every other detective in the room. “Walker’s thirteen-year-old daughter may be with Emma Townsend and Jerry Grayson,” he said. A ripple of discussion moved through the room. “How close are we to tracking his vehicle through GPS?”
Christopher’s head jerked up. “GPS? You know where Jerry’s SUV is?”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Harris said gently. “Even if we find the SUV, it doesn’t mean your daughter and Dr. Townsend will be inside. Phillips, have you found it?”
Detective Phillips was on the phone and held up one finger. “Almost. Another minute.” After another minute that felt like a day, Phillips aimed an encouraging smile Christopher’s direction. “Here it is, Harris. They’re at 1298 Milliken Road, east of town. I’ll call all available cars to that location.”
“Sirens off,” Harris ordered. “Silent approach, everybody wears a vest. Walker, you stay here.”
Christopher waited until most of the detectives had cleared the room. Then calmly rose and exited the building. Found his car and turned the ignition. And followed them.
His daughter was in danger. As was his . . . what was Emma? he wondered as he pointed his car in the direction of Milliken Road. He was feeling strangely calm, surreally so. So what was Emma? His lover? After last night, yes. His girlfriend? So high school. How appropriate. The woman he’d loved the better part of his life? Perhaps.
All Christopher knew for certain was that he’d have nothing left to live for without Megan. Without Emma he’d survive, but at what cost? He prayed that would be a question forever left unasked and unanswered.
Please. I swear I’ll ask for nothing else for the rest of my life. Let them be alive. Please.
* * *
“Don’t do this, Jerry,” Emma said, her voice cracking. He’d risen from the table and, hand shaking, held his semiautomatic pistol to her head. If she was dead, there would be no one to protect Megan for Christopher. “Please don’t do this.”
“Uncle Jerry.” Megan was sobbing, begging pitifully, “You’re not a bad man deep down. Don’t kill us. Think of Dad.” She drew a ragged breath. “Think of my mother.”
Emma strained her peripheral vision, staring at Jerry’s face. Guilt was stamped there, indelibly. But more than that, Emma saw a stunned paralysis in the man’s eyes. She’d seen this before in patients she’d counseled. Faced with an untenable choice, he’d frozen. He was incapable of making a decision either way, but in less than twelve minutes it wouldn’t matter. The balding man named Hudson would barrel through that door and kill her and Jerry. And take Megan. Over my dead body. Bad metaphor.
Think of my mother, Megan had said, and that had triggered Jerry’s response. She looked at Megan, the girl’s dark eyes weary and ancient as tears poured down her face. What else did this child know? What strength did she possess, both physical and emotional? It was time to find out. “Megan, I see Jerry’s penknife on the desk over there next to his pipe. I want you to get it and bring it to me.” She gave a nod of encouragement. “It’s all right. Just do it.”
Sniffling, Megan got the knife and held it uncertainly.
“Cut my ropes, Megan.”
Her eyes narrowing in trepidation, Megan obeyed, sawing the rope until Emma’s hands and feet were free. As she’d expected, Jerry never moved. Just stood in his guilty paralysis, holding his gun. Emma slowly rose to her feet and gently pried the gun from Jerry’s fingers. He never put up the minutest of struggles.
She put her finger over her lips, signaling Megan to silence. “We need a diversion,” she breathed. “For now I want you to continue begging for Jerry not to kill you.”
But Megan just looked at her wide-eyed and silent. They now had ten minutes to plan before Hudson came in. Fewer if he got impatient or suspicious at the silence.
“Dammit, Jerry,” Emma said loudly. “She’s your godchild. She trusts you.” Megan stared at her as if she were poleaxed. “You changed her diapers for God’s sake. You can’t let Andrews have her. You can’t.” With that she moved to Andrews’s desk. There was no phone.
Phone. Jerry had taken her cell and put it in his pocket. Emma plunged her hands in his jacket pockets as he looked at her with all the life of a mannequin. Triumphantly she found her phone and dialed 911 and told the operator everything she knew. Then she handed the phone to Megan. “Just hold it. Hopefully they can trace us here.”
Returning to Andrews’s desk, she cautiously opened a drawer to find a pair of mud-covered shoes and a set of rolled-up blueprints. Another drawer yielded pencils and pens. Damn, she thought. It was a construction site. Was it too much to hope for a few sticks of dynamite? But realistically, those would be locked up, she knew. There had to be something here she could use. Something. She slid open the final drawer, exposing a nearly full bottle of vodka.
Very good vodka. Absolut. One hundred proof. And very flammable. She remembered the gravel that crunched under her feet. Given the proper propulsion, the gravel would blow like leaves under a leaf blower, and when it came down, it would rain like hail. Hopefully it would be enough to distract the ten men Jerry said were outside with Hudson and Andrews. Emma grabbed Jerry’s shirt and sliced a long thin strip with the knife. Even then he said nothing. It was almost as if he was beyond consciousness.
Carefully Emma doused the strip of cotton with the vodka, then just as carefully threaded the strip into the mouth of the bottle. Jerry’s matches were still on the desk and she grabbed them, her tool set complete. She gripped Jerry’s gun in her right hand, her makeshift Molotov cocktail in her left.
Megan was watching her, a light of cognition in her eyes. “You’re going to light it and throw it,” she breathed.
“And hopefully buy us some time. Your job is to hold on to that cell phone. Don’t let it get hung up. And if it does, redial. Understand?”