by E B Corbin
"Maybe they don't want the money for violence and bloodshed," Roxanne offered. "Maybe they want to use it to gain influence through some other method."
"But they're killing and kidnapping people in the United States?" Callahan gave her a skeptical look. "It's not the best way to start a nonviolent campaign. Besides, that's not how they operate."
Her gut tightened at the words killing and kidnapping as she thought of Roxy. "Are there any other theories for the use of the money?"
"There's plenty of them. The problem is they're all shots in the dark until we learn more."
"What am I supposed to do? They have Roxy and I only have until Monday."
"I'll get some eyes on the boat and be ready to move if we see any sign of Roxy."
"Somehow, I don't think it will be that easy."
"It's worth a shot." He bit his lower lip. "Docking a boat in one of the nicest marinas in Erie isn't too smart. It leaves few options for a getaway. The Coast Guard could be all over that lake in no time, so I doubt anything will come of our surveillance."
"Then why do it?" Roxanne couldn't hide her exasperation.
"It's better than sitting around with our thumbs up our asses." Callahan raised both hands and let them drop. "Besides, we might have lost three of them but we're still watching the other two. They're somewhere on the turnpike now, heading west. I think it's safe to say we need more boots on the ground up here."
"Okay, but what about me?" She felt as if things could quickly get out of control.
"You're not going anywhere," he said.
"They could be watching me. If I don't go to Erie, they could kill Roxy." She wouldn't let Callahan take over completely. She needed his help but the letter was addressed to her, the instructions were hers to follow.
"We'll figure that out when the time comes. I don't like putting you in more danger." Callahan paced the small room. "If it comes to it, we'll go together."
"They told me to come alone." She pointed to the letter.
"They always say that." Callahan stopped pacing and muttered, "Doesn't mean you have to do what they say."
"I don't know." Roxanne shook her head. "I don't want to go or I wouldn't have told you about the note. But if it can help Roxy, I have to go... and go alone."
"We've still got some time." He stared at a painting of the Cliffs of Moher on the wall across from the desk. "If they're watching you, unless you make some attempt to locate the cash, they'll know you don't have it."
"How am I supposed to do that? I don't even know where to begin!"
"One place is with Tom O'Malley. His cabin was used as a hiding place for the bags we found. Maybe he knows something about the rest of it."
"Do you think he'll tell us? I mean, wouldn't that be incriminating himself?"
"Only one way to find out," Callahan said. "But I think Gramps needs to go with us."
Roxanne's thoughts were too jumbled to watch for a tail as she drove into town. She pulled into the garage and decided to take Puka for a walk, giving Callahan enough time to pick up Chester and make it to Tom O'Malley's place. As the golden retriever nosed the ground and tugged at the leash, Roxanne kept a close watch for parked cars or vehicles moving too slowly down the street. She saw nothing suspicious and began to wonder if she was becoming paranoid about the whole thing. But she hadn't imagined the note demanding five million dollars. It was tucked away in her messenger bag back at the house.
By the time Puka sniffed every tree trunk and finally found a spot to do his business, she was ready to return the dog to the safety of Roxy's house and head to the O'Malley's. She picked up Puka's droppings in a plastic bag and threw it into a trash can on the corner before turning to go back the way they had come.
When they started up the path to the front door, Puka almost pulled Roxy's arm off, anxious to get into the warm house. As soon as they were inside, Roxanne unsnapped his leash and the dog bolted for his water bowl in the kitchen.
While Puka lapped up water, Roxanne backed out the door, closing and locking it behind her. Since she was already bundled against the cold, she decided to walk to the O'Malley's. Their house stood on a corner, two blocks away. It seemed stupid to drive such a short distance, especially on the well-lit street.
Her boots clicked on the empty sidewalk. A dog's muted bark resonated from behind a picture window as she passed the Henderson's. When she crossed the first intersection and the dog continued barking, she sensed she might not be alone on the deserted street. Forcing herself not to turn around, she sped up. Soft footsteps echoed behind her; they picked up their pace to match hers. She slowed, pretending to admire a holly bush in a neighbor's yard, while shifting her eyes to glance behind. The sidewalk appeared empty but nevertheless her muscles tightened and her nervous system tensed. She couldn't shed her jitters.
With nothing but her keys in her jacket pocket, if this was a robbery attempt, the perpetrator would soon find himself out of luck.
In her peripheral vision, she noticed a man meandering in her direction from the dark side street. A thick scarf obscured his face; no doubt a protection against the chill. Nothing pointed to the person being dangerous but she picked up her stride all the same.
The man stopped at the corner blocking her path. She skidded to a stop, ready to defend herself or scream bloody murder, if necessary.
A rough hand clamped over her mouth and she felt herself being jerked backwards.
- 6 -
Roxanne managed to break away from her assailant for a split second. She kicked wildly at the attacker's shins, using the defense moves she'd learned in Tai Chi and kickboxing. At this close range, though, none of them worked. The man simply lifted her off the ground, trapping her arms against his chest as he carried her down the dark street.
A gloved hand again covered her mouth, making it impossible for her to cry out. Infuriated, she swung her boots in the air, hoping to make contact with his leg, his knee, anything.
The second man crossed to their side of the street. After opening a car door, he attempted to force Roxanne inside. She grabbed onto the edge of the auto's roof to gain some traction as her body tensed. In spite of her resistance, the combined strength of the two men overpowered her.
As they threw her in the back seat, she kicked out at them. The second man grabbed her feet and the first one slammed a fist into her face before she could scream. She collapsed in the rear seat, fighting to remain conscious. The last thing she heard was the door slamming.
Sometime later, she found herself lying on a narrow cot in an empty one-room log cabin. How long had she been here? Panic began as a small seed in her dulled senses and quickly mushroomed. The smell of pine mixed with the scent of smoke from wood smoldering in the fireplace on the far wall soothed her. The darkness outside the window in her line of vision indicated it was still night.
After a few deep breaths, she became calm--maybe because the place appeared clean and organized, not at all like the filthy cabin she was trapped in when she shot Luke. It also helped that she was alone in the cabin and did not sense any imminent danger. For whatever reason, the frenzied thoughts pinging through her head slowed to a trickle she could control.
Callahan was expecting her at Tom O'Malley's and would call when she didn't show. Wait! She hadn't taken her cell with her when she walked the dog or rushed back out. But then there was little point in having her phone. Even if there was a signal here, a very big "if" in such a secluded place, how could she answer it?
Duct tape covered her mouth and held her hands behind her back. She bent her legs, bound with the same tape, as she tried to inch her way to a sitting position by planting her feet against the scratchy mattress and pushing up. But the process was slow and sharp pains radiated along her jawline every time she made the slightest move. She collapsed back onto the cot, her heart pounding from her efforts.
The light from the fire cast shifting shadows across the cabin, revealing a small kitchen in one corner and a table with four sturdy chairs i
n the center of the room. When Roxanne tried to loosen the tape around her hands, she only succeeded in making the sticky bonds tighter.
After the pain in her jaw subsided, she rubbed her face against the mattress in a futile attempt to find the edge of the tape to peel it from her mouth. The ache in her jaw became more pronounced with each tug. Frustrated, she stared at the ceiling certain there must be a way to get loose if only she could figure it out.
A moment later, she heard a car pull up and two doors slam--so much for her great escape. She closed her eyes as the door to the cabin swung open and slammed shut. Before long she felt a presence hovering over her on the bed.
"Come on, missy. I know you're awake," said a voice with a slight Irish lilt. "We brought you some food." The aroma of fast food filled the room, overpowering the smell of pine and burning wood. A paper bag crackled and her empty stomach tempted her to stop playing possum.
"Ahhh, just let her be," came a second, gruff voice. "If she doesn't eat it, I'll take her share. Don't know who she thinks she's fooling."
Roxanne slatted her eyes open and frowned at the two men watching her. Both looked to be in their sixties, older than she'd expected. One had a slim build with dark hair interspersed with gray. His thin face ended in a goatee reminding her of the men in old Dutch paintings. He wore a black wool coat over a white Aran cable knit sweater. The other wore a scowl on his round, pock-marked face. A thin scar ran across his left cheek from his cauliflower ear to his bulbous nose. The scraggly ends of his red hair faded to a light orange, becoming white at his temples. His navy fisherman's sweater covered a white t-shirt and fell over baggy jeans.
"So you decided to join us." The one with the goatee smiled while inspecting her bindings.
Raised eyebrows and rolled eyes got her point across. She couldn't very well speak with the tape over her mouth.
"If we take the tape off, will you be quiet?" The man with the goatee indicated his friend who stood stiffly by the table. "My friend here doesn't handle screamers well and I don't want you to get hurt again."
Roxanne squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath before she nodded. No point in screaming. She assumed they were in the woods somewhere and doubted they were within close proximity to any help. She bit back a moan when the man eased the tape from her mouth. He gently rubbed off the sticky residue from her cheek and held her chin between long, graceful fingers to inspect her jaw. "There's a bruise but I've seen worse."
"It hurts like hell," Roxanne spit out the words through clenched teeth.
"Sorry about that." He glanced sidelong at his friend and dipped his head to whisper, "Sometimes Niall gets a little carried away."
"She was getting ready to scream!" the other man barked. "Left me no choice. I ain't takin' chances."
Roxanne threw him a disgusted look. "Who are you? What the hell do you want?"
"Excuse my manners," the man with the goatee said. "I'm Conor Walsh and that eejit over there is Niall Murphy. We came to rescue Roxy."
"Rescue Roxy? What makes you think she needs rescuing?" Roxanne stopped with a grimace when her jaw twinged with pain.
"Roxy called me two weeks ago and asked for our help. After she told me she was shot, we decided it would be a good idea to hop over here. We followed three tools from Ireland to this area. One of them is Niall's brother, who's not the quickest horse in the barn. They're here to track down hidden funds and have no qualms about causing trouble to get it. Since Roxy is the only person connected to the IRA around here, they figure she must know something about it. That's why she needs our help." Conor watched Roxanne's reaction as he spread his hands. "Maybe rescuing her was a bad choice of words."
Callahan had just told her that he was following two men from Ireland, but had lost track of the other three. Conor's story fit right in. She felt some of the tension leave her shoulders as she mulled it over.
"Why would she contact you?" She couldn't comprehend why Roxy would reach out to her Irish friends when Chester and Callahan were right in her own backyard.
"We're old mates. I think we, or rather I, was the only one Roxy trusted, given the circumstances. She told me about the IRA money and I decided to snoop around a bit."
She took a moment to let this news sink in before blurting something she'd regret. Roxy may have trusted these two, but she only had their word on that. They could just as easily be the ones demanding five million dollars. "So why grab me?"
"We were afraid you were in danger." Conor spoke as if he expected her to thank them.
"Really? You threw me in a car and knocked me unconscious to save me from danger?" Her voice rose on the last word. No way would she be grateful for being snatched off the street. She shook her head, sending a stabbing pain through her jaw.
"I know it seems...a bit extreme, but you were the only one we could find who might know something." Conor made no apology for their behavior.
"Why do you think I know anything that's going on with Roxy?"
"Because you're her daughter. We thought she might confide in you."
Roxanne's eyes widened at his remark. "You know she's my mother? I didn't find out until just recently when I learned about her death--only that wasn't quite true."
"Maybe I should've explained that I was the bass player in the band with your father, Aiden." Conor paused gazing above Roxanne's head before he dropped his eyes to her and continued. "I was in the pub the night the bomb went off. I escaped with only a broken arm, but I watched Aiden die right in front of me. We were innocents as far as the damn rebellion was concerned! It left me mad as hell and thinking I should do something about the craziness that was going on all around us in Northern Ireland. I didn't know Roxy felt the same. She left for Dublin with her sister and we lost touch for about a year. When she returned to Belfast and told me what she planned to do, I couldn't let her do it alone. We became sort of partners, infiltrating the IRA posing as a couple."
Roxanne recalled Chester's remarks about Roxy's work in Ireland. He mentioned that she had the help of one or two trusted confidants. All the same, she raised her eyebrows. "Why should I believe you?"
Conor's shoulders rose, then fell. "No reason. I'm telling you this so you'll understand why we grabbed you today. Roxy told me about you when she returned to Belfast. Said that sending you back to the United States with her sister was the hardest thing she'd ever done in her life but she knew it was the best thing to do."
Roxanne tried to shift into a more comfortable position on the cot and looked down at her bound feet while trying to decide whether to believe him or not. Even though his story aligned with Chester's, she wasn't convinced. This guy could be playing her, trying to get the money by acting like a friend. She looked from Conor to Niall, who was sitting at the table stuffing a burger into his mouth. "Sorry, I don't trust you and besides, how can I help when I'm tied up like this?"
Conor turned to Niall. "I think we can cut her loose."
Niall shrugged, his mouth full of burger and bun. "Your choice. I don't trust her either."
Conor ignored his friend and pulled a Swiss Army knife from his pocket. He cut the tape at her ankles first, carefully unwinding all the remnants from her jeans. When he was satisfied, he motioned for Roxanne to twist around so he could reach her hands, keeping a watchful eye for any sudden moves.
Roxanne cooperated with him, allowing him to reach her hands. She dismissed any thought of trying to overpower him with Niall sitting a few feet away. Better to pretend to acquiesce for now and see if she could learn any more.
As soon as the knife cut through the tape around her wrists, she jerked her hands around front, rubbing the circulation back until the tingling went away. She plucked at the remaining slivers of tape ignoring Conor. "I'd like to stand up, if you don't mind."
Conor warily took a step back still holding the opened knife.
Roxanne reached for the small table as she stood on legs of Jell-o. She shook out each leg one at a time, then glanced around the cabin before mee
ting Conor's eyes. "Thank you." Even as the words came out, she puzzled over why she had said them.
Slowly putting weight on her legs, she staggered around the room. The prickling in her limbs faded with each step. Since the cabin offered no alternative seating, she had no choice but to join Niall at the table.
"Sit and eat," Niall ordered from his position at the far side. He indicated a McDonald's bag in the center of the table.
Roxanne's stomach growled. It wasn't her first choice, but she had nothing against Mickey D's french fries and she could probably swallow a burger, pink slime or not.
Conor took a seat closest to the door and pulled the bag open, doling out burgers and large orders of fries for him and Roxanne. "It was the only place we found open," he said, trying to break the impasse between Niall and their captive. "Hope you're not a vegan."
Without a word, Roxanne reached for a tall paper cup of Coke and drank deeply. The bubbles from the soft drink tickled as she swallowed relieving the dryness in her throat. She finished half the glass before she grabbed a few fries and picked up her burger. "Roxy doesn't confide in me. So how do you expect me to help?"
Conor swallowed part of his burger before he spoke. "We don't necessarily expect help from you. We just want to be sure you're safe."
"You'll excuse me if I have a hard time believing that," she scoffed.
"Look, little lady, we don't want nothing from you," Niall growled. "Be better for us if we'd just let you get picked up by my brother and his friends. But noooo, Conor here had to play Sir Galahad and protect you. To me, you're nothing but trouble."
"Your brother?" Roxanne repeated slowly. She didn't understand how siblings could be on opposite sides. Maybe because she was an only child, she had nothing to compare.
"Don't think because we have the same ma that I'll cut him any slack. The lousy lug. The last time we talked was over forty years ago at my da's funeral. He blamed the Brits for making life so tough that da worked himself to death on the farm. Truth is, da had a bad ticker. He'd a died no matter. Couldn't tell that to Tommy, the gobshite. He was always right. An' he's an eejit, as well." Niall slammed his fist on the table.