by Lyn Stone
Hands on her shoulders forced her to sit. The chair was straight-backed with carved spindles, its seat contoured, not uncomfortable, though she couldn’t settle back in it because her hands were taped behind her.
“Where am I?” she asked, surprising herself at how utterly calm she sounded.
A man chuckled softly. “You don’t want to know that. If you did, I would have to kill you, and I would regret doing that.”
“You didn’t mind having Detective Winton shot,” she accused.
“No, not at all,” he agreed. The accent was different from Mitch’s in a subtly pretentious way, the voice itself higher in pitch. “However, dispensing with you would be such a waste.”
“Because I’m a woman?” she asked, trying to inject a note of flirtation into her voice, “And you’re such a Southern gentleman?” This had to be Rake Somers, she thought. As far as she knew, no one else had a vested interest in the disk. The other men listed on it were dead.
“No. Because you are delightfully droll. And resourceful. You’ve been having your wicked little way with the good detective and keeping yourself out of jail. I applaud your ingenuity, Ms. Andrews. It would have been so unfortunate for me if that disk had fallen into the hands of the police.”
“What disk?” she asked.
He ignored her as if she hadn’t spoken.
“Therefore, I’ve decided to cut you a little slack and let you live if you cooperate. That’s the purpose of the blindfold. So you won’t be able to identify me. See, you’re perfectly safe if you comply with my needs.”
Robin didn’t believe him for a second. The blindfold was to enhance her terror, not prevent her knowing who he was or where they had brought her. Or was he trying to give her a false sense of security? But she could be wrong on both counts. Maybe he wouldn’t kill her.
He seemed to think she was crooked, so she might as well use that. God, she would use anything at this point. “Thank you so much. I admire a man with forethought. Do you need a partner?”
He laughed outright. “No, but I appreciate the offer. What you must do now is tell me where the disk is located.”
“There is no disk,” she said with a shrug. “I destroyed it rather than let the police have it. James told me to get rid of it if there were the slightest risk of anyone other than himself obtaining it.”
Her head reeled with the unexpected blow. Her cheekbone was numb, and she thought she heard bells. She certainly saw stars. His fist had dislodged the blindfold just enough that she could see her captor if she lolled her head back a little. He seemed not to notice.
He was a heavyset man, close to sixty, with silvery hair and dark, narrow eyes. Distinguished. Impeccably dressed and carefully massaging the well-manicured hand he had used to strike her.
“Now, then,” he crooned. “Let’s have no more of those lies. Where is it?”
Robin took a deep breath, hoping to clear her head a bit more before she spoke. She needed to convince him that she was no threat if he let her go. Finally she replied, “I told you I destroyed it. But I know what was on it. For half of my husband’s cut, I’ll give you the numbers I memorized.”
“That’s precisely what got him dead, my dear. He was well paid before he set up those accounts. That was his job. Greed is a nasty vice, isn’t it? You don’t want to be guilty of that.”
“I’m not greedy, but I want a little compensation. James left me with nothing.” Robin knew she couldn’t simply cave in here. Somers would see it as the ultimate weakness. He seemed one of those men who fed on that. “Can’t we deal?”
“Repeat what was on the disk for me, and I will set you free. That seems fair to me.”
Now Robin laughed. “Right. You’ll simply let me walk out of here and risk me going straight to the cops? Get real. I want some insurance.”
“Not needed. You had better hope the police don’t know about the accounts. And they don’t unless you told them. They’ll believe it was you who shot your husband and later your lover, Detective Winton. The only sensible thing you can do now is run. I’ll provide your transportation to the Caymans. Your husband’s account there should take care of your expenses. But you won’t access it until after I have transferred the others. You will give me the numbers. Now. And then you will tell me what else Andrews put on that disk, the information he threatened me with. Word for word.”
“It was in code of some kind. I never knew what was on it. I just destroyed the thing the way he told me to. Burned it and buried what was left in Taylor’s backyard.”
All the while she was talking, her mind worked furiously. James had an account? His name hadn’t been on that list. Though the reports of the other men’s deaths indicated they were accidental, she would bet her last nickel Somers had arranged their deaths, then approached James for all of the account numbers. He would have been the only source. James had put something incriminating on disk to ensure that Somers didn’t kill him, too. And the account numbers and names would have provided verification to the authorities if he ever had to turn it over.
“Well? I’m waiting,” Somers said calmly.
“All right,” Robin said. “Get me a paper and pencil. I’ll write the numbers down for you. I’m sorry I can’t help you with the other file he put on the disk. I got past the password encryption, but the entire thing was in code.”
“What sort of code?”
“I don’t know. Symbols of some kind. I didn’t spend much time on it since it was nothing to me.” She smiled. “But I figured the accounts might be important.”
She hurried to add, “And you’re right about my running. As long as I have funds, I’m willing to disappear.”
He would kill her. He might let her live until they reached the Caymans just to avoid her body being discovered here. He probably would want to keep her alive until he saw whether the numbers she gave him were legitimate. If James did have an account there, this man would want that, too.
“You’re thinking you haven’t a chance of surviving, aren’t you?” he asked as if he could read her mind.
“It did occur to me,” she admitted wryly.
“Well, you’re wrong, you know. I really don’t want to kill you. If I intended to, you wouldn’t need that blindfold. As long as you can’t name me, you will be fine. There were five names on that list that I know of. I could be any one of those men. Or simply someone who knows them and was in their confidence. You needn’t be afraid. Just give me the numbers. Recite them, and I’ll write them down.”
“And what happens then?” she asked.
She heard him sigh. “Then you will be given proper clothes and shoes for traveling and allowed to dress. Later tonight we will board a plane and go to retrieve the money. Fair warning, those numbers had better be correct. For your sake I hope your memory is infallible. I will also need the name of the bank, of course.”
The name of the bank? Oh, God. Robin almost panicked. There must be dozens, maybe hundreds of banks on Grand Cayman. But she had to run this bluff. Buy time.
“My memory’s fine,” she assured him. “Could I have a drink of water?”
“Certainly.” Fingers snapped and in a few minutes, Robin felt the edge of a glass touch her lips. She drank, her throat almost closing with terror as her thoughts scrambled for a name.
What bank? Had James given her any clue at all? He had mentioned going to the islands, George Town in particular. Had he been trying to give her clues she might need if anything happened to him? Why hadn’t he simply told her outright?
Because he might not have trusted her quite that far, Robin thought.
But the bank’s name was what was critical now. Had he said anything else unusual? A specific name of something that could be the bank?
Damn! She couldn’t think! She was as good as dead if she couldn’t come up with something. Robin drank another swallow of water as if she were desperate for it. It took so little time to finish that glassful. And her mind was still a blank. “Could I have more?”
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br /> “I think not,” the voice now snapped with impatience. “You’re not by any chance stalling, are you, my dear?”
“You want those numbers or not? Give me another glass of water!” she demanded. Feigning anger was a lot easier than she would have thought.
The resulting blow was hard enough to knock her out. It didn’t, but Robin let her head loll bonelessly to one side as if it had. She could feel the blood from her nose trail slowly down the side of her face.
How long could she fake unconsciousness?
Mitch had managed to stagger upright long enough to reach Kick’s truck. He held his backup weapon in his left hand and was braced against the steering wheel, trying to get his head clear enough to drive when a car pulled up beside him. He watched as Kick parked, got out and ran toward him.
His partner opened the door and the dome light came on. “Good God, man, what happened to you?”
“Wh-what are you doing here?” Mitch shook his head. “Never mind. Somers has Robin. We gotta go after them. You drive.”
“Somers?” Kick froze, staring at Mitch in the dim light of the truck’s dome. “Okay, but first let’s see how bad this is. Slide over,” Kick insisted, frowning at Mitch’s shoulder as he climbed in the driver’s side.
“Went straight through, I think. Don’t have time to—”
“We need to get you to the emergency room,” Kick argued.
“Crank up this damned truck and get me out to Somers’s place,” Mitch ordered, his teeth gritted with frustration and pain. Only then did he realize he’d been pointing his pistol in Kick’s direction all along, holding the gun in his right hand as he pressed the heel of that hand to the bullet wound in his left shoulder.
“How do you know it was Somers?” Kick asked.
“It was Billy Ray Hinds, his number-one gopher,” Mitch explained. “Recognize him anywhere, even in the dark.”
Kick cursed, twisted the key and geared the truck into reverse.
Mitch pressed even more firmly over the bullet hole just below his clavicle and leaned hard against the back of the seat to put pressure on the exit wound. The bleeding had just about stopped, he thought. The muscles of his left arm were barely working and he was beginning to shake. He transferred the weapon to that hand anyway.
Kick glanced down at the gun, then back up at him. “You just sit back there and try not to bleed all over my upholstery, okay?”
“Call for backup,” Mitch ordered gruffly.
Kick pulled out his cell phone, punched a number on the speed dial and barked into the phone. “Winton’s been shot, but he’s ambulatory. We’re headed out to Rake Somers’s place on Willow Road. Need backup.”
The other end of the conversation was not audible. Mitch thought it should be, given the relative silence and lack of road noise in smooth riding truck.
Nausea distracted him and he felt a little woozy, sort of disoriented. Something wasn’t right about that call. He fought the urge to pass out and get away from the agony that knifed through his body like a sword thrust. If he gave in to the need, he’d be useless to Robin. Kick might not be able to handle this alone. Mitch let go of his wound long enough to lower the window and suck in a deep breath of cool night air.
He had to save her. Once Somers found out where the disk was, he’d kill her for sure.
“She got the disk with her?” Kick asked.
“Disk?” Mitch muttered. How did Kick know about that? Had he mentioned the disk? Should have maybe. But no, he hadn’t. Mitch’s mind cleared a little as he mentally swept away the cobwebs building in his brain.
“You’re fading out on me, aren’t you?” Kick asked.
“Not even close,” Mitch told him, forcing his eyes to remain open and alert. Sheer anger at Kick’s possible betrayal gave him strength.
“Why don’t you put that away before it goes off? You’re too damned shaky.” Kick’s short laugh sounded nervous. “You don’t need to worry. I’m armed. I’ll take care of things when we get there.”
“Better keep it handy,” Mitch said. He renewed his grip on the weapon and focused determinedly on Kick.
The drive seemed to last forever and the pain escalated with every bump in the road. Mitch prayed for strength. And he prayed even harder that he was mistaken about the suspicion that had suddenly grabbed him like a pit bull and wouldn’t let go.
Mitch blocked out the pain as best he could and tried to concentrate on whether the suspicion was founded. Maybe he was in shock and that was causing paranoia. Getting shot could probably do that. Did he have enough reason to confront Kick and demand some answers? Now was not the time, but he couldn’t afford to trust Kick at this point, either.
He used to work Vice. That would have thrown him into proximity with Somers at one time or another. Was Kick on the take? On Somers’s payroll? It would explain Kick’s wealth and Somers’s brilliant success at avoiding arrest.
That could not have been Kick trying to get into Sandy’s apartment that first day. But he could have phoned someone to go there, knowing it would take Mitch a while to get home from the precinct. Also, no one but Kick had known exactly where they would be when Robin’s purse was stolen in the coffee shop.
It was possible that Somers had them followed, or by some stroke of luck had picked them up in transit. Mitch remembered thinking how improbable that had been, but hadn’t seen any other way it could have happened. And Kick could easily have slipped Robin’s suitcase and laptop out of Andrews’s apartment before Mitch had gotten there that night.
As for the diner incident, Hunford might have told Kick Mitch was taking Robin home with him. Kick knew Mitch always stopped to eat there after he pulled night shift. He could have alerted Somers. Suddenly that was the only thing that made any sense.
If not for the purse theft and the thief going after Robin, Mitch would have given Kick the disk that day. Kick should have told Somers to wait until Mitch handed it over. But if Mitch was right and Kick had turned, he obviously wasn’t calling the shots.
It was time to decide. Kick had parked to one side of the unlit driveway leading from the main highway up to Somers’s house.
The pseudocolonial monstrosity looked cold and forbidding in the moonlight. The mansion was isolated by the wide sweep of manicured acreage surrounding it. Kick had parked far enough away that the noise of their arrival wouldn’t alert anyone. And far enough that walking the distance would sap Mitch’s flagging strength even further.
Mitch didn’t know for sure this was where Somers was holding Robin. It could be anywhere, a warehouse downtown, a cabin in the woods, a deserted landing on the river. But Somers had no immediate family and no reason to avoid doing business at home. Taking Robin elsewhere would only make things more complicated than necessary for him. Mitch figured Somers would have instructed his men bring Robin directly to him. And this is where he was most of the time, reveling in his ill-gotten wealth.
Maybe Kick had been thinking along these same lines, but they had not discussed it. Why hadn’t he questioned where they were going or if Mitch had overheard anything about where the kidnappers had taken Robin? Not a word.
He looked at his partner, realizing too late that his expression had given him away.
“You know, don’t you?” Kick asked with a fatalistic shrug.
“Guessed,” Mitch admitted. He had been holding the pistol trained on Kick all this time. “Somers got something on you?”
“In a way. I’m in over my head, Mitch. He goes down, I go down.”
Mitch sighed. What now?
Kick turned to him. “Look, I was trying to get that disk without you or the woman getting hurt. I told him how it would be if they shot a cop. Every badge in Nashville would be on their asses in a heartbeat. If you’d have turned the thing over to me, they would never have come after it. Why the hell didn’t you just give it to me, Mitch?”
“Did you kill Andrews tryin’ to get it?”
Kick looked horrified. “God, no! You know me better t
han that! At least I hope you do. It was Billy Ray. He’s real excitable. I know Somers was pissed at him afterward.”
“How deep are you in this? You liable for anything else? Destruction of evidence on the homicide?”
“Somers wanted me on call that night. If anything went down he said I was just supposed to get the disk. That’s all. I don’t even know what was on the damned thing, and I don’t want to know.”
So that’s how Kick had happened to be on call that night. Somers planned to get that disk and then ice Andrews. A homicide detective on the scene would have been mighty convenient. If Mitch hadn’t shown up, Robin would have wound up charged with the murder. Or dead.
Mitch made a decision. He couldn’t very well stop in the middle of this and haul Kick in on conspiracy to commit murder. He couldn’t even subdue him at the moment.
“Help me save Robin. After that, I’ll do whatever I can for you. Hell, you can even claim you were stringing Somers along, doing a little undercover off the record. If you don’t put a good spin on it right now, tonight, this is murder and kidnapping and you’re an accessory. Think about it.”
Kick blew out a breath and leaned his head back on the headrest. “Yeah. Okay. You’re right. I know you’re right. This is my only chance.”
“Did you call for backup or did you alert Somers?” Mitch asked him.
“I called in help, man. You heard me do it,” Kick insisted, looking outraged that Mitch would even question it.
Mitch knew they didn’t have time to wait. God only knew what Somers was doing to Robin inside that house. Even if what Kick said was true and backup was on the way, they could arrive too late to do any good. But if Kick was lying and had dialed Somers, Mitch knew he could expect an ambush. Maybe Kick hadn’t called anyone. There had been absolutely no sound at the other end of that call that Mitch could hear.
“I’m with you on this,” Kick assured him. “You can trust me, Mitch, I promise. I want to make this right.”
“I don’t see any lights,” Mitch said, careful not to question Kick’s sincerity out loud. Privately he didn’t need to question it. He knew Kick was only humoring him until they got inside that house.