Texas Ransom

by Amanda Stevens

  He took her hand and guided her to him. “Does that feel like I don’t want you?”

  She shivered. “I want you, too, Graham. But what if I disappoint you? It’s been so long since we were together.”

  He smiled. “It’ll be okay.”

  She turned, her gaze searching his face in the dark. “I need to tell you about Mexico.”

  “Now?” He gave her pained look. “Are you sure it can’t wait?” He drew her even closer, feeling her tremble against him.

  “If I don’t tell you now…”

  “Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. We’ve both made a lot of mistakes, Kendall. But this is a new start. Whatever happened in the past should stay there.”

  “Do you mean that?”

  “Yes, I do. I think it’s the only way we can make this work. No looking back, no regrets.” He stroked her back. “And anyway, I think we’ve done enough talking for one night.”

  He held her for a long time until she finally began to relax. Then she lifted her face to his for a kiss.

  The first time they came together had been fast. Graham hadn’t wanted it to be that way. Kendall still seemed so fragile to him.

  But her hands had been too eager, too daring, and when she trailed her lips over his chest, skimmed her tongue down his stomach, when her hand lowered to tease and caress, he couldn’t hold back.

  The urgency with which they made love had shocked and thrilled him. Kendall had always been a passionate woman, but that night she seemed almost frantic to have him.

  The second time had been slower, more languid, and afterward, when he held her again, he could sense that something had changed. Her earlier doubts had slipped away. For the first time since he’d seen her in the hospital, she seemed to have regained some of her confidence. For a moment at least, he’d glimpsed a bit of the old Kendall. A woman he had neither the will nor the desire to resist. A woman he would gladly kill for if it came to that.

  Turning, he stared at her side of the bed, feeling more lonely and scared than he’d ever been his life. Because, as vivid as his memories were, the images of his wife with another man were starting to crowd them out.

  KENDALL DREAMED about Graham that night. They were on a beach somewhere, lying close, their bodies warm from the sun.

  She rolled over and stared up at the sky. The day was so beautiful, and yet as she watched, black clouds moved toward them over the water. The storm came inland at a terrifying speed.

  She sat up in alarm. “Graham, we can’t stay here. We have to get some place safe.”

  “There is no safe place, Kendall.”

  She turned. Suddenly the man beside her wasn’t Graham, but L. J. Kittering. He looked exactly the way she remembered him. Dark, handsome and utterly charming…until she looked into his eyes.

  Kendall tried to turn from those eyes now, but they were too hypnotic. She couldn’t tear her gaze away. “What do you want?”

  “The same thing my father wants. Justice.”

  “Where’s Graham?” she screamed. “What have you done to him?”

  He smiled. “Exactly what you did to me.”

  He turned slowly and Kendall followed his gaze to the water. The storm clouds were almost overhead now and the landscape darkened. In a flash of lightning, she saw Graham lying on the beach, a knife blade protruding from his chest as blood gushed from the wound.

  She started to run to him but someone held her back. All she could do was watch helplessly as water cascaded over his body, washing away the blood as the tide carried him out to sea where he would be lost to her forever.

  She tried to tear free from her captor, but he held her fast, turning her so that she had to look up into his face. It was Michael Barron. His smile was exactly like L. J. Kittering’s. Why had she never noticed how much alike they were?

  “It’s too late. Your little game is over. You played us all, but now you’ve lost everything. Graham is gone. He’s never coming back.”

  He started to laugh then, and she saw L.J. standing behind him. He was laughing, too. They were all laughing. Leo Kittering. Terrence and Ellie. Even Maggie Scofield…

  Kendall’s gasp woke her up. Her heart pounded, and her skin was damp and clammy. She gazed around, remembering where she was, and panic exploded in her chest.

  “What have I done?” she whispered into the darkness.

  Chapter Nine

  At two o’clock the next afternoon—exactly twenty-four hours after the first contact—the second call came in. Graham had the money ready, and he’d been briefed by Special Agent Heller on what to expect and how to respond to various scenarios.

  He didn’t wear a wire. They’d agreed that it would be too risky, but he could still be tracked using the GPS chip in his personal cell phone. If he was searched, the phone would be tossed, but at least its presence wouldn’t necessarily arouse suspicion.

  The caller had instructed Graham to place the money in a briefcase, take the elevator downstairs and walk out the front entrance of the building without a word to anyone. Maggie had tried to waylay him when he came out of his office, but Graham had mumbled something about being late for an appointment and hurried past her desk without stopping.

  The sun was glaring outside. He put on his sunglasses as he started walking down the street. His office was located downtown and pedestrian traffic was heavy. He found himself studying the faces of the people he met.

  The man carrying a briefcase similar to Graham’s…was he one of the kidnappers?

  The brunette in the mini skirt…was she there to pick up the money?

  Esteban’s phone rang and Graham quickly lifted it to his ear. “Yes?”

  “Head north toward the Capitol. There’s a phone booth five blocks from where you are now. The phone will ring in exactly five minutes.”

  Graham’s head shot up as he once again searched his surroundings. Was he being watched? Or was he being traced by the GPS chip in the phone Esteban had given him?

  It hit him suddenly how privacy had been eroded by modern technology. He’d never really thought about it before, but now he felt almost claustrophobic as he walked down the street.

  The traffic lights took longer than he anticipated, and after the third block, he began to worry about the time. Sweat trickled down his back as he picked up his pace. He was almost jogging by the time he reached the phone kiosk. Then he worried whether or not he was at the right one. He hadn’t been given an address.

  Turning, he spotted another kiosk across the street. Damn. Which one?

  Clutching the briefcase, he waited.

  After a few moments, he started to panic. Should he cross the street, check out the other phone?

  He glanced at his watch. The five minutes since the last call had long since come and gone, and the pay phone remained silent. Something had gone wrong.

  The tightness in his chest intensified. Graham had almost decided to cross to the other side of the street when the pay phone finally rang. He spun and grabbed for it, oblivious of the curious gazes from some of the passersby.

  “There’s a cell phone taped to the bottom of the stand. Turn it on and throw the other one away,” the altered voice instructed.

  Graham felt underneath the kiosk and located the phone. Placing his body so that no one on the street could observe him, he ripped off the duct tape and removed it. He turned on the phone, waited for it to power up, then threw the unit Esteban had given him into a nearby trash can.

  And then he waited again.

  As he stood on the street anticipating the next call, Graham thought about his latest instructions. The scenario was playing out like a clichéd movie scene. The altered voice, the hidden cell phone. It was almost as if Esteban was mocking him, and Graham wondered suddenly if the whole thing was a trap.

  He tried to keep his cool, but he was getting more nervous by the moment. The day was warm, but the sweat beading on his forehead was more from stress than the heat.

  When the phone finally rang, he stepped
back into the shade of a building to answer, his gaze automatically scanning the area. “Yes?”

  “Are you familiar with the Orchid Tree Restaurant?”

  The voice was unaltered this time and sounded American, but Graham still didn’t recognize it.

  “I know where it is.” The restaurant was several blocks over from where he stood. The South-American cuisine was popular with the downtown lunch crowd, and Graham had eaten there on several occasions with clients.

  “Ask to be seated on the terrace. Get a table near the street.”

  “What then?”

  “Order a drink and wait.”

  The call ended and Graham started walking. By the time he got to the restaurant, it was close to two-thirty, and the lunch crowd had dispersed. He was able to get a table near the street without a problem, and as he pulled out the chair, he once again took stock of his surroundings.

  A few tables over, four well-dressed women in their thirties laughed over a pitcher of margaritas. A couple sat holding hands at a corner table, and a young family—mother, father, two kids—came in for a late lunch. Dressed casually in jeans and T-shirts, they looked as if they’d spent the day at the park. The kids clutched balloons in their fists and after they were seated, the mother tied the ribbons to the backs of their chairs.

  The balloons—one red, one yellow—bobbed like cork floaters in the breeze, and Graham stared for a long moment, not so much mesmerized by the movement, but by the family’s happy faces.

  He envied them their carefree smiles and he envied the couple in the corner, the friends laughing over drinks. He wanted to be having a quiet lunch with Kendall, discussing nothing more pressing than their plans for the rest of the afternoon instead of waiting for a call from her kidnappers.

  The waitress seated another customer, a man who had come in alone. He wore khakis, a lightweight jacket and loafers without socks. He asked for two menus and ordered two drinks, as if expecting someone to join him. Despite the guy’s understated demeanor, Graham was immediately suspicious, and he watched from the corner of his eye as he waited for the waitress to bring out his own drink.

  One of the little boys inadvertently loosened the ribbon on the back of his chair, and the yellow balloon drifted up from the table. The father tried to grab it, but the breeze whipped the ribbon out of his reach and the balloon soared over the wrought-iron fence toward the street.

  Rather than being distraught by the loss, the little boy squealed and clapped his hands, enthralled by the sight of the balloon as it drifted across the street, already high above the cars and still climbing as a draft pulled it skyward.

  Graham watched it, too, the bright yellow vibrant against the blue sky. He was staring upward, his gaze still on the balloon, or he never would have seen it. A flash of light from the top of a nearby building.

  A split second later, a loud bang on the patio caused him to half rise from his chair, his heart pounding against the wall of his chest.

  For a split second, everything seemed to go deadly silent in the aftermath, and then embarrassed laughter erupted from the table of women as they glanced his way.

  He realized then what had happened. The red balloon, still tied to the back of the second boy’s chair, had popped and Graham had thought it was gunfire.

  His gaze went back to the top of the building. Whatever he’d seen a moment ago was gone.

  The phone he’d placed on the table vibrated and he quickly picked it up.

  “Hello?”

  “Do exactly as you’re told or the next target won’t be a balloon.”

  Graham’s blood froze. Someone had fired at the patio. The bullet had gone through a balloon that floated mere inches from a child’s head.

  His hand started to shake.

  “Are you listening, Mr. Hollister?”

  He tightened his grip on the phone. “Yes.”

  “Take the money and leave the restaurant. Head back toward your office.” It was the same voice he’d heard earlier, but the signal was clear this time, as if the caller was just around the corner.

  Graham dropped some bills on the table, picked up the briefcase and rushed from the patio, anxious to put as much distance between himself and those kids as he could. As he crossed the street, the phone rang again.

  “Mr. Hollister?”

  A different voice this time, and Graham immediately recognized the accent. It was Esteban. “Yes?”

  “The man who came into the restaurant after you. Did you notice him? He came in alone and ordered two drinks.”

  “I saw him,” Graham said.

  “He’s a federal agent. When the balloon popped, he went for his gun.”

  Graham stopped in his tracks and a pedestrian behind him bumped into his shoulder. Graham murmured an apology as he moved toward the edge of the sidewalk. “I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

  “No, Mr. Hollister, you are the one who has made a very terrible mistake. You broke the first rule. You brought in the FBI, and now someone close to you will die.”

  “No, don’t…please. I have the money. It’s yours. I’ll do anything you ask just…don’t hurt my family.”

  “You gambled and you lost. Perhaps next time you will think twice before you cross me.”

  The call ended abruptly, and Graham felt the sidewalk tilt beneath him. He couldn’t think for a moment, he couldn’t react. His heart was beating so hard he could hear the echo of it in his ears.

  Someone close to him was about to die. How was he going to stop it?

  He got out his personal cell phone and dialed the number Heller had given him. “You told me he wouldn’t see your men,” Graham all but shouted at the agent. “You assured me your people know what they’re doing.”

  “Slow down a minute. What are you talking about?”

  “Esteban spotted your man.”

  “What man?”

  “On the terrace of the restaurant. Esteban had someone shoot a kid’s balloon, and this guy went for his gun.”

  “Graham, calm down and listen. He wasn’t one of ours. I don’t know who he is, but he’s not FBI.”

  Graham frowned. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, of course, I’m sure. Esteban was bluffing.”

  “No, he wasn’t. He knows you guys are involved, and now he’s going after my family. We have to do something. If he gets near them—”

  “All right, hang on,” Heller said. “I’m sending a car. Stay where you are.”

  Two minutes later, a dark-colored Buick pulled to the curb. Graham walked over and opened the door. He recognized the man behind the wheel. It was Andy Pinson, the agent who had helped sweep his house for bugs.

  “Get in,” the agent said.

  Graham climbed in and slammed the door. “I need to see Heller.”

  “No problem. He wants to see you, too.”

  “Why?”

  “He’ll explain everything when he sees you.” He pulled away from the curb into traffic.

  “What about my family?”

  “Heller is checking in with the surveillance teams now. Try not to worry. We’ve handled situations like this before. We know what we’re doing.”

  He’d heard that line before, Graham thought grimly. And look where it had gotten him.

  AT COUNTY Memorial Hospital in Lufkin, Texas, Audrey Hollister sat in her mother’s hospital room reading the latest Mary Higgins Clark mystery. Usually, she had no problem losing herself in the story, but today she was so exhausted the text kept running together. Finally she laid the book aside and closed her eyes for a moment.

  The surgery to repair her mother’s hip had gone well, but now, two days later, the older woman was still in a lot of pain. She hadn’t slept much the night before, nor had Audrey, and she was starting to feel the wear and tear of too many sedentary hours at her mother’s bedside and too many cups of bad coffee. She wasn’t so young herself anymore.

  She needed to get something to eat, or at least take a brief walk. Anything to get out of that hospit
al room for a few minutes, but she didn’t want to leave until the doctor had made his afternoon rounds. In spite of the successful surgery, her mother wasn’t doing as well as Audrey had hoped, and she wanted some reassurance that the prognosis was still favorable.

  The door to the hallway opened, and she jumped slightly, realizing that she’d dozed off for a moment. A woman in green scrubs walked in and gave her a bright smile. “Mrs. Hollister?”

  “Yes?”

  “How are you this afternoon? I’m here to check your mother’s temp and blood pressure.”

  “Can it wait? She just drifted off to sleep a few minutes ago.”

  “No, I’m sorry. Doctor’s orders.”

  She walked over to the bed and stood staring down at the sleeping woman. Audrey rose to join her.

  “Are you new?” she asked, glancing at the woman’s name tag. “I thought I’d met all the nurses in this wing, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.”

  “I’m Connie. I usually work on Three, but they were short-handed up here today so I’m filling in.” She took down the blood pressure cuff from the wall over the bed. “Would you like to take a little breather while I’m in here? Go get some fresh air or a bite to eat?”

  “I don’t think so. When Mother wakes up, she’ll be concerned if I’m not here,” Audrey said.

  “I’ll stay with her till you get back. I know how it is when you’ve got family in the hospital. If you’re not careful, you can get worn out and end up in here yourself. That wouldn’t be good for anybody.”

  Audrey hesitated, but the offer was too tempting. “If you’re sure you don’t mind, I’ll just run down and grab a snack in the cafeteria and bring it back up.”

  “Take your time,” Connie said as she fiddled with the cuff. “We’ll be just fine until you get back.”

  Audrey grabbed her purse and hurried out. As she headed down the hallway toward the elevators, she saw one of the nurses who usually took care of her mother behind the desk. She started to stop and explain where she was headed, but the woman looked harried and Audrey remembered what Connie had said about the floor being short-handed. She wouldn’t bother the busy woman. Besides, she’d only be gone a few moments and Connie had promised to stay with her mother until she got back.