“Drive.”
Susan started to shiver in fear and Elizabeth knew she had to calm her down or they wouldn’t stand a chance. Panicky victims led to panicky criminals.
“It’s all right, Susan,” Elizabeth said. “I promise, it’ll be all right.”
Except for the part where this lunatic kills us or we live and my husband does.
Susan swallowed and nodded. Her hands trembled as she tried to put the key into the ignition. Finally, she managed it and turned the car over.
“Drive.”
Susan looked nervously over at Elizabeth as she put the car in gear. Elizabeth gave her a look of confidence, at least she hoped that’s what it looked like on the outside. Inside, she was anything but.
Chapter Twelve
IT WAS NEARLY ONE in the morning when Jepson finally released Jack from “custody.” Thankfully, Travers’ word was good and the alias the Council had set up for him checked out. When he got back, he’d have to ask how they managed that. The answer would probably be a shrug with a need to know response. Secret organizations were annoyingly secretive.
Jack’s stomach rumbled as he walked down the path toward his room. The cheeseburger from the no-tell motel where he and the Bobbsey Twins had spent the evening was sitting like lead shot in the pit of his stomach.
Hopefully Travers’ team also had the foresight to include some antacid in the stuff they’d packed for him. And hopefully, Elizabeth ate something better than a grilled meat bomb for dinner. He hated leaving her hanging, but he knew she’d understand. Her husband might be a different story though. He thought about going to their suite to apologize, but it was pretty late.
Jack trudged up the stairs and before he turned down the hall to his room, he heard someone banging on a door down the corridor. He opened his mouth to tell them to keep it down when he saw who it was—Simon Cross.
“Hey,” Jack said. “What are you doing here?”
Simon turned to him and a look of relief appeared and then disappeared from his face. He looked past Jack and frowned.
“Where is she?”
“Who?”
Simon rolled his eyes. “Elizabeth.” But his impatience turned to anxiousness as he saw Jack shake his head.
“I don’t know. I got caught up. She’s not with you?”
Simon looked at him like he was the most dimwitted person he’d ever met and then impatiently moved past Jack and looked down the stairs, as if Jack were hiding her there for some reason.
“I just got back from passing a very unpleasant evening with Messieurs Jepson and …” His voice faded as Simon turned back and Jack saw the look of genuine concern on his face. “What’s going on?”
“You didn’t have dinner with her?”
Jack shook his head. “They kept me at the motel all night. I just—”
“Dammit.” Simon clenched his jaw. “I asked you—” He cut himself off and pushed out a breath. “She’s not here.”
“What do you mean she’s not here?”
“I mean,” Simon said, barely managing to rein in his temper, “that she is not in the hotel. I’ve looked everywhere. I hoped she was with you.”
There was more than a hint of accusation in Cross’ eyes and tone.
Jack shook his head and a wave of guilt tightened his stomach. “I’m sorry. They wouldn’t let me go.”
Simon scowled at Jack and then turned to look down the hall, willing her to appear. “If she isn’t with you, then where the hell is she?”
“You know Elizabeth,” Jack said, trying to push away his own worry. “She probably found some floating craps game with the King of Moldavia or something.”
That would have been typical Elizabeth, but Simon was not amused. Jack didn’t blame him.
“Look, we’ll go into my room, we’ll call down to the front desk. Maybe the hotel staff knows something.”
Simon’s scowl didn’t recede, but he nodded.
Jack keyed them into his room and flipped on the light. “She’s probably—”
The phone rang and interrupted him. He smiled at Simon. “Speak of the Devil, I’ll bet.”
Jack crossed to the side table and scooped up the phone expecting to hear Elizabeth on the other end with some crazy story about her night, possibly ending with the need for bail money. “Hey, kid.”
But it wasn’t her easy laugh he heard on the other end. It was Carson Whitmore.
“Wells?”
Jack frowned and Simon strode toward him. “Is it—?”
Jack shook his head and held up a hand to silence him.
“Is something wrong, Mr. Whitmore?”
He knew it was even before he asked the question. He could hear it in Whitmore’s voice. He could feel it in his bones.
“Susan’s been kidnapped.”
~~~
“Kidnapped?”
Simon’s chest tightened. “Elizabeth?”
Jack held up a finger to stave off his questions. Simon clenched his jaw and strained to hear the other end of the conversation, every passing second dragged on for an eternity as Jack spoke with Whitmore.
“All right,” Jack said and then listened again. “Was she alone?… Did they say anything … Elizabeth, Mrs. Cross, is missing, too.”
Simon took a step closer and barely resisted pulling the phone from Jack’s hands.
Jack nodded. “Are you sure?… All right…. Yes, I understand.”
He hung up the phone then turned to Simon, his expression grim. “Susan has been kidnapped—”
Simon nodded quickly, but waved an impatient hand.
“Elizabeth, was she—”
Jack shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Simon’s blood ran cold. That wasn’t the right answer. “What the hell does that mean?”
Jack looked at him apologetically. “That we don’t know. Not yet.”
Simon glared at Jack willing him to say more, but nothing came. The two men stared at each other for a moment before Jack’s jaw set.
Jack walked over to his dresser and pulled out the bottom drawer. Simon walked over and stood behind him. What the hell was he doing?
“About twenty minutes ago Whitmore got the message that Susan had been kidnapped,” Jack said.
“And Elizabeth was with her?”
Jack dumped the contents of the drawer out on the bed and glanced over at Simon. “We don’t know. Maybe.”
“Maybe? They didn’t mention her?”
Jack shook his head, flipped the drawer over and peeled off the duct tape that held his gun.
Simon watched him, but his mind was reeling. If Elizabeth wasn’t with Susan, where was she? Had she been there when Susan was kidnapped? Had she gotten in the way?
His stomach dropped at the thought.
“There’s another behind the nightstand,” Jack said as he held up his gun and nodded toward the bedside table.
Simon didn’t move. He was worried for Susan Santo, but Elizabeth trumped that. She trumped everything.
Jack checked his gun and then put it down. He shrugged off his jacket, tossed it on the bed and went to the closet. He pulled something off the top shelf and walked back over to Simon.
“They probably didn’t say anything because Susan was the target. Maybe Elizabeth wasn’t even with her. Maybe she did go to some party.”
Jack put on his shoulder holster and snapped the strap into place.
Jack could be right, Simon thought. Elizabeth could be somewhere else, somewhere safe. But this was Elizabeth. She wasn’t just a magnet for trouble, she was the Hadron Collider.
“You and I both know that’s not the case,” Simon said, finally.
Jack looked ready to argue the point but nodded. “Yeah.”
He walked over to the nightstand and reached behind it, pulling out another gun. “We also know that she’s a survivor. Right?”
Simon’s heart ached, physically ached, but he nodded. She was nearly as gifted at getting out of trouble as she was getting into it. Nea
rly.
“We’ll find her,” Jack said with a confidence Simon envied. “We’ll get them both back.”
Simon nodded again; anything else was unthinkable. He held out his hand and Jack put the gun in it. The whole thing fit in his palm.
“Don’t you have anything a little bigger?” Simon asked.
Jack looked at the gun. “It’ll do the job. Just don’t miss.”
Simon frowned and checked the chamber. It was damned small, but he liked the feel of it in his hand nonetheless. He held onto it tightly, and to the modicum of power it gave him, illusion or not.
Jack checked the boxes of ammunition and handed Simon a few extra rounds before putting some into his own pocket.
“Was there a ransom demand?” Simon asked.
Jack shook his head. “Not yet. They want him to sweat a little first.”
Simon knew the feeling, and his heart went out to Whitmore. If he loved his daughter half as much as Simon loved Elizabeth, the man had to be out of his mind with worry. And then there was Susan’s husband.
“Does Santo know?”
Jack nodded. “Whitmore said he’d handle that. He wants us to see what we can learn here at the Paradise. Maybe somebody saw something. Then we’ll head over to the La Fortuna.”
Simon nodded, looked up at the ceiling for strength, found none, and closed his eyes. He thought of her … her safe by his side. He took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
He rolled his shoulders to try to loosen some of the tension, but it didn’t help. He took a step toward the door.
Jack stepped into his path. “We’ll find her. But …”
He looked down at the gun still clutched in Simon’s hand. “While I’m usually all for shoot first, ask questions later, maybe we should try a more discreet approach here?”
Simon felt a little foolish. He couldn’t exactly walk around the casino with a pistol in his hand, no matter how appealing the prospect might be. He slipped the gun into the pocket of his suit jacket.
“Good,” Jack said. “A hotel like this? Somebody must have seen something.”
Simon nodded. They’d sure as hell better have.
Chapter Thirteen
THE FRONT DESK DIDN’T know anything. Both room keys were still in their slots and neither Susan nor Elizabeth had come to or called the desk that night. The doormen didn’t see anything either. They swore up, down, and sideways that neither Mrs. Santo nor anyone fitting Elizabeth’s description had left the hotel that night.
The same was true in the cafe, bar, and restaurant. It wasn’t until they spoke to one of the floormen in the casino that they found any trail.
“Didn’t see Mrs. Santo, but the other? Yeah, I remember her. Auburn hair, blue eyes, real pretty.”
“Yes,” Simon said, tersely. Jack could feel the anxiety rolling off him. “Was she with anyone?”
He shook his head. “No, she was alone. I only remember because she was puttin’ down a nickel each hand.”
“A nickel?”
“Five hundred dollars,” Jack explained.
“She cleared maybe five or six Gs in about twenty minutes. That’s enough to get my attention.”
“Did you see her leave?”
The man nodded. “Well, yeah, I had one of the boys walk with her to the cage, you know. Routine with that much dough.”
“Over there?” Jack asked, motioning toward a cashier.
“Yeah. After that I don’t know.”
The trail went cold again at the cashier’s cage. She’d put her money into a safe deposit box and that was the last they’d seen of her.
Simon swore under his breath as they walked back into the lobby.
“Let’s try the showroom next,” Jack suggested. “Then the lounge.”
Simon nodded and they walked toward the showroom, but stopped when he saw the sandwich board sign for the lounge.
“The Great Merlini,” he said, almost to himself. “She wanted to see him that first night, but I … convinced her to do something else.”
The sad smile on his face and a mild look of embarrassment as if he’d said too much, were the only clues Jack needed to fill in that particular blank.
They walked over to the bar at the back of the lounge and signaled for the bartender.
The man wiped his hands on a dishtowel, then tossed it over his shoulder. “What can I get ya?”
“Information,” Jack said. “Has Mrs. Santo been here tonight?”
He stood up a little straighter. “Yeah, she was here. Likes to catch Benny’s show. She’s about the only one.”
“When did she leave? Did she talk to anyone?”
He nodded. “Yeah, she was with some other lady. Young, pretty.”
“About this tall?” Simon asked as he held his hand at shoulder height. “Auburn hair.”
The bartender nodded again. “I think so. Anyway, they didn’t stay long. Some phone call or somethin’.”
That was new. “Did you take the call? Do you know who it was?”
The bartender leaned back and looked suspiciously from Jack to Simon and back again. “What’s this about?”
“We just need to know—”
“You don’t need to know nothin’ about the boss’ wife.”
Jack had been expecting this. “Call him. Santo.”
The manager walked up behind the bartender. “No need for that. Just got a call from the front. Whatever they want, give it to them.”
“What’s goin’ on?”
The manager pointed to Jack and Simon. “Answer questions, don’t ask them.” He nodded toward Jack and then went to talk to the other employees.
“The phone call?” Jack prompted.
“It didn’t make sense to me, but none of my business, right?”
“What did they say?” Simon said, practically biting through each word in his impatience.
“Somethin’ about needin’ to see her and that was it.”
It must have been a set-up, a ploy to get her out of the hotel.
“Do you know who called?” Jack asked.
“They said it was a message from her father.”
“But it wasn’t him on the phone?
The bartender shook his head. “Don’t know who it was. One of his men, I guess. Anyway, Mrs. Santo left right after she got the note and then other one followed her out.”
That was their Elizabeth, all right. She must have sensed something was wrong and stuck with Susan.
“What time was this?” Jack asked.
The bartender scratched his jawline. “Benny was still on. So, about 8:30? Somethin’ like that.”
That put it about six hours ago. They followed the trail as far as it would take them. After questioning as much of the staff as they could, from maids to waitresses, they’d found two more people who’d seen Mrs. Santo. Both put her heading toward the parking lot at about 8:30.
Neither of them was surprised to find her car gone. With no more leads to follow, they stopped by Simon’s suite to retrieve his guns and then left the Paradise. It was nearly three in the morning when they reached the La Fortuna.
“If you think I give a good goddamn what—” Whitmore yelled into the phone. “Then what the hell am I payin’ you for?”
He slammed the phone down hard into its cradle as Jack and Simon entered his office. He glared at them and waved them forward.
Ronnie sat in one of the chairs off to the side, slouched down, almost pouting, while Whitmore filled the rest of the room with his anger. He came around his desk, every step oozing with impatience and barely controlled rage.
“What did you find out?”
“Not much,” Jack said, earning him a displeased grunt from Whitmore. “Someone called and sent her a message. Supposedly from you.”
While he didn’t think Whitmore would kidnap his own daughter, Jack watched his reaction carefully. Simon moved a little further into the office to watch Ronnie, who was fidgeting in his chair, his knee bouncing restlessly.
Whi
tmore seemed genuinely surprised and angry at the idea that someone used his name to lure his daughter out of the hotel. His eyes narrowed. “Whoever called, it wasn’t me.”
Jack nodded. “Susan was last seen at the lounge around 8:30 tonight.”
“And?”
“That’s about it. A few people saw her heading toward the parking lot around that time,” Jack said. “And that’s the last anyone saw or heard from her.”
Susan’s husband was conspicuously absent. “Which I’m guessing also includes her husband. Where is he anyway?”
Whitmore’s face darkened. “He said he had some people to talk to.”
“Do you think he’s behind this?” Jack asked.
“Tony?” It was clear Whitmore wanted to say yes, but shook his head. “Too much of a coward.”
“But the others?”
Whitmore nodded. “I wouldn’t put anything past them.”
They certainly had reasons for wanting to pressure Whitmore. If they lost the Paradise, they’d be out millions. But it was never smart to jump to conclusions. The mob might be the prime suspect here, but Whitmore hadn’t gotten where he was without making enemies.
“How did you find out Susan was kidnapped?” Simon asked. “Did they call you?”
“Yeah. I thought it was some sick joke at first, until they put Susan on the line.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw Simon turn away from Ronnie and toward Whitmore. “Was she alone? What did she say?”
Whitmore shook his head. “Not much. They took the phone from her; told me they’d be in touch.”
He pushed himself up out of his chair. “That was over two hours ago. What the hell are they waiting for?”
Simon took a step toward him. “My wife. Did Susan mention her? Did you hear—”
Whitmore looked at him with pity as he put his hand on Simon’s shoulder and shook his head.
Simon nodded and walked over to the floor-length windows that overlooked the casino. He stared down in silence at the near empty floor below.
“I’m sure they’re all right,” Ronnie said. “I mean, what do they get by killing them?”
Whitmore was across the room and looming over Ronnie in two long strides. “You shut your mouth. You say those words again and I swear to God—”
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