Eddie’s brows shot high. “Look, lady, I’m tryin’ to—”
Vince held up a palm. “Cass, Eddie’s gonna help.”
~*~
Cassandra’s muscles felt like a loosened bungee cord. She’d driven around in Kat’s borrowed car not knowing what she was looking for until she spotted Vince’s Elantra in the pawn shop parking lot. She looked at the man whose expression seemed weathered by corruption. This peddler of stolen goods was going to find her daughter? “How?”
Vince studied his shoes. “He knows someone who’ll provide counterfeit bills to give to the kidnapper.”
Her jaw went slack. She was reduced to consorting with underworld figures. She glanced at her would-be rescuer then the man who’d betrayed her, and knew she had no other choice. “He’ll get us two million?”
“Well, that’s what I was tellin’ the man here, but there’s a price.”
“How much?”
“Ten thousand dollars.”
Cassandra sagged against the counter.
Vince moved so close she could feel the warmth of his breath. “We’ll get the money, Cass. I have some put away.”
“But—”
“No buts. It must be done.”
“There’s more.” Eddie’s tone did not inspire her. “If your kidnapper has been in the business of rippin’ people off, he may know how to spot a fake.”
Air fled Cassandra’s lungs. She lifted her eyes toward the ceiling. “God, can we get a break here?”
“If we add some packs of real bills to the mix, we could hope,”—Eddie retraced Cassandra’s gaze to the ceiling, his voice mocking—“or pray, the guy doesn’t notice the fake ones.”
“That’s your plan?” Cassandra regretted the words. This Eddie guy had the only idea to get her daughter back. She couldn’t alienate him.
Vince placed his warm palm over her hand. “Cass.”
She pushed away. “I know. I know.” She looked to Eddie. “I’m sorry.”
“No prob. I get it. You’re worried ‘bout your girl.”
“Can you keep asking around? See if anyone knows anything.”
“Sure thing, Vince.”
The voices faded as Cassandra’s anxious mind fogged over like the constant sheen over her eyes since she’d first heard about the note. She couldn’t cry anymore. She needed to act. How much money did Vince have? Would they have enough to pay the counterfeiter, let alone the additional bills to hide the fakes?
She turned away from the conversation, her gaze trailing the line of shelves around the shop. How much of Eddie’s merchandise had been brought in by people desperate to pay bills, to buy food? How much of it had been stolen? Jewelry, stereos, TVs, music boxes …
Her eye caught. One music box drew her in. Cassandra’s muscles tensed as she neared it, noting the familiar carving of the silver. She lifted it to confirm the words her Grandmother had engraved on the bottom, “Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know. Jeremiah 33:3.” Her heart pounded so hard she could barely remain standing. The last time she’d seen this box was when she’d placed it deep into her lingerie drawer when she and Sophie painted the bedroom.
Cassandra strode across the shop to the man poised to sell it, and singed her words with fire. “Where did you get this?”
“I, uh—”
“This was stolen from me.” She pushed it in his face. “You know that don’t you?”
“I didn’t know where the guy got it.” Eddie held up his hands.
“But you know he stole it.”
Eddie looked to Vince as if in support for his deeds.
“Cass.”
She shot her gaze to him. “This man is selling things that were taken from my home, and you want me to trust him?” Her attention swung to Eddie. “Who gave you this?”
Eddie seemed to search the floor for the answer then his eyes shot wide. “I know who has your daughter.”
“Don’t change the—” The words registered. “What do you mean?”
“Kevin Perkins. He gave me that.”
The shop spun. Gears clicked into place. The looks he’d given her and Sophie. The questions he’d asked. But he’d always made them seem like friendly conversation. “He wouldn’t have known where we were that day.”
“All I know is Perkins gave me that box. Seemed really ticked he couldn’t get something more valuable. He said ‘the woman’ watched him like a hawk, like she didn’t trust him or something.”
I wonder why.
“He was working your house for something big. That’s his style.” Eddie shook his head, his eyes seeming to trail the dimensions of the room. His gaze lingered on the ceiling as if noticing something up there, then back to Cassandra. “I don’t usually display stuff I think is local. I send it to my buddy in Baltimore City. We have a sort of agreement.” He lifted a shoulder. “But for some reason I put the box up there. Don’t know why.”
Vince pointed up. “I do.”
Eddie stared at the man. “Well, the good news is the dude’s not the brightest lamp in the parking lot. He may not pick out the fake bills.”
Vince sighed. “Why do I sense bad news?”
Eddie didn’t say anything as he glanced to Cassandra.
“Just say it.” She’d worry either way.
“Dude’s no Einstein, but he’s got a mean streak.”
“How do you know?” Did she really need this answer?
“Somehow, some joker at Social Services gave Perkins custody of his nephew. When the boy was little, he always had bruises all over him. Broke a lotta bones too.”
This was the man who had her daughter.
“Ex-wife disappeared a while back. A lot of us wondered …” He glanced between Cassandra and Vince. “Never mind.”
Vince straightened. “Where does he live?”
“No idea, man, but I’ll find out. Give me a few hours. I know just the person to look into it for you.”
“We can’t include more people,” Vince cautioned. “It could get back to Perkins.”
Eddie chuckled. “Don’t worry. This dude don’t tell nobody nuthin’.”
Kevin Perkins. The man had always found ways to avoid giving Cassandra his number when he built the addition. “Can’t we just look him up in the phone book?”
Eddie’s expression grew dark. “He might not be smart, but he’s got connections that keep him outta jail.” He pointed his gaze to Vince then Cassandra. “Likely someone with the PD.”
Cassandra gasped. “The police?”
Eddie nodded. “Y’all let me take care o’ him. But while I’m workin’ on that, make sure you get the cash.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sophie drifted in and out of sleep. Whoever kidnapped her must have drugged her too. Maybe there was something in the water he’d let her sip through the straw earlier.
A vision of her father drifted into her thoughts. As always, he had a smile that brought her peace at just the moment she wanted to panic.
“Remember what the Apostle Paul did when he was imprisoned?” His voice echoed through a long, light-filled tunnel.
“Daddy?” Her whimpers into the mattress made her feel weak and impotent against the terror she faced. If only her father was here to rescue her.
“He wrote to think on whatever is true, noble, right, and pure.”
“I can’t, Daddy.” Her nose ran with the tears welling into the duct tape around her eyes. Hands still bound behind her, she had no way to wipe her face.
Her father’s expression had such a mixture of love and contentment it communicated more than any words could. “The God of peace will be with you.”
“I love you, Daddy.”
“Yes. And that is good.”
“I miss you.”
His smile melted into the deep crevices of her being. “We always had fun together.”
“Yes.” She missed him so much she ached.
“What was your favorite time?”
His smile stretched into every feature of his face. “Yes, that was my favorite too. We started a baseball game with the kids who asked us what we were doing.”
“Remember that little boy with holes in his sneakers?”
“The one who hit the ball and none of us seemed to be able to pick it up till he got to home plate?”
Now, Sophie was smiling. “Yeah, that one. He was so excited. He felt like a superstar. His friends held him up over their heads.” Warmth spread through Sophie at the image. She’d carry that one forever.
“Remember, Sophie, what Jesus said on the cross.”
Though Sophie’s mind ran a number of phrases, she knew which words he meant. These she said out loud. “Father, forgive them. They know not what they do.”
“What are you saying?” The electronic voice froze her, and sent the vision of her father fleeing through the bright tunnel as if from evil itself.
He left her there. Alone.
“What did you just say?” The Voice persisted.
“I was thinking about my father.”
The air was so still Sophie could hear breathing across the depth of the room.
Though he didn’t ask, she felt compelled to elaborate. “He always reminded me of Jesus’ words on the cross.” She hesitated in order to gauge his reaction. Would he ask her to explain or tell her to shut up?
Nothing.
“After being nailed to the cross for crimes He didn’t commit, He said to God, ‘Father, forgive them. They know not what they do.’”
The quiet echoed. Was The Voice still there?
“I brought you some food.”
How would she eat with her hands tied behind her back? The thought that he might hand-feed her sent slithers down her spine.
“I’ll let you out of the hand cuffs, and sit you at a table. If you try anything, I’ll have to …” It seemed an eternity before he completed the sentence. “ … I’ll have to hurt you.”
Latex-covered hands were on her again, making her feel like a specimen to be observed. They yanked her off the bed to a standing position.
“I thought you were going to take off the hand cuffs.”
No answer. He nudged her to hop forward then stopped. Sophie heard what sounded like chair legs scraping across the floor. The hands pulled at the cuffs, and suddenly she was free. He thrust her back into the seat. She gasped.
Footsteps. Clattering. Then the distorted voice, “You have a sandwich on a napkin in front of you. A paper cup of milk to the right.”
Sophie lifted her hands to feel the edge of the table, and crawled them up to find the sandwich. Carefully, she inched farther till her right hand met the drink. She drew the bread to her nose. Peanut butter. Not her favorite, but she wouldn’t complain. “Thank you.”
Still air replied.
Sophie’s eyes began to burn, but not for herself. She bit into the sandwich, and swished the milk in her mouth to keep the peanut butter from sticking to her tongue. It felt good to have her hands in front of her, and not pulled back stretching her shoulders unnaturally.
A loneliness permeated the space, and Sophie couldn’t figure out what about it grieved her so much. When sleeping, she had the memories of her father—so warm, so good. But now, eating at the table, The Voice sitting nearby, she sensed an emptiness, an echoing hollowness, that threatened to suck the spirit from inside her.
“Do you have any friends?” Her own question surprised her. What was she thinking? She could really tick this guy off.
Quiet.
Sophie pivoted as if to turn toward him, wherever he was, waiting for his answer. She sensed him to her right.
“Eat your lunch,” he finally said.
She took another bite. Was he staring at her? What was running through his mind? Sophie prayed silently for protection, prayed for rescue … and prayed for … The Voice. Not knowing what to say, she left him in God’s hands. How does one pray for her abductor?
A car engine sounded from outside. A chair squeaked to her right, and something knocked to the floor.
“Time’s up.”
Sophie could almost hear the natural tones of a real voice beside the distorted one. It seemed familiar.
Hands gripped hers and yanked them behind her. The cuffs closed around her wrists, and she was nudged to hop back to the bed. She didn’t even get to finish her milk. Her teeth felt like smoothed-over peanut butter as she ran her tongue along them to dislodge the pasty bits of bread stuck there. Lying sideways with her hands bound behind her back, she swallowed as best she could.
Footsteps tromped up hard stairs. The door opened and shut. Muted voices filtered below, then stopped. The door opened again, slower steps clomped down.
“Did you like your lunch, little girl?”
Sophie shivered at the slithery quality of the voice. Could this be the same person?
“Well?”
“Yes. Thank you.” She’d appease his ego. For now.
“You’re welcome.”
Sophie no longer felt compelled to pray for this person. It seemed pointless. Could it really be futile to pray for any lost soul? She didn’t know, but wished her father was here to tell her. Or maybe Pastor Vince.
“I hope you’re enjoying your stay with us.”
He said “us.” How many people were actually involved?
“Aren’t you?” The fierceness of his tone shook her.
“Yes.” Her words were small against the mattress. She wished she could bury her face in a pillow at least, but none was provided.
“Only one more day, little girl, and we will no longer need you.”
She was afraid to ask. “Will you let me go home?”
“That depends on your mother.”
Sophie’s mind drew up images of her mom pouring over bank statements and bills knowing she did not have the means to pay the ransom. Her throat clogged at the thought.
She was going to die.
~*~
Was it wrong to finally feel some hope? Cassandra glanced to the man driving the car, the one who’d spent time in jail for dealing drugs. The one who’d lied to her in such a personal way so many years ago. Was it wrong to place her daughter’s life in his hands … and those of his outlaw friends?
Vince had promised to take her home after dropping Kat’s car off at the hair salon.
“Can you take me to Billy’s shop? I need to get my car back. I’ll need it for the money drop. Kevin knows my car, and I suspect if he sees me driving something else, he’ll wonder what’s up.”
“I’m driving you.” Vince’s jaw jerked with tension.
“He said for me to be alone.”
“You’re not going by yourself.”
“You’re not coming with me. We can’t take that chance.”
His lips pressed together as if holding back a dictionary-full of words. He shook his head and sighed. “I’ll take you to Billy’s. I need to see him anyway.”
They rolled into the parking lot across from three open garage doors. Cassandra scanned each bay and didn’t see her car. Hopefully that meant it was out back, already finished.
Billy peeked up from under the hood of a Honda Civic and wiped his hands on an oil-smudged cloth. The direction of his fu-man-chu didn’t lift like usual. It was pointed down in strong columns to the rigid line of his chin. He met Vince at the frame of the entrance. “Any news?”
Vince looked around as if for listeners. “We think we know who it is.”
“Really?”
“Cass had a guy named Kevin Perkins doing work in her mom’s house, and we found a music box of hers at Eddie’s.”
“That creep?” The words ground from the mechanic.
Cassandra swallowed. “You know him?”
Billy gave Vince an ominous look before nodding to Cassandra. “
Yep.” He hesitated as if contemplating his next words. “Bad news. Always looking for a way to cash in. A little drugs. A scam here or there. I got to know him when he went through a hot-wiring phase—selling parts. We split ways after my last round at ‘the ’hab.’”
Cassandra knew he meant the rehab that also brought him to Jesus.
Vince scratched his goatee. “Eddie’s gonna set us up with some fake bills to give the guy.”
Cassandra flinched at the word “us.” Did he really see this as much his problem as hers?
Billy grimaced. “Why don’t you just go find him and get Sophie back?”
“We don’t know where he is for sure. Eddie’s getting someone to look for him. But we don’t want to tip him off with what we know, and put Sophie in danger. So we’re going to go through with the money drop, but the counterfeiter wants ten thousand dollars to supply the bills, and we’ll need more cash to mix in and make it look legit.”
Billy whistled.
His expression crushed the teensy bit of hope Cassandra had held onto. She didn’t have that kind of money. This only reminded her of the futility of the only plan they had.
“I’ve got five thousand. Can you lend me some? I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”
Cassandra pivoted to the man. Lend me? He’d pay Billy back?
Billy shifted and shook his head. “Most my dough’s tied up in both Kat’s and my shops. I might be able to delay some payments, and put others on the credit card.” He tapped his booted toe and squinted. “I’ll get ya a couple thou’ by morning. Will that work?”
Cassandra’s mouth went dry. She wanted to tell the man he didn’t need to put his credit at risk for her. She’d find a way to come up with the funds herself. Only she had no other choice, but to rely on the generosity of anyone who’d give it to her. Even the man who’d betrayed her so many years ago.
She glanced at her once betrayer and a warmth ran through her. She had a group of people willing to do anything to help her, and Vince was the one heading the team.
“Thank you, Billy.” She eeked out of her broken voice. Cassandra cleared her throat and stood taller. “Where’s my car. I’m going to need it today.”
“Uh …” She’d never seen the man so sheepish. What was wrong? “Lew’s got it.”
Flee From Evil Page 21