5 Minutes to Marriage

by Carla Cassidy

  “Patrick, I had nothing to do with any of this. The boys had nothing to do with it. Let us go.” Her voice trembled with terror.

  “The boys have everything to do with this,” he replied, seething anger still rife in his voice. “Right, Mick? Right, David?” He cast the boys a friendly smile. “I figure they’re worth at least a million a piece. Their grandfather is easily capable of paying that, and it’s the least of what he owes me.”

  The blood that had been cold inside her turned even icier. “Patrick, you have the Rothchild ring. Isn’t that enough? You have the diamond you said belonged to your father.”

  “No, it’s not enough.” His hands tightened into fists at his sides. “I want the Rothchilds’ blood. I want their tears. I want them to know the kind of pain I’ve known because of them.”

  She struggled against the ropes as a deep sob wrenched from her. She had to do something. She had to save the boys.

  The only thing she could do was scream and hope that either Sam or Max might hear her cry. The shriek that ripped out of her came from her soul. She never saw it coming, but she felt the crashing blow that landed on the side of her head…then nothing.

  Pain brought her back to consciousness, an excruciating pain in her skull that made her feel nauseous.

  As she opened her eyes she realized two things had changed. There was now duct tape plastered across her mouth, and the boys were nowhere in sight.

  Dear God, where was Mick and David? What had he done with them? With a new fervor she pulled against the ropes that held her tight in the chair.

  “Ah, I see you’re back.” Patrick stood in front of her, a large red can held in his hand.

  Frantically she struggled to get free, screaming into the tape with a growing sense of horror. She cried out as the chair toppled to its side with her still bound to it. She lay with the side of her face pressed against the ground, and tears began to burn in her eyes.

  “It’s been nice knowing you, Marisa,” Patrick said from someplace behind her. “Those two little boys are my ticket to wealth. Unfortunately you’re worth nothing. Still, I’m hoping your death will make both Jack and Harold shed a tear or two.”

  She realized at that moment that it wasn’t money that drove Paz, it was a rage-driven need for revenge. She heard the splash of liquid and instantly smelled the odor of gasoline. Fire! He intended to set her on fire.

  The scent of the gasoline grew stronger as he continued to splash the liquid around the perimeter of the barn.

  Marisa tried desperately to get herself untied, but it was a futile effort. Her wrists and ankles burned, and the fumes from the fuel were almost overwhelming.

  Mick! David! Her heart cried out. She felt little fear for herself as her concentration was on the two little boys she’d grown to love with all her heart.

  Jack, where are you? Come save your babies! Come save me!

  “I guess this is goodbye, Marisa,” Patrick said from behind her. She heard the strike of a match, then the loud whoosh of flames. The barn door slammed shut, leaving her alone with the fire that within seconds burned with a crackling heat.

  Smoke billowed around her, making it difficult for her to see, almost impossible for her to breathe. She coughed and choked against the gag, and her lungs felt as if they were about to explode.

  Dark shadows closed in, obscuring her vision altogether as unconsciousness reached out to her. Her last conscious thought was the bitter regret that somehow she’d brought a monster to Jack’s door.

  Chapter 11

  It had taken a week for Rita to learn that Patrick Moore, the man Marisa had been dating, didn’t exist.

  She’d begun to get suspicious about him when she’d realized the last time she’d seen the ring had been just before he and Marisa had come over for dinner.

  Rita knew her niece would never enter her office, and certainly would never take something that didn’t belong to her. But she couldn’t help but recall that Patrick had left the two women while they’d been clearing the dishes, supposedly to go to the bathroom, and gut instinct warned her that Patrick might have stolen the ring. However, she was still trying to wrap her brain around how he could have discovered where the ring was stashed and how he’d managed to seize it from a locked gun safe. This was clearly the work of a professional…

  Yesterday she’d called the accounting agency where she knew Patrick worked, only to discover that he had quit his job there two weeks before. She’d gotten an address from them and had gone to the location late last night, only to discover that it was an empty lot on the outskirts of town.

  While she stood on that vacant lot, a new fear had gripped her. Who was Patrick Moore, and why would he have a false address? It was something a criminal would do.

  Rita had tried to call Marisa a few minutes ago to see if she could give her any information that might lead Rita to the young man’s real identity or home address, but there had been no answer at Cortland’s house.

  Rita needed to recover that ring. Her career depended on it. But, more than that, she needed to alert Marisa that Patrick Moore wasn’t the wonderful man they’d thought he was.

  She had a sick feeling in her heart, one that usually portended something bad about to happen. She picked up the phone and dialed the Cortland ranch again. This time she just needed to check to make sure that Marisa was all right.

  She sighed in frustration when there was still no answer. She grabbed her keys and headed for her apartment door, unable to just sit still and do nothing.

  She’d start with the accounting agency and see what Patrick’s associates could tell her about the man that might lead to his whereabouts and the truth of his real identity.

  “I really need to get back home,” Jack said for the third time in the past fifteen minutes. He’d already been at Kent’s for over an hour and a half. What had begun as a healing of the rift between the two men had transformed into a walk down memory lane.

  “Hey, remember that time we played that gig in Riverside and the owner of the place paid us in beer?” Kent asked, obviously not ready to call a halt to the conversation.

  Jack stood from the chair where he’d been sitting in Kent’s tiny living room. “Yeah, I remember. We were all underage, and we ended up drunk for the next two days. Kent, I really gotta go. I need to get home to the kids.”

  Kent glanced at his watch and then stood as well. “Okay, I guess if you have to take off…”

  “I really do,” Jack replied.

  “Hey, man, thanks for coming by,” Kent said as the two of them stepped out on the front porch. “I really felt bad about our argument. I wish I knew who was feeding Harold information, but you should know I’d never do anything to hurt you.” He held out a hand, and Jack gripped it in a firm handshake.

  Minutes later as Jack headed back home, he still wasn’t sure that he trusted Kent. Certainly Kent had mouthed all the right words, proclaiming his innocence with a resounding fervor, but Jack wasn’t sure if it was just an act.

  He realized that until he knew the truth of who Harold was talking to, the only thing he and Marisa could do was make certain nothing bad happened. If a mole had nothing to talk about, then he’d have to remain silent.

  His thoughts turned to Marisa and what they had shared the night before. It had been amazing. They had fit together as naturally as if they’d been made for one another. Even now, just thinking about it, he felt himself getting aroused.

  She had transformed his life and he would forever be grateful to her for all that she had done.

  But the feeling that filled his heart when he thought about her had little to do with gratitude. He cared about her. He loved to see the light of a smile dance on her lips and shine from her eyes. The sound of her laughter filled him with a warmth he hadn’t felt for a very long time.

  Still, he wasn’t convinced she was in his life for the long-term. If he needed any evidence of that it was the fact that she wasn’t willing to give up her house. She was hedging her bets,
making certain she had a fast and easy escape route if things went bad.

  Funny how the thought of her not being in his home, in his life, filled him with regret.

  He loved what she had done with his boys, but more than that he loved what she had done for him. She’d made him believe he could be the kind of man he wanted to be. She’d given him the confidence to not only embrace parenthood but also to hold close to who he was at his very core.

  He saw the smoke as he turned onto the long gravel road that led to his ranch. It billowed upward, a dark gray snake slithering up in the sky.

  His heart seemed to stop in his chest as he realized it was his barn that was on fire. He tromped on the accelerator and squealed to a halt in front of the burning building.

  Sam and Max were already there with garden hoses spewing ineffectual sprays of water.

  “Call the fire department,” Jack yelled as he leaped out of his car.

  “Already did,” Sam replied above the roar of the flames.

  Jack didn’t give a damn about anything that was in the barn. It was just stuff from his past, things that no longer really mattered to him. But as he thought about how much Mick loved those stupid dolls and David adored the cymbals, he decided to try to get inside and at least retrieve those items.

  He grabbed the garden hose from Sam’s hand and sprayed himself down. Once he was soaking wet, he burst through the barn doors.

  Visibility was next to nothing, and smoke seared his lungs as he raced toward the box where the dolls were kept. It was then that he saw her. Marisa—tied to an overturned chair and still as death.

  He cried out in horror and raced to her. A million thoughts raced through his head. What was she doing out here? Who had tied her to the chair?

  Overhead the fire raged, and the ominous sound of cracking wood made him realize the roof was about to collapse at any minute.

  Instead of taking the time to try to untie her, he made the split-second decision to grab the chair with both hands and dragged it and her toward the door.

  Don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead. The mantra went around and around in his brain as he struggled to get her out of the barn.

  He nearly sobbed in relief as he pulled her out into the fresh air and her eyes opened. She began to cough, choking against the duct tape that rode across her lips.

  He yanked off the tape, then straightened and looked back at the barn. The boys. Oh, God, were the boys inside? Once again his heart felt as if it stopped beating altogether.

  “Marisa, are the boys in the barn?” he asked, his heart pounding so loudly he was afraid he might not hear her reply.

  A breath whooshed out of him as she shook her head violently. But the relief was short-lived as she clutched him by the arm. “They’re gone, Jack. He took them.” Once again she was overcome by a spasm of coughing.

  In the distance came the sound of sirens drawing closer. Jack leaned down to Marisa, the knot in his chest so tight he could scarcely draw a breath. “Who? Who has the boys, Marisa?”

  Tears washed down her smoke-blackened face. “Patrick. Oh, God, Jack. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She began to sob as the fire engines pulled up in front of the barn and Jack’s cell phone vibrated from his shirt pocket.

  He straightened and walked back to his car as he pulled the phone out. The caller ID displayed the caller as anonymous.

  “Cortland,” he said as he got into his car and shut the door, grateful that the fire trucks had cut their sirens.

  “I have your boys. If you go to the police I will kill them. If you talk to anyone in law enforcement, I will kill them. Do you understand?” Patrick’s voice was deep and chilling.

  Jack wanted to reach through the phone and kill him. He tamped down the rage, knowing that his sons’ lives hung in the balance. “I understand. What do you want?”

  “Two million dollars.”

  Jack barked a humorless laugh. “I don’t have that kind of money. Don’t you remember, I’m an old has-been who blew his cash on drugs and alcohol.”

  “You might not have it, but you can get it,” Patrick replied.

  “And how am I supposed to do that?”

  “Harold Rothchild will be happy to pay that for the return of his grandchildren. I’ll give you until nine o’clock this evening to get it together. I’ll be in touch.”

  The line went dead.

  Jack dropped the phone back into his pocket and gripped the steering wheel with both hands. Outside his car, chaos reigned. The firemen were losing the battle with the blazing barn, and Marisa was seated with an oxygen mask over her mouth and nose.

  But the scene happening before his eyes had nothing on the drama that unfolded in his head. Mick and David were in danger, and tears stung his eyes as he thought of his precious sons.

  His first impulse was to call the police, but as he replayed Patrick’s menacing voice in his head he feared the consequences of that particular action. There had been an edge in Patrick’s tone that had let Jack know he was capable of harming the boys.

  Jack got out of the car and hurried over to Marisa, who pulled the mask off her face and burst into tears as he approached.

  He pulled her up off the ground and into his arms, knowing the particular kind of torture she must be going through.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she sobbed against his chest. “I couldn’t stop him. He said he wanted to see some of your things from your band days. I never thought…I never imagined. He pulled a gun, and there was nothing I could do.”

  “Shh, it’s all right,” Jack said as he rubbed her back. “You need to pull yourself together, Marisa, and tell me everything that happened. You need to tell me everything he said.”

  Maybe he’d said something to her that would provide a clue as to where he had the boys.

  She raised her head and looked at him, her brown eyes filled with torment. “He killed Candace, Jack. He told me that he killed her.”

  Ice rolled through Jack’s veins. “Go get in my car,” he said to her. “I’ll be right there.” As she headed for the vehicle he walked over to the fire chief. The fire was still burning, but it was obvious the barn was a complete loss.

  Jack told the man in charge that he had to leave but would be in touch in the next day or two. Then he hurried back to his car where Marisa awaited him.

  As he started the car Marisa began to tell him everything that had happened from the moment Patrick had appeared on the doorstep.

  Jack’s blood was cold as ice by the time she finished telling him everything that lunatic had said. “Where does Patrick live?” he asked her.

  “I don’t know. He always came to my place.” She wrapped her arms around her stomach, as if she were physically ill. “Are you going to call the police?”

  “Patrick called me a few minutes ago. He told me he has the boys and if I contact the police he’ll kill them.” He gripped the steering wheel so tightly he feared he might snap it in half. “I believe him. I’m going to have to take my chances without any police reinforcement.”

  “He said he had a partner, Jack, and that partner would make sure you didn’t get home too quickly. It has to be Kent,” she said.

  The flames that lit inside Jack’s stomach were hotter than the ones that had consumed his barn as he thought of how Kent had stalled him again and again from leaving his place.

  If he was going to find his boys, then it was possible the answer was with Kent. He tore down the highway toward Kent’s place, the rage inside him building to mammoth proportions.

  If anything happened to his boys and Kent had anything to do with it, then Jack would kill him. It was as simple as that.

  He pulled up in front of Kent’s small farmhouse, and as he got out of the car he was aware of Marisa shadowing just behind him.

  The burn in his gut flamed hotter and when Kent opened the door, Jack swung his fist and punched him in the nose. Kent fell backward as blood blossomed and trickled from his nostrils.

  “What the hell?
” He scrambled to his feet and backed away as Jack came at him again.

  “Where are my sons?” Jack roared. He would have hit the man again if Marisa hadn’t grabbed on to his arm and held tight.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kent yelled as he fumbled in his back pocket for a handkerchief. He pressed it against his nose and tried to look belligerent but Jack smelled fear.

  “Patrick told me you were his partner just before he tried to burn me alive,” Marisa said as her fingers bit into Jack’s arm. “He killed Candace, Kent. Your partner is a murderer.”

  Kent’s eyes widened and a gasp exploded out of him. “Nobody was supposed to get hurt,” he said. “He promised me that nobody would get hurt.”

  “What have you done, Kent?” The words came from Jack in a tortured whisper.

  “It was supposed to be easy. Just grab the kids, get the ransom then finally live on easy street for the rest of my life,” Kent said.

  “Why would you do something like this to me?” Jack asked as he stared at the man who was supposed to be his best friend.

  Kent took a step backward from him, and his eyes darkened with a hint of anger. “Because you left me behind. The whole time we were kids we talked about going to L.A. and building a band. Then you took off by yourself and never thought about me again. You had it all, and you left me here with nothing.” His voice rose on the last few words. “Damn you, Jack. You just left me behind.”

  Jack stared at him in stunned surprise. This was about jealousy? “I don’t have time for this. Where did he take my boys?”

  “I don’t know. He was supposed to call me when he had them, but I haven’t heard from him.” Kent pulled the bloodied handkerchief from his nose.

  Jack wanted to smash him in the face again, but instead he whirled on his heels, grabbed Marisa’s hand and raced back to his car.

  “What do we do now?” Marisa asked as he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.

  “I’ve got to call Harold. I need two million dollars from him.”