Cyrus stared at his phone, his expression intense.
“What’s wrong?” Sean asked.
Cyrus didn’t answer. He immediately got on his phone. “Jim, what is your ETA? … We have a situation. Call Ben.” Cyrus hung up.
“Cyrus, what is happening?”
“This doesn’t concern you, Mr. Rogan. Jim’s nearly here, and you’ll be relieved.”
Complete change of attitude—something was going on, and Sean didn’t believe in coincidences.
“What happened?” he repeated.
It was clear Cyrus didn’t want to tell him.
“Is this related to your business? Tell me yes, and I’ll walk away. But I don’t believe in coincidences. And I doubt you do, either. Something happened that has you very worried, and you don’t strike me as a man who gets worried.”
Cyrus assessed him, then nodded once. “I just received a message from an unknown number. Someone claims to have my daughter and wants a ransom of $150,000 in two hours.”
Definitely not a coincidence, Sean thought.
“I’ll find her,” Sean said. “She hasn’t been gone long.” If he was to believe Kyle. Was Kyle involved with this? Sean thought not, he was worried, but not overtly nervous.
“In my experience,” Cyrus said, “it’s easier to pay the ransom than attempt to negotiate or delay. This is my daughter, Sean. I’m going to pay. I have the money, and I have kidnapping insurance. Once Gracie is back, safe, the company will investigate to get their money back. But they key is that Gracie returns safe.”
Most executives in Platt’s line of work had kidnapping insurance, especially if they traveled out of the country. “One of RCK’s primary roles is to rescue kidnapping victims, or negotiate payment and exchange.” Sean rarely was involved in those operations—they were the domain of Kane and JT—but he was intimately involved in all the plans and debriefings.
“And that, Mr. Rogan, also seems to be a coincidence.”
It took Sean a second to understand what Cyrus meant, and he would have gotten angry if Gracie wasn’t in danger. “I’ll forget you said that,” Sean said. “Facts: Kyle’s friend Trevor Martin was asked to leave town for reasons Kyle wasn’t honest about. I don’t buy the story that Trevor wasn’t pulling his own weight in helping his grandparents move as the reason for him to disappear in the middle of the night. Second, Kyle was worried about something and he left details out. Where is Gracie? She went to get coffee how long ago? I think he was worried she’d been gone so long, but didn’t want you to worry. Why a hundred fifty thousand? You’re worth two hundred times that. A cool mil would be expected, but one-fifty?” He shook his head. “Why two hours? Most kidnappers grab people during the week so the victims can get to the bank and arrange for cash. That generally takes twenty-four hours. The kidnapper knows exactly how much cash you can access and how fast.”
Cyrus listened to everything Sean said. “I keep between one hundred and two hundred thousand in cash in my safe at the house.”
“How much are you insured for?”
“Me, personally, five million. My executives and immediate family members one million.”
“So why not ask for one million?”
“It’s not public information.”
“But it’s a standard insurance amount.”
“You’re suggesting that the kidnapper knows about my cash supply.”
“I know he does.”
“That’s private information.”
“Who knows?”
“Very few people. Jim. My accountant who’s based in my hometown of Dallas. My ex-wives know I keep a substantial amount of cash on hand at each of my residences. I doubt they know how much, but they may, or at least have an educated guess.”
“Your daughter?”
“Possible. But why would she tell her kidnapper about it?”
Why indeed.
“A threat, perhaps. Or in conversation, a good con artist can get people to share information they don’t realize is valuable. Trevor Martin’s family is in serious debt. His parents took out all the equity in their house—possibly to get him out of trouble. Nearly two hundred thousand dollars. A hundred-fifty would go a long way to erasing that debt, and we don’t know how much he got out of the mining.”
“You think Kyle’s friend kidnapped Gracie?”
“Yes. He was mining for gold and Hank stopped him. It’s likely Kyle figured it out, at least about the mining, and maybe knew that Trevor attacked Hank.” Though Sean didn’t see Kyle as a man who would keep that information to himself. “Something happened between them and Kyle told him to leave town. Maybe grabbing Gracie was a way to make Kyle pay for his betrayal, or a way to get quick money, or both. I don’t know, but we need to find them. Lucy suspects that there was a fight and Hank fell to his death. Trevor may not be a violent person, but killing someone—even by accident—has serious emotional consequences. He may not be thinking straight, or he may feel desperate. Desperation is the last thing we need right now.”
Jim Kline approached and looked from Sean to Cyrus but didn’t say anything.
“I told Mr. Rogan,” Cyrus said. “He has a theory.”
“I’m going back to talk to Kyle,” Sean said. “Jim, go to the coffeehouse and find out when and if Gracie was there, if anyone was with her, and when she left. Call me.”
“As I said, I will pay the ransom,” Cyrus said. “I don’t want the police involved. Not when Gracie’s life is at stake.”
Sean nodded. He expected no less of Cyrus Platt. “Right now, you have something Trevor Martin doesn’t expect.”
“And what is that?”
“Me.”
#
Kyle was gone when Sean went back into the art festival. Abigail Geiger, the photographer, was at Gracie’s booth.
“Where’s Kyle?” Sean demanded.
She was taken aback by his brusque tone. “He, um, needed a break.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know, he asked me to watch her booth. What’s going on? He’s been acting weird all day, and when I saw Gracie, she didn’t even acknowledge me.”
“Where’d you see Gracie?”
“Walking toward her condo, about an hour ago. I told Kyle, and he was jumpy. I thought maybe they had a fight or something.”
“Was Gracie alone?”
She looked surprised he’d asked. “No, she was with Kyle’s friend Trevor.”
“Thanks.”
“What’s going on, Sean?”
“Hopefully nothing, but if you see either of them, call me, immediately.”
Sean called Lucy as he walked away from the booth. “Don’t say anything out loud,” he began.
“Okay.”
“Platt got an anonymous text—a demand of a one hundred fifty thousand for Gracie’s safe return. I’m ninety-nine percent certain it’s Trevor. He’s desperate. Kyle kicked him out, he killed Hank, I suspect he got his parents into serious debt with his gambling and wants to get them out of it.” He paused. “The dollar amount is how much Platt has immediate access to.”
“There could be a logical reason for that.”
She was being vague, which told Sean that Lucy was with the deputy.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“Deputy Longfellow is driving me into Vail. She put an APB out on Trevor Martin for questioning. There’s no evidence yet that Martin had anything to do with the mining or Hank’s death, though we plan on talking to Kyle Cannon about the mining and if he knew.”
“I think he did and that’s why he sent Trevor packing. But that’s a guess.” He hesitated, then said, “Do you think Gracie was under duress when she gave the exact dollar amount?”
“It’s very likely.”
“What if I told you she was seen walking with Trevor on the street?”
“She knew him through Kyle. She may have thought he was friendly.”
Could be. Sean had an odd feeling he couldn’t shake.
“Call me when you
get to Vail. I’ll let you know what I’ve learned.”
“Be careful.”
“Ditto.” Sean ended the call and called Jim Kline. “Kyle’s gone. Gracie was seen by a friend heading to her condo with Trevor Martin. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“The coffee shop owner said Gracie was here ninety minutes ago with someone she didn’t recognize. The young man, however, matches Trevor Martin’s description. They left with to-go cups.”
“Meet me outside her condo, okay?”
“Don’t you need the address?”
“Nope.” He hung up. He’d run a quick background on Gracie Calvert as soon as he had found out she was the girlfriend of Kyle Cannon. It wasn’t difficult to get a current address—or to know that there was no mortgage on her property. Likely, her dad had bought the million-dollar one-bedroom for her, though her name was solely on the property.
Sean walked briskly toward Cascade and called JT on his cell phone. While Sean trusted his instincts, he didn’t generally handle kidnappings. He explained the situation as succinctly as possible.
“Has Platt hired you?”
“No. I signed an NDA for access into his computer when I needed the camera feeds, but he hasn’t signed an RCK contract.”
“You can’t make decisions on this. You can give your opinion, but Platt has to take action. Your liability is too high if this goes south.”
“Understood. But I can’t sit back and do nothing.”
“I concur. I would do the same thing, but if they push back, you walk, got it? What happens won’t be on you if you do. Where’s Lucy?”
“With the sheriff’s deputy. Platt made it clear he didn’t want any cops. He has a security detail, kidnapping insurance, and my gut tells me this isn’t the first time he paid a ransom—he said in his experience, it’s better to pay and let the insurance company investigate after the fact.”
“I’m familiar with the Platt case. One of his executives was kidnapped in Mexico five years ago. They paid, got the exec, then the insurance company tracked down the kidnappers and was able to recover most of the ransom. The guy they hired earned a 33% commission.”
“Was it you?”
“No.”
“Devlin.” Sean almost smiled, though Devlin was a rival of RCK. Sean liked him, and they had been friendly for years—their family rivalry notwithstanding. “He’s good.”
“Regarding Platt,” JT said, ignoring Sean’s quip, “he has a solid rep, but if anything happens to his kid—just watch yourself.”
“Always. I’m going to volunteer to do the exchange.”
“Careful.”
“His call, I get it. But … my gut tells me there’s something off about this entire thing. It’s too quick and messy. Martin is a suspect in murder and he bolts—that I get. But he was illegally mining and surprised by his victim. It wasn’t pre-meditated. This? It doesn’t feel pre-meditated, either. He and the victim—Gracie Calvert—were seen together late this morning by multiple people. It’s like he spontaneously came up with the idea. He has to be close. The town is packed with people. He couldn’t have grabbed her on the street and dragged her off.”
“Where were they seen?”
“At the coffeehouse, then walking toward her condo.” It clicked. “He’s in the building.”
“Good guess. Get the security cameras. They probably went in but didn’t go out.”
“He might be an idiot, but he wouldn’t use her condo.”
“No—but those buildings have vacation units. Empty. I don’t need to tell you what to do—just watch your back.”
“Got it. Thanks for the talk through.”
Sean hung up and spotted Cyrus and Jim standing outside the building. Both wore serious expressions.
“Cyrus, do you know the building manager? We need the security tapes.”
“Jim,” Cyrus nodded to his man. “Take care of it. Rogan and I will meet you in Gracie’s place.”
“You have a key?” Sean asked.
“Yes.”
They took the elevator to the top floor of the four-story building. Gracie’s condo was a corner unit where every room had a view and high ceilings. A balcony wrapped around both sides.
Sean held Cyrus back before entering. “Would you mind waiting here while I clear the place?”
Cyrus nodded, and Sean pulled his gun and walked through the spacious condo. Bandit stayed right at his side; maybe he was as tense as Sean was—or he picked up on Sean’s tension.
The condo had an open floor plan, so he could see the kitchen, dining, and living room all at one time. The dining room was set up as a mini-art studio, with several easels and three paintings in various stages of completion.
Because Gracie was clean and organized, he immediately spotted a lone coffee cup on the counter. He smelled it. Tea. The name on the cup was Gracie. There was no second cup visible.
While the kitchen was clean, a tall floor lamp had been knocked over in the living room, and two pillows were thrown into the corner. Based on the framed painting askew on the wall, at least one of the pillows had hit it and knocked it off balance. A stack of magazines on the table had slid to the floor.
Scuffle? Friendly fight? Something else?
Sean checked the bedroom. Gracie had made her bed that morning, and while there were clothes tossed around and two dressers littered with make-up, perfume, and jewelry, he didn’t see anything that gave him pause. No blood, no suitcase, nothing where it shouldn’t be. The bathroom was the same.
He walked back to Cyrus Platt and holstered his gun. “It’s clear. I’m going to check her garbage and desk.
“For what?”
“One of the vendors who knows Gracie said she was walking toward her condo with coffee, and the coffeeshop said that both her and her friend had ordered something. Gracie clearly came here—this cup is still slightly warm. Did he come up with her? We don’t know yet.”
Sean pulled on disposable gloves, mentally thanking Lucy for instilling in him the habit of keeping a box in his car. He searched the garbage—no cup. Empty yogurt container and a banana peel. He crossed over to her desk and found her cell phone. He didn’t have the passcode, but he could see there were six missed calls from Kyle, three voice mails from Kyle, and a voice mail from her father.
Sean showed the phone to Cyrus. “The first two messages and four calls from Kyle came before we talked to him. He was clearly looking for her, yet didn’t give any indication that something was wrong. Why?”
“Do you think he has something to do with Gracie’s kidnapping?”
Cyrus sounded matter-of-fact, though every muscle in his body appeared tense.
“No, but I think he was worried about her for some reason. Maybe Trevor made a threat against her. Kyle knew Gracie had been with Trevor after the coffeehouse, and that’s why he left the fair. He’s looking for her, too.”
How had they missed Kyle? Had he come here first? They couldn’t have missed him by more than ten, fifteen minutes. Where did he go? What did Kyle know that he hadn’t told them?
Jim Kline entered the condo. “I looked at the security feed. At 12:34, they entered the building and went to the elevator. There are only security cameras in the lobby and outside each entrance. The building is coded—you need to type in a code or have a card key to access the building and elevator. Doors are standard keys.
“At 1:25—about one hour ago—Martin leaves the building alone. I asked to see the security feeds from the underground garage—it’s tenant parking only. Gracie’s car is still in her spot, and she didn’t go down there from 12:34 when she entered the building until now.”
“Did Kyle come in?”
Jim nodded. “At exactly two p.m. He ran into the building, and ten minutes later, left—only minutes before we arrived.”
Where had he gone? Did he know something? Had he seen something? A note? Some sort of message from Gracie or Martin? He must have a direction to look, otherwise why wouldn’t he call Cyrus? Based on his
actions, he didn’t appear party to the kidnapping ... but maybe he was, and worried Cyrus was going to figure it out.
That theory didn’t feel right to Sean.
Gracie hadn’t taken her cell phone. “What time did the ransom text come in?”
“Just before two p.m.”
Thirty minutes ago. “And he wants the money at four p.m.”
“Yes.”
“She has to be here—somewhere in the building.”
“How do you know that? There are ways to bypass any security system,” Cyrus said.
“Yes, and I could bypass this security in less than five minutes because I have the right equipment and knowledge, but most people can’t or can’t do it that fast. And if my hunch is right and this kidnapping and ransom situation is spontaneous, then he didn’t have a plan. Even if he came up with something last night, it wouldn’t be solid. That’s why we have such a short time frame. Can I see the message again?”
Cyrus showed him his phone.
$150K for Gracie. You have 2 hours.
Sean had seen a lot of ransom demands while working for RCK, and he’d seen nothing like this. It was amateur. It didn’t say that they’d call in two hours, but that would be the presumption: call or text again. The message came from a blocked number. That wasn’t something a normal person knew how to do, but it was certainly easy to learn. They would be able to get the number if they could access phone records, but they’d need the police and time for that. Was Trevor stupid enough to use his own phone? Maybe he didn’t realize that even blocked numbers—unless it was a burner phone—were available to the police.
But that was a job for the investigators once they had Gracie back.
“We have ninety minutes to find Gracie.”
“It takes forty minutes to get to the house and back,” Cyrus said.
“You only need twenty minutes—you should be at the house when he sends you drop instructions anyway. And if we have Gracie, we don’t need to go through with it. We call his bluff. Or bring in the police and let them set up the sting. But we don’t need even ninety minutes. There’s one of two places she can be—a vacant condo or a maintenance or supply room. A place that won’t be checked in the next couple of hours. Jim,” Sean said, “can you talk to security about a list of all vacant apartments? There’re only fifty or so units in this building, and based on the research I did when I was buying my house up here, only about fifty-percent of the condos are occupied full-time.”
TWO TO DIE FOR Page 9