by Jana DeLeon
Victor nodded, clearly miserable. “Do you think I’d be here talking to you if I weren’t? But I can’t tell the FBI what I know. They won’t handle it correctly.”
“Even if you don’t have hard evidence, I assure you that the FBI would take such an accusation seriously,” Grayson said. “Kidnappings are all those two agents do. I’m afraid there’s probably very little they haven’t heard or dealt with before.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” Victor said, “but what would they do with that accusation if I made it? Talk to my son, right? Launch an investigation of him. And that’s exactly what I can’t afford to have happen.”
“Why not?” Jackson asked.
Victor ran a hand over his head. “I made a mistake. A terrible mistake, long ago, and I’ve compounded it by thinking I could force something that was never going to be. The truth is my son is not a good man. Not a moral man. But he knew my standards and he wants to inherit, so he’s toed the line all these years because of that. I guess I thought if I forced him into acting the part that he would change, but I was wrong.”
“I don’t understand,” Grayson said. “What do you think caused this?”
“Greed and lust,” Victor said. “Pure and simple. Ian has a mistress. I didn’t like it, but I overlooked it, figuring she would pass the way of others before. But this one is different. He’s obsessed with her.”
“Then why doesn’t he divorce his wife?” Grayson asked.
“Because I told him that if he left his wife, I’d cut him off,” Victor said. “My mother was abandoned by her rich husband—the sperm donor that gave her me. I know what it’s like to grow up without a father, and I swore I wouldn’t let that happen to my granddaughter. But I never thought he’d take it this far. That the money meant more to him than his own child.”
“Did he intend for his wife to die?” Grayson asked.
“I don’t know,” Victor said. “I’d like to think not, but I’m beyond assuming anything when it comes to Ian. I absolutely think he wants ransom money—enough to run off with his mistress.”
“If you think the ransom is his goal, why haven’t you gotten a ransom call?” Grayson asked.
“I have. This morning, only it wasn’t a call. The FBI has my lines tapped and my son knows that. I think my involving the FBI is why the request has been delayed. The note was delivered by a street person who said he was paid to do it. I didn’t show it to the FBI because it verified what I already suspected.”
Victor pulled a piece of paper from his suit pocket and handed it to Grayson. Jackson leaned over to see the note.
If you want your granddaughter back alive, wire 10 million to this account tomorrow at 10 am. If you notify the police, she dies.
Below the message was the account information.
“It’s an account in the Cayman Islands,” Victor said. “I recognized the routing number because a few weeks ago, my accountant pointed out some discrepancies in our investments. Money was being funneled out of the US and into that bank. The amounts were so small in relation to the normal amount of movement that no one had noticed.”
“How much was moved?”
“About five hundred thousand over the course of two weeks.”
Grayson frowned. “And I guess your son knows that the accountant reported the discrepancy to you.”
“I’m afraid so,” Victor said. “I think that’s what prompted all of this. There are only ten people or so, including him, who could have managed this, and he knew I wouldn’t stop digging until I figured out which one it was.”
“So he’s making the play for the big payoff,” Jackson said. “The one that will set him up for life.”
“You’d think so,” Victor said, “and I’m sure that’s what he thinks as well, but if Ian got his hands on that money, I would give him a year, probably less, before it was all gone.”
“Do you plan on sending the money?” Grayson asked.
“That’s why you’re here. I don’t know what to do. Obviously, I want my granddaughter back, but I don’t know who Ian hired to do this. Given the way they beat my daughter-in-law, they’re evil people. What if I send the money and Ian skips town without giving them their cut? What will they do to my granddaughter?”
Jackson felt his stomach roll. “You think Ian would do that—leave his own daughter at the mercy of hired killers?”
Victor shook his head. “At this point, I just don’t know. But I can’t risk it. I can’t risk my granddaughter. Not when all of this is my fault. Ian is my son and I should have never stuck my head in the sand where he’s concerned.”
“This is not your fault,” Jackson said. “Some people are just born different than the rest of us. You did what you could to keep Ian on the straight and narrow.”
“And now my granddaughter is in the hands of madmen,” Victor said.
“Okay,” Grayson said, clearly rattled by the situation. “Do you have any suggestions? Any way that we might track who Ian hired to do this?”
Victor nodded and pulled a photo from his pocket. “After the accountant discovered the discrepancy, I put a detective on my son. He took that photo five days ago. I don’t know the men he’s with, but they don’t look like the kind of people my companies do legitimate business with, and Ian had no meetings on his schedule for that time.”
Grayson took the photo. “We can run it through our database and see if we get a hit. But technically speaking, we are not on this case.”
Victor nodded. “And what I’m asking you to do jeopardizes your careers. I realize that, and I’m sick about it, but I don’t know what else to do. If the FBI goes straight at my son, everything could go in a very bad direction. And they’d only need to ask him questions for him to suspect. But if you’re investigating and the FBI is in the dark, then he won’t know someone is onto him. There’s a chance you can get my granddaughter back before my son figures out that I know.”
Jackson’s heart clenched for the man, unable to imagine what he must be feeling. The worry for his granddaughter coupled with the guilt that his own son could have put the child in this situation. All over money.
Victor rose from the table. “I have to get back home to my wife. I told her I had to run for a quick meeting but if I’m gone too long, she’ll start looking for me and I’m afraid the FBI agents and my son will as well. I know I don’t have the right to ask for your help, and I’m aware of the risk you run if you agree to do it. But as a grandfather, I’m begging you. Whatever it takes to make things right after my granddaughter is safe I’ll do, even if it means paying off every city official in New Orleans.”
Jackson and Grayson rose as well and Grayson nodded. “How can we keep in touch with you?”
Victor handed him a business card with a number written on the back. “It’s a prepaid cell phone. I picked it up on the way over here.”
“I’ll text if I need to talk,” Grayson said.
“I’ll await your decision,” Victor said. “And thank you for meeting with me.”
He headed out of the café, and Grayson dropped back into his seat. Jackson did the same and signaled to the waitress. His throat was dry, and he needed something to drink. Probably something to eat as well, although he wasn’t feeling all that hungry.
“Do you think he’s got it all right?” Jackson asked.
“Yeah. I do. I don’t think he’d have called us unless he was sure.”
“Me either. So what are we going to do about it?”
Grayson leaned back in his chair and blew out a breath. “It’s just a pension, right?”
“Maybe. But you heard the man. If we get his granddaughter back, I have no doubt he’ll go to bat for us, through whatever means necessary. And he has the pull. We’ve got the FBI here to prove it.”
“It’s still a huge risk, especially with everything that’s gone down in the department lately.”
“True.”
“What do you think?”
“You know what I think, but I’m not
the one with a wife and kids and three-quarters of the way to full pension.”
“To hell with it,” Grayson said. “That girl is my daughter’s age.”
Jackson nodded. “Then let’s get some lunch and figure out how we’re going to get that picture run without alerting the chief that we’re up to no good. And we can’t drop the Reynolds investigation. He’s going to ask for an update before we clock out today.”
“Who says we have to? That photo isn’t going to trace in a minute. After we eat, we’ll go by your place, crop the two men out of the photo and upload each of them as suspects in the Reynolds case. If anyone asks, the images were taken from pictures from regulars in the bar.”
“It’s thin but it might work.”
“It only has to work for a day. Come tomorrow, if the men holding Brianna don’t have money in their hands, this all goes south and misclassifying data is going to be the least of our regrets.”
17
CAITLYN AWAKENED WITH A START, gazing wildly around, trying to figure out where she was. Pain shot through her head, and she grabbed it with both hands, the pressure easing the worst of it. Something had happened. Something important. Then she remembered.
She’d escaped.
But where was she now? Wherever she was, there was a draft and she was lying on dirt. Next to her hands was something cold and hard. She ran her fingers along the edges of it and decided it was a crowbar. She pushed herself up and, figuring it might come in handy, took the crowbar with her. She reached out with her empty hand and felt around. There was a storm—that part she remembered—and she thought she’d been struck by lightning. She fell and then…she couldn’t remember what had happened afterward. Only that she was determined to find a place to hide until she could locate help.
Her fingers brushed rough wooden slats, like something used for a storage shed or a barn. She followed the slats to a corner, then around another side until she felt a doorframe. Gently, she ran her hands over the door, trying not to get a splinter in her search for the knob. Finally, her hand brushed against the cold, hard metal and she twisted, expecting it to be locked. But it moved freely in her hand.
She’d done it! She’d actually gotten away.
She cracked open the door and peered out. The sun was starting to set over the tree line, which meant she’d been blacked out for at least a day. There was a house in the distance. The house she’d been held captive in maybe? She couldn’t be sure because she’d never had the opportunity to see it from the outside until last night and last night, she’d never looked back. And since she’d blacked out, she had no way of knowing how far she’d gone. For all she knew, this shed could be miles away from the place she was held.
She inched out and took a couple steps toward the house. If she could get close enough to see inside, she’d know if it was people who might help. Strangers. Not her captor. Or maybe there was a vehicle she could take. That would be safer. Steal a vehicle and drive far, far away. One of the guys she’d secretly dated had shown her how to boost a car. Granted, she only knew how to boost that one kind and she didn’t have any tools, but she might be able to figure something out. Maybe the keys would just be sitting on the counter and she could lift them.
She inched forward toward the house, listening for any sound of voices inside, but only the sounds of the insects coming alive in the woods echoed throughout the still air. When she got to the edge of the house, she crept around the side and peered in a window. It was a kitchen. A dingy, poorly furnished kitchen, but it was empty and there was probably food inside.
Another bolt of pain shot through her head, and she struggled not to cry out. She clenched her head as she had in the shed and counted until the pain started to subside. Then everything began to whirl. She blinked and let go of her head to clutch the window ledge. What was happening? It was as though her mind was on fast-forward. As if someone had rewound the tape, then let it go. She saw the bar, the karaoke stage, the alley.
And she saw who had hurt her.
Suddenly it all flooded back, like a tidal wave washing over her. She dropped to the ground, eyes clenched, hands pressing her head. It was too much. She couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t believe it. Then everything stopped, and she took a deep breath as the pain subsided. And she thought about everything that she’d just remembered—played it back in her mind over and over again. And it suddenly made sense.
And the more she thought about it, the angrier she got. Then all thoughts of escaping slipped away.
They were going to pay for what they did to her.
They were all going to pay dearly.
18
SHAYE WALKED out of the French Revival, feeling frustrated. Cody Reynolds’s coworkers were more than a little shaken up over his murder and were happy to talk with her, but no one knew anything helpful. She’d spent all afternoon engrossed in the records in the storage unit. When she’d realized how much time had passed, she’d loaded as many boxes as she could haul into her SUV to bring home. Then she’d driven straight to the French Revival.
But even after spending over an hour talking to the five employees on shift, she didn’t know anything more about Reynolds’s personal life than she did before walking in the bar. They all liked Reynolds, but no one seemed to know much about him. And all of them expressed shock and dismay upon learning he was likely involved with Caitlyn before her disappearance. For the life of her, Shaye didn’t think any of them were lying.
After exhausting his coworkers with her list of questions and getting nowhere, she took her show to a couple of regulars at the bar. Like the coworkers, they were more than willing to talk, but didn’t have anything to offer. Apparently, Reynolds had been the only bartender in the world who didn’t stand around talking about life with the customers.
She climbed into her SUV and sat there, trying to figure out her next move. Jackson and Grayson would be talking to Marisa, Rick, Jenny, and Virginia at some point, and they would check into Garrett Trahan. Jackson had also mentioned a potential military buddy that they were going to attempt to trace and question, but even if they located him and got anything of relevance, Jackson couldn’t share the information.
Briefly, she considered driving to Baton Rouge to talk to Reynolds’s parents, but she didn’t think they’d be able to help. And the last thing she wanted to do was intrude on their grief. Besides, her job was to figure out what happened to Caitlyn, not find out who killed Reynolds. And even though she had no doubt the two were related, they called for slightly different approaches.
And maybe that’s what she needed to do—try a different approach. Or the original one.
Reynolds’s murder had sidetracked her into looking into his life, but her original line of investigation had been to explore Caitlyn’s past in order to formulate a theory about what had happened. And no one knew Caitlyn like her sister.
It was time for another conversation with Jenny.
Shaye called Jenny’s number but never got an answer. Figuring she might be napping, she directed her SUV to the highway and headed for Ponchatoula. An hour and a half later, she pulled onto the long drive that led to Jenny’s home. The car she’d seen before was parked out front, which was a good sign. If Jenny wasn’t here, then Virginia probably was. Shaye had found the twin’s mother to be direct but not necessarily forthcoming with a lot of details, but maybe another conversation could push her to open up more.
Or maybe Virginia really didn’t have any answers.
Caitlyn and Jenny had been away at college, which automatically limited what their parents knew about the things they did. Shaye had already gotten the impression from others that Caitlyn was the outgoing one who pushed limits, even stepping over them, and Jenny was the quiet one who covered for her sister and tried to clean up her messes. Sam and Marisa weren’t the type to have tattled to the twins’ parents about what they were doing, and Rick wasn’t from their hometown and likely had never even met their parents until Caitlyn disappeared. So it was unlikely that Vir
ginia knew what Caitlyn had been up to at college.
Still, if the opportunity presented itself, Shaye wouldn’t mind taking another run at their mother. She parked next to the car and made her way up to the porch to knock on the front door. When no one answered, she walked around to the back of the house, as she’d done before, figuring she’d find Virginia on the back porch in her rocker. She was a bit shocked to see Jenny sitting there, drinking a beer and reading a romance novel. Jenny smiled as Shaye approached.
“I knocked up front,” Shaye said as she sat on the bench across from Jenny. “When no one answered, I figured I’d find your mother sitting back here.”
“She doesn’t like it when I drink,” Jenny said. “She really doesn’t like when I read romance novels. She thinks they’re sinful.”
“You mother has strict convictions. Honestly, I’m a little surprised myself. You seem to be feeling much better.”
“I am. Something happened today. Something that grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me. It was like waking up from a long coma.”
“What happened?” Whatever it was had made a huge improvement in Jenny’s appearance. Color was back in her face and the dull look was gone from her eyes. Now she had a bit of fire in them.
Jenny shook her head. “That story can wait. First, I want to know if you have any news.”
“I’m afraid not. I’ve talked to a lot of people, but no one was aware of Caitlyn and Cody’s relationship.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. I mean, not on Caitlyn’s end, anyway. I think she kept a lot of things from the rest of us, especially me.”
“Really? I thought twins were close. You know, shared clothes and all of that.”
Jenny smiled. “My sister and I didn’t exactly have the same idea about things. We looked alike, but that’s where most of the similarities stopped. And we definitely didn’t have the same taste in clothes. Caitlyn would never have worn something like this. Not even at home.”