Hostage At Crystal Manor

by Heather Graham

  “We’re almost at the gate,” Nick told her. “Look, it’s all right. You’re going!”

  “Someone is going to shoot me in the back!” she whispered tearfully.

  “No, you’re safe. You’re out of here.”

  When he got the gate open, Craig Frasier raised his arms to show that he was unarmed then stepped forward to accept the hostages.

  As he did so, they heard a short blast of gunfire.

  “What the hell!” Nick muttered, spinning around furiously. The angle meant the shot had come from one of the towers—and it hadn’t been aimed at one of the hostages, him or Craig.

  The shot had been aimed at the sky.

  Dillinger. He’d headed up to one of the towers himself.

  He leaned out over the coral rock balustrade to shout out to the FBI.

  “We’ve got three young people left. They will die if you don’t back off completely. You follow us, they die. It’s that simple. Do you understand?”

  Craig pushed the three hostages through the gate, then stepped back from the fence, lifting his hands. “We aren’t following. How do we get the last three?” he shouted.

  “We’ll call you. Give Barrow there a number. If we get out safe and sound, they’ll be safe. Even deal. Got it?”

  Craig reached into his pocket and handed Nick his card. Nick shoved the card into the pocket of his shirt. Barely perceptible, Craig nodded. Then he shouted again, calling out to Dillinger, “You have someone else. The boy that was kidnapped this morning. When are you going to give us the boy?”

  For a moment Dillinger was silent. Then he spoke.

  “When I’m ready. When you keep your word. When you get these hostages back, you’ll know how to find the boy.”

  “Give us the boy now—in good faith. He’s just a kid,” Craig said, looking at Nick for some sign. But Nick shook his head. So far, he hadn’t gotten Dillinger to say anything.

  “Kids are resilient!” Dillinger called. “You keep your word, you get the kid.”

  Craig looked at Nick again. Nick did his best to silently convey the fact that he knew it was imperative they keep everyone alive—and that he figured out where Dillinger had stashed Adrian Burke before it was too late.

  The cop—Victor Arden—had apparently repeated word for word what Nick had said earlier. Craig knew what Nick knew so far; they wouldn’t have to follow the Donzis at a discreet distance. Dillinger would take his band the sixty-plus miles from their location there on the island down and around the peninsula, curving around Homestead and Florida City, to Everglades National Park.

  Every available law-enforcement officer from every agency—Coast Guard, U.S. Marshals, State Police, Rangers, FBI, Miccosukee Police and so forth—would be on the lookout. At a distance.

  While that was promising, the sheer size of the Everglades kept Nick from having a good feeling. Too many people got lost in the great “river of grass” and were never seen again.

  He needed to actually speak with Craig—without being watched or heard.

  “The boats are docking now in back,” Craig told him. “How will my men get back?” He looked up at the tower and raised his voice. “If they’re assaulted in any way—”

  A shot was fired—into the sky once again.

  And Dillinger spoke, shouting out his words. “They just walk off onto the dock. You stay where you are. My friend, Mr. Barrow there, is going to walk around and bring them to you. You know that I have sharpshooters up here in the towers. No tricks. Hey, if I’m going to die here today, everybody can die here today!”

  “We don’t want anyone to die,” Craig said.

  “So, my boats best not run out of gas,” Dillinger said. “Fix it now…or a hostage dies, I guarantee you.”

  “You’re not going to run out of gas. You have good boats, in sound working order,” Craig promised him. “My men will leave the boats’ keys in the ignitions, and give Barrow here backups. As soon as my men are safely off the property, we’ll all back away.”

  “Go get ’em, Barrow!” Dillinger shouted.

  Nick backed away from the fence and then turned to follow the tile path around the house and out to the back. He traversed the gardens to the docks.

  There were two Donzis there, both a good size, both compact and tight. They were exactly what Dillinger had wanted.

  Two men, Metro-Dade police, Nick thought, leaped up onto the dock as they saw Nick. They eyed him carefully as he came to meet them. He figured they knew his undercover part in this, but they would still carry out the charade for his safety.

  He reached for the keys then he pretended to jerk the two men around and push them forward. He lowered his head and spoke softly. “Tell Frasier and the powers that be to concentrate south of Shark Valley. Around Anthony Green’s old distillery grounds.”

  “Gotcha,” one of the men murmured, turning back to look at Nick and raise his hands higher, as if trying to make sure Nick wouldn’t shoot him.

  “They’re after Green’s treasure?” the second man asked, incredulous. “Asses!” he murmured. “Everyone is still…okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m trying to keep it that way,” Nick said. He fell silent. They had come closer to the house on the path. In a few steps they’d be turning the corner to the front. He couldn’t risk Dillinger so much as looking at his lip movement suspiciously.

  He got the two men to the gate, opened it and shoved them out.

  He carefully locked the gate again, looking at Craig.

  There was no shout and there were no instructions from the tower. Dillinger, he knew, had already moved on. He’d have gotten what books and materials Dakota Cameron was using and he’d have headed on down and out.

  Nick walked backward for a few minutes and then headed back into the house.

  As he’d expected, it was empty.

  He went through the music room, checked the courtyard and made his way through the vast back porch to look out to the docks.

  The cons were already on their way to the boats with the hostages. Dillinger himself was escorting Kody Cameron.

  Nick reached the docks just as Dillinger was handing out boat assignments.

  Nelson, Capone, Kelly and the young woman, Brandi Johnson, were to take one boat.

  Dillinger would take the second with Floyd, Vince and Kody Cameron.

  And Barrow, of course.

  “Barrow, move it!”

  “No!” Brandi cried, trying to break free from Capone to reach Kody and Vince. “No, please, no. Please don’t make me be alone, please…”

  “You don’t need to be alone. I can shoot you right here,” Dillinger said.

  “Then you can shoot me, too!” Kody snapped. “You let her come with us or you let me go with her, one or the other!”

  “I should shoot you!” Dillinger flared, gripping Kody by the front of her tailored shirt.

  “Hey!” Barrow stepped in, extracting Kody from Dillinger’s grip—a little less than gently—and staring down Dillinger. “Eyes on the prize, remember? Can we get out of here, dammit! Let’s go while the going is good. Vince, just go with the nice Mr. Nelson, nice Mr. Capone, and nice Mr. Kelly, please. Brandi—Miss Johnson, step aboard that boat, please!”

  Everyone seemed to freeze in response to his words to Dillinger for a minute.

  Then Dillinger ripped off his cheap costume shop mask and glared around at everyone.

  Nick had his hand on Kody’s arm. He could feel the trembling that began.

  Now they all knew what Dillinger looked like. They could identify him. Until now, the hostages weren’t at much of a risk.

  Now they were.

  “What are you doing?” Capone began.

  “What’s the difference?” Dillinger spat. “Who cares? We’ll be long gone, and we’ll leave these
guys in the Everglades. By the time they’re found—if they’re found—we’ll be gone.”

  The others hesitated and then took off their masks.

  And Barrow had no choice. He took off his mask and stared at Kody—praying.

  The instant he pulled it off, he detected the flare in her eyes.

  She recognized him, of course. Knew that she knew him…immediately. He’d always had the feeling she’d suspected he was familiar, but now that she could see his face, she was certain.

  But from the look of confusion that overtook her face, he knew she couldn’t place him exactly. And if she did figure it out, he’d have to pray she was bright enough to not say anything. She had to be. Both their lives depended on it.

  “Let’s get going!”

  Nick moved them along, hopping into the front Donzi himself without giving Dillinger a chance to protest.

  Dillinger followed, allowing his changes.

  Nick turned the key in the ignition, shouting back to Capone after his boat roared to life, “You good back there?”

  “She’s purring like a kitten!” Capone called to him.

  Nick led the way. He looked anxiously to the horizon and the shoreline. He skirted the other islands, shot under the causeway, joining the numerous other boats.

  There was no way to tell which might be pleasure boats and which might be police. He had to trust in Craig to see that law enforcement got in front of them, that officers would be in the Everglades to greet them.

  He drove hard for forty-five minutes. The day was cool and clear; under different circumstances, it would have been a beautiful day for boating.

  Dillinger suddenly stood by him at the helm. “Cut the motor!” he commanded.

  “I thought you wanted—”

  “Cut the motor!”

  Nick did so. “What are you doing?”

  “See that fine-looking vessel up there? Not quite a yacht, but I’d say she’s a good thirty feet of sleek speed.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “We’re taking her.”

  “Ah, come on, Dillinger! She’s not the prize,” Nick protested.

  The second Donzi came up next to them. “That one?” Kelly shouted to Dillinger.

  “Looks good to me,” Dillinger shouted back.

  Nick realized they’d come up with this game plan while he’d been working with the hostages.

  “No,” Nick said. “No, no, this isn’t good.”

  “What are you, an ass?” Dillinger asked him. “You don’t think the cops won’t be looking for these Donzis soon enough? Even if they know we have hostages—even they know I took the kid. We’re taking that boat!”

  Kelly was already moving his boat around the larger vessel. He started shouting. A grizzly-looking fellow with bright red skin and a captain’s hat appeared at the rail. “What the hell are you carrying on about, boy?” he demanded.

  Kelly lifted his semiautomatic and pointed it at the old man. “Move over, sir! We’re coming aboard!”

  “Son of a bitch!” Nick roared. He kicked his vessel back into gear, flooring it on a course toward the second Donzi.

  Kelly turned to him, gun in hand.

  “What the hell is the matter with you?” Nick demanded of Kelly.

  “What the hell is the matter with you?” Dillinger asked him.

  “We’re not killing the old bastard,” Nick said, snapping his head around to stare at Dillinger. “We’re not doing it. I am not risking a death penalty for you stupid asses!”

  Huddled together in the seat that skirted the wheel, Kody and Brandi Johnson were staring at him.

  For the moment, he ignored them.

  They were safe for now.

  The old man wasn’t.

  Not giving a damn about damage or bumpers, Nick shoved the Donzi close to the larger vessel; she was called Lady Tranquility.

  Nick found a hold on the hull and lifted himself up and over onto the deck. The old man just stared at him, shaking his head. “You think I’m grateful? You think I’m grateful you didn’t kill me? You’re still a thug. And you should still be strung up by the heels.”

  “You got a dinghy of any kind?” Nick asked, ignoring him.

  “Yeah, I got a blow-up emergency boat.”

  “This is an emergency. Blow it up and get the hell out of here!” Nick said.

  By then, he heard Dillinger yelling at him again. Floyd was coming up on board, using a cleat the same way Nick had, and Dillinger was pushing Kody upward.

  He helped Floyd on, and Kody, and then Brandi.

  “Get him in his inflatable dinghy and get him out of here!” Nick urged Floyd.

  Floyd stared at him. Then he shrugged and grabbed the old man. “Let’s do it, you old salt. Let’s do it.”

  “Make sure he stays the hell away from the radio!” Dillinger ordered, crawling up onto the deck at last. “Come on, get on up here!” Dillinger called to the men in the second Donzi.

  Nick left them at the bow, heading toward the aft. He got a quick look down the few stairs that led to the cabin. Seemed there was a galley, dining area, couches—and a sleeping cabin beyond.

  The storage was aft; the old man had gotten his inflatable out.

  Floyd was keeping an eye on him. “Hurry it up, geezer!” Floyd commanded.

  Nick took a quick look down into the cabin and toyed with the idea of using the radio quickly. He made it down the steps, but heard movement above.

  “Who the hell does he think he is?” Nick heard. It was Kelly—and he was furious that Nick had stopped him. “Like he thinks he’s the boss? Well, the pansy sure as hell isn’t my boss!”

  Nick looked up the stairs and saw Kelly’s gun aimed at the old man again.

  Nick couldn’t shoot but he couldn’t let the man die. His hand reached out for the nearest weapon—a frying pan that hung on a hook above the galley sink. He grabbed it in an instant and aimed it at Kelly’s head.

  His aim was good—and the old frying pan was solid. Kelly stumbled right to the portside and over the deck and into the water.

  Floyd stared at him.

  “We’re not killing anyone!” Nick snapped.

  Floyd shrugged and turned to the old man. “Better get in that boat, then, mister. If he’s alive, Kelly will be coming back meaner than hell.”

  Nick looked at Floyd.

  Floyd wasn’t a killer, he realized.

  Good to know.

  Of course, Floyd wasn’t a model of citizenry, either.

  It was still good to know that in this number, there was at least one more man who didn’t want the bay to run red with blood.

  “Hey, Barrow!”

  It was Dillinger shouting for him. He hurried around to the front.

  “Get her moving!” Dillinger said.

  “Aye, aye, sir,” Nick said. He hurried back to the helm, set the motor and turned the great wheel.

  A minute later Dillinger came and stood by him. “Hey, where the hell is Kelly?”

  Nick tensed. “I think he went for a swim.” Dillinger was silent.

  “Hmm. At this point, good riddance.” Dillinger shrugged and then turned toward the cabin. “Well, I’ll bet the old guy didn’t know much about fine wine, but there’s bound to be some beer aboard. You know the course, right? Hold to it. We’ll be around the bend to some mangrove swamps I know and love soon enough.”

  Dillinger left him, heading down to the cabin.

  Nick spared a moment to take stock. This mission was definitely not going the way they’d planned when he’d signed on to go undercover. But he was playing the hand he’d been dealt. He had no other choice.

  At least they were down to three hostages. Dakota Cameron, Brandi Johnson and Vince Jenkins.

  A
nd down to four cons. Nelson, Capone, Floyd and Dillinger.

  And, of course, there was still a kidnapped boy out there…

  And they were heading for the Everglades. Where, soon enough, the winter sun would set.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “God, it’s dark!” Brandi whispered to Kody.

  “Yes, it’s dark,” Kody whispered back. She wasn’t sure why they were whispering. She, Vince and Brandi were the only ones down in the cabin. They were hardly sharing any type of useful secrets.

  Above them, on deck, were their captors. Men she could see clearly now.

  Dillinger, the oldest and the craziest in the group, had a lean face with hollow cheeks, and eyes that darted in a way that made her think of a gecko. Floyd was almost as much of a “pretty boy” as his borrowed gangster name implied. Nelson, also whipcord-lean, tense, reminded her of a very nervous poodle. Capone was muscular and somewhat stout, with brown eyes and chubby cheeks.

  And Barrow.

  Yes, she knew him. She knew his face. She recognized him.

  From where? She still couldn’t pinpoint just when she’d seen him before. So how could she possibly be so certain they had met? But she was.

  Why did she feel a strange sense of attraction to him, as if he were some kind of an old friend, or an acquaintance, or even someone she had seen and thought…

  I need to know him.

  “Where are we? Do you think we’re still in Florida?” Brandi asked. “I mean…we’re on the water, I know that, but we’re not really moving anymore. I don’t think. Or we’re going really slow.”

  “We’re right off the tip of the peninsula,” Vince said. “Kind of out in the swamps that would make us really hard to find. But, in truth, a pretty cool place, really. You know crocodiles usually hang out in salt water, and alligators like fresh water, but here, we have both—yeah, both. Alligators and crocodiles. ’Cause of the way the Everglades is like a river of grass, you got the brackish thing going…”

  Brandi was staring at him in horror.

  Kody set a hand on his arm. “Come on, all three of us grew up here. I know I’ve been to Shark Valley a couple of dozen times. The wildlife is just there—snakes and alligators in the canals and on the trails—and people don’t bother them and they don’t bother people. We’re going to be fine,” she told Brandi.