“She might tell somebody where she’s going. We can’t risk anybody knowing about the meeting, or we’ll be arrested for aiding a kidnapper, maybe even a murderer.”
“But we are aiding a kidnapper and murderer,” said Rita. The words tasted strange.
“Doesn’t mean I want to be arrested for it,” Kyte said. “Do you have her phone number?”
Rita reluctantly repeated that the man had provided her with pertinent contact information.
“Good, buy a prepaid cell phone with cash someplace you won’t be recognized. Wear a hat in case they have cameras and trace the phone to the store. Call the woman and arrange a meeting at seven in Jefferson Township Peninsula Park. It should be isolated at that time. I know of at least two spots that would be good for meetings.”
Hearing Frank Kyte talk as if he actually knew how to pull this off frightened Rita. In a way, she wanted to fail. If they told the police and FBI agents the truth, maybe they could catch this guy for good. Otherwise, she would spend every day wondering when Ryker would call again and what he might ask her to do next.
***
Tyler Residence
Edinboro, Pennsylvania
After exiling her husband and daughter to the movies that evening, Rebecca Tyler lingered in the family room with the television on in the background. She couldn’t concentrate, and she jumped every time a phone rang. She stayed as far from the kidnapper’s black phone as the couch would allow, but when it finally rang, she snapped it up before the first ring finished. Turning off the TV, she accepted the call.
“Please send Karen home!” She didn’t bother with pleasantries. There was absolutely nothing pleasant about her dealings with this creep.
“I already promised I would. I sense a lack of trust, Becky. That’s hurtful.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“When you find an answer, let me know,” said the man. “In the meantime, I wanted to tell you about that favor I mentioned earlier. It’s a very simple task. I want you to contact that feddie, Baked Goods, and have him come to your house tomorrow morning around eight.”
“Who?”
“The blond feddie, young, talks a lot, has too much energy.”
“Agent Baker?”
“That’s the one.”
“You said not to contact the police or FBI agents again.”
“I did,” the man agreed, “and now I’ve changed my mind. Offer him coffee with the contents of a few of your sleeping pills.”
How does he know I have sleeping pills?
“You want me to drug an FBI agent?”
“That’s a harsh term, but yes, I need him out of the way until I can deal with him.”
“What are you going to do to him?” Rebecca had a pretty good idea, but she wanted him to deny it.
“That’s none of your concern.”
The dodge was not a denial.
“You’ll kill him,” she whispered, horrified.
“A lot of people die every day,” the man said philosophically. “Your concern should be that Ellie isn’t one of them.”
“You would really kill Ellie?” Rebecca knew he would, but the question escaped as her mind quit functioning to its highest capacity. “Why do you want him dead so badly?”
“Yes, I would really kill Ellie. As for Baker, he’s a feddie, Becky,” the madman said, as if that ought to explain everything. “He’s a stranger to you, why should you care? In fact, don’t care. Stop caring right now. I command it.”
“People can’t turn off feelings on command.”
The man was quiet for a blessed moment, but then, he said, “I see where Karen got her stubborn streak.”
“Did you hurt my daughter?” Rebecca’s mind leapt to the logical conclusion.
The man’s voice took on a strange, tender quality.
“I could never hurt Karen. She and I are soulmates. She completes me, and when she comes of age, I’ll marry her and build her a cabin out in the woods where we’ll live happily ever after. She’ll come to love me in time, and if she doesn’t, it won’t matter. She’ll wither up and die without my love to sustain her.”
Rebecca shuddered as the man seemed to mentally unravel.
For several moments, only the sound of his deep, even breathing came through the phone. He started laughing, softly at first, then quickly turning hysterical.
“You believed me! Admit it. I had you going there!”
“This was a joke?” Rebecca’s emotions went through so many changes she felt physically hot then cold. “Why would you—”
“I’m sorry. You made that too easy.” He got his fits of laughter under control. “Only that last part was the joke, I’m completely serious about the first portion. You get that feddie to your house and knock him out any way you please, and I solemnly swear you will never hear from me again. Oh, and one more thing, aside from the feddie, no police contact. No ambulance, no other feddies, nothing. I’ll be very upset if you do anything besides gratefully accept Karen and another guest into your home. People die when I get upset.”
Another guest?
Rebecca listened to the dial tone for a while after her tormentor hung up. Slowly, her brain started working again, throwing tough questions at her. Could she go through with it? Could she poison an innocent man just because some crazy guy whispered threats in her ear? His joke unnerved her on so many levels. It proved he wasn’t fully sane. If that was the case, could she trust him to leave them alone?
Call Agent Baker. Tell him the truth. He can protect Ellie.
Rebecca shook herself, wondering where those thoughts came from and why they had the faintest ring of a British accent. She felt they would have eventually surfaced, but she could barely think straight. One way or another, she needed to call Agent Baker, so she took out his card and dialed his cell phone.
“Special Agent George Baker,” he answered crisply midway through the third ring.
“Agent Baker, this is Rebecca Tyler. You said I could call any time. I need to speak with you in private. Can you come by tomorrow around eight o’clock?”
“Mrs. Tyler, what a pleasant surprise. I didn’t recognize the number.”
“Oh, I’m using the phone the kidnapper left me. It was handy.” Rebecca winced at the pathetic explanation.
“What did you want to talk about?”
“We can’t talk on this line. Will you please come to my house tomorrow morning?”
“Of course, ma’am, I’ll be there at eight o’clock sharp. Can I buy you and your family bagels or donuts? I’m more of a bagel man, but donuts are fun too. Does Ellie have a favorite of either?”
“Blueberry bagel with strawberry cream cheese,” Rebecca answered. Her stomach twisted at the deception.
“You got it,” Agent Baker said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Goodbye.” Rebecca thoroughly hated herself. What kind of person lets a complete stranger tell her to poison an affable young man because he’s too good at his job?
Tell Agent Baker the truth. He is a good man and he will help. I promise.
“Great. Now, I’m hearing voices.” Rebecca threw the cursed phone across the room.
Chapter 28:
Unexpected Developments
Parking Lot of Comfort Cottages
Orlando, Florida
Crouched in the bushes near the kidnappers’ two cars, Varick Ayers waited to ambush them. At last, he saw them approach. He expected two hostages held at hidden gunpoint by two kidnappers, it would be a complicated takedown. Not impossible, just trickier than he liked.
Wait, Nadia instructed.
Varick was about to question her when he realized what she meant. Two of the three kidnappers had entered the Parker cottage, only one escorted Mr. and Mrs. Parker away from the place.
They left a man with the children.
Of course they would. Despite the late hour, they didn’t want to bind and carry the Parkers out, and the only way to gain their cooperation would be to threaten the k
ids.
Mrs. Parker was forced into the back of the blue Camry, and Mr. Parker got to ride in the beat up old, black Accord.
“I knew I should have brought two,” Varick muttered, referring to the GPS tracking device he clutched in one hand.
Track the Accord, Nadia ordered.
Without hesitation, Varick scrambled forward and tucked the tracking device under the front bumper of the car holding Mr. Parker. He glanced up in time to see a man wearing a blue bandana fire a tranquilizer gun at Mrs. Parker. Having been on the wrong end of those before, Varick winced in sympathy and looked right to see another man give the same treatment to Mr. Parker.
Get to the children or they will die.
Thus motivated, Varick waited impatiently for the two cars to leave then sprinted to the Parkers’ cottage. He burst through the door, slamming it back against the wall.
“Hank?” called a man from one of the bedrooms. “Hank, are we clear yet?”
Varick crossed the kitchen and common room in a second and entered the main bedroom.
“Wha—”
The man’s surprised cry ended in a grunt as Varick’s tackle took him down at the knees. The force knocked the man several feet backward until his head met the far wall with a sound like a falling melon. The man lay still.
Satisfied, Varick picked himself up and found three pairs of young eyes staring at him. Stunned silence stretched until the baby broke it with a shriek.
“Who are you?” demanded the older Parker boy.
“Awesome!” exclaimed the younger boy.
“Varick Ayers, at your service.” Varick bowed low, retrieved the man’s gun from the corner, and took out the bullets. “Hand me that pillowcase.”
The younger boy scrambled to obey.
“Why are you here? Where are our parents?” questioned the older, more suspicious one.
“I’ll go help them as soon as I finish with this guy,” Varick promised, checking the unconscious man for other weapons. He caught the pillow chucked at him by the helpful Parker boy. Stripping off the case, Varick used his ankle knife to shred the pillowcase into two-inch strips and tied up the bad guy.
The baby continued fussing.
Varick walked over and held out his arms.
“May I?”
The elder boy is called Jason, the younger boy is Andrew, and the baby is Caitlyn. Tell Jason you want to hold her so he can get the tracer locator his father made.
Varick relayed the message, which allayed some of the boy’s fears.
Jason handed the sweaty baby to Varick and went rummaging through his father’s luggage.
Varick accepted the baby and swung her about until her whining turned to giggles.
“Me next!” shouted Andrew. He ran across the bed and launched himself at Varick.
Thinking quickly, Varick tossed the baby into one arm and caught the boy with his other arm, grunting with the impact. He spun around twice before easing Andrew to the floor.
“Again!”
“Maybe later, mate. I’ve got a job to do first,” Varick replied.
“Here,” Jason said, holding out a black box the size of a deck of cards.
“Cheers,” said Varick, trading the baby for the box. He started for the door. “I’ll send help soon. Make sure that guy stays out of trouble, but don’t go near him.”
“Where are you going?” Jason’s tone was desperate for information.
Varick weighed how much to tell him. Honestly, he didn’t know where the Parkers would be taken. He pressed his tracking device close to the one Mr. Parker had designed and waited for it to beep, indicating successful transfer of data.
“Are our parents going to die?”
That question was easier to answer.
“Not on my watch.” Varick threw the black box onto an empty corner of the bed. “See that Agent Lawson gets that.”
“Who?”
Figuring the boy would find out soon enough, Varick took one last look at the Parker children and exited the cottage, determined to keep those kids from becoming orphans.
***
Parker Rental, Comfort Cottages
Orlando, Florida
Detective Donald Wickerman noticed that the door to the Parkers’ cottage bore the marks of a violent entry. Drawing his backup gun, he cautiously entered. The kitchen and common room appeared clear, but he heard footsteps coming from one of the bedrooms. He opened the door and immediately had a gun in his face.
“Detective Wickerman, Edinboro PD.”
The gun disappeared into a shoulder holster as the door swung open wider.
“Wickerman, nice of you to join us,” responded the tall, blond man wearing a gray suit. “Agent Duncan said you might be a latecomer.”
“Flight just got in,” said Wickerman, pushing past the FBI man. “What did I miss?” He spotted a groggy man tied up with pillowcase strips. “Your handiwork?”
Lawson shook his head.
“I got here late, too. The Parkers were already gone. Their son, Jason, said a boy came in and tackled this guy just before he would have killed them.”
“What boy?”
Lawson shrugged.
“The kids are sleeping now, but you can question them when they wake up. All I got was blond and quick. Then, I got distracted by this.” He held up a small black object and tossed it to Wickerman. “It’s some sort of tracking device. I think it’s supposed to lead us to Mrs. Parker.”
Wickerman caught the box and tried to open it.
Nothing happened.
“How do you open it?” inquired Wickerman.
“I was about to call Agent Duncan to find out,” said Lawson. “I think he’s worked with one of these before.”
“You should do that,” Wickerman encouraged, still studying the device. He couldn’t see any sort of opening.
“What should we do with him?” Lawson queried, absently dialing a number.
Muffled noises came from the gagged man.
“Do you hear something, Lawson?” asked Wickerman with eyes twinkling.
“Not a thing,” Lawson replied. He held up a finger to let Wickerman know the connection had gone through. “Sorry to bother you, Patrick, but we need your help.”
Wickerman left the room to check on the Parker kids while Lawson got information from Patrick Duncan. He found the three little Parkers passed out on one twin bed like a pile of puppies. The older boy leaned back on a propped up pillow, the baby lay facedown across his chest, and the younger boy curled up in the space next to him. Wickerman felt a stab of longing for his own son, Josh. Then, he experienced the usual rush of anger at the man who had threatened Josh and these children. Remembering the man tied up in the other bedroom, Wickerman stalked back to have a chat with him.
Ripping off the man’s gag, Wickerman pulled him upright.
“Would you have killed those kids?”
“You’re way out of your jurisdiction, detective. I don’t have to answer any questions. Untie me right now! I know my rights.”
Wickerman seized the man’s shoulders, pulled forward, and slammed his head back against the wall.
“Remember, we found you like this. I’m trying to help, but these knots look complicated. It might be hours before I can release you.”
The man started cursing, but stopped when Wickerman repeated the move wherein the man’s head met the wall.
“Where are the Parkers being taken?”
The man groaned and looked ready to spit in Wickerman’s face.
Wickerman clutched the base of the man’s neck.
“Stupid answers make me real clumsy. You don’t want me clumsy.” His eyes flashed with dire warnings.
The man’s defiance melted under Wickerman’s withering look.
“They’re going to separate places. I don’t know where they’re taking the woman.”
“Why don’t you know?”
“Not my job.”
“What was your job?”
A spark of defiance lit
behind the man’s eyes.
“Kill the kids then catch up with an associate and wait for orders to kill the man.”
“Where is Jonathan Parker being taken?” Wickerman struggled to not sound alarmed.
“Why should I tell you?”
“So I don’t have a weapons malfunction near your head,” Wickerman answered darkly.
“I got it!” Lawson called triumphantly. “Wickerman, we’ve got to roll.”
“The address now,” Wickerman whispered, entering a battle of wills with the bound man.
Wickerman won and the bad guy gave him the address.
Nodding thanks, Wickerman crossed to Lawson.
“We have a problem.”
Chapter 29:
Setting the Timers
House for Sale
Maitland, Florida
The sharp scent of smelling salts reached deep inside Rachel Parker’s head and tugged her toward consciousness. She jerked her head away, but the scent hit her strongly again as a hand tipped her face toward the reviving liquid.
“I’m awake,” Rachel mumbled, shaking her head.
“You’ll be able to rest again soon, Mrs. Parker, but I need you fully awake now,” a man explained.
Rachel opened her eyes then slammed them shut again as bright light assaulted her senses. Tears slipped out and a hand roughly wiped them away.
“You’ll ruin your looks if you cry. Take it slow. Your eyes will adjust. I’m sorry the lights are necessary.”
Questions crowded Rachel’s head, but she lacked the energy to voice them. Where am I? What happened? Where’s my family? What do you want? Why me? Why again?
Forcing her eyes open, Rachel squinted, trying to take in her surroundings. She tried to sit up but her limbs resisted the orders.
“You’ll be sluggish as the tranquilizer wears off,” cautioned the man. He wore the same—or a very similar—bandana as when he’d invaded the cottage. “Come on, wake up. The boss wants you to deliver a message for him.”
“Where is my husband?” Rachel strove for demand and settled for steady. She could still feel the spot on the upper left side of her chest where the tranquilizer dart had struck.
The man pulled the blue bandana down and let it sit around his neck.
The Keres Case (Heartfelt Cases Book 4) Page 20