He decreased the water temperature in the shower and finished rinsing off in a lukewarm spray. He got dressed in record time, just in case Nicole got any bright ideas about barging in on him—because he had no willpower to resist her.
When he made it downstairs, Nicole was on the phone again, and she waved at him as she continued talking. “Chanel is fine, Mom. She sort of saved Livvy’s life. She’s a hero.”
Nicole rolled her eyes at him. “I just thought Livvy could use the extra income right now since she can’t exactly walk dogs. Chanel will be fine over there. I’ll bring her back home after...in a little while.”
Nicole listened to her mother for a very long time, all the while making faces. “Love you, too, Mom. Have a great time and don’t worry about a thing. Everything’s under control.”
She ended the call with a sigh. “That woman could talk your ear off.”
“Everything’s under control? That couldn’t be farther from the truth.”
Nicole lifted her shoulders. “What she doesn’t know can’t hurt her.”
Amen to that.
* * *
NICOLE SLID INTO the backseat of the town car and Slade followed her, nodding to Pierre as he held the door open.
When the car lurched away from the curb, Slade turned to her. “It’s not very warm out. Do you think there will be many people there?”
“Not as crowded as summertime, obviously, but there are arcades and shows and other things to do there besides go to the beach.”
Slade bobbled the key in the palm of his hand. “I have a good feeling about this—we have proof that Lars and Trudy went to Coney Island, and Trudy mentioned a key before she died, and this is definitely no ordinary key.”
“Yeah, but we don’t even know if Coney Island has these kinds of lockers, and if it does, how long will it take us to try every locker?”
“Don’t be so pessimistic. You said it yourself. It won’t be that crowded, so maybe not many people using the lockers this time of year. I’m sure there will be plenty of lockers with their keys intact, and we can bypass those.”
She tilted her head at him. “You are feeling confident. I like it.”
After crawling through traffic in Manhattan, the car moved faster once they hit Brooklyn. It was still almost an hour before Pierre rolled through the parking lot of the beachside amusement park.
Slade tapped on the darkly tinted glass that separated driver from passenger, and the partition magically slid open. “Pierre, can you pick us up here? I’m not sure how long we’ll be, but Nicole will text you when we’re ready in case you want to leave and come back.”
“I’ll probably stay here, sir, although it’s been a while since I had a corn dog.”
Nicole laughed. “We’ll get you one.”
As Pierre made a move to get out of the car, Slade stopped him. “We can manage. You don’t have to keep hopping in and out of the car to open the door for us.”
Nicole jabbed him in the back as he exited the car, but he ignored her. She’d never felt guilty about her family’s wealth because her parents had managed to do so much good with it. Maybe Slade’s parents weren’t as generous with their money.
She could probably get a better sense of them and what made Slade tick once she met them. She tripped, the toe of her sneaker catching the edge of the curb. If she ever met them.
Slade caught her arm. “Careful.”
Inhaling a deep breath of salty air, she said, “This way.”
They bought tickets for the amusement park, since it was the only way to get inside, and wandered around the entrance area looking for lockers, without any luck.
Wedging her hands on her hips, Nicole said, “We should’ve just asked when we bought the tickets.”
“I didn’t think we’d have to. I thought they’d be right up front with the bathrooms and the stroller rentals.”
“Men never ask about anything important.” She marched back to the ticket counter and grabbed the first attendant she saw. “Excuse me, do you have lockers here? You know, maybe for a purse?”
“Sorry, no lockers here.”
Her shoulders slumped and she made a half turn before the attendant called after her. “But Luna Park next door has lockers.”
Her head snapped up. “We don’t have to pay to get in there, do we?”
“No, just for the individual rides.”
“Thanks.” She grabbed Slade’s arm and dragged him toward the front of the park. “Renewed hope.”
They wandered into Luna Park, which had signs all around announcing its opening for the season.
Slade uttered an expletive and grabbed her arm. “Nicole, this is their opening weekend.”
“I know. We lucked out.”
“No, we didn’t.” He shook his head. “If Luna Park wasn’t open last month, how would Lars and Trudy have been able to get a locker here?”
“Oh.” She bit her lip but refused to lose hope. “Maybe they didn’t have to get inside to get a locker. Let’s ask first this time.”
She approached a park worker who was sweeping up popcorn. “Excuse me. Where are the lockers?”
“Back by the ticket kiosk.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
Nicole shook off Slade’s hold and skipped ahead. When she reached the kiosk, she tripped to a stop and spit out the same expletive Slade had chosen earlier.
He almost bumped into her and then whistled when he surveyed the rows of blue lockers facing them—electronic lockers, not a keyhole in sight.
The woman at the ticket counter poked her head forward. “If you want to rent a locker, you need to buy a card and the card works on the lockers.”
Nicole swore under her breath again, and the ticket seller raised her eyebrows.
“No keys?” Slade pulled Trudy’s key from his pocket. “Like this?”
The woman squinted her eyes. “No. All our lockers are electronic now.”
Dead end.
Blowing out a breath, Slade pocketed the key and took Nicole’s hand. “Maybe we should check out those lockers at the Statue of Liberty you mentioned.”
“There are some old-style lockers by the beach.”
Nicole glanced up at the kid still pushing his broom at imaginary dirt and poked Slade.
He showed him Trudy’s key. “You mean like this? With a key?”
“Yeah. There are a couple of rows of them, right beneath the boardwalk. You stick in some quarters and you can pull out the key. I think they’re going to be destroyed, but they’re still there.”
“Thanks.”
They exchanged one look and then rushed from Luna Park as if they’d just been on the tilt-o-whirl and were going to lose their lunch.
Slade asked, “Which way to the boardwalk?”
“Follow me. I know what area he’s talking about.”
They skirted Luna Park, and she pointed down some wooden steps that led to the sand. “Down there.”
When they reached the bottom, there was a slab of cement tucked beneath the boardwalk and two rows of faded blue metal lockers gaping at them.
Slade put out a hand for a high five and she smacked his palm. “This is it, and there can’t be too many possibilities, since it looks like only a few are in use.”
Nicole swooped in on the first bank of lockers, her sneakers scuffing the sand beneath her feet. “And someone did most of the work for us already by leaving the doors ajar.”
Walking down the first row, she called out when she saw a closed and locked locker. Slade followed her, trying the key on each.
She tapped a locker in the middle of the second row. “Here’s another one.”
Slade stepped in front of her, slipped the key in and turned the lock with a click. “Bingo.”
Leaning
her chin on his arm, she asked, “Is it in there?”
“Yep.” Slade dragged out a padded oblong goldenrod envelope and ripped off the top. He puckered it open and peeked inside, then showed it to her. “It’s a mini computer disc.”
“Oh, my God. We found it.” Nicole twirled on her toes on the sandy cement. “It’s over.”
“Just about.” Slade folded over the top of the envelope and stuffed it in the inside pocket of his jacket. “Get on the phone and text Pierre and let’s get out of here.”
Nicole sent Pierre a text and then jogged up the wooden stairs with a lighter step than on the way down. They passed in front of the entrance to Luna Park, and she sniffed the air as a distinct deep-fried odor wafted on the breeze. “Pierre’s corn dog.”
She veered toward the entrance, digging in her pocket for her ticket stub. “I can’t find my ticket, and we didn’t get our hands stamped.”
Slade held up his own ticket stub. “I’ll get it. Wait here.”
She leaned against the front gate, watching Slade as he strode to the same corn dog stand that was in Trudy’s picture. What a stroke of luck it had been finding that picture.
The long black car pulled up to the curb where the buses usually parked, and she waved to Pierre. She couldn’t see him through those tinted windows, but he could see her.
She glanced over her shoulder at Slade waiting in line and pointed toward the car, which he probably couldn’t see. He’d figure it out when he left the park and saw the town car.
She walked to the waiting car and slid into the backseat. She tapped on the divider window to let Pierre know his corn dog was on the way.
The car lurched forward and squealed away from the curb. The violence of the motion threw Nicole back against the seat. Didn’t he realize Slade wasn’t in the car, and what was the big hurry, anyway?
She pounded on the glass with her fist and shouted, “Pierre, stop. We left Slade behind.”
The partition glided open and someone pointed a gun at her through the space, and then a face followed.
“We left Slade behind? That’s even better.”
Chapter Fifteen
Where the hell was Nicole going? She usually followed orders without question. What had she been pointing at?
“Can you hurry it up a little?”
The pimply-faced kid pushed his paper cap back on his head. “You wanted three, right?”
“Just give me one.” He jabbed his finger at the corn dog wrapped in foil on the tray next to the deep fryer.
The guy handed it to him, and Slade snatched it and swung away from the window.
“Sir, you already paid for three.”
“Keep the change.”
With his heart hammering, Slade jogged out of the park. Nicole was no longer standing by the gate. She was gone.
He forced himself to breathe. Maybe she’d walked to the designated meeting place with Pierre ahead of him. She should’ve waited. They weren’t out of the woods yet.
With a quickening pace to match his quickening pulse, Slade turned the corner toward the main parking area and swallowed. No car. No Nicole.
He dropped the corn dog into a trash can and made a beeline for the meeting place. Where had Pierre gone? Could security have waved off the car and Pierre made a circle around the parking lot with Nicole in the backseat?
He peered over the sea of cars in the parking lot and caught his breath when he saw a black town car hauling ass through the exit. That couldn’t be their car. That couldn’t be Pierre. The driver had checked out. Slade wouldn’t have allowed Nicole in the car with just any driver.
A scattering of people stared at him as they made their way toward the amusement parks. He must look as frantic as he felt.
As he stuffed his hand in his pocket to retrieve his phone, he heard a low moan. He froze. He cocked his head to one side and heard it again.
He stepped off the curb, following the sound around the back end of a bus. His gut lurched when he saw Pierre’s bloodied and battered form leaning against the back tire of the bus.
Slade crouched beside the driver, whose face had been beaten and whose hands clutched at his midsection, where blood oozed through his fingers.
“My God, what happened?” Slade punched in 911 on his cell.
“Sorry. I got out of the car for a smoke. They snuck up on me, punched me a few times and knifed me in the gut.” He coughed and gurgled, and a trickle of blood leaked from the corner of his mouth.
A woman behind Slade yelped. “Is he okay?”
“I’m on with 911 now.” Slade gave instructions to the 911 operator as he pulled off his jacket and then ripped off his shirt. He nudged Pierre’s hands away from his wound and pressed his shirt against it to try to stop the bleeding. “EMTs should be on the way soon. Hang in there, man.”
“Nicole?”
“Gone. I think they got her.” Slade pressed harder against Pierre’s stomach with both hands. “I’m assuming they took the car.”
Pierre gasped and nodded.
A few more people gathered behind Slade, tossing questions at him that he had no intention of answering unless one of them was a doctor.
A siren keened in the distance, and Slade cranked his head over his shoulder to the onlookers. “Make sure the emergency personnel know where to go. Wave them over here to the bus.”
Several people murmured behind him, but they all sounded on board.
Pierre’s eyelids fluttered. “Nicole.”
“It’s okay, Pierre. I’ll find her.” He had to find her.
“P-pocket.”
Slade leaned close to Pierre’s mouth. “What?”
“Right. Jacket. Pocket.”
Slade jammed his hand into the pocket of Pierre’s ripped black suit jacket, his fingers colliding with a hard, square object. He yanked it out. “What is it?”
The ambulance screeched to a halt behind him and the EMTs jumped out and rushed toward them, dispersing the crowd.
“What happened to him?”
Slade cleared his throat, curling his fingers around the object from Pierre’s pocket. “Someone beat him up and knifed him. Bad wound in his stomach.”
Pierre’s eyes opened again, and he grabbed Slade’s sleeve. “Right jacket pocket.”
Again, Slade ducked his head as the EMTs tried to shove him to the side. “I have it, Pierre. What is it?”
Pierre’s bloody lips stretched across his teeth in a macabre smile. “GPS for the car.”
Slade fell back, allowing the EMTs to get to work on Pierre. He put his jacket back on over his bare torso, feeling for the mini disc in the inner pocket, and dragged himself to a bench around the corner. He didn’t need to talk to the police right now.
Cupping the GPS in his bloodstained hands, he studied it.
Pierre, or the car service, must have it linked to a tracking device on the car. He turned it over in his hand and noticed the USB port. He needed to access a computer—fast. Who knew how long Nicole’s abductors would stay in that car?
Where the hell could he get to a computer out here? He didn’t have time to go all the way back to the Upper East Side.
He pulled out his phone and searched for the nearest library and got a hit a few miles away. Damn. He needed a car. His gaze shifted across the blanket of cars in the parking lot.
He didn’t like the idea of ruining someone’s day at Coney Island, but he didn’t have a second to waste, and he couldn’t hang around here anymore for the cops to question him about the attack on Pierre.
Hunching into his jacket, he ducked behind a car and weaved his way through the lot, keeping an eye out for a likely vehicle to hot-wire. Not only would he not be talking to the police, he’d be stealing a car beneath their noses. So much for his low profile.
On the way, he tried Nicole’s number, but as he expected, not even her voice mail picked up. Most likely her captors had disabled her phone so it couldn’t be pinged.
When Slade reached the library, he parked the stolen car in plain sight—no sense in trying to hide it, but the police wouldn’t be looking for a stolen car at the library, anyway. He parked himself in front of a public computer and connected the GPS.
The application for accessing the car’s data was straightforward, and Slade’s heart skipped a beat when he saw the car still moving in an eastward direction. Then it skipped another beat when he realized they could be heading to the airport.
He wasn’t doing any good following the car’s—and Nicole’s—progress on a computer screen. He had to get this GPS tracking data on his phone so he could follow them in his new car.
He entered an SOS communication on his phone to the number for tech support he’d been given earlier. After several back-and-forth messages and entries on the computer and his phone, the folks in tech were able to download the GPS data he needed.
He sent another terse missive to Ariel to let her know he had the film but was on his way to rescue Nicole. If Ariel believed his mission was over now that he had Lars’s footage in his hands, she didn’t know the Navy SEAL sniper team.
The computer cranked and whirred as he cleared all his history from it, or at least as much as he knew how. Tapping his phone, he activated the GPS as he exited the library and hopped into the car. He’d left out the part about the stolen vehicle in his email to Ariel, but he’d make sure somehow it was returned to that Coney Island parking lot and its rightful owners.
Starting off with a lead foot as he followed the magic yellow dot on his display, he soon eased up. The last thing he needed was to get pulled over and arrested for stealing a car. Nicole needed him, and he was going to deliver.
The car moved closer and closer to JFK, and with every inch, Slade’s stomach dipped. They couldn’t very well haul a kicking and screaming woman onto a commercial flight—and he had no doubt Nicole would be kicking and screaming—but what if they had a private plane stashed at the airport? What if they planned to take Nicole away? What if they’d already knocked her out? Sedated her? Killed her?
Alpha Bravo SEAL Page 16