by Rebecca York
The man’s voice came back hard and cold in the same language. “Do not ever call me that.”
“Let me drive. I’m used to the snow.”
“No. I am in charge!”
Before Martinez could protest, they sped off—away from the shopping center, and away from any chance of rescue.
Chapter Seventeen
Miguel was sleeping in another of his endless series of basement rooms when rapid knocks on the door brought him to instant alertness. Before he could reach for his gun, he heard a woman call his name. He recognized her at once. It was Meg Faulkner, one of Jessie’s Light Street friends. Every time he moved, his current address was delivered by Luis in a sealed envelope and put into the Light Street Foundation safe—to be opened only in case of emergency. That way, none of Jessie’s friends could accidentally give away the location of his hideout. In fact, if they were pressed, they could truthfully say that they didn’t know where he was.
But now Meg was here—which meant that something was wrong. The baby? Was Jessie in labor? Her due date wasn’t for three weeks, but the child could be early. And the arrangements were complicated. She was seeing an OB-GYN under an assumed name. But her physician didn’t know he wasn’t going to deliver the baby. Miguel was going to do that himself, at the Randolph estate, where Cam and Jo had set up a secure medical facility several years earlier. Jessie would be able to stay there for a while without having to worry about being stalked by Jurado’s men.
Springing from the bed, Miguel crossed the room and threw open the door, shivering as a blast of cold air hit him in the face.
“What is it? Is Jessie in labor?” he demanded.
The look on Meg’s face stopped him in his tracks. “Miguel, I’m sorry,” she began.
He grabbed her by the shoulders, his fingers digging in so hard that she made a small sound “What? Tell me! Is something wrong with the baby? Her?”
“No. Nothing like that! She was at a shopping center in Pikesville.” Meg sucked in a deep breath and let it out, obviously struggling for control. “Miguel, I got a call from woman—a Mrs. Flint. She said Jessie was dragged into a van by a tough-looking man. It appeared that she was...was being kidnapped.”
Icy talons dug into his vitals. “No.”
“Before the man grabbed her, Jessie told Mrs. Flint she was in trouble and asked her to call the Light Street Foundation. The woman hadn’t heard of us, but she got the number from Information.”
“You’re sure it was Jessie who was shoved into the van?” he demanded. “There is no mistake?”
Meg shook her head. “I called Randolph Security right away. Jason went straight to her house. Her car was missing, she’s not home, and several coats were lying on the sofa—as if she was deciding what to wear. Hunter went to the shopping center. Her car was in the parking lot, but she wasn’t in any of the stores.”
Miguel pounded his fist against the doorframe, cursing loudly. “I knew this would happen if she stayed with me. I always knew.”
“Don’t!” Meg said sharply. “She loves you. She wanted to be with you. It was her choice.”
“The baby took away her choice!”
“Not a chance. She got out of one bad marriage. She wouldn’t have married you unless she wanted to—unless she loved you very much.”
He heard the words, but it was hard to believe them. Then Meg was speaking again. “The important thing is to get her back.”
A surge of despair went through his gut like a hot knife. “How?”
“Come down to the Foundation office with me. By the time we get back, they’ll have a high-tech command post set up. Hunter is there. And Cam and Jason. He says that the kidnapper will contact us—and we can trace the call.”
“Yes, he’ll call you because he wants me. That’s why they’ve taken her.”
Meg nodded. “They won’t hurt her.”
He didn’t know if that was true. All he could do was cling to that hope, because if he thought they would do something to her or the baby, he would go insane.
THE VAN MOVED SLOWLY through the snow-snarled traffic. In a kind of stupor, Jessie huddled against the back door—as far as she could get from Martinez. At first all she could think about was how stupid she’d been to get herself captured. She’d practically begged him to scoop her up. After a while, she realized that blaming herself wasn’t going to do any good. She had to get herself out of this mess.
Another cramp grabbed at her middle, and she closed her eyes until it passed. The tension was taking a toll on her stomach. When the pain eased, she looked up and tried to figure out where they were. All she could tell was that they were still in the city. The heavy snow made it difficult to see details—or maybe she simply didn’t know this part of town well enough to identify any landmarks.
At least Martinez hadn’t pushed her onto the floor. Probably he assumed that in her present condition she was no match for two armed men.
The other guy was named Sombra. Mr. Shade.
The two of them talked rapidly in Spanish as the van crawled through traffic. From the conversation, she gathered Sombra had been in San Marcos until a few weeks ago. Had he been in direct contact with Jurado?
Jessie could tell that Martinez and Sombra didn’t like working with each other. Maybe she could use it to her advantage.
Finally she recognized where they were—on Interstate 95, heading south, along with a steady stream of slow-moving traffic.
When Martinez directed the other man to turn onto Highway 175 toward Jessup, he looked around, his expression suspicious. “That’s not what you told me before. The Watson farm is to the west.”
“We’re going the other way first,” Martinez snapped. “To throw them off. If they trace the call, they’ll look in the wrong place.”
Sombra nodded tightly and followed directions.
Jessie felt a surge of panic. These men weren’t being careful about what they said in front of her. That might mean they didn’t intend to let her go.
“Right here!” Martinez directed, pointing toward a gas station with a phone near the roadside.
Sombra pulled off the highway and into the space between the phone and the pumps. Cutting the engine, he turned to her, his face set in harsh lines. “Do not try to get away, because we both have guns trained on you. You’re going to call your husband,” he ordered. “You’re going to tell him that you’ve been taken hostage. You’re going to follow directions exactly—” he paused, and his gaze bored into her “—if you don’t want the baby to get hurt.”
She swallowed, trying not to let her fear get the best of her. “I don’t know where to reach my husband.”
“I do not believe you,” he answered coldly.
“Why not? It makes sense. If I can’t reach him, then I can’t give away his location to someone like you.” She lifted her chin and gestured toward Martinez. “That’s what I told you when you were keeping me on the phone so you could track me down. I thought at the time that it was important not to lie.”
Sombra considered her claim. “But you must have some way to get a message to him. Or let’s hope that you do....” He let the sentence trail off, and the implications were all too clear.
“He checks in at the Light Street Foundation,” she said, holding her voice steady to hide the lie.
“Where you work?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’ll call your office. You’ll say you’ve been kidnapped.”
“They may not believe me,” she tried.
“Convince them,” Martinez told her, punching out the words for emphasis. “And say we’re willing to exchange you for your husband.”
“Where?”
“We’ll tell you when you need to know,” Sombra answered.
Jessie nodded.
“We’re going to get out of the van now,” Martinez said. “I’ll be right next to you—with a gun pointed at your belly.”
She made a strangled sound. God, she didn’t know what she was going to do ab
out Miguel. But she couldn’t let this man hurt her child. “Not the baby. Please, not the baby,” she begged.
“It’s up to you. So don’t try anything stupid. And don’t call any attention to us. We’re just making a friendly phone call. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she managed.
“Okay. I’ll be listening to the call.” He picked up an electronic device that looked like a microphone. “With this. And one more important thing. Do not mention our names. Is that clear?”
She nodded tightly.
“All right. Then we’ll make the phone call. It won’t matter if they trace it. We won’t stick around for very long.”
But they’ll come here, she told herself with all the conviction she could muster. If I can leave them a message, they’ll find it.
Martinez clamped one hand on her arm and reached for the door handle with the other. As the door opened, another cramp hit her, and she sucked in a pained breath.
“Are you sick?” he asked.
“Wouldn’t you be, under the circumstances?”
“You have a point.”
Quickly she snatched up her purse as he helped her from the van. Pretending to slip as they rounded the back of the vehicle, she took a long look at the license plate, memorizing the number. With a rough gesture, Martinez helped her up. Jessie could see the gas-station attendant peering at them through the window. Lord, what if the man came over to them? He could get her and the baby killed. She said a silent prayer that he’d turn away.
When he did, she almost cried out with relief. Standing in a daze in front of the phone, she picked up the receiver and started to dial. When nothing happened, she stared stupidly at the instrument.
“You have to put in money,” Martinez observed dryly, reaching past her to push the correct change into the slots. When she heard the dial tone, she tried again.
Martinez attached one end of the listening jack to the receiver. Then he pressed an earpiece into his right ear. Hidden from view, the barrel of the gun pressed into her, forcing her to stand there when all she wanted to do was run away.
Erin, who rarely answered the phones, picked up on the first ring. “Light Street Foundation,” she said, her voice a little higher than usual.
“This is Jessie.”
There was a short pause. “Oh. Hi. How’s our mother-tobe?” Her friend sounded casual and chipper, and Jessie’s hopes fell. Erin must not know anything was wrong.
Her boss continued to speak in a normal voice. “Did you need Hunter to send over any more of those personnel applications you were checking for Jenny?”
Personnel forms? Hunter? He didn’t work for the foundation and she hadn’t been checking personnel forms for Jenny. She had been writing a long-shot grant application. Her heart leaped inside her chest. Erin must be trying to let her know that she’d gotten the message from the woman at the shopping center.
Martinez squeezed her arm painfully and she cleared her throat. “I didn’t call about the personnel forms,” she said. “Erin, I know this is going to sound...weird, but you’ve got to believe me. I’ve been kidnapped.”
“Kidnapped?” her friend squeaked as if in genuine astonishment.
“Yes. They—they want Miguel. They said they’re willing to exchange me for him.”
“Oh, Lord,” Erin breathed. “You’re not playing some joke on me, are you? Or that husband of yours with his crazy sense of humor?”
Another clue, she thought. Miguel had been much too uptight lately to make many jokes, and he would never kid about something like this. “I wouldn’t do that,” she said quickly. “Neither would he!” Jessie cast Martinez a quick glance. “One of the men who abducted me is listening to this conversation. He’ll hurt me if I don’t cooperate. I’m so scared. All I want is for them to leave me and the baby alone,” she lied. She wanted a great deal more than that.
Erin sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry. It’s just so hard to wrap my head around this.”
“I know. But you have to help me. Please.”
“We will,” Erin promised.
As she clutched the receiver, Jessie clung to the tone of conviction in her friend’s voice.
“What do you want me to do? You know I can’t get in touch with Miguel directly,” Erin said.
“Has he checked in with you today?” Jessie asked.
“Not yet.”
“Then he should do it soon,” she said, adding another whopper to the string of lies they were spinning. They both knew that Miguel never called in.
“Ask them to try and find him,” Martinez hissed in Jessie’s ear. “Make sure they understand he has to come in person. Alone. Or we’ll kill you. Tell them you’ll give him directions the next time you call.”
She repeated the message in a trembling voice. When she had finished, Martinez slammed down the receiver. “Come on, let’s get out of here,” he growled.
“Wait!” She turned and stared at the van. “I have to use the bathroom.”
“Later.”
“I can’t wait until later,” she insisted. “Don’t you know anything about pregnant women? The baby is pressing right on my bladder. I’ll have an accident in your van if you don’t let me go now.”
He made an angry sound but finally gave in. “Okay.”
Luckily the door to the ladies’ room was unlocked. Stepping into the small space, she looked around. There was a washbasin in the main room and a toilet partitioned off behind it. Martinez held the outer door open while she shut herself in the stall. She hadn’t thought he’d be so close. Trying to stay cool, she sat on the toilet. Holding her purse on her knees, she felt inside for a pen and the notebook she always carried.
“Hurry up!” Martinez called.
“I can’t do anything with you standing there like that,” she called back.
He gave a low curse, but he closed the door. Quickly she tore off a piece of paper. She had intended to leave a message for Miguel and Randolph Security. But what if someone else found the note?
Making her plea more general, she wrote, “Help! I’ve been abducted by two men. Martinez and Sombra. Gray van, Maryland license WAX3822.” She took her lip between her teeth, praying that Sombra had given away their destination when they’d turned east instead of west. “Destination: Watson farm. Big reward—call the Light Street Foundation. Please help!” After writing the foundation number, she scribbled a second copy of the note, leaving out the part about the farm.
The outer door burst open and Martinez stamped inside. “I said hurry up!” he snapped.
“I’m doing the best I can.” Jessie pulled out several sheets of toilet paper then stuffed the first piece of notebook paper into the metal holder, leaving only a small corner showing.
Next she slipped her wallet out of her purse, pushed the second note inside, and set the wallet on the floor on the far side of the toilet, covering it with some sheets of toilet paper.
As she washed her hands, Martinez poked his head into the stall, and she froze. With a growl, he stepped inside, scanned the floor, and snatched up the wallet. When he found the note inside, his face darkened.
“You wrote down our license number!” He looked as if he wanted to slap her. “You are taking a big chance!”
“So are you,” she retorted, and began to talk rapidly. “You may have been promised a lot of money for turning in Miguel, but before you can spend it, Jurado will kill you.”
“Jurado?”
“Don’t you know the name of the man you’re working for? Carlos Jurado. Miguel is a plastic surgeon. He operated on Jurado last year in San Marcos and changed his face—so that he could come back as a war hero who was missing in action. And now he’s got big political plans. Miguel is the only one who knows who he really is. Jurado’s killed everybody else who could give him away. After he kills Miguel, he’ll kill me—and you.”
“I don’t believe you,” the INS agent growled.
“What did Sombra tell you? That he’s working for the San Marcos
government? That Miguel is a criminal? That he’s going to let me go when he apprehends my husband?”
His expression told her she’d guessed right.
“Then it will come as a big surprise when Sombra puts a bullet in your back. Then he’s next. Jurado doesn’t leave any witnesses.”
“You’re lying!”
“If I’m not, you’re a dead man.”
Instead of answering, he grabbed her arm roughly, and she let him hustle her out of the bathroom. Now her only hope was that someone would find the first note she’d written—and find it soon.
MIGUEL WAITED, FEELING as if he would burst with impatience.
“Got it!” Hunter shouted. “They’re at a pay phone in Jessup.”
“How soon can we get there?” Miguel asked.
Jason looked outside. “I don’t like to fly in weather like this.”
“We have to!”
“Yeah.” Jason grabbed his coat. “I know.”
They tramped downstairs to the four-wheel-drive vehicle that would take them the few blocks to Rash Field, where a helicopter was waiting.
Half an hour later, they were setting down on a patch of open ground near the gas station. While Jason stayed at the controls, Miguel dashed into the office, followed by Hunter and Cam Randolph. “Did you see a blond, pregnant woman and two men?” Miguel demanded of the attendant. “They used the phone here.”
The man nodded, looking from the trio to the helicopter as if they were a combat team from Mars.
“She’s a kidnap victim,” Miguel snapped. “Tell us everything you know.”
“Yeah, they didn’t look too kosher,” the attendant agreed. “They had a gray van. Didn’t buy any gas. One guy got out and went to the phone with her. Mebbe the other was driving the van.”
“What else?”
“After she talked on the phone, he let her go to the bathroom—and stood outside looking impatient. Then he followed her in there and hustled her off.”
“Was she all right?” Miguel asked urgently.
“She looked sick.”
“God!” He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting not to scream his anguish. Then he turned to Hunter. “I know her. She would try to leave a message—if she could.”