by Неизвестный
She gave him a long look. "Some system."
"You know, Molly, our legal system works well most of the time. Since people run it, sure there are screwups now and again. You need to be a bit more objective."
Molly sighed, then rose and walked to the French windows that looked out over a small sloping lawn to Nathan's Creek, full and rushing from melting mountain snow. The half-moon made the snow glisten. "This is a beautiful place. Aren't you going to call Dillon Savich?"
"Yep. You got me sidetracked. I want to tell him what's going on. I want to tell him who you are. He won't do anything unless I ask him to. All right?"
Molly nodded.
He used the house phone and punched the speaker button. The phone was picked up on the third ring in Washington, D.C. Ramsey identified himself.
A very alert Savich said, "You know it's one A.M. here? Never mind. Where are you? You've got the speaker on. Are you finally ready to tell me what's going on?"
"You know about that kidnapping case in Denver? Emma Santera?"
"Yes. Wait, don't tell me. You're somehow involved in that?"
Ramsey gave him an unedited version of what had happened until they'd arrived in California. "We're all right, hopefully, safely hidden. Mrs. Santera doesn't want anyone to know exactly where we are."
"Including the FBI? Including the cops? This is all very strange, Ramsey."
"Yeah, I know. Bear with me. Can you tell me what's happening there? Has an Agent Anchor said anything that's filtered back?"
Savich laughed. "Has Bud said anything? He's been yelling his head off, claiming he's going to bring in Mrs. Santera for hampering his investigation. It's going to be hard to keep my mouth shut, Ramsey, but I will until you give me the 'go' signal. Can you begin to imagine what folks here would say if they knew you were a part of this and you were getting inside information from me?"
"What about the owner of the truck? We gave the Denver PD and Agent Anchor the three names and license numbers you gave me."
"The truck was reported stolen last month from a dairy farmer in Loveland, Colorado. The wife reported it. Then the husband said it hadn't been stolen, he'd sold it, and hadn't told his wife. Who knows? Did he sell it to the kidnappers? That plays for me."
"Yeah, it does for me too." Ramsey sighed.
"You might consider coming in now. Any more attempts to get the kid?"
"Not since we've come to our new location."
"Come in, Ramsey. It sounds dicey. I agree that this isn't just a simple kidnapping. You got any ideas?"
"Maybe. Look, Savich, let me keep us hidden awhile longer. I'll check in on Friday unless something happens sooner. Listen, thanks. I owe you."
"You can bet on it."
"Is that Sherlock I hear? Give her a kiss for me."
"Not on your life. You're too much like the kind of man she likes, all hard and tough. Given your macho demonstration a while back in your courtroom, I'd be hard-pressed to keep her away from you, especially if she's having a bad day and not thinking clearly. No, all kisses are from me. Take care of yourself, Ramsey, and call if there's anything I can do."
"Thanks, Savich." Ramsey slowly hung up the phone. "You heard everything?"
She nodded.
"Now, no more procrastinating. It's time. On to Daddy."
She started shaking her head.
"Listen, Molly, your father is Mason Lord. It's time we thought about him. I don't think it's possible he could be involved directly in any of this, but it's very possible that from what we've seen, just maybe some of your father's enemies had Emma kidnapped to use as leverage against your father."
She didn't turn, just ran her fingers over the thick fabric of the light tan drapes. "I think he would have warned me if someone he was dealing with might consider such a thing."
"Yes, he probably would have, if he'd had warning. Do you agree that perhaps some of his enemies are involved up to their gum lines to get leverage on him, to milk him? You wondered about all the guys who seemed to be involved in this, so far. Well, that could be our answer."
She still didn't turn around. Slowly, she pulled the drapes shut over the French windows and just stood there, head down, saying nothing.
He noticed that she was barefoot. Her toes were painted a pale pink and were chipping. "When did you last speak to your father?"
"Last week."
"And you told him what was going on?"
She nodded.
"Tell me something, Molly. When was the last time you saw your father?"
"That's none of your business. It has nothing to do with this. Stop pushing me on this."
"I just want us to stay alive. You're making that difficult by holding out on me. When, Molly? I deserve to know." He rubbed his leg.
"All right, but it doesn't make any difference. The last time I saw him was three years ago."
He slammed the recliner forward and stood, staring at her. "Three years ago? What's been going on?"
She turned then to face him, but she didn't move from her stand by the windows. "The last time I saw him was when Emma had just turned three years old. He flew to Denver for her birthday. But that wasn't the real reason he came. He was angry at my husband. He came to Denver to see him."
"And did he see your husband?"
"Yes, he saw him. Louey ended up with two broken ribs, a fractured kidney, and bruises everywhere except on his face, that lasted until the next Christmas."
"What had Louey done?"
"I don't want to talk about it. It has nothing to do with this."
"You have no clue what does or what doesn't have to do with anything at all."
"Listen, as I told you, Louey is my ex-husband. We've been divorced for two years. I didn't lie to Emma about her father being worried about her. Louey did call once when he heard that she was missing, which was a big surprise to me. He called me before I even considered contacting him. As Emma already told you, he hasn't bothered to see her since he left.
"It was right after one of his concerts in Berlin. I remember clearly that he asked about Emma, said he'd heard from somebody in Denver that she'd been snatched, and wondered if I had her back yet. When I said no, he acted all sorry and depressed for about a minute. Then he sort of laughed and said that my daddy would pay the moon to get her back, and not to worry. He told me how the tour was going. He said this fraulein reporter-yeah, that's what he called her-from the Berliner Zeitung compared him to Bruce Springsteen. He told me the Europeans had better taste than the Americans-in other words they like him better-said he just-might spend most of the year in Europe. He talked about his conquests in Europe, in great detail. I don't think you need to know any of that. He never mentioned Emma after the first time.
"The policewoman listening with me just stared at me. She worshiped Louey, prayed he'd call so she could just hear his sexy voice. Or rather, she worshiped him until she heard what that sexy voice said. She patted my shoulder when I hung up.
"I started crying and she kept patting. She thought I was sorry about Louey leaving me, sorry that he was bragging about all these women."
"I remember now," he said after a moment. "There was press about the divorce, but never any details, no hints of infidelity or drugs or anything at all. Just a quiet announcement of irreconcilable differences, something like that. It was out of the public eye very quickly."
"My father is powerful. In this instance it was a good thing. No one had much to say about anything. There were a couple of days of speculation in the tabloids, but even they dropped it. I was very grateful to my father." She looked down at her fingernails. There was mustard from the hot dogs on her index finger. She licked it off.
"Molly?"
"Louey, her biological father, didn't ever want her. After we split up, I think he was relieved to be out of the daddy business. A child didn't go with the sexy footloose image he had of himself. Funny thing is, she's probably just as talented musically as he is. Maybe more so."
"How did Louey know Emma
had been kidnapped? You said he called you before you called him."
"I wondered later about that. One of his friends in Denver probably called him. Louey undoubtedly thought that if it hit the press, he should act the concerned papa so he wouldn't be seen in a bad light. Who knows?"
"I wonder which friend in Denver bothered to call him."
"He didn't say and I was too upset to ask. But you know, Louey is friends with a lot of folks in the media, from TV to newspapers. It was probably one of his newspaper buddies."
"Is there a special buddy?"
"Yes, his name is James Hicks and he's with the Denver Post. Why?"
"No reason. I just like to gather information. Now, are you going to call your papa and tell him Emma's safe?"
"Yes, I should. He's been very worried. I called him right away when Emma was kidnapped. I knew he'd have some of his people on it right away, and he did. A man and two women came by six hours after I'd called. It drove the local cops nuts. Lots of suspicion. I ignored the cops' bitching about outsiders. I told them everything I could, why not? They wanted to help; my father was paying them to find Emma. I don't know what his people actually did. I saw them several more times. We discussed leads, possibilities. If they found out anything, I don't know about it."
"Did you tell them you were taking off to find Emma yourself?"
"No, I didn't. I'll call him right now. At least he won't try to trace the call." She paused a moment, then said, turning to face him, "I wonder if my father suspected Emma's kidnapping had anything to do with him? I bet he has. I know one thing: If he found out who did this, he wouldn't hesitate to sanction a kill."
11
SANCTION A KILL. She'd said it so easily, so naturally.
How many times had she heard it said when she was a kid?
"All right, I'm going to call. Hey, wait a minute. What if those men were there to rescue Emma and they thought you were the kidnapper? Of course they'd try to get rid of you. Of course they'd follow you. Oh goodness, there's no end to the possibilities. I've got a headache, Ramsey."
"That goes really well with my leg ache. That theory could fly until you showed up. You think they haven't at least seen a photo of you? You think that there's any way they wouldn't know you're the boss's daughter? Call, Molly. I want to hear what he has to say. Use your cell phone. Come over here so I can hear."
She sat down on the arm of the recliner and began dialing. Area code 312. Chicago and outlying residential areas, like Oak Park. Sure, that was where Mason Lord lived, only the best. He saw her hand tighten around the phone.
Why hadn't she seen her father for three years?
The phone rang twice, then a man answered, his voice deep and mellifluous.
"Miles? It's me, Molly."
"Yes, Molly. You've got news about Emma?"
"She's fine, Miles. She's back with me. Thank you for asking. I want to give Dad the news."
"Just a moment. Goodness, this is a relief. Mr. Lord's been on a real tear."
"You heard that?" she asked Ramsey. Ramsey was three inches from the receiver.
"Yeah, I heard."
There was a good twenty more seconds of silence, then, "Molly? Emma's safe?"
"Hello, Dad. Yes, I've got her with me. I found her. She's fine."
"I don't understand. I haven't heard a word from my people. Do the Denver police know you've got Emma back?"
"Yes, they know. They don't like the fact that I got her back without them."
"Tell me."
She took a deep breath. "You know I went looking when the cops and the FBI didn't get anywhere. I would have thought your people would know. Well, I found her. A guy had saved her and I came upon both of them. She's safe. We're going to stay out of sight for a while."
"There's no reason to, Molly. Come home. You can bet I'll protect the both of you."
"No, not yet. There are a lot more people involved than just a single kidnapper. I don't want to take any chances. I'm going to keep Emma hidden as long as those people are still out there and looking for her." Her knuckles were white she was clutching the phone so tightly. "It's not a simple kidnapping, Dad."
"But they got a ransom note."
"Yes, but that ransom note arrived after I already had Emma back. It was a lie. Do you understand any of this?"
"No, but I'll speak to Buzz about it. We've already discussed the possibility of some enemy of mine being involved. But the important thing is you've got Emma back. I'm tremendously relieved." He sighed. She could picture him running his fingers lightly through his hair, never enough to mess it up. "We've got nothing as of yet. But I don't like the feel of this at all. How many people have you seen?"
"Probably four different men, but we've managed to get away from them. We're safely tucked away now."
"All right. I'll speak to Buzz Carmen immediately. He's still in Denver. How exactly did you find out about these other men?"
"I knew they were following so I pulled off at an exit. When they went by, I got the license. I checked with a friend who found out for me that the truck was reportedly stolen from a farmer in Loveland, Colorado. The wife reported it; then the husband said he'd sold it. It sounds like maybe he did sell it-to the kidnappers. I phoned in the license plate to the Denver PD and the FBI. I'd appreciate your checking as well, Dad, then I'd know it got done right." She gave him the license and the name of the farmer.
"I've got it. I don't suppose you'll tell me who gave you this information?"
"I can't."
He sighed. "Very well. Come home, Molly."
"I'll call tomorrow. Emma's just fine. Don't worry. Those men won't find us."
"About this man who found Emma. Who is he? How can you be sure you can trust him?"
"If we can't trust him, Dad, then it's all over. Believe me, he's the most trustworthy man in the world. Tomorrow, Dad." She pushed the Off button and laid the phone on the table.
"At least you don't call him Godfather."
She smiled at him. It was a charming smile, warm and full. She had a wide mouth and very white teeth. His father was a dentist. Ramsey always noticed a person's teeth. His old man would really like what he saw.
Ramsey liked that smile, too. It was almost as if she was ready to stop being afraid. She said, "Mason Lord is very good-looking. He's black Irish: fair skinned, hair like ink, straight and thick, just a dabbling of gray at his temples. His eyes are such a startling blue, women just stare at him. He doesn't appreciate having a grown daughter, much less a grandchild, but he copes. My mother was the one who told me I should call him by his first name, but I couldn't get the hang of it. Neither could he. I remember thinking Mason jar every time I used his first name. When I told him that, he threw up his hands, laughed, and said to forget it. He's been Dad for a very long time, actually since I was eight years old and moved away with my mother."
"I've never thought of Mason Lord as having human qualities, like a sense of humor. You don't look a thing like him."
"No, I'm the picture of my grandmother. She was an actress in the fifties. Never got very far with it because she wasn't beautiful or very photogenic. Boy, but could she act. It turned out not to be enough."
"You're far from plain, Molly."
She just smiled at him, that same gorgeous smile. "You should see my mother. Now she's what you'd call a looker. She's fifty-five now and still a head-turning beauty. Both she and Father were appalled, I think, when I turned out the way I did."
She honestly believed what she was saying. It amazed him. Didn't she look in a mirror once in a while? "Where's your mother? What's her name?"
"Her name is Alicia and she lives near Livorno, Italy. That's where her family is. She and Dad divorced when I was just a kid. I lived with her in Italy nine months out of the year and the other three months with Dad. I came back to the United States to go to college at Vassar. I've only seen her once a year for the past seven or eight years."
"Does she know about Emma's kidnapping?"
"I don't think so, not unless she read about it in an Italian newspaper, and I strongly doubt the story made it there. I saw no reason to worry her."
"Your father hasn't remarried."
"Oh yes he has, nearly three years ago. Her name's Eve and she's two years younger than me."
"You said that Emma's musical. Does she play the piano or something yet?"
"Don't want to know about Eve, huh? I don't blame you. She'd take one gander at you and lick her chops, but not while my dad was looking. One of my mother's old friends called me and filled my ears with tales of Eve Lord. My mother's friend is a Sunday school teacher, so I guess she's trustworthy. Although maybe she wanted Dad for herself. Who knows? Emma plays the piano."