by Teri Brown
I turn to Cole. “Could you please get me a glass of water? With ice? There’s some in the icebox. You can just chip some off.”
Cole looks like he is going to argue, but after another look from me, he inclines his head and goes into the kitchen.
My guest waits patiently, puffing away on his cigar, as if we were just exchanging pleasantries. Except that he is without a doubt the most deeply alert man I’ve ever met.
“I’m not letting them just take the money,” I tell him quietly. “I’m going in after her.”
The only change of expression in his face is a slight narrowing of his eyes.
“Is that wise?”
For some reason, I know that his handing over of the money in that bag hinges on my response to that question. I lean forward. “No one is better qualified to bust my mother out. I can pick locks, sneak in and out of just about anyplace without detection, and I am very, very good with a knife.”
He blinks, the only evidence of his surprise. He stands up as if something has been decided, and I stand as well. “I wish you luck,” he says. “You’re going to need it. But I have a few things to tell you.”
Cole comes in just then with my water and I take it automatically without looking at him. My eyes are fixed on Uncle Arnie.
“My men checked the perimeter of your home. We didn’t find anyone watching the place, but that doesn’t mean someone won’t be later. Also, the reason Cynthia didn’t come is because I wouldn’t let her. If something goes wrong, she is completely out of it and I never visited.” His eyes bore into mine and I nod, tremors going up and down my spine.
“Well, good then. That’s settled.”
He moves to the door, leaving the black bag next to the chair.
“Excuse me, you’ve forgotten . . .” I grab Cole’s arm to shut him up and he stops, though I can feel his agitation loud and clear.
“Thank you so much, Mr. Rothstein.” I open the door for him and he claps his hat back on his head and walks to the stairwell. “But you said you had a few things to tell me. You only mentioned two.”
He turns and gives me a wide smile. “If you ever get tired of the magic racket, give me a call. You’d be a hell of an asset to my business.”
He tips his hat and runs lightly down the stairs to where one of his men is waiting for him.
I shut the door and lean back against it, breathing rapidly.
“What was that?” Cole demands. “Who was that man, and why did he leave his bag behind?”
“That was Cynthia’s uncle, and he’s the boss of one of the biggest crime organizations in the country. That bag contains five thousand dollars.”
Cole freezes, his eyes wide. I see him swallow a couple of times. “Very well, then.”
That’s what I thought. But I just nod and go back to pacing.
The phone rings. It’s Jacques with the news that Joanna Lindsay has indeed been incarcerated. “They actually just moved her to Bellevue to be evaluated. Her daughter has been by her side the entire time.”
“So that’s a dead end, just like we thought.” Even though I expected it, my heart still sinks. Now we have no leads on who it could be. “What else did the investigator say? Anything new on my abduction?”
“Apparently, the police found an abandoned milk truck down by the river near the store where you were found. It had been stolen from the delivery company, but no suspects.”
Another dead end. “Anything else?”
“No, chérie. I’m very sorry. I am going to stop by the bank and then come back to the apartment. Be careful, oui?”
“I’ll be careful,” I promise, and hang up quickly.
There’s a knock on the door and my heart pounds until I hear Owen’s voice. “Anna, it’s me.”
I open the door, and he wraps me in a quick hug. “Do you have any word?”
Cole stiffens next to me, but I don’t have time to worry about him right now. “No, nothing.”
Owen gives me another hug and Cole clears his throat. “Didn’t you say Jacques was on his way?” he asks.
I nod.
He looks over at Owen, his dark eyes unreadable. “I’m going to go downstairs and clean up. Can you stay with Anna until your uncle gets here?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Owen tells him.
Cole nods and leaves and I lock the door after him. “Would you like some coffee?” I ask Owen.
He nods. “You look like you could use some too.”
We go in the kitchen and he indicates that I should sit, then he reheats the coffee Cole made earlier. A headache is blooming behind my eyes and I rub my temples. I accept the cup with a smile and Owen sits across from me, worry evident in his blue, blue eyes. Then I frown, noticing that Owen’s tie is askew and his blond hair is mussed. My throat tightens with emotion. He must have run right over.
He takes a sip of his coffee. “I don’t know what you see in that guy. What do we know about him anyway?”
I frown. Why does he always do that? The moment I feel warm and tender toward him he has to ruin it somehow. “Cole? I don’t know what you’re getting at but I trust him completely.”
Owen sighs, his eyes remorseful. “I’m sorry; I’m just so jealous I can’t see straight. I’ve been trying to let you know how I feel about you, but I’m such a dolt it never comes out right.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think this is the right time.”
“Wait. Let me get it out before I lose my nerve. I think we would be amazing together. We could be real partners onstage and off. We could travel and . . .”
I shake my head and he reaches out and covers my hand with his. His agitation is clear. “I’m sorry,” Owen continues, his blue eyes miserable. “I know my timing is off. We can talk about it later.”
I shake my head again. I may be a novice at romance, but as handsome and funny as he is, I’m pretty sure that Owen and I will never be more than friends. I pull my hand away gently. “No, we can’t. I’m sorry.”
I’m hit hard by a charge of anger so sharp, I almost gasp out loud.
“It’s the Limey, isn’t it?” Owen’s low voice vibrates with bitterness.
My hand trembles as I lift my coffee cup to my lips. I take a careful sip. “No. No. Of course not. I just . . .”
“You know what? Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
His emotions are fading, but they’re still brushing across my skin like nettles.
I stand and move to the sink. I pour the coffee down the drain, my stomach churning. Uncomfortable silence stretches between us. I want to say something, but exhaustion and worry make it impossible.
A knock at the door saves me from having to try and I glance at Owen, who is still staring morosely into his coffee cup. I walk down the hall. “Who is it?”
“Jacques.”
I let him in and he removes his overcoat, shaking off droplets of water. “It’s pouring outside.”
Owen comes up behind him and Jacques gives his nephew a nod.
“I have to go,” Owen says stiffly. “I’ve got something I have to do, but I’ll be back later.”
“Thank you for coming . . .” I stop, puzzled by the jumbled pulses of emotion coming from him. I concentrate, sweat breaking out on my upper lip. Barely suppressed anger pulses back to me, but there’s something else. A sense of . . . secrecy. My heart beats faster and cold rushes over me. Owen is hiding something.
Trembling, I send out another strand, trying to get a clearer sense of what Owen is feeling, but I can’t focus, can’t concentrate. His agitation is evident by the tightness of his jaw. Is he just angry about our conversation or is it something else?
He steps out the doorway and panic blooms in my chest. I have to find out what he knows, what he’s up to! “Are you sure you don’t want to wait with us?” I ask desperately.
“I’m sorry, Anna.” For a moment I think I see real regret flicker across his handsome features, but then he shakes his head. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
And then he’s gone, his feet tramping down the stairs. I step out after him, but it’s too late; the front door has already shut behind him.
Mr. Darby’s door opens and Cole steps out. He takes the steps two at a time as if sensing my distress.
Turning, I hurry into the apartment and pace the floor of the sitting room. Why did Owen call Jacques this morning of all mornings? Why was he so disheveled? What was he hiding? Cole and Jacques watch me. Jacques’s dark eyes are immeasurably sad. Cole’s are worried.
“What happened?” he finally asks, his voice tense.
I hesitate. How will Jacques feel about me accusing his nephew? Surely, there’s no time now for hurt feelings. But how would I explain my suspicion without revealing my own secret?
“I think we should explore other avenues, since the Lindsays are out.” I turn to Jacques. “How well do you know Owen?”
Oddly enough, Jacques doesn’t bat an eye. “I knew him as a child, of course, but not as an adult. My Boston visits were rare. Why?”
Cole glances at me, trying to figure out what I’m saying. “His behavior was odd today.” It isn’t much to go on, but neither man questions my assessment.
Jacques nods. “I called my sister several weeks ago. It seems my nephew has become, how do you say? The black sheep of the family. There was a scandal involving the boss’s daughter and a great deal of debt, but my sister wouldn’t speak of it. She only mentioned it because she was hoping I would be a good influence on him.”
“And you didn’t tell Anna this?” Cole asks.
“I told her mother. I thought she had told you.”
I burn at that. No, Mother hadn’t told me, but then there was a lot Mother hadn’t told me. I shake my head. It doesn’t matter. The important thing is to get her back.
I can tell her exactly what I think of her after she is safely home.
“What else do you know about him?” I ask, trying to keep my mind on the task at hand. “Has he mentioned any friends? Do you know where he lives?”
“After my sister called, I did a little checking. This grand bank job of his is a ruse. He’s no more than a mail boy.”
I continue pacing the room, trying to remember as much as I can of my conversations with Owen. I don’t even remember the names of the friends I met the night of the Cotton Club. My face burns remembering our dance. He couldn’t really be involved, could he? But his manner today was so suspicious.
I need to find out. Making up my mind, I walk to the phone and dial Cynthia’s number.
“I need to get in touch with your uncle,” I tell her. “I need a favor.”
There’s a pause. “You know that his favors might cost you,” she finally says.
“I know.”
“He’ll be in touch,” she says, hanging up the phone.
Jacques looks confused.
“Don’t ask,” Cole tells him. “You don’t want to know.”
The phone rings almost immediately. It isn’t Cynthia’s uncle but a man with a heavy accent. He asks me a few terse questions and I tell him all I know about Owen Winchester. After he hangs up, I turn to Cole and Jacques. “Now we wait.”
The next hour passes slowly. Cole keeps trying to get me to eat, but I just shake my head and continue shuffling the cards I have in my hands. Jacques pretends to read yesterday’s newspaper but never actually turns the pages. By the time the phone rings I’m ready to scream with nerves.
“Hello?”
“My men checked out that boyfriend of yours. He’s a real winner.”
I don’t try to explain that Owen isn’t my boyfriend. “I’m listening.”
“First off, he’s married. Did you know that?”
I close my eyes, remembering the times I smelled perfume. The woman at the Cotton Club. “No, but that makes sense.”
“He seems to owe a lot of people money and has a reputation for not paying his debts. A very dangerous habit, if you ask me.”
“Where does he live?”
Uncle Arnold gives me the address of Owen’s building and I write it down. “If I had more time, I could probably tell you what kind of pomade he uses, but this is what I can do on such short notice.”
“It’s more than enough,” I assure him before ringing off.
“I have the address,” I tell Cole and Jacques. “We’re going.”
“Wait,” Cole interjects, but I turn on him before he can say anything else.
“No, I’m tired of waiting! What if Owen really is behind this? We need to find out for sure.” Don’t they realize that my mother could be injured? The tiny wooden room plays just behind my eyes. She could be there right now, frightened and hurt.
Cole opens his mouth to argue with me, but the ringing of the phone cuts him off. We freeze for a moment before I rush to pick it up, thinking it’s Uncle Arnold with more information.
“Hello?”
“Do you have the money?” I grip the phone in my hand as the room shifts and tilts.
“Yes,” I say when I’m able to speak. “But how do I know you’ll give me my mother once you have it?” I don’t want to negotiate with my mother’s captor, just keep him talking long enough to see if I recognize the voice.
“I guess you’re just going to have to trust me.” The voice is muffled, but I’m sure it’s one of the men who abducted me.
Anger flares. “Trust a lowlife like you? If you want any money, you are going to have to send me proof that my mother is still”—I swallow as my stomach threatens to heave—“alive.”
“If you don’t leave the money at the assigned spot at the assigned time, she won’t be.”
“But I don’t even know where that is, or when!”
“You will. Look outside your door.”
“Wait!” A click tells me that it’s too late and I close my eyes. I point to the door and Jacques rushes to it as Cole comes to me. I set the telephone down and lean against him, glad I’m not alone.
Jacques bends and picks up an envelope. This time, Cole doesn’t bother running outside. It could have been left anytime during the phone call, and we know there won’t be any trace of the person who left it.
The note is terse and to the point—where, when, and alone.
I look up from Jacques, whose eyes are full of pain, to Cole, whose eyes are full of worry.
It’s time to go bring my mother home.
Twenty-eight
“What time is it?” I ask Jacques for the umpteenth time. He takes his pocket watch out again.
“Nine forty-five.”
We’re sitting in the backseat of his car a couple blocks from the meeting place. The plan is for me to walk there alone so the kidnapper won’t know I’m being followed.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Jacques asks.
I nod. What else can I do? Our only advantage is that we’re pretty sure Owen is behind this, though it’s hard for me to get my mind around a fop like Owen masterminding any kind of kidnapping plot. Apparently, he’s a far better performer than anyone gave him credit for. But why would he do this? Money? Is showing his father some kind of success worth all this? I close my eyes, remembering being shoved into the van. He must have arranged the whole scenario, even to the point of taking a hit on the jaw. My stomach is twisted in a permanent knot and I wish again that Cole were with me. He’s watching outside Owen’s building and will follow him to wherever it is they are holding my mother. We know from my vision that she isn’t being held in a regular apartment building. And this way, if Jacques loses me, Cole will be able to follow Owen straight to the source.
I glance at Jacques’s profile and realize how little I know him. “Can I ask a question?”
He turns. “Of course.”
“I saw you run out of our building a couple weeks back, yet you didn’t go in to see my mother. Why?”
He looks ahead. “Your mother informed me that I was smothering her. So I always thought twice before coming to visit. That time, I decided not to press my luck.”<
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I stared at his profile. “I’m sorry,” I said softly.
He twitches a shoulder and I see the corner of his mustache rise as he smiles. “It is one of the many reasons I love her. She is always a challenge.”
That’s all right for him to say. It’s harder to live with a challenge when you’re her daughter. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
“It’s time,” Jacques tells me.
I open my eyes and nod.
He reaches out and snatches up my hand. “Good luck, Anna. Bring her home to us.”
I give his hand a squeeze. I’m really glad to have him in my corner, but part of me can’t help but wonder as I slip from the car and start walking down the block: Does he really know what he’s getting himself into by loving my mother?
There’s no time to worry about that now. I hear car doors slam behind me and know Jacques is getting out of his car and into the taxicab he hired so Owen won’t recognize him.
I turn the corner, clutching the duffel with the money in it tightly. I’m wearing a dark coat, cap, and, much to Jacques’s unspoken disapproval, woolen trousers. Cole borrowed them from his uncle, agreeing that they made more sense than wearing a dress would. They’ll keep me warmer and give me far more freedom of movement. They also give me a place to stash my knife and a picklock. I have another one pinned behind my ear, carefully hidden by my hair. We planned this rescue operation as cautiously as possible. All that’s left is to pray we planned cautiously enough.
My steps are measured, but I can barely hear them over the thudding of my heart. The kidnapper knew what he or she was doing; the streets here are pretty much deserted. I’m almost to the drop site when a door creaks open in the alley next to me. My steps falter as I see a man shoving a woman out the door and hear her cries. She’s smaller than I am, and her blond hair shines in the streetlamps. I know I need to move on with my mission but can’t help asking “Are you all right?”
She turns toward me and her cries grow louder. “Help me.” She slumps to the ground and I reach toward her.
Hands clasp around my waist and mouth. I’m being dragged sideways into the alley. I jab my elbow upward and feel it strike something just before being smashed forward into a brick wall. The pain stuns me and the last conscious thought I have is a prayer that these are the kidnappers and not some random thieves.