28
Rayne sat on a couch in the great room, holding hands with Gary on her right and Brittany on her left. Ross, Carly and the two other backup singers, Ed Schering, and the band members had shoved furniture together to form a circle.
For an eternity they waited for Al’s phone to ring. When it finally did, Rayne dropped Brittany’s and Gary’s hands and pressed both fists to her chest.
Al turned away and answered the call.
In the seconds that followed, Rayne imagined herself rising from her chair and floating away. This body she was in—the jagging nerves and runaway heart—it wasn’t hers. For the millionth time since Shaley’s kidnapping, Rayne told herself none of this was real. It just. Couldn’t. Be.
“Okay,” Al said. Was that disappointment in his voice? Rayne peered at him, waiting for some sign. A thumbs-up. A smile.
Nothing.
“Let me inform the family, then I’ll get back to you.” Al snapped off his phone and faced Rayne.
Her pulse stopped.
“When they entered the cabin, Fledger and Shaley were gone.”
A bright sword pierced Rayne’s head. Her lungs deflated as if all air had been sucked from the room. No. Not after all this waiting. All this time. Wasted.
Gray amorphous dots crowded into her vision. Rayne’s stomach turned over. Her body slowly pitched forward toward the floor.
Strong arms caught her. Rayne’s head lulled to the side.
The world faded to black.
29
Long after Joshua had peeled out of the parking lot in our maroon sedan, I finally cried myself out. My wrists burned from the rope, and my head swam from lying down so long. My despair subsided, leaving me once again to think about how I could save myself.
As for Joshua—he had to be tired. He’d been up all night. The man had to sleep sometime. But when he did, no doubt he’d tie me up so tight I wouldn’t be able to move at all.
I had to get on his good side.
It was my only choice. Somehow I had to pretend I was bonding with him. Had to make him think I’d never try to escape again. Then I’d wait for his guard to drop.
Meanwhile I’d leave as many clues behind as possible.
Little by little I gathered courage until—on spur of the moment—I sat up in the backseat. I was taking a huge risk in disobeying. But I just couldn’t lie there forever.
“Hey,” Joshua growled at me. “Get back down.”
“I can’t. Really. I have to go to the bathroom.”
Surely he had to go too. From the middle of the backseat, I peered at what I could see of his profile. He was sweating, and his fat jowls seemed to droop more than ever. If he drove much longer, he just might crash and kill us both.
“I’ll stop soon enough.” Even Joshua’s voice dragged. “Gonna have to get gas.”
My gaze snagged on something on the floor by Joshua’s feet. I leaned forward and tilted my head.
His gun.
Would he shoot me in the back if I tried to run?
Through the front windshield, I saw a divided highway—a much bigger road than many we’d taken. Farmland to our right and left. A sign said Highway 20. Was that in Utah?
“Where’s the closest gas station?”
“There’s a town a few miles up. We’ll stop there.”
I met his eyes through the rearview mirror. They were bloodshot. “You need to sleep.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. Thanks to you.”
My chin dipped, and I looked at my lap. “I’m sorry.”
Joshua snorted.
“I am. Do you think I’m happy to have this rope cutting into my wrists? It really hurts. And I don’t want you mad at me.”
“You should have thought about that before you picked up the phone.”
“I know.”
Silence. My bladder was so full my back throbbed. Each mile was an eternity.
“Joshua.” I hated the sound of his name on my tongue. “What do you want me to do when we stop?”
“Won’t know till we get there.”
I gazed at him, an amazing thought leaking into my head. After his intensive planning to steal me in a jeweler’s van right off a guarded estate, now he didn’t seem to know what happened next. He obviously hadn’t expected something to go wrong. And he had no Plan B.
Every good schemer had a Plan B.
I could use this. How, I didn’t know yet. But I would use it.
The clock on the dashboard read 9:35 a.m. That would be Utah time. If we had still been in the Explorer, the clock would have read 8:35. The Explorer’s was the time that counted. It was California time. Home time.
“What state are we in?” I asked.
“Idaho.”
Idaho. A long state. Were we still in south Idaho?
I told myself we were. Southern Idaho was closer to Mom and Dad than northern Idaho.
Finally ahead I saw a sign for the town of Rigby. “Please stop. Just tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it.”
“Say nothin’ to nobody, that’s what. Walk with your head down like before.”
“You’ll need to cut off these ropes.”
We reached the town. Joshua slowed and turned off the highway, following a sign for a gas station. We drove down a street with businesses on either side. People were on the sidewalks, going in and out of buildings. So close to me. As we stopped at a red light, one woman even met my eyes. Silently, I pleaded with her. Have you seen my picture on the news? It’s me, Shaley! Help me!
For a hovering second, I thought I’d fling myself toward the door, tumble out of the car. But my hands were tied, and the door no doubt was locked. And that gun by his feet…
The woman turned away. My heart sank.
With a dull stare I focused out the windshield. “There’s the gas station.” “I see it.”
Joshua pulled into the station and parked on the far side, away from other cars. He opened the glove compartment and took out a folded knife. Flicked it open. The blade shot out, six inches long and glistening.
I stilled. The whole time we’d been in the Explorer, I hadn’t known he had that.
Joshua hoisted around in his seat. “Put your hands on the console.”
After a long look into his eyes, I obeyed.
He brought the knife to the rope, and in two quick slices cut through it. The relief from that tightness! Joshua unwound the pieces and tossed them on the floor. I pressed fingers around one throbbing wrist, then gasped at the even greater pain. The raw skin felt like a burn.
Joshua focused over my shoulder through the back windshield. “Bathrooms are on this side. I’ll take you now. Then we’re walking back to the car, and I’ll get gas.” He gave me a hard look.
“Okay.”
We got out of the car and walked straight to the bathrooms, Joshua’s arm brushing against mine. He smelled of grime and sweat. Joshua knocked on the door to the ladies’ room, heard no reply, then opened it. Looked inside. A one-toilet bathroom. “Go.” He pushed my back. “Don’t lock it.”
I scurried inside, ready to pop, thanking God I’d made it. Even after I was done using the toilet, my lower back still hurt. I washed my hands, avoiding the mirror. I glanced around, wishing there was some way I could leave a message. But I had nothing to write with, nothing to use to scratch the wall. And if I took too long, Joshua would come in to check.
Reluctantly I stepped back outside. Joshua stood waiting. “Don’t you have to go?”
He gave me a twisted smile. “Already did, while you were in there. You think I’d leave you alone?”
Grasping my elbow, he propelled me back to the sedan. “Head down.”
My chin dropped, but my eyes looked up toward the license plate. From the state of Utah. As we drew closer I could read Olympic Winter Games 2002 below the plate numbers. To the left was the five-ring circle logo of the Olympics. I stared at the numbers and letters, branding them into my brain. Only five to remember, so much easier than a Californi
a plate.
478B2…478B2…478B2…
Once again in the backseat, I repeated the sequence again and again in my head. 478B2…
This one I wouldn’t forget.
Joshua reconnected some wires to start the engine, turned around, and pulled to a pump. There were only two, and the other sat empty. Vaguely, I wondered what I would do if another customer drove up. Hands now untied, I could be out of the car and screaming so fast—
Joshua picked the gun off the floor, leaned back in his seat, and shoved it under the waistband of his pants. Through the rearview mirror he aimed a tight-lipped, meaningful glare at me.
“I know.”
As he filled the car with gas, I didn’t dare move.
When he finished he opened the back door on the passenger side, leaned down. “Get in the front seat.”
Why? almost slipped from my lips. I bit it back and did as I was told.
We drove out of Rigby and back into wilderness. I felt like I left half my heart in that little town. So close to people and rescue, yet so very far.
I stared at the road uncoiling before us and tried not to cry.
30
In the backseat of Ed Schering’s personal limo, Rayne clutched Gary’s hand. Police cars escorted them, front and back. “It’s going to be a zoo out there,” Al had warned them. “The media are all over this story.”
Rayne was used to the melee of reporters. Usually she disliked it. Today she was grateful. Anything to get the word out about Shaley. Someone out there would spot her. They would.
Rayne, Gary, and Al were the only ones in the limo. Brittany, Ross, and the band members wanted to go, to stand behind Rayne and Gary as a line of support. But that would have been too many people and would have required all the more police to guard them all. Even the three bodyguards had been left behind.
The press conference was set for ten o’clock in the morning at the Santa Barbara County courthouse on Anacapa Street. It would be live on TV, with every national network and cable news channel carrying it. Many local stations as well.
Rayne’s watch now read 9:45. They’d been informed the microphones were all in place. One of Al’s colleagues from the field office was bringing a blown-up picture of Shaley and a large mug shot of Ronald Fledger. Gary and Rayne would be escorted to the mics, say their piece, and leave. Al would stay behind to field questions. He would include information about the color and make of the car, and the suspect. Every eye out there would be looking for an old blue Ford Explorer and a man behind its wheel matching Fledger’s description.
God, may someone find the car soon.
In the hours following the failed SWAT mission, Rayne’s endurance had crumbled. But she forced her mind from terrifying imaginings to a constructive task—writing her press conference speech. Gary and Al had helped.
That speech now lay folded in the small purse slung over her shoulder. The FBI didn’t want her and Gary to appear threatening or vengeful. If the kidnapper saw that, he might react in anger—and Shaley would pay. They were to speak quietly, in control, and to Shaley’s kidnapper. They were to plead for their daughter’s safe return.
The pleading part would not be hard.
Rayne’s eyes burned, and her nerves felt like sandpaper, her lungs weighted with exhaustion. Every breath was an effort. Each minute she thought, I can’t live through the next one. Then, somehow, she did.
“There’s the front of the courthouse.” Al pointed.
A distant whop-whop sounded in the air. Rayne didn’t need to see the helicopter to register the sound. Some TV station, no doubt.
In the next block, she saw a long series of white stucco buildings with red roofs on her left, looking much like an old Spanish mission. A tower with a large clock rose from the front entrance. Palm trees around the buildings blew in a slight breeze.
Such a pretty sight. On such a horrible day.
The limo stopped at the intersection. The side street where they needed to turn left had been blocked off by police. The police car ahead of them turned, and the barricades were moved aside. The limo rolled through and parked at the curb. Rayne peered at the back of the L-shaped courthouse buildings. Beautiful green grass spread in gardens beyond a large porch and steps. On that grass hundreds of reporters and cameramen milled. An enormous bank of microphones stood on the porch, and uniformed police guarded the area. A number of men in shirtsleeves and ties stood on the porch, talking.
Policemen flanked the limo and lined up to escort Rayne and the others to the microphones.
At sight of the car, all reporters’ heads turned. Cameras came up. In a mad rush, they jogged toward the limo.
Rayne heard their shouted questions the instant she stepped from the car.
“Rayne, have you heard any more from your daughter?”
“Do you have any idea who kidnapped her?”
“How was she taken from a guarded estate?”
Rayne’s heart raced. She was used to crowds, used to paparazzi, but this was too much.
“Is it true you know the vehicle Shaley’s in?”
“How are you doing?”
“What about your wedding?”
Rayne’s legs felt shaky. No sleep, little food, and all the grief had left her with minimal strength. The crowd sounded so loud. Surely the decibels were nothing like the screaming fans at concerts. But every sound pierced her head.
She gripped Gary’s hand and walked woodenly between the protective rows of policemen, eyes straight ahead. The sun was overly bright, and her temples thudded. But she would get through this.
Somewhere out there on some TV, maybe Shaley would see her. Would hear the carefully worded sentences meant to send her a message—we know you didn’t mean what you said on the phone.
Cameras whirred and snapped as reporters crowded against the policemen. Al held Rayne’s left elbow, propelling her quickly to the courthouse porch. In his left hand he carried notes. They hurried up the stone steps. Al nudged them back from the microphones. “I’ll start, as we planned.” His dark eyes studied Rayne’s face. In them she read compassion and understanding. Once upon a time, Al and his wife had been through this very same thing. “You all right?” he asked.
No.
Rayne nodded.
Al conferred with his colleagues. A tall, rotund man held the blown-up photo of Shaley. The sight of that beautiful face pierced Rayne’s soul. She gazed at it, then tore her eyes away. Her focus landed on a second man, holding another large poster. Rayne could only see the back, but she knew what it was. Ronald Fledger’s despicable face.
“Okay, we’re ready.” Al exchanged a glance with Gary and walked to the microphone.
The mass of people fell silent. Pens readied against notebooks.
With trembling fingers, Rayne opened her purse and took out the two speeches. She handed Gary’s to him. They weren’t supposed to read them, and both had memorized every word. But at the moment Rayne didn’t know if she could recall even the first sentence. Fuzziness draped her mind. Would her tongue even work?
“Good morning.” Al’s voice boomed over the microphones. He thanked everyone for coming, then turned and held out an arm toward her and Gary.
Rayne moved toward the microphone bank on someone else’s legs. Her entire body started to shake. Cold grief and rage washed over her. Shaley’s kidnapper could be watching right now. Suddenly she didn’t want to just plead. She wanted to yell and scream, demand that he let her daughter go. She wanted to promise she would tear his eyes out, his heart. Pursue him until she died.
A panicked sob kicked up her throat. Gary squeezed her arm. “You want me to go first?” he whispered.
Rayne shook her head. She raised her chin and took deep breaths. Control, Rayne. For Shaley.
Al stood aside, and Rayne stepped up to the mics.
She gazed at the hundreds of faces before her but registered none of them. In her mind she saw only one face—Shaley’s.
Her mouth opened, and the words f
lowed.
“I’m Rayne O’Connor. Many of you know me as the lead singer for my band, Rayne. Today, I ask you to see me as a mother who is grieving at the loss of her only child.”
The FBI agent holding Shaley’s picture moved close to Rayne and held it high.
“This is our daughter, Shaley.” Rayne extended her arm toward the poster. “Minutes before Shaley’s father and I”—Rayne gestured toward Gary—”were to be married, our daughter was taken from us. Imagine the shock. A wedding turned to anguish.”
Rayne’s throat tightened. Her fingers curled around the folded paper in her hand.
“We ask the person or people who have Shaley to let her go. We know she wants to come home. We want her to come home. Just let her go. Please. We need her with us, with her family. We aren’t the same without her. We can never be the same. Shaley makes our family whole. She is our—”
Tears stung Rayne’s eyes. She clamped down her jaw and blinked rapidly. In her mind she envisioned the multitude of cameras honing in for the tightest shot, drawn to her grief like flies to honey. Fine. If her tears helped Shaley, that’s all that mattered.
“She is our joy.” Rayne swallowed hard. “We beg you to give her back to us. That is all we want from you.”
The words ran out. Had she written more? Rayne looked at Gary, who gave her a reassuring nod—Good job.
Rayne stepped to the side, and Gary moved to take her place. The agent holding Shaley’s poster moved a few feet to his right, keeping the poster held high.
“I’m Gary Donovon.” Gary’s voice sounded raw. “Unless you live on another planet, you all know the story of how I reentered Shaley’s and Rayne’s lives last year.”
The reporters near the front smiled wanly.
“Being a father to Shaley, seeing her every day—that was my lifelong dream. That dream came true when I found Rayne and Shaley. Whoever has taken her—please return her to us. We’re her family. This is where she belongs.”
He stopped. Gulped a breath.
“Today Rayne and I are offering a one-hundred-thousand-dollar reward for Shaley’s safe return. If you have any information on where she might be, please contact the authorities. Agent Al Scarrow will give you the number in a minute.” Rayne saw Gary look straight into the camera directly in front of him, as if he were facing the kidnapper himself. “Let her go. Now. Please. So many people are looking for her. So many want to see her returned to us. We can forget all of this if you’ll just let her come back to us.” Gary started to say more, then stopped. His head dipped once. “Thank you.” He stepped back.
Final Touch Page 9