No Feign No Gain

by Carrie Ann Knox

  “So you didn’t get anything?”

  “Not exactly.” She sighed. “Unless you count watching him waltz into the back of a run-down dry-cleaning business, where he said only a handful of words, none of which were useful. A couple yeahs and okays and a lot of long silences, with the other person inaudible. I couldn’t even follow him in to see who he was talking to. And then we tailed him home for his bedtime. What a waste.”

  “Stinks,” I said. “But maybe the location could be important? I assume we didn’t know about that meeting spot.”

  “True,” Sloan replied. “I’ll have Leo check out the address.”

  I thought a second. “Any chance that could be where they’re keeping Grant? He could be anywhere.”

  “Good thought,” she said. “The place seemed to be legit, and a little small to pull that off, but I guess you never know.” She paused to pull her phone from her bag, her face lighting up again. “But I’m hoping we have another lead on that, too. Grant’s family received another video. They’ve apparently cut us out of the loop, but Leo is monitoring.”

  She tapped on her phone and a new image of Grant appeared. This time rather than a close-up in a dim basement, he sat at a distance in a straight-backed chair, a bright light in his face causing him to squint away. The small room was draped floor to ceiling in tan sheets, with nothing else about the space distinguishable.

  Then I noticed Grant’s hand. His arms were lying on the sides of the chair, untethered. But his left hand had a thick bundle of white wrapped around it. A crude bandage. A tinge of red was visible on the lower left corner.

  I stared at the image, finally comprehending. He wasn’t just squinting away from the light. I was pretty sure he was wincing in pain. A sour sensation began to spread in my stomach, contents curdling with fear and disgust. This was all my fault.

  I looked up at Sloan, terrified to know what was on the video. “What happens?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing. Just a few seconds of him sitting there.” She hit play and we watched in horrified silence. For ten seconds Grant sat unmoving in the otherwise empty space, only his tired eyes showing signs of life. The image bobbed slightly, making it clear it was being shot hand-held. Likely with a phone.

  “So, his finger, you think?” I gulped. “They’re barbarians. Who could do such a thing?”

  “I intend to find out,” Sloan said. “Whoever it is, looks like they definitely have an MO. I’d be willing to bet Grant’s family will be receiving a package very shortly, similar to the one left for you. Only the message will be a lot more clear this time.”

  “Christopher did say they had more efficient ways of convincing . . . ” I pictured the gruesome scene to come as his family grasped the truth of the situation. The horror. What was previously a game for Grant had suddenly become much too real.

  At least it now had a good chance of resolving, I realized. Certainly they would take the threat seriously this time. Who would take the chance?

  “Hopefully then they’ll pay up,” I said optimistically. “And all this will finally be over.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking,” she said, trying to match my optimism. “In the meantime I’ve already sent this to Leo, and he’s seeing what he can come up with. If we’re lucky, he’ll be able to work his same magic. Or maybe even get an address for us.”

  I gazed back, skeptical. “Except this doesn’t look like a home webcam. And unlike last time, we’re dealing with real professionals. I’m guessing they have some experience with this sort of thing. Extortion, at least. I don’t know if we’ll be able to get as lucky this time.”

  Sloan appeared to deflate. “You’re right. I just wanted to believe. So far our leads haven’t really panned out, huh?” She looked me in the eye. “I don’t want to take any chances. I know we need to find him for you. Right now I’m just not sure how.”

  Just then I heard a strange ding from my bag. Sloan raised an eyebrow to me, clearly recognizing it was not my phone’s normal notification sound. “Actually,” I said, reaching to retrieve the source, “our tide may have just turned. If our assumption is correct that the Italian we just encountered has anything to do with this little kidnapping gamble, anyway.”

  The screen of the small black phone I pulled out was lit up with a fresh text message. I held it up proudly as Sloan stared, putting together my meaning. Slowly realization dawned.

  “You stole his phone?” She gaped at me. “That’s some serious criminal-detective work. Do you have secret pickpocket skills I don’t know about?” She narrowed her eyes playfully. “Or are you just that distracting?”

  I laughed, thinking of how incredibly opposite the scene had been. “More like . . . I was that clumsy and inept. So much so that I made him run off in anger, forgetting his phone for the moment. By the time he came back, I was long gone. And I don’t think he’ll be able to find the poorly-accented woman who tried to flirt with his precious french fry.”

  Sloan continued to stare, grinning, her eyes bouncing between me and the stranger’s phone in my hand. She seemed unable to decide where to focus. Finally she spoke. “I’m definitely gonna need that story sometime.” She snatched the phone away, excited. “But let’s see what we’ve got here first.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  The fresh text message lingered on the screen. Our friend cooperated. Tucked back in his basement for the night. The sender was labeled only as ‘D.’

  “Okay, so let’s just start with the assumption that Grant is the friend,” Sloan said, continuing to stare at the screen. “Hopefully that means he’s just doing what they say and is fine, then.”

  “Except for the whole missing a finger thing.” I immediately tried to shake away the thought, not ready to approach that dark path again.

  Sloan’s eyes lowered in discomfort.

  Another low ding thankfully distracted. Sloan read the message aloud. “Package delivery asap. Expect exchange within 36 hours. Be ready.”

  “Guess you were right,” I muttered darkly. “I assume that’s referring to his family receiving his missing body part. Then freaking out and giving in on the ransom, now that they can see the whole thing’s real.”

  “Then maybe we have nothing to worry about,” Sloan offered hopefully. “The guys seem confident it’ll all go through. They get the money, Grant is released. Maybe we just let it all play out, then.”

  “Harm’s already done, you’re saying.” I sighed, feeling a little guilty at the idea of resigning. But she had a point. “We don’t have much time at this point, either. So maybe there really isn’t a use in chasing after him. If it’ll all end in the next day or so, regardless.”

  Sloan’s eyebrow flicked up, surprised at my surrender. “The only real loser here is his family, having to give up the money. I’ll sleep just fine. But you’ll be able to live with that?”

  I considered a long moment. Finally I shrugged, beginning to accept. “It was Grant’s game to begin with. So it’s really not our fault, if you think about it. And once he’s returned, my career can get back on track.” I took a deep breath, making myself say the words. “So . . . let’s just let it go.”

  “Now you’re getting it.” Sloan broke out in a wide grin. “Benton, hurry us home,” she yelled toward the front. “We’re all done here.”

  “Glad to hear it,” he called back, stepping a little harder on the gas.

  “I’ll get this phone to Leo to crack, just in case,” Sloan said. “But I doubt it’ll be much more useful anyway. The owner’s sure to report it missing pretty soon, if not already.”

  I nodded absently and settled back into my seat to watch the city pass out the window, taking a deep breath for the first time in what seemed like forever. It wasn’t all over just yet, but it looked to be rounding the corner on finality. Grant would soon be returned—and hopefully my life would be going back to normal.

  Only I
couldn’t truly relax. Something niggled at the back of my brain, like an itch I couldn’t quite reach. I wasn’t sure what it was. But something bothered me about the situation. Despite all our declarations, it didn’t feel settled. Not yet.

  I picked up the phone and studied the texts again, searching for the source of my unease. My gaze focused in on the first message. “Real quick,” I said, startling Sloan from her own reverie, “let’s go back to the basement thing for a second. What do they mean, ‘his’ basement?

  “Dunno,” she replied, looking at me curiously. “There’s definitely not a lower level at his house. They’re pretty uncommon around here. Not that they’d just let him go home, of course.”

  “Right. So their use of the word ‘his’ seems funny, doesn’t it? Like it belongs to him, or maybe he’s at least been there before?” I tried to come up with an explanation. “Maybe he was there before, when he was helping them spy?”

  “Still wouldn’t explain the ‘his’ part,” Sloan replied, shaking her head. “You’re right. Why would he be back in his basement?” Her eyes narrowed as she thought about it. Suddenly her face darkened. “Except there is one basement we all know he’s been in lately.”

  “The hideout from his original scheme.” But why would they send him to his own turf?

  We mused in silence a moment, pondering the possibilities. I gasped as an idea occurred to me. The beginnings of hope creeped back in. We could settle the issue. “You had access to the webcam down there. Can you still get in?”

  Sloan began tapping on her phone immediately, lips tight. “Let’s find out.”

  A few more clicks and a video feed appeared. It was still live. And it showed, plain as day, Grant back on the couch, a small white dog’s head resting on his lap. Kicked back watching television.

  “Grant,” I exclaimed. “And Mr. Pennington.”

  “So what do you think this means?” Sloan stared at the screen, confused. “That they were really a part of this all along? It just doesn’t make sense they would let him go somewhere of his own choosing, does it?”

  But it now made perfect sense to me. “They would let him go somewhere of his choosing . . . if he wasn’t actually a threat.”

  Sloan stared back carefully, trying to follow my drift.

  “What if by ‘cooperated,’ they don’t mean he didn’t fight them,” I said. “What if Grant legitimately agreed to participate? He could be willingly helping at this point.”

  “You’re right,” Sloan replied, now excited. “They’ve even doubled the ransom. And why not? He already tried to get the dough that way the first time.”

  “And he offered to split with me to keep the ruse going,” I added.

  Sloan nodded vigorously. “So why wouldn’t he just agree to help, and maybe they cut him in? It’s a win-win for everybody.”

  “Except for his family,” I said ruefully. “And people like us that got duped into caring.” My mood sunk further thinking about it. “But could he be so desperate he would let them chop off his finger? That’s quite a trade.”

  “Depends on your priorities, I guess.”

  I shuddered at the thought. Then slowly reconsidered the situation. “But really . . . what proof do we have that any of it’s even real? All we know is he had a bandage and they have a history of that sort of thing. We just jumped to conclusions from there.”

  “Which could be exactly what they wanted us to do.” Sloan shrugged. “I guess we’ll know when the family receives the ‘delivery.’ First thing tomorrow, I’d imagine.”

  We both looked down as we sensed movement on the screen. Grant shifted in his seat, switching his right leg for his left on the coffee table. Then he lifted his left hand to lovingly ruffle the curls on the dog’s head.

  My mouth slowly gaped open as I watched. I turned to Sloan. “He sure does love his dog,” I said. “But there is no bandage on that petting hand anymore.”

  Sloan’s voice became acidic. “That’s some impressive healing time, there. Really quite remarkable.”

  “I’ll tell you what’s remarkable,” I muttered, disgust growing. “That I’ve put this much time, effort, and concern into trying to save that scheming little weasel.”

  Sloan grimaced at the con-artist on the screen. “Should we go over there and confront him? We certainly know where he is now. Again.”

  I tried to calm my breathing and process. Duped again. For days I had been running around dedicated to trying to save this guy, someone I didn’t even care for. Risking my own future, out of a misguided sense of duty and guilt. Trying to right a wrong.

  But apparently he was the wrong all along.

  And nothing good could come from what I was doing. From any of it.

  “Nope.” I looked up at Sloan, my entire outlook rapidly reversing course. I had seen the light. “We’re not going to confront him, or do anything else at all. I am officially done.”

  Sloan quirked an eyebrow at me. “You, giving up? I can hardly believe it.”

  The car slowed to a stop as we arrived back at our safe house. I sighed at the sight, happy to be home. Or as close to it as I had at the moment, anyway.

  “You wanna walk away from his scheme,” she continued, “I am all for it. He can have the goons all to himself.”

  “It’s not just that.” I shook my head. “Not only am I done with our little search for my lying frenemy . . . but I think I’m done with all of it. All of the lying, the deceptions. The false leads and the greedy ulterior motives. Every last maddening clue.” I swung open my car door and looked back at Sloan. “I’m officially hanging up my PI hat for good. I’m out.” I hopped out of the vehicle and headed for the front door before she could say another word.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Either Sloan was still sulking at my announcement, or she was giving me plenty of space to reconsider. Whichever it was, I hadn’t heard a peep from her since our return the night before. I had expected relentless badgering from her about my decision. But the house was quiet. No one pestering at my door.

  Instead I finally got to sleep in, a good, solid sleep for the first time in weeks. I awoke refreshed, feeling I had everything in front of me once again. It was only a matter of time before the whole Grant situation was resolved, without any further input from me. And then my life could just go back to normal. How that worked out was really none of my business.

  I pictured it all as I took a long, hot shower, how everything would go down. Grant’s parents fork out the money and he is released. The little weasel walks away with some of it, his family none the wiser. Everyone is relieved. Grant moves back to wherever he calls home to graduate and move forward with his life, probably still lying and scheming his way through it all. But again, none of my business.

  Meanwhile, I get to waltz into work with a very special tape in hand. I turn over the recording of Grant confessing to everything. Everyone is stunned by his outrageous stunt, and I am vindicated. The media craze has also subsided in our absence. Now there is nothing to keep me from finishing out my internship, just in time to get my final experience hours in and graduate in a mere two weeks. I was home-free.

  I just had to get the tape from Sloan first.

  I knew how she operated. As long as I smoothed things over, leaving open just the barest possibility of continuing with her someday, it shouldn’t be a problem. But now that things were on the right track, I was never going back. My days of being someone’s pawn in a devious, criminal scheme were over. I clearly wasn’t cut out for all the lying and subterfuge. I was going to be an audiologist, plain and simple. And I couldn’t wait.

  A few minutes after my daydream-filled shower, I headed down the stairs and toward the front door. It looked like a beautiful day outside, and I wanted to take advantage. I had a free mind and conscience for the first time in what seemed like ages.

  The spring in my step was caught short when a
deep voice thundered behind me. “And where do you think you’re going?”

  I sighed and turned to find Benton stepping forward, curious.

  “Just out for a walk.” Now that I was shaking off the case, the details of our living situation were beginning to wear on me. I could barely keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “That’s okay, right? I’m not a hostage here?”

  “Not a hostage,” he replied, now looking at me even more curiously. “But not all clear. You still have to use your disguise if you leave the house. You don’t live here, remember? Daisy does.” His mouth quirked up a bit at the corners as he said the name.

  “Right,” I muttered. “Daisy.” I turned back, headed for my room. I could finish jumping through their hoops, fine. A disguise wasn’t so bad. At least I was free.

  “And I have to come with you,” he called as I trudged up the stairs.

  Perfect.

  ***

  “So how does this work, exactly?” I watched Benton pull the door shut and hustle behind me toward the street. “We’re taking a walk together now? I just wanted to clear my head.”

  “Clear away,” he said, pausing to give me a head start as I began down the neighborhood sidewalk. “I’ll just follow behind. Pretend I’m not even here.”

  “Right.” I glanced back at him once more, still self-conscious. “And you’re sure this is completely necessary?”

  I startled when I turned back around and found myself face-to-face with a blue-uniformed young man. Levi. He must’ve just appeared from behind the neighbor’s walkway hedge.

  He smiled brightly. “What’s completely necessary?”

  I grunted. “The 24/7 surveillance I seem to have back there. Can’t even take a walk without someone trailing me.”