by Nella Tyler
Chapter 29
An unfamiliar sound pierced Gilda’s slumber. Her bed vibrated, and she felt oddly suspended. She opened her eyes slowly as the memories returned, and she sat bolt upright.
Cole was immediately at her side, his hands grasping her arms and forcing her to lie back again. “Gilda, it’s okay. It’s Cole. You have to relax. You’re safe. I’m here. Wake up slowly, and then we’ll talk.”
“Carson!” she cried out weakly.
“Shhhh… He’s fine, just fine. I’m sure of it. Now, lie there and wake up slowly. I’m getting you some tea.”
Cole motioned to someone nearby. “Bring her a cup of strong tea and a splash of brandy in it,” he ordered and shortly it was in his hands. “Here,” he said to Gilda. “Take a few sips of this. I’m right here, baby,” he told her in a tender voice.
She did as he asked and then opened her eyes and said simply, “Tell me.”
Cole took her hand in his and leaned in close, brushing the hair from her forehead as he spoke. “You’ve been out for a while, sweetheart. Doc Keeler had to give you some strong stuff to put you out. Just lie there and listen.”
He pushed the cup back toward her mouth and she obediently took another sip. She knew instinctively that it was the fastest way to get him to talk.
“You’re on my jet and we’re headed for Cincinnati, and then on to Brownsboro.”
“Carson?”
“We have traced Scott’s movements and have a witness confirmation that a man answering to his description was seen at the bus depot with a young child.”
“I don’t understand,” she tried again.
“Shhhh… now listen to me. Here’s what we’ve pieced together.
“Mrs. Crutcher is fine. Scott must have staked out the apartment building until the regular doorman went on lunch break. The substitute wasn’t aware of all that was going on, and Scott must have come in while he was on duty and pretended to have a delivery for Mrs. Crutcher. The doorman let him go up at her approval.
“When he got up there, he gagged her and gave her something to knock her out, then tied her up and threw her in the guest room closet.
“He grabbed Carson, dressed in a wig and her clothes, then went back down and left before the regular doorman got a good look at him. Scott had it well timed.
“From all appearances, Carson is just fine, he was just scared because he knew he wasn’t supposed to leave with his father.
“We’ve tracked him to the bus depot. The judge let Scott off with restitution and probation because, quite frankly, he hadn’t hurt anyone.
“He immediately set about getting his hands on Carson, and we innocently provided the opportunity. It played right into his hands. He purchased two tickets for Brownsboro, and I’ve got the authorities on alert. They’re watching him and know which bus he’s on. They’re waiting for us to meet them down there, and they’ll pick him up at the Brownsboro station. We’ll beat him there. This is easiest on Carson.”
“Is he okay?”
“Yes, they’re being watched. We put a detective on the bus with them at one of the stops, and he’s keeping an eye on Carson. We’re trying to keep this low trauma.”
“Why didn’t you already grab him?”
“I knew you were going to ask that. I hope you trust me enough to understand that I gave the word that we should let him get all the way to Brownsboro.
“Number one, he goes further, which means we can hit him with kidnapping and transporting a minor over more state lines — there’s no way he’ll ever get out of jail again.
“Secondly, by arriving in Brownsboro, we can show intent to permanently keep Carson, which just makes the State’s case against him that much stronger. Then, there’s the idea that Carson will find you waiting for him when he gets off the bus, which will minimize the trauma.”
Gilda nodded. It did all make sense and she was glad Cole was on her side. He was a brilliant tactician.
“The other thing is that by allowing him to take Carson over state lines, it makes this a federal case and you won’t have to hire an attorney. The feds will prosecute him for you, no questions asked.”
“I want Carson back — safe.”
“Of course, and that’s what we’re doing. He’s as safe as can be right now. Our detective is on the bus. He is licensed to carry throughout the US — there is no way Scott will get away from him.”
Gilda relaxed only minimally, and she struggled to sit up.
“Here,” Cole said, releasing the seat belt. “I carried you aboard and had to strap you in, sweetheart.”
“How long?”
“We’ll be landing in probably ten minutes, and I have a car waiting for us. We’ll get there well ahead of the bus.”
Gilda righted herself and asked for the washroom. She went in and tidied herself as well as she could and then emerged just as the light flashed to buckle up for landing. She sat back down and held Cole’s hand as the jet put down on the tarmac at the Northern Kentucky International Airport.
They taxied to a private gate where a car was waiting for them, just as Cole had promised. It took only a matter of a few minutes for the luggage that he had thrown together to be transferred and they were on their way.
As they drove closer to her hometown, Gilda began to relax. She realized with surprise how much she had missed her childhood home and expressed as much to Cole.
“Would you like to live here again someday?” he asked her, and she nodded.
“But only when Carson is safe,” she added. Cole squeezed her hand.
Once in Brownsboro, they headed directly to the Holiday Inn; it was the best accommodations Cole could come up with on short notice. He had reserved an entire wing and set up a command center.
He urged Gilda to go to their suite and relax, but she refused. “I want to be at the bus station,” she insisted, and Cole nodded, having known that’s what she would say.
Brownsboro’s bus station shared the building with the train depot. As they pulled in, Gilda’s memory went back to the day when she and Carson had left Brownsboro, hopefully for a new life in the big city.
While there were several vehicles in their detail, they sat back from the group in an unmarked car. Cole massaged the tension he could feel in Gilda’s shoulders.
The bus was on time and exhaled diesel fuel as it pulled in and directly to the curb to discharge its passengers. Gilda sat forward on the edge of her seat. “Stay back, sweetheart. We don’t want to tip him off. Carson will be out soon and then you’ll see…he’s just fine.”
One by one the passengers came down the steep steps of the bus, holding on to the rail and looking forward to see whomever they expected to meet them. A few stopped on the stair and waved, calling out hellos. It was a time of joy for the arrivals and would soon be a time of sorrow for those who were boarding to leave.
The passengers disembarked, but there was no Carson. Neither was there Scott. Gilda began to cry, and Cole flagged his men to board the bus and find them. There was no one aboard — no one but the detective Cole had hired to watch Scott, and he was locked in the men’s room, a makeshift shim jamming the door from the outside.
The officers came off the bus and moved toward Cole’s car. Their faces were solemn, their hands empty, except for one.
He held something forward in his hand and asked if Gilda knew if it had any significance.
It was the angel with the chipped wing she had given her mama so many years ago — and Beverly had given to Carson that last time she’d seen him.
Chapter 30
Despite all the things she had ever gone through in her life, nothing could compare with the black despair Gilda felt now.
As logically as they could piece together, Scott had somehow managed to jam the bathroom door when Cole’s detective had gone inside. His timing was impeccable as the bus was pulling into a small town, and Scott intervened with the driver to stop and let him and Carson off. The bus driver was quite helpful in sharing this. It h
ad been a highly unusual occurrence.
Backtracking was done and the bulk of Cole’s detectives headed for Jonestown, the micro-village where Scott and Carson had disembarked. Jonestown was little more than a four corners with a gas station, an old country store, a tavern, and what was laughingly referred to as the old opera house: a chicken processing plant. There were four roads that lead from the stop sign at the center of town and cars were dispatched to search these. Armed with photographs of both Scott and Carson, they went door to door, barn to barn — nowhere, not even a fishing shack was left unsearched.
Gilda’s friend Mary came to see her, not only to support her, but to lend whatever help she could to the search.
The only person who wasn’t included was Beverly. Gilda refused to let her mother impact their lives any further. It was because of her that Scott had found them in the first place.
Despite Cole’s best efforts, Gilda began to withdraw. Hour by hour, her eyes grew dimmer and she no longer returned smiles or words of encouragement. Eventually, she wouldn’t even respond to a hug. She was so filled with fear, not just hers for the safety of Carson, but for the young woman she had been when Scott had controlled her.
In her mind, she relived each of those days: the slow, sadistic torture he had practiced. Once again, she was in his clutches. Once again, she was walking on eggshells.
Cole felt the cold and anger of helpless rage. His wife had left his side, and her child’s life was in peril. He left the motel and took a walk into the woods that lay behind it. He needed an opportunity to clear his head, to put to use all the training he had acquired through the years. He was a man possessed — with love for his wife and with hatred for his enemy. There could be no more lethal combination.
He stood at the base of a newly budded oak tree. With the smell of spring’s warm earth beneath his feet, he fell to his knees and began to throw everything within reach. Stones, twigs, branches, anything he could touch he threw. Eventually, the futility dissipated as purpose and vengeance took its place. When he later emerged from the woods, he had a plan in mind and woe be unto anyone who stood in his way.
* * *
By the next morning, a hundred men waited outside the motel for their instructions. Their group leaders sat inside, erect and alert as Cole used the conference room at the facility to give his directives.
The geographical area of six neighboring towns was broken into quadrants, with one group assigned to each. The men were armed; some could even say they were vigilantes. Local law enforcement had been invited, but they were inexperienced and preferred to stay in the background to catch the fallout as the community would undoubtedly go into high alert and fears would begin to spread.
Cole obtained a search warrant via his connections and with it, he invaded Scott’s previous lodging, picking up any article of clothing or personal possession that was available. These were given to the trained dogs accompanying each group. There were a few items of Carson’s clothing available, as well; it didn’t matter whose scent they picked up, as long as they were found.
He inundated the media with pictures and a $200,000 reward for information. Beneath the surface, Cole made it known quietly among his force that a far larger reward sat on the head of Scott Sawyer.
Cole elicited the help of every local hunting group. With the help of the local police force, these men were deputized and sent across the counties, each to his own favorite hunting grounds — the woods, fields and streams they knew intimately. When Cole was done, there was literally nowhere that Scott could hide.
Cole established a separate force whose sole purpose was to blow up social media and the Internet at large. An amber alert was issued and television affiliates broadcasted photos of the missing pair on an hourly basis. What had begun as a tactically quiet and stealthy search was now deemed to be time sensitive, and the doors were blown off every opportunity to get the word out.
Appointing a coordinator to act on his behalf, Cole took Gilda, even though she was unwilling, and using a rental car that no one knew, combed the areas. He begged her to search her memory for anywhere that Scott had ever mentioned frequenting.
Hour after hour they searched, and while Cole had no real hope they would uncover anything, at least he was giving Gilda a sense of purpose and participation. He hoped desperately this would save her mentally.
“Show me everywhere you ever went as a child,” he told her.
She shook her head. “There really isn’t very much. It’s a very small town, and you might say I grew up on the wrong side of the tracks. My world was small, Cole, not like yours.”
“Did Scott ever go into hiding before?”
“Not that I can remember. He wasn’t much for skulking around; his style was more in-your-face belligerence.”
“Think, Gilda, think. What’s down that street?” he asked, pointing to the next block ahead of them.
She grimaced. “No one I want to talk to.”
“What you mean?” His trained senses were on high alert.
“My mama lives down that street.”
“Why haven’t you been to see her, Gilda?”
“This is all her fault, Cole. She gave Scott the envelope that led him to us. I’m guessing that he either bribed her or threatened her; either way, it’s her fault. She never protected me as a child, and she never will begin. She doesn’t care about Carson. She only cares about herself.”
Cole overrode her request and turned down the street. He watched her face and noted which house her eyes went to first. Thus, he knew where her mother lived.
“We’re going to see her, Gilda. If you want to wait in the car, that’s fine, but I’m going to question her. I can’t leave anything unturned.”
She sat stone-faced in the seat next to him, her hands pressed into fists lying in her lap. He had never seen her posture or expression be so forbidding. This was a different side of the soft, loving woman he knew so well.
He pulled into the drive, placing his hand on the door handle and looking to Gilda as a last request for her to join him. She didn’t move a muscle. “Okay, I’m going in alone.”
Cole went up to the door, knocking loudly with the back of his hand. There was no response. He pulled open the screen door which promptly sagged onto the remaining single hinge from which it hung. He knocked again on the inside door; this time with his fist. “Beverly! Open the door!”
Gilda was surprised he knew her mother’s name, but then perhaps she shouldn’t be. Cole was very thorough and certainly not without connections.
“Beverly! Open the door now or I am breaking it in.” He kicked the door for emphasis. That was when the door handle turned and it opened inwardly a few inches. Cole was not concerned with the niceties, but shoved the door with his fist, striding into the tiny shack.
Gilda looked at her hands. Her nails had dug bleeding slits into her palms. Her heart felt empty and literally painful. She heard a noise then and looked up as Cole emerged from the house — Carson in his arms.
“Carson!” she screamed, slamming her shoulder against the car door to get out.
Cole carried Carson toward her, and the child’s face lit up. “Mama!”
Gilda thought she might faint with relief and happiness as Carson was handed into her waiting arms. She kissed his face top to bottom, inhaling the scent of his hair and feeling his small, sticky hands grabbing at her neck.
“Mama? Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you. My dad brought me here and left me with Granny. She didn’t want me, Mama. I was scared because I didn’t know where you were. My dad said that you were here, waiting for me, but you weren’t. Why weren’t you here, Mama?”
Cole opened the door to the car and gently put Gilda and Carson into the backseat where they could sit side-by-side. Grimly, he turned and went back into the house. A short time later he emerged, opened his phone, and called off the search for Carson. He did not, however, call off the search for Scott.
Chapter 31
As soo
n as Gilda was up to traveling, they boarded Cole’s jet and returned to New York City. The return trip was far more joyful. Cole left behind a virtual army of men who would not give up until Scott was found. At that point in time, Scott’s life was worth little.
Mrs. Crutcher had been released from the hospital and was back to her normal, bustling self. While Cole had serious doubts as to the worthiness of her protection, he let it be for the time being. They had planning to do.
Cole had not yet reported for duty. He could not bring himself to abandon Gilda and Carson; and he realized that suddenly, his goal to become a New York City police officer held less attraction.
To compound matters, Cole received word via his father’s attorney that the senior Mr. Stephens was ill — seriously so. His years of self-abuse with alcohol and designer drugs had finally come to be reckoned with, and he was no longer able to manage his business empire. As heir, the responsibility now fell to Cole.
He shared this news with Gilda as they walked through Central Park in the spring sun.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, stopping to give him a hug.
“You know how you feel about your mama?” he queried.
She nodded.
“Well, that’s about the same way I feel about my father. But, since my mother is completely out of his will and I’m the only heir, this is going to fall to me. I can’t ignore it; there are too many people depending on those companies for their livelihood. I can’t just walk away.”
“Aren’t there boards of directors or something?” Gilda asked, hoping to find some sort of leverage he could utilize.
“No. They’re all privately-held concerns. The only thing I can do now is wait. When he dies, everything reverts to me and I can sell off the properties — protecting those families. But, in the meantime, my father still has the controlling signature, and I’m only his lackey. I can’t make a move until he dies.”