The Couple Next Door(42)

No, he has to get Cora today. He has to go and get her. He can’t let this drag out any longer, no matter what.

With his mind spinning, a half hour has sped by. He is halfway there. He has to make a decision. He checks the time, gets off the highway at the next exit. He pulls over to the side of the road, puts his flashers on, and picks up his cell, his hands shaking. He calls Anne’s cell.

She answers immediately. “Do you have her?” Anne asks anxiously.

“No, not yet, it isn’t time yet,” Marco says. “I want you to ask your father if he’s told the police about this.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Anne says.

“Ask him.”

Marco hears voices in the background, and then Anne comes back on the line. “He says he didn’t tell anyone. He didn’t tell the police. Why?”

Should he believe Richard? “Put your father on the phone,” Marco says.

“What’s going on?” Richard says into the cell.

“I need to be able to trust you,” Marco says. “I need to know you didn’t alert the police.”

“I didn’t. I said I wouldn’t.”

“Tell me the truth. If the police are watching, I’m not going. I can’t take the risk that he might smell a trap and kill Cora.”

“I swear, I didn’t tell them. Just go get her, for Christ’s sake!” Richard sounds almost as panicked as Marco feels.

Marco hangs up the phone and drives.

? ? ?

Richard Dries paces his daughter’s living room, his heart knocking against his ribs. He glances at his wife and daughter, hunched together on the couch, and quickly looks away again. He is on edge and intensely frustrated with his son-in-law.

He has never liked Marco. And now—for Christ’s sake—how could Marco even think about not going to the rendezvous? He could blow everything! Richard takes another worried look at his wife and daughter and keeps pacing.

He can at least understand why Marco might think Richard has called the police. From the beginning, when Marco insisted they not tell the cops, Richard had taken the opposite stand—he’d argued for telling them about the exchange, but he’d been overruled. He'd told them that five million dollars is a lot of money, even for them. He’d told them that he wasn’t convinced that Cora was still alive. But he’d also said that he wouldn’t tell the police, and he has not. He hadn’t expected Marco to doubt him at the last minute and put everything at risk by not going to the exchange.

He’d better fucking show up. There is too much at stake here for Marco to lose his nerve.

? ? ?

Thirty minutes later Marco arrives at the designated spot. It’s a half hour outside the city by highway, and almost another thirty minutes northwest, up a smaller highway and then off a desolate rural road. They’d chosen an abandoned farm property with an old garage at the end of the long driveway. Marco drives up to the garage and parks the car in front of it. The garage door is closed. The place appears to be deserted, but Bruce must be somewhere nearby, watching.

Cora will be in the garage. Marco feels light-headed—this nightmare is almost over.

Marco gets out of the car. He leaves the money in the trunk and walks up to the garage door. He grabs the handle. It’s stiff, but he gives it a good tug. The door goes up with a loud rumble. It’s dim inside, especially after coming in from the bright sunlight. He listens intently. Nothing. Maybe Cora is asleep. Then he sees an infant car seat resting on the dirt floor in the far corner with a white blanket draped over the handle. He recognizes the blanket as Cora’s. He rushes over to the car seat, reaches down, and pulls off the blanket.

The seat is empty. He stands up in horror, staggering backward. He feels as though the breath has been knocked out of him. The car seat is here, her blanket is here, but Cora is not. Is this some kind of sick joke? Or a double cross? Marco’s heart is pounding in his ears. He hears a noise behind him and whirls around, but he’s not fast enough. He feels a sharp pain in his head and falls heavily to the floor of the garage.

When Marco comes to a few minutes later—he doesn’t know how many—he rises slowly to his hands and knees, then to his feet. He’s groggy and dizzy, and his head is thumping with pain. He stumbles outside. His car is still there, in front of the garage, the trunk open. He staggers over to look inside. The money—five million dollars—is gone. Of course. Marco is left behind with an empty car seat and Cora’s baby blanket. No Cora. His cell phone is in the car, on the front seat, but he can’t bear to call Anne.

He should call the police, but he doesn’t want to do that either.

He is a fool. He gives a bellow of pain and sinks to the ground.

? ? ?

Anne waits in a fever of impatience. She shrugs her mother off, wringing her hands in anxiety. What is going on? What is taking so long? They should have heard from Marco twenty minutes ago. Something must be wrong.

Her parents are agitated as well. “What the hell is he doing?” Richard growls. “If he didn’t go get her because he’s afraid I sent the police, I’ll throttle him with my own hands.”

“Should we call his cell?” Anne says.

“I don’t know,” Richard says. “Let’s give it a few more minutes.”

Five minutes later no one can stand the suspense any longer. “I’m going to call him,” Anne says. “He was supposed to get her half an hour ago. What if something went wrong? He would call if he could. What if they killed him! Something terrible has happened!”