Touch & Go (Tessa Leoni, #2)(103)

Twelve thirty, they ordered lunch.

One o’clock, Wyatt finished debriefing local PDs as well as the state police. They’d set up a designated channel through dispatch, ready to broadcast information the second they had any.

He once again reviewed the map.

One thirty, two o’clock. Two fifteen. Two thirty.

What’d they miss, what’d they miss? Always something. You planned, you prepared and yet, in the end, it was always something.

Wyatt, back to staring at his map.

Two forty. Two forty-eight. Two fifty-two. Two fifty-five.

What if the suspects never called? What if this was how the case ended, not with a blaze of glory but in total radio silence? The family was already dead, an embezzler covering his or her tracks. There wouldn’t be any rescue. Just a sad, drawn-out search that would consume days, weeks, months, maybe even years.

Three P.M.

Three oh one.

Three oh two.

Justin Denbe’s phone rang to life.





Chapter 37


ZMATERIALIZED OUTSIDE OUR CELL DOOR. For the first time since this ordeal started, he appeared tense, and his wired alertness immediately put our own nerves on edge. He was bearing a black plastic garbage bag that turned out to be filled with our original clothing. Now he fed each item through the wrist slot in the door with terse orders for us to change.

Our first step back into the real world, I wondered, our Boston garb? But I already doubted it. Ashlyn and I had also been commanded to change for our segment of the ransom demands; not because Z had wanted us to look our best on video, but because he hadn’t wanted to give away any information on our whereabouts, such as prison jumpsuits. I had a feeling the same logic applied here.

If the ransom demand was met, the police would learn of our location soon enough. But it wasn’t Z’s style to give away any advantage before he had to.

Once we were changed, it was time to exit the cell.

“Denbe first.” A barking command.

Z indicated to the slot in the door. Justin presented his wrists, which were immediately bound with zip ties. I went next. Then Ashlyn. When we were all secured, Z made a motion with his hand, and with a buzzing snap, our steel door swung open.

Z kept his gaze on Justin, who walked out with his shoulders back and chin up, his bruised face clearly defiant.

Immediately the tension ratcheted up another notch.

Don’t do anything stupid, I found myself thinking. Please don’t do anything stupid.

Except I wasn’t sure what that was anymore. Here we were, once again bound and helpless. Stupid only applied if our captors really were going to let us go. They had other options, of course. For example, placing a bullet through each of our heads the second the ransom funds appeared in their account. Not like we could stop them. Not like the police were standing by to help us the moment the money was delivered.

One way or another, we were still on our own, and I could feel the tight restrictions of the plastic zip tie digging into my wrists.

Z took Justin by the elbow. He indicated for the ladies to walk first. Once Ashlyn and I ventured uncertainly forward into the shadowed dayroom, he and Justin fell in step behind us. Clearly, Z had pegged Justin as the primary threat, to be monitored at all times. I wish I could disagree, chortle gleefully to myself that if only he knew. Instead, I felt a rising sense of hysteria and had to suppress the ridiculous urge to tug on my freshly washed hair.

At the sally port, we had to pause. I wondered who was in the control room. Mick or Radar? Z gestured to the security camera and the first set of doors rolled open. We stepped inside. Another pause. The clang of steel slamming shut behind us, plunging us into a deep dark, broken up only by the dim glow of green emergency lights, illuminating faint puddles of floor. I could feel Ashlyn shudder beside me, and move closer.

Then, more slowly than I would’ve liked, the next set of heavy steel doors slowly opened. A broad hallway loomed before us. Also lit by emergency lights. We must’ve come this way before, but everything looked different without the bright wash of overhead lights. The prison had taken on the spooky feel of a haunted house, and while I knew it was daylight outside, already I felt isolated, my shoulders hunching, my chin tucking down as if the ceiling were lower, the walls closing in.

“Walk,” Z ordered, and very tentatively, Ashlyn and I shuffled forward.

We followed the puddles of green glow to another set of doors. Turned out to be a second sally port. More clanging as steel doors slammed shut behind us. A sound that got under the skin. A sound I never wanted to hear again.

The closing doors once more plunged us into darkness. We waited, Ashlyn bouncing on her toes beside me, until the forward set of doors slowly rolled open. Was it just me, or had this set of doors taken much longer? Had to be Mick in the control room. Having a little fun at our expense.

I willed my face to be impassive. I would not give him the satisfaction of showing my fear.

Z urged us forward. We walked, losing our sense of direction in the shadowy green maze of prison corridors. Suddenly, the hallway lightened. We came to a stretch with large exterior windows awash with daylight. Then, across from that, an enclosed chamber lined with windows that had been heavily fortified with horizontal bars.

The control room. Had to be. I could see monitors and panels and all sorts of crazy computer equipment that meant nothing to me but probably everything to my husband.

They were going to do it. Exchange us for ransom. We would go home; they would get nine million dollars.