Touch & Go (Tessa Leoni, #2)(104)

We would go home.

I stared at the now empty room, door open, our ticket to safety.

I took one more step, then from behind, Z grabbed my arm and drew me up short.

He said, “Not so fast.”

And I shuddered, feeling my heart stop in my chest.


“HERE’S THE DEAL,” Z continued shortly. “It’s two fifty-five P.M. I’m going to let you into the control room. I’m going to hand you a phone. I’m going to remove your wrist constraints.”

Z stopped looking at Ashlyn and me, staring at Justin instead. “At which point, you have the power to lock down this prison. You could even attempt to trap me inside. But you should know, Radar and Mick are already out. They’re armed with a full arsenal of weapons, which they are exceptionally well trained at using. I’m guessing that between them, they could pick off at least thirty-six to forty-eight first responders without even breaking into a sweat. I know you might not care about that”—his gaze went hard, his fanged cobra tattoo moving restlessly as he frowned—“but I’m counting on the ladies to be your conscience.” His gaze flickered to us. “Play it smart, everyone goes home safe and sound. Try something stupid and there’ll be a lot of funerals on Friday. Including your own. I’m not a man who forgives, Denbe. And I know where you live.”

Justin said nothing.

I stepped forward, inserting myself into the space between them. “Tell us what you want us to do.”

Z switched his attention to me. “The rest is easy. Call your husband’s cell phone using FaceTime. Wave to the nice FBI agent who plans on building her career around your safe return. Reiterate the wire transfer instructions. Radar is monitoring the account. The second we have confirmation the funds have been received, we’re gone. By three eleven, on the other hand, if no money has been received, we start with plan B.”

Z’s gaze back on Justin. “Want to know Radar’s real expertise? He’s a demolitions expert. Sure, your control room has ballistic-rated glass. But trust me, Radar can take out an armored tank. Your reinforced fish tank, not a problem. Better hope the FBI has their act together. Better hope they’re also going for smart today, and not planning anything stupid.”

I hadn’t even thought of that, and now I felt my nervousness ramp up double-time. “Wait a minute, wait a minute. But we don’t control them, we have no way of knowing… What if they don’t wire the money? It’s not our fault!”

Z merely shrugged his massive shoulders as he dragged us toward the open control room. I wanted to dig in my heels. All of a sudden, this didn’t seem like such a great idea. I’d been worried about my husband’s rash actions. Now I had to worry about an entire law enforcement team as well?

“By three eleven, if we don’t have the money, you’ll get to hear a very large boom. You might want to duck for cover. You know, just to give yourselves a sporting chance.”

Then, we were in the control room and Z was wielding a knife. No time to panic. No time to scream.

Slash, slash, slash.

Our wrists were free.

A phone was shoved into Justin’s hands.

Then Z was gone, the heavy control room door booming shut in his wake.

We were alone, unshackled, and for the first time ever, in charge of our prison.

I stood stock-still, my first taste of quasi-freedom leaving me completely immobilized.

Not my husband.

“All right,” Justin declared briskly. “This is what we’re going to do.”


THE IPHONE CONTINUED TO CHIME. After a split second, Nicole kicked into gear. She waved a hand, indicating for everyone to take position.

Then she stood in front of the Denbes’ family-room painting, now hanging in a sheriff’s office three hours north, and answered the phone, activating FaceTime.

Hawkes had wired the phone to a larger TV screen so the rest of them could watch the show.

Justin Denbe’s face appeared, his swollen eye and misshapen nose a pulpy mess. But there was no mistaking the determination on his face.

“This is Justin Denbe. I’m here with my wife, Libby, and daughter, Ashlyn.” A quick sweep of the phone screen. Libby Denbe appeared briefly, seemingly frozen in place, nearly petrified with fear. Their fifteen-year-old daughter, Ashlyn, however, was literally bouncing up and down in agitation. “We are safe and secure. Please wire the money by three eleven, or they will blow us up.”

Hawkes made a rolling motion with his finger to drag out the call. Nicole tapped her foot once to indicate she got it.

“This is Nicole Adams, special agent, FBI. We are happy to be in contact with you, Justin, and to receive confirmation that you and your family are alive and well.”

“You have eight minutes,” Justin replied crisply.

“We understand. And the account number for the wire instructions is…” Nicole rattled off the long string, repeating it twice. At the computer, Hawkes continued to tap the keyboard frantically, exchanging messages with Denbe’s cellular provider, who would now be working to trace the incoming call. Tessa stood at Hawkes’s shoulder, Wyatt beside her. She found herself holding her breath.

“The insurance company has instructed us to wire one million dollars as a good faith deposit,” Nicole continued. “They won’t release the remaining eight million without further assurances of your safety.”