Touch & Go (Tessa Leoni, #2)(111)

Tessa took that as her cue to leave. She rose, giving Libby and Ashlyn one last reassuring smile. Then, with Nicole Adams pointedly stepping forward, asking about immediate medical needs…

Tessa checked in with Wyatt, who was still working the radio.

“Any luck?” she asked, meaning with capture of the kidnappers.

“Negative. But good news is, there’s only one access road coming in and out of this prison. Given that we got cops pouring in from all directions, as well as choppers en route, one white cargo van shouldn’t be so hard to find.”

Tessa nodded, waited a beat. “You sure about that?”

“No,” he declared flatly.

They watched more cop cars pour into the property and start climbing the knoll, vehicles that, by definition, should’ve already come across any and all white cargo vans traveling a lone access road.

“They knew this place,” Tessa murmured. “According to Libby, the kidnappers were professionals. Not only knew all about the family, but mentioned doing research. Meaning, they probably picked this location deliberately, having run across it while researching Justin Denbe—”

“Or being informed of its availability from someone else inside Denbe Construction,” Wyatt filled in. “Someone who could provide them with access, show them how to run the place, probably even identify an old back road, maybe used during construction, for getting heavy machinery on site.”

Tessa sighed heavily. They didn’t have to say the words out loud to know the truth; the plain white van wouldn’t be discovered anytime soon. Once again, the kidnappers were one step ahead.

“Justin Denbe is dead?” Wyatt asked, having only gotten to hear bits and pieces of her conversation with Libby and Ashlyn.

“Died protecting his family from one of the guys… Mick?”

“His body?”

“Took it with them. Covering their tracks, maybe? I don’t know all the details yet. I ran out of time to ask questions.”

Wyatt smiled faintly, understanding her dilemma perfectly. Then, his expression grew more serious. “The family was attacked even after the ransom was paid.”

“Libby believes the kidnappers’ primary assignment was to kill them. The ransom money was just a nice perk.”

“Kill them,” Wyatt pressed, “or kill Justin? Assuming it’s Anita Bennett, wanting to take over the company, Justin’s death alone would be enough.”

“Or,” Tessa followed his train of thought, “ditto with a mystery embezzler who feared Justin’s tracking efforts were growing too close.” The thought that had bothered her earlier clicked into place. “One of the kidnappers has medical training. He assisted Libby with detox, even provided methadone. Now, if the mercenaries were just going to kill her in a matter of days, would they really go to that much trouble?”

“Meaning Justin was probably the intended target,” Wyatt supplied. “The kidnapping was a nice way of framing the incident so it wouldn’t be immediately traced back to, say, the company. Justin died in a ransom exchange gone bad, not an ‘accident’ that might lead to undue police questioning.”

Tessa frowned, still not liking it. “All very elaborate.”

“No more so than embezzling eleven million over nearly two decades.”

“True. So, we’re looking for someone patient. Who has inside knowledge of the Denbe family, the firm’s finances and the prison project. Who would also have the connections to hire some ex-military mercenaries. Who would instruct those mercenaries that it was okay to kill Justin, but supply Libby with medical attention should she need it.” Tessa stopped. “Is it just me, or is it too obvious?”

Wyatt looked equally disturbed. “He wasn’t even around when the embezzling began,” he warned.

“And yet?”

“Chris Lopez.” Wyatt sighed.

“Chris Lopez,” she agreed.


MONDAY AFTERNOON, 3:22, plain white cargo van heading west. Not toward the main entrance of the prison compound, but toward the side of the property, where the hard-packed ground showed traces of the access route once used by scores of construction vehicles during the first phase of the building project.

Earlier in the day, after shutting off the power, Mick had spent quality time clipping away at the perimeter fencing, until he could roll aside a section just large enough to form a van-size hole. Now, Radar drove slowly through the opening, braking long enough for Mick to jump out and unroll the fencing back into approximate position. Nothing that would hold upon closer inspection, of course, but they didn’t care about eventualities. They cared about the next thirty minutes. All they needed more or less. Thirty minutes for law enforcement to interrogate the woman and the girl, compare notes, activate additional resources and churn, churn, churn.

At which time, the chase would begin in earnest.

Not that it would matter, as the men would already be gone.

White cargo van, through the perimeter fencing, heading due west deeper into the woods. Earthmovers had once traveled this way. Excavators ripping off the top of the knoll, to make it flatter and more suitable for a massive building. Then, dirt haulers bringing in new, better dirt for fill, topsoil, whatever the plans required.

The access road was broad, the kind of hard-packed earth that couldn’t yield any tire tracks, as it had nothing left to give. The sparse vegetation that had managed to grow in during the ensuing two years bowed under the weight of the relatively light van, before springing back again.