A Deadly Influence (Abby Mullen Thrillers #1)(111)

He’d have $5 million to make her dreams come true.

And eventually, she’d understand he’d done it all for her. One day, it would be an amusing anecdote to tell their children.

He made sure the voice modulation app was working, then dialed her number.

“Hello,” she said, breathless. Scared.

There was no reason to be scared. They were in this together.

“Congratulations,” he said. “It looks like you managed to get the ransom. You’ll see your brother very soon.”

“Is he okay?”

“He’s fine.” Perhaps not in the best of shape, but it was the boy’s own fault. “This has been a great week for you. You got all that you asked for.”

“What? I never asked for this.” She sounded angry and confused. But it was a lie. She was lying. She had asked for this. She wanted this.

He gritted his teeth, trying to ignore it. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’ll send me the money by Bitcoin. Write this down; I’m not going to repeat myself.”

“Wait,” she said. “You need to know. The ransom donation platform has a fee. Six percent. I managed to get them down to five. But that means they’re keeping two hundred fifty thousand dollars. But I have the rest. Almost five million. Just tell me where to send it.”

The surge of rage surprised even him. He’d gone through all of this for her. He wanted to use the money for her. And now she was lying to him? Trying to cheat him?

“Listen, you ungrateful bitch. I said five million, and I meant five million. I told you not to fuck with me—”

“It’s not me, I swear.” Her voice dripped with lies, with deceit. “It’s the donations guy. And I’ll add my own savings. I have a few thousand—”

“Five. Million. Dollars. You lying whore! You know what? You have only ninety-five percent? No problem. You’ll get only ninety-five percent of your brother back. Which five percent should I cut off?”

“No, wait!”

He hung up, removed the battery, tossed the phone on the floor of the car. Then he thumped the steering wheel, screaming with fury.

He started the car and floored the gas pedal.

He would send her 5 percent of her brother. In the mail.





CHAPTER 75


The road to the house was rough, paved with loose gravel, dotted with muddy potholes. Distinct tire marks crisscrossed the mud. At one point, Abby asked Carver to stop the car, got out, took a photo of the marks, and sent them to Ahmed.

Finally they got to a decayed gate, locked with a chain, blocking the way forward. A rusty barbed wire fence cordoned off the area within. Beyond, barely visible through the distant trees, stood what looked like a small cabin.

“Maybe we should get some backup from local police,” Carver said.

“We don’t have anything yet,” Abby answered. “This is just a long shot. We could park farther down the road, stake this place out.”

“Wait,” Carver said. “Look at the gate. It isn’t electrical. Whoever lives here would need to get out of the car to unlock it, then push it open.”

Abby examined first the gate, then the muddy road. She saw what Carver was saying. “You’re right. We might get lucky. Hang on.”

She got out of the car, studying the ground as she approached the gate. Her hand was on her holster, a reflexive reaction to a sense of danger.

She found what she was looking for to the right of the gate by the chain. A clear shoe print in the mud. She didn’t have Ahmed’s knowledge and expertise, but it was easy to see that it looked like the sole of the type of boots they had at the Tillman farm. The hair on the back of her neck stood as she took out her phone and snapped a photo of it. Then she returned to the car.

“Look.” She showed it to Carver.

“Send it to forensics. If there’s a match, we’ll have enough for a search warrant.”

Abby sent it, messaging Ahmed, telling him it was urgent. She stared beyond the gate at the cabin. Was Luther Gaines there?

Was Nathan?

“I’ll park the car down the road,” Carver said. “Buckle up.”

She put her seat belt on as Carver switched on the engine and shifted to reverse.

Abby’s phone rang. She glanced at it expecting to see Ahmed’s name, but it was Gabrielle.

“Hello?”

“Lieutenant Mullen?” Gabrielle’s voice was shaky, terrified. “He called and said he would cut Nathan. I told him it wasn’t my fault, that it was the donation platform, but he wasn’t listening. He’s going to hurt my brother. I tried to call him back, but the phone was offline. What should I do? You have to do something.”

“Wait, slow down,” Abby said, heart thumping. “Who called? The kidnapper?”

“Yes,” Gabrielle said. “For the ransom.”

The ransom. Of course. She’d almost forgotten that the crowdfunded ransom was almost complete. “Okay. Don’t do anything. Don’t post anything, you got that? He might get angry if you post something right now. Do you understand?”

“Yes, but—”

“I will listen to the recording,” Abby said. “And then we’ll see, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Wait for my call. Don’t do anything stupid.”