A Necessary Evil(16)

Frankie’s cell phone vibrated in his hand, and he glanced down at the screen. He normally didn’t answer unknown numbers, but with Mollie out there somewhere, he wasn’t about to take any chances. With the phone held close to his ear, and hoping to hear his granddaughter’s voice on the other end, Frankie said, “Hello?”

“Is this Franklin Cartwright?” asked the voice on the other end in a smooth, even tone.

“Depends,” Frankie said. “I’m not speaking to reporters, so if you’re—”

“I’m not a reporter, Frankie,” the voice interrupted.

He felt a tightening in his chest and an increase in his heartrate. “Who is this?”

“You know who this is.”

“You sonofabitch,” Frankie spat. “Where is Mollie? Where’s my granddaughter?”

The laugh that came over the line made Frankie’s stomach roil. He snapped his fingers at Lynx, who jumped up from her chair and was standing next to Frankie within half a second. He pointed at the phone and mouthed the words, “It’s him.”

Lynx nodded tersely, grabbed the phone from Frankie’s hand, pushed the speaker button, and motioned for him to bring the phone over to the computer.

“Don’t worry, Frankie,” the voice said. “Mollie is safe and sound with me. I haven’t harmed a hair on her head…yet.”

He laughed again as Lynx connected a wire from her computer to the port in the bottom of Frankie’s phone. She made a motion with her hand for him to keep the man talking.

“Listen to me, you sick bastard. I—”

“No,” the man snapped, cutting Frankie off mid-sentence. “You listen to me.” The man paused, and Frankie looked at Lynx hopefully. She nodded as her fingers moved across the keyboard hurriedly. “Have you ever read The Count of Monte Cristo?”

“What? Have I read—”

“The Count of Monte Cristo, by Alexandre Dumas. The French author?”

Frankie wasn’t in the mood for riddles. What was this guy playing at? “No. I’ve never read it.” He looked at Lynx, who nodded without looking up from the screen. “Where is Mollie?”

“Dumas wrote The Count of Monte Cristo in 1844. Much better than The Three Musketeers, I think. Some people believe it was written by a ghost writer by the name of Auguste Maquet, but I don’t buy it. What do you think?”

“Stop jerking me around. Where is my granddaughter?”

“Well, you really must read it. It’s an enthralling story of hope, love, justice, and most importantly, revenge.”

The word “revenge” made Frankie’s breath stop short. It wasn’t the word itself so much as the way the caller emphasized it. So that was what this was about. Revenge. Somehow, Frankie had done something to this man to cause him to kidnap his favorite grandchild to get back at him. But that wasn’t much of a clue, because Frankie couldn’t deny that over the years he’d pissed off dozens, if not hundreds of people. It was part of being a serious businessman. Especially one who operated outside the confines of the law.

“Don’t hurt her,” he said. “Whatever I did to you, I’m sorry. I’ll make it right. Just please, don’t—”

“Too late. What you did, there’s no making it right. The time for apologies is long past. Now, you’re at my mercy. Now, you will know what it’s like to lose someone you love.”

“Who is this?” Frankie looked desperately at Lynx, still typing furiously on the keyboard. “I swear to God, when I find you, I’ll—”

“No need for threats. You’re hardly in a position to make them, anyway. It’s time to search your soul. Think of all the wrongs you’ve done over the years, Frankie. If you think hard enough, I’m sure you’ll remember. I’ll give you one hint, and one hint only. Are you ready, Frankie? You might want to write this down.”

“I’m listening,” Frankie said through gritted teeth.

“Almost got him,” Lynx whispered.

“The hint is this…you thought you were doling out justice, but in reality, you were stealing a father away from his son. Chew on that for a while, Frankie. In the meantime, I think Mollie and I will have some fun…isn’t that right, love?”

In the background, Frankie heard the muffled sounds of his granddaughter crying. “Mollie! It’s Pops, Mollie! I’m coming to get you. Just stay strong!”

“Now, now, Pops,” the man said. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Goodbye for now, Frankie. Think back on the sins of your past. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll figure it out, and then we can meet and talk about how you can make amends. In the meantime, Mollie sends her love.”

The line went dead, and the tone that echoed through the phone made Frankie double over in agony. His past sins? How on earth was he supposed to single out one specific person he’d wronged? Admittedly, he’d had to step on so many necks on his climb to the top of the ladder. Many of them were probably fathers. But one “sin” in particular had apparently been so bad the son had sought him out all these years later for revenge. He looked over at Lynx, who was shaking her head.

“I’m sorry, boss. I was able to trace him to within a ten-mile radius, but that could be anywhere in Lexington. And it’s a burner phone. Not registered to anyone, and there’s no way of tracking the purchase. If I’d had more time, perhaps.”