Thursday
The first state trooper to show up had rosy cheeks and a sparse blond mustache and looked about sixteen. His hat was tipped back like some latter-day Lone Ranger. A heavy jacket covered most of his uniform. He’d pulled up behind me, Mars light flashing. He got out and walked over to my side of the car.
“Good evening, ma’am. May I see your license and registration?”
I lost my cool. “Are you kidding? My daughter has been kidnapped! Look—there’s her purse.” I twisted around. “And there’s her suitcase in the back! This isn’t a damn traffic stop!”
He cut me off. “Ma’am, please calm down. I need your license and registration.”
“Can’t you see we’re wasting time? They went north, but for all I know they could have turned around. Please…listen to me!” I flailed my hands wildly. An urgent energy was building inside me, an energy that had nowhere to go.
His voice grew tight. “Ma’am. I understand your distress. But before we move on, I need to confirm you are who you say you are.”
I heard Luke’s voice in my head telling me to calm down and comply. That there was no sense getting off to a bad start with the authorities, even though Baby Face barely counted as one to me. I rummaged in my glove compartment, pulled out my registration, and handed it over along with my license. “Please hurry. It’s my daughter.”
He nodded and went back to his cruiser.
I started to shiver. Traffic had thinned. Oncoming headlights winked through the dark, but they looked like they were mocking me. At least there was no snow. Where was Luke? Why hadn’t he called? More important, where was Rachel?
I forced myself to focus. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who was behind this. Stokes had practically announced his intentions when we met at Solyst’s. He’d made it clear he wanted the goddammed flash drive, and he’d get it any way he could. Kidnapping my child, the most despicable act any mother could ever imagine, was just another operational tactic for him.
Naturally, there was no way for me to get in touch with him. No phone number, no email. I’d have to wait for him to make contact. In his own good time. Christ. Slowly my panic and despair turned to anger. He’d orchestrated every move, and he’d succeeded. He must have slapped a GPS tracker on the Camry at some point and had been following me ever since. Probably at Solyst’s. I recalled how I lost sight of him for a short time after he got out of his car but before he came into the bar.
I kept fisting and releasing my hands. No way could I compete with a slick operator like Stokes. I needed someone who could stand up to the asshole. Someone who could give as well as he got. Who wouldn’t let him walk all over us more than he already had. And someone who could find Rachel and bring her back to me. Alive and safe.
I stared at the oncoming cars. That someone wasn’t going to be Luke. When he heard about this, he’d go ballistic, and rage would cloud his judgment. It might be Jimmy Saclarides—he was Lake Geneva’s chief of police—but he might not be the best person to deal with an arrogant jerk like Stokes. I needed someone—I jerked my head up. I knew the perfect candidate. Someone almost as arrogant and calculating as Stokes. I scrolled through the contacts on my phone, found who I was looking for, and punched in the number.
“Special Agent Nick LeJeune’s line…”
“Is he there?”
“He’s in the field. Who’s calling?”
“Ellie Foreman. Tell him to call me as soon as he can. It’s an emergency.”