CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Paige hunched forward, focused on the centerline between sweeps of the windshield wipers. Her fingers gripped the steering wheel so tightly, she feared they’d fuse themselves to the leather. At last the torrent slowed, the relentless pounding on the roof reduced to a steady din. Then, as if a main valve had been shut off, the rain stopped.
Paige relaxed her grip, eased back in the seat. She called Drew’s cell for the third time since leaving the supermarket. Voicemail again. “Damn it, Drew, pick up.”
Anna giggled. “Oh, oh, you said a bad word, Mommy.”
“Sorry, honey. Mommy won’t do it again.”
“When are we gonna be home?” Anna asked in that I’m-one-minute-away-from-losing-it tone.
“Almost there. Why don’t you read your book?”
Anna was no longer one minute away from meltdown. “I don’t WANNA read my book. I WANNA go HOME!”
The throbbing in Paige’s head reached a crescendo. She tried to soothe Anna with a song but once Mount Anna erupted, there was no stopping her. A couple of miles to go. Paige had endured Mount Anna for much greater periods of time than this. She could handle this one standing on her head. But, damn, her head pounded.
The sign for Cliffside Drive was a welcome sight. Anna’s wailing had reached epic proportions. Paige started down the twisting drive. Anna continued her serenade. They rounded a bend. Paige slammed on the brakes. The seatbelt pinched her chest. She peered out the windshield. She screamed. Anna stopped wailing. Paige looked with horror at the object lying in the driveway.
She screamed again.
Sheer terror propelled Drew, leaving run-through red lights and near misses in his wake. At last, he maneuvered the snaking driveway. He braked hard, narrowly avoiding Paige’s car. Paige and Anna stood in front of the car. His wife’s eyes were wild.
Drew jumped from the car. “What’s wrong?”
Anna tugged at Paige’s hand. “Mommy, let go. You’re hurting me.” Paige released her grip. Anna ran up the driveway.
Paige fell to her knees. “Ben.”
Ben’s bike lay in a heap in front of the car. The rear wheel was bent, the seat cockeyed. Paige had hit Ben. But where was he?
Drew knelt beside his wife. “Honey, it was an accident. Where is he?”
“Where’s who?”
“Ben.”
“Do you think I–”
“Well, isn’t that–”
“DADDY!”
Drew shot off toward the house. His heart tunneled through his chest.
Anna stood stock-still, her finger directing Drew to a Polaroid snapshot taped to the door.
“No.”
Paige came up behind him. “What is it?” She reached for the photo.
“Don’t touch it,” Drew barked.
Ben. Mouth gagged. Eyes wide with horror. Paige gasped. Her purse exploded in song. She fumbled for her iPhone. “Hello?” Her eyes met Drew’s.
He grabbed the phone. “Who is this?”
The voice was muffled. “Shut up and listen. We have your son. We haven’t hurt him. Not yet.”
“You son-of-a-bitch! If you lay a finger on him, I’ll…”
“QUIET! Listen and listen good. Understand?”
Drew felt his body deflate. “I’m listening.”
The voice crackled through the phone again. “You’re going to get together two million dollars. That should be pocket change to someone like you. And I think you’re smart enough to figure out in what denominations. Then you’ll wait for my instructions. And if you bring the cops into this your son will be buried in that soccer uniform of his.”
“How do I know he’s even alive?”
“A thing called Trust.”
“I need time to get that much money together.”
There was a pause followed by the man’s final comment: “Time is not your friend right now. I’ll be in touch.”
The cell cried out from Jake’s pocket. Jake juggled grocery bags, slid the key into the lock. The phone cried out again. “Hold on.” One of the bags slipped from his grasp. The one with the eggs. Jake yanked the cell out of his pocket. “This better be good. You just killed tomorrow’s breakfast.”
“Jake. It’s Drew McCauley.”
Drew McCauley? Jake hadn’t heard from him in ages. Aside from the sympathy card after Sheila’s death. “Drew, what a surprise. How the hell are you?” Funny, I was just admiring your book collection in a dead woman’s apartment.
“I need to see you right away.”
“What is it?”
“Can’t talk about it on the phone. Can you meet me?”
“I suppose so, if it’s important. What’s your address?”
“Not here. Can you meet me at The Black Raven in, say, an hour?”
“Sure,” Jake said. “Black Raven. One hour.”
“Thanks, Jake,” Drew said.
The line went dead. What the hell was that all about? His wife? Kids? Jake was pretty sure he had two. Or was Drew in some kind of trouble himself?
I helped you out once kid. I’ll help you out again if I can.
Jake grabbed a fistful of paper towels and mopped up the uncooked omelet running across his foyer.
