Three

When Nicole arrived at the office, the receptionist said, “You have a visitor.” She pointed to a man who got up from where he’d been sitting and stepped forward. He was tall with slightly tousled, dark hair. He might have been handsome if he hadn’t looked so exhausted. He needed a haircut and was badly in need of a shave.

“Detective Greg Arnault,” he said, reaching out to shake her hand. “And you’re Nicole Graves. Read about you in the tabloids last year. I’d know you anywhere.”

“My moment of fame,” she said, looking up at him. “Glad that’s over.” She was fairly certain he was here because of the Ashley Rexton case, but she decided to play dumb.

“I need just a few minutes of your time,” he said.

“Certainly. How can I help you?”

“Is there somewhere we can talk privately?”

“Of course. Follow me.”

She led him into her office and gestured toward a chair facing her desk. “Have a seat.” Then she noticed he was looking at the papers on her desk—case files that were strictly confidential. She quickly gathered them up and stacked them on a filing cabinet behind her.

“Something there I might be interested in?” he said. “Not to worry. I can’t read upside down.” His tone was jocular, and he smiled. Then his expression grew serious and he added, “The old man hired you, didn’t he? Robert Rexton is convinced his daughter-in-law faked her own kidnapping, and his son died trying to save her.”

“Do you think that’s what happened?” Nicole said.

“You know I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation. But I will say that we’ve looked into the MO of the perps, and it fits the pattern of the earlier kidnappings. Judging by the state of the bedroom, she put up one hell of a fight before they took her.”

“Except this time someone got killed, and the victim hasn’t been found,” Nicole said.

He nodded. “True, but the second victim is also still missing. Other than that—”

“Why do you think there’s been no further calls for ransom?”

“If the perps killed Brad Rexton, they’d be afraid to call and make demands. Our best theory is that they forced Mrs. Rexton to empty her bank account at various ATMs. Maybe she got a look at them while they were driving her around. If she could identify them, it makes sense they’d want to get rid of her.”

“You think she’s dead?“

He shrugged noncommittally. “If that’s what happened.”

“Aren’t there cameras outside banks? Wouldn’t you able to verify if Ashley herself was at those ATMs?”

“I’ve already said too much. I can assure you we’re investigating every lead. But I’m the one who’s supposed to be asking questions.”

”Go ahead,” she said.

His expression darkened. “I have to ask you to stand down. Stop poking your nose into our case. It’s possible you might alert a suspect and undermine our investigation.”

“Do you have a suspect?” she said.

He ignored the question. “These are very dangerous people. I’m here to warn you. Don’t mess with them.”

“All I’m doing is looking into Ashley’s background. I’m not interested in finding the kidnappers or even Ashley herself. Her father-in-law, Robert Rexton, was her only known next of kin. He hired me to track down her family, if she has one, so he can let them know what’s happened. On our databases—and yours, too, I’m sure—her records go back only six years. Are you looking into that?”

“Again—I can’t comment,” he said, somewhat irritably, “but let me be clear. For your own safety, stay away from this case. And see if you can convince your firm to drop the investigation.” When he got up, she stood, too.

They made eye contact, and for a long moment, Nicole found herself unable to look away. His expression had softened, and she felt a connection that had nothing to do with what they’d been discussing or the request he’d just made. At last, the spell broke, and he turned to leave.

Before reaching the door, he turned back, pulled a card from his pocket, and handed it to her. “If you do stumble across any information,” he said, “I’d appreciate a call.”

“Sure thing,” she said.

He opened his mouth as if to say something else, then changed his mind and left, closing the door behind him.

Nicole stood there, considering his mixed message: Stay away from this case, but, if you find out something, let me know. He had no legal grounds for making her stop looking into Ashley’s past. And he knew, just as well as she did, that she was going to keep looking until she found out more about Ashley or ran out of places to look.

Once Detective Arnault was gone, Nicole set about calling more people in Ashley’s phone book. She was able to reach a dozen women who’d met Ashley through a husband or boyfriend who was close to Brad. Each said more or less the same thing: that she didn’t know Ashley well and had no idea of her family connections, the kind of work she might have done, or anything else. Some had been part of Ashley’s lunch crowd or included in her shopping sprees. Several mentioned that Ashley rarely talked about much except celebrities, fashion, cosmetics, and fitness.

Nicole gathered that what Rexton senior said about his son was true: Brad was well liked. He was considered “fun to hang out with” and “a great host.” Several mentioned his lack of ambition but excused this as the result of growing up as a trust fund kid. “Why should he have to work if he didn’t feel like it?” one woman said. “He was rich.”

The last woman Nicole reached summed up what the others had said about Ashley: “She was kind of an enigma. Beautiful? Yes. Everyone could see Brad was nuts about her, but she never revealed anything about herself. She was pleasant enough, but there was something deeply impersonal about her.”

“Like she was hiding something?” Nicole asked.

“I didn’t think that,” the woman said. “But she always kept herself at a distance. I couldn’t figure out where she was coming from, what she liked or didn’t like, her plans for the future. You know, who she really was.”

Nicole understood. She’d encountered women who’d been deeply unknowable in just that way. They stuck to superficial conversation and never revealed anything personal. It was as if they’d constructed a wall that made it impossible for anyone to get close.

Except for a short break for lunch, she worked nonstop for the rest of the day. By the end of the afternoon, she was almost done with Ashley’s address book, but she still hadn’t found any new information.

§

Nicole was deeply asleep when the ring of her phone went through her like an electric shock. It rang a second time as she fumbled to find it on her night table. The illuminated face of her alarm clock said it was 3:20 a.m. When she turned on the lamp, she saw that the phone had fallen to the floor. She leaned over to pick it up and hit the answer button, but the other party had hung up. She figured it was probably a wrong number from someone in a different time zone but decided to check to be sure. She brought up the list of recent callers and was surprised to see her sister’s name at the top of the list. Her call had come in less than a minute before. Nicole called back, but the phone went to voicemail. She concluded Steph was still on the phone, leaving a message. But why would she be calling so late? What could it possibly be that couldn’t wait until morning? Over the next few minutes, Nicole checked and rechecked her phone messages. Nothing.

She called Steph again and then a third time, but no one answered. When she tried Steph’s landline, the answering machine picked up. Nicole was wide awake by now and thoroughly alarmed. Why would her sister call at this hour and then not answer either phone? Steph had abandoned her cramped, run-down apartment for her fiancé’s comfortable, roomy one several months ago. David, Steph’s fiancé, would be there, too. Why hadn’t he picked up the phone if Steph was in the bathroom or something? Nicole looked up David’s cell number and called him. He didn’t pick up either.

Almost without thinking, she was up, pulling clothes from her closet. She’d go over there and make sure everything was all right. Then she remembered that Steph kept her phone under her pillow with the ringtone turned off, using a headset to listen to soothing music while she fell asleep. She’d probably rolled over and accidentally pushed a button on the phone. It could have triggered a call to Nicole—the pillow equivalent of a butt call.

That would explain why Steph hadn’t answered her cell, but why hadn’t anyone answered the landline? Maybe, she told herself, Steph and David, wanting uninterrupted privacy, had unplugged the house phone and turned off the ringtones on their phones. Somewhat reassured, Nicole climbed back into bed. But her heart wouldn’t stop thumping, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

These fears tumbled about in her head until the sky began to grow light. She’d just dropped off to sleep when her alarm rang. It was six o’clock. Normally, she rose at seven o’clock. But she’d promised to meet Sue for their celebratory breakfast. Before getting up, Nicole tried calling Steph again. Still no answer, but that was understandable. Her sister never rose before nine o’clock. If she’d turned off her phones the night before, she’d still be unreachable. In the light of morning, Nicole’s nighttime panic seemed a little silly. She’d get in touch with Steph later, and they’d figure out what had happened.

Wearily, Nicole got out of bed. Once again she felt as if she hadn’t slept at all. A long hot shower and a cup of coffee somewhat revived her. When she was ready, she drove up to Sunset Boulevard, entered the grounds of the huge, sprawling pink complex that made up the Beverly Hills Hotel, and left her car with the valet. Even though she’d lived in L.A. her whole life, this was her first visit to the famous Polo Lounge. Despite its reputation as a celebrity hangout, she’d always considered it more of a tourist trap than a dining destination. But, as she walked in, she had to admit the place was beautiful. The lavish planters, green walls, and green and white striped ceiling gave the place the feeling of a well-tended garden. It also smelled incredibly good with the sweet, cinnamon aroma of something baking.

At seven thirty a.m., the place was almost full, but, as Nicole looked around, she didn’t spot a single celebrity. Sue was already there and had managed to snag a large corner booth. They greeted each other with a hug, then consulted the menu and ordered an elaborate breakfast to share: eggs Benedict with butter-poached Maine lobster, a wild mushroom omelet, and the Polo Lounge’s special bakery basket. The lobster Benedict was forty-seven dollars, the omelet thirty-two dollars, the pastry basket twenty-four dollars—crazy prices for breakfast. But this was the Polo Lounge. And, after all, Nicole thought, the fact that she was getting part of her inheritance was due to Sue’s legal maneuvers, for which she refused to accept payment.

They ordered and were waiting for their food when Nicole’s phone rang. She pulled it out of her purse.

“Nicole—Oh my God!” The voice was so hoarse she didn’t recognize it at first. “I’ve got to talk to you. Where are you?” It took a long moment before she realized it was David, her sister’s fiancé.

“I’m in Beverly Hills having—”

“Go home. I’ll see you there in twenty minutes.”

“Wait!” Nicole remembered the phone call during the night and felt herself go cold. “What’s wrong? Is it Steph? Has something happened to Steph?”

There was no answer, just a dial tone. He’d already hung up.

“What is it?” Sue said. “You’ve gone completely white.”

“I don’t know.” Nicole was finding it hard to breathe. She took in a gulp of air before she went on. “That was Steph’s fiancé. He sounded hysterical. He told me to go home so he can meet me there. Then he hung up.” She bit her lip, trying to keep from falling apart. “I think something has happened to Steph. I got a call from her in the middle of the night. I missed it and called back, but nobody answered. I thought it was strange.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Sue said. “You have no idea what this is about. Maybe she broke up with him or something. Do you want me to come with you?”

“No,” Nicole said. “I’ve got it.” As she stood up, the waitress arrived with a big tray of food. Nicole asked Sue to settle the check. “I’ll pay you back,” she added.

“Don’t worry about it.” Sue got up, grabbed a muffin and a Danish from the pastry basket, wrapped them in one of the restaurant’s dark-green cloth napkins, and handed the small bundle to Nicole. “Let me know what happened.”

Nicole rushed out to the valet. As soon as her car arrived, she placed the napkin-wrapped pastries on the seat next to her and headed for her condo. It took seven minutes, speeding down from Sunset and heading west along Wilshire. She was gripping the steering wheel so hard her fingers started to cramp. She tried to relax and calm down. Maybe Sue was right. It might be nothing more serious than a lovers’ quarrel. But, if that was the case, why would David turn to her?

Steph’s decision to accept David Stevenson’s proposal had come as a pleasant surprise. Through high school, college, and ever since, she’d gone through an endless series of slacker boyfriends—some so objectionable they made Nicole worry about her sister’s safety. Twice Steph had been forced to get restraining orders after breakups. As she did with all of her sister’s suitors, Nicole had checked David’s background through the Internet and her firm’s database. He had a degree in computer engineering and a well-paid job with one of the country’s biggest Internet companies. Good credit, no arrests, a model citizen.

As for appearance, David was tall, six-foot-three to Steph’s five-eleven, and they made a striking couple. He wasn’t handsome in the conventional sense, but he had nice blue eyes and a square jaw that made him look as if he’d stepped out of a Marine recruiting poster. What impressed Nicole most was his benevolently take-charge attitude. It was clear that he was going to look out for Steph and keep her safe. Most important, he clearly adored her, quirks and all. In the months David and Steph had been together, Nicole had grown fond of him.

Once Nicole got to her place, she spent the next fifteen minutes pacing, waiting for David to arrive. At last the phone to the building’s intercom rang. She pressed the button, and David’s voice came through, sounding breathless. “It’s me.”

She buzzed him into the building, opened the front door, and stood in the hall waiting. When David emerged from the elevator, Nicole was shocked by his appearance. The area surrounding his left eye was red, puffy, and swollen. Blood, dripping from his nose, was spattered down the front of his shirt.

When he reached her, he blurted it out, words tumbling over each other: “Some guys broke into our place last night and took Steph. I tried to fight them off, but there were three of them. They punched me, then hit me on the head.”

Nicole went cold. For a brief moment, she felt as if she was going to faint. This passed as she experienced a wave of disbelief. This couldn’t be happening. She held her breath, waiting for David to mitigate this terrible news with words like “but she’s okay,” or “she was able to get away from them.”

But David was silent, looking desperately into her eyes. He seemed to be hoping for her to reassure him. All at once, the blood that had been trickling from his nose came gushing out, like water from a spigot. He put his sleeve against his face to stop the flow.

Nicole knew a little about nosebleeds, since her mother had been afflicted with them. “Sit down and tilt your head back as far as it will go,” she said. “Then pinch your nostrils together.”

David obliged, but when he tried to pinch his nose, he let out a yelp. “I can’t put pressure on it. It really hurts.”

“Maybe it’s broken,” Nicole said. “I’ll get a towel and some ice. Then I’m calling the police and an ambulance. You need a doctor.”

“No! You can’t do that!” His bleeding nose made it sound as if he had a bad cold.

“We’ve got to call the police, David. The sooner they start looking for Steph, the more likely they are to find her before anything really bad happens.”

“No police. These guys said they’d kill her if we called them.” With that, he broke down, leaning forward with his head in his hands. Blood dripped from his nose onto his pants and the rug.

Nicole hurried into the kitchen and—hands shaking—dampened a couple of dish towels, grabbed an icepack from the freezer, and hurried back to David.

“Lean your head back and put the ice on your nose while I clean you up.” As she wiped his face and neck, she noticed blood on the couch behind him. She went around to get a look. Sure enough, there was a wound on the back of his head. Blood was dripping onto the back of his collar and from there onto the couch. By now the nosebleed had let up. She had him press the towel against the wound on his head while she went back to the kitchen for another icepack and more dishtowels.

She sat down next to him so she could take over applying pressure to his head. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

“A little past three o’clock last night. I heard a noise.” He stopped and gulped back a sob. Nicole thought of the call she’d received at 3:20. The hair rose on the back of her neck. Had Steph been calling her for help?

“We’d had a fight, so I was sleeping on the couch,” David went on. “Steph was asleep. You know how she is. They could nuke the city, and she’d sleep through it. As soon as I opened my eyes I saw them. It was dark, but I made out three guys dressed in black hoodies and ski masks. They didn’t say anything, just started toward me. I tried to fight them off, but it was three against one. I managed to punch one in the face. He hit me back. Meanwhile, one of the others came from behind and bashed me over the head with something. I think it was the poker from the fireplace. I must have passed out because the next thing I knew, I was on the floor, and they were tying me up.

“None of them spoke the whole time. Once I was tied up, they turned me on my side facing away from them and played a recorded message. I couldn’t see where it was coming from; I’m guessing a cell phone. They repeated the same message three times to be sure I got it. It was a guy talking in falsetto to disguise his voice. The first thing he said was, ‘Don’t call the police or Stephanie will die.’ The recording told me to give you a message: You’re to get twenty thousand dollars in bills no bigger than twenties and deliver them to a drop point in Centennial Park at eleven o’clock tonight, when the place is deserted. Centennial is a small rec area near the entrance to Griffith Park. There’s a big fir tree with a hollow in the trunk. You’re to put the money in there.”

He was talking fast, his words tumbling out. “The recording said they’ll send you instructions for delivering the rest of the money—two million dollars—after they get the twenty thousand dollars. They knew your name and all about your inheritance.” He paused to draw in a deep breath before going on. “After the last replay, one of them jabbed a needle in my arm, and I blacked out. Whatever it was kept me under for a few hours. It was almost light when I woke up. It took a long time to work my hands free. That’s when I called you.”

Nicole was quiet, taking this in and studying David’s face. His injured eye had now turned purple and was swollen shut. The pupil in his right eye was dilated, almost filling his iris.

“Listen to me,” she said. “I don’t care what the recording said. We’re calling the police. This has happened to three other couples. In two cases, the husbands paid the ransom without calling the police, and one of those wives is still missing. The LAPD knows how to handle this, and we don’t. Besides, you need medical attention, so I’m also calling an ambulance. Your eye looks weird. You may have a concussion.”

He went on talking as if he hadn’t heard. “I’ve thought this over. There are private crisis management firms that take care of this kind of thing. The police want to catch the perp as much as they want to rescue the victim. These companies just care about getting the victim back. They negotiate with the kidnappers and give them what they want.”

“We’re not doing that,” she insisted. “The police can bring in the FBI. They have all kinds of sophisticated resources. The LAPD itself has a great record at rescuing kidnap victims.” She picked up the phone and punched in the numbers.

“Wait!” David said. “What if your phone is bugged?”’

“This is my landline. No way it’s bugged. I never use it, and it’s unlisted. I just have it in case of a blackout or an earthquake.”

“What is your emergency?” a man was saying at the other end of the line.

“I want to report a home invasion and kidnapping, but I have to speak to a police officer before you send anyone out. The kidnappers said they’d kill my sister if we call the police.”

“Hold on,” he said.

Almost immediately another man’s voice came on. “Who am I talking to?” he said. “Name and address.”

Nicole gave him the information, then told him her sister had been kidnapped, but quickly added, “You can’t send a patrol car. They’ve threatened to kill her if —”

“Got it. Tell me what happened and who was kidnapped.”

Nicole did, repeating the basic facts David had told her.

“We’ll be right out. We’ll be discreet—unmarked car, no sirens.” He repeated the address she’d given, “4157 Elm, Number 2B. That’s an apartment, right?”

“It’s a condo.”

“Is the garage open?”

“No, it’s a security building. Call when you get here. I’ll buzz you into the garage. Take the elevator to the second floor.”

“Is this where the kidnapping occurred?”

“No, my sister was taken from her apartment in Hollywood.”

“And you know about it—how?”

“Her fiancé was there when it happened. He drove here to tell me.”

“We’ll need that address so we can send a team to investigate.”

“You can’t do that. The kidnappers might be watching.”

“Yes, yes,” His tone was impatient. “I’m aware of that. The team will be disguised as cable technicians or telephone repairmen; they’ll arrive in an officially marked vehicle. Any chance there’s a key hidden outside the apartment?”

“Steph keeps one on the molding over the front door—but the kidnappers may have taken it.”

“No problem. There’s always a way to get in. We’re sending two detectives to your place. They should be there in a few minutes.”

Once they’d hung up, she noticed David had dozed off. She reached over and shook him. “With that head injury, you have to stay awake. Now that the police are on their way, I’m calling an ambulance.”

“No! I’m fine,” he said. “What those guys gave me made me sleepy, that’s all. I’m not going anywhere until I hear what the police are going to do.”

“Okay, but you’ve got to stay awake.” He nodded in agreement, even as his eyes started closing. She reached out and gave his shoulder another shake.

“Listen,” she said. “You said you and Steph had a fight, and you were sleeping on the couch. What were you fighting about?”

He shrugged. “Everything. I don’t know what’s going on with her.” His voice cracked. “Nicole, I think she may have gone off the idea of marrying me.”

“That’s impossible, David,” Nicole said. “I talk to Steph all the time, and she hasn’t said anything like that to me. She seems excited about the wedding.”

“Yeah, I thought so, too, until a couple days ago. She told me we had to talk. So we sat down, and the first thing she says is that she doesn’t think she’s ready to settle down.” He paused so long, it seemed as if he might be dropping off again. “No. That’s not it,” he finally said. “What she said was she wasn’t ready to settle, which is a whole different thing, and it really shook me. Just a few days before, she acted like she couldn’t wait to become Mrs. David Stevenson.

As Nicole listened, it sounded familiar. All her life, Steph had been in and out of relationships. Until David came along, she’d always refused to commit to much of anything, except the right to change her mind. Poor David, she thought. He’s about to have his heart broken.

Nicole’s focus immediately switched back to the danger her sister was in. Would the police be able to rescue her? Would they allow ransom to be paid for Steph’s release? She’d read about the families of people kidnapped abroad and how the United States sometimes refused to allow families to pay ransom because it might encourage more kidnappings. Did the LAPD have a similar policy? The idea made Nicole even more anxious. She’d be happy to give up the money to save Steph.

David had gone silent, apparently absorbed in his own thoughts. Nicole went into the kitchen to get more ice and swap out the dish towels, now soaked with blood and melted ice. When she came back to swap out the towels and ice, she noticed the knuckles on his right hand were bleeding, too.

The phone rang. When she answered, a man said, “We’re at the garage entrance.” She could tell from his voice that this wasn’t the same person she’d spoken to minutes before. She got up and pressed the button that opened the garage door. “We’re in,” he said. “See you in a minute.”

Moments later, the buzzer rang, and she opened the door. Two plainclothesmen were standing there. She was surprised, then not surprised, that one of them was the detective who’d visited her office to warn her off the Rexton case.

“Detective Greg Arnault,” he said, “Remember me? And this is another member of the team investigating the recent kidnappings, Detective Steve Jones.” He gestured to the second officer who was only now coming through the door.

Arnault still looked exhausted. Aside from that, he was even more disheveled. His dark hair was uncombed, his shirt rumpled, and he now had designer stubble. He also gave off a negative vibe that hadn’t been there before. Maybe it was just fatigue. It occurred to her that he and his team might be working around the clock, under a lot of pressure to solve these cases.

Detective Jones, whom she assumed was Arnault’s partner, was short, muscular, and compact. He had fair, buzz-cut hair and a sour affect. Nicole could picture him as a bully in his youth. As soon as he entered, he started wandering around, checking out framed photos on her mantel and the paintings on the walls before wandering down the hall toward the bedrooms. She was tempted to ask where he was going and why. But she held her tongue. All that mattered was Steph, getting her back.

Arnault glanced over at David. “And this is?”

David started to get up, winced, and dropped back onto the couch. “I’m David Stevenson, Stephanie’s fiancé. I was with her when these men broke in and took her.” His voice was shaky, and he looked as if he were about to cry.

“David,” the detective went over to shake David’s hand. Arnault’s eyes widened slightly when he took in the bloody nose, bruised, swollen eye, and grazed knuckles. “Looks like you put up a quite a fight. You need medical attention?”

“No,” David said. “I’m all right.”

“Is it okay if we sit over there?” The detective pointed at the dining area where four cane-backed chairs were gathered around a large, round table. “It will be easier to record our conversation.”

David managed to get up and make his way to the table, but he was clearly in pain. Arnault placed a small recorder on the table and turned to David. “Why don’t you tell us what happened.”

Nicole’s stomach was churning. She couldn’t bear this delay. She wanted the police out there now, looking for Steph. Of course, they had to hear what had happened first, but Arnault didn’t seem to be in any hurry.

David told much the same story he’d told Nicole. The detective seemed especially interested when David said that he and Steph had a falling out, and he’d been banished to the couch.

Arnault asked several questions about the fight. “What were you arguing about?” “Do you and your fiancé often fight?” “Did you think she was about to break up with you?”

David gave a weary shrug to each question without answering. Finally he said, “No, we hardly ever fight. This blowup last night? I don’t—” he gave another shrug. “Something was bugging her—no idea what. But we don’t fight. No, hardly—”

David’s speech had become slightly slurred, and he seemed to lose track of what he was saying. Nicole could see his condition was deteriorating.

“You say these men were wearing ski masks and hoodies,” Arnault said, “but can you tell us anything else about their appearance? Height? Weight?”

“Man, it was dark. I’d turned on the light in the hall. The switch for the living room is by the front door, so I couldn’t — I just saw silhouettes.”

“How did they get in?”

“Dunno. The front door was open. Maybe they picked the lock. I kept meaning to put in deadbolts but—”

“What happened next?”

“I told them to get out or I’d call the police. They walked toward me. I hit one of them, and he punched me in the face.” David pointed at his nose and swollen eye. “Next I know,” he went on, “I’m on the floor and they’re tying me up. They didn’t talk, not a word.”

He described the recording the men had played for him, the request for ransom, the warning not to call the police, and the injection that had left him incapacitated until morning.

“How’d you get untied?’ the detective asked.

“Worked the knot with my teeth. Then pulled ‘til my hands—free. Took a long time.”

“Do you mind holding out your arms? I’d like to see your wrists,” Arnault said. The request set Nicole on edge. For the first time, she realized that David, as Steph’s significant other, would be the police’s first suspect.

David, resting his chin on his hand, didn’t respond. His good eye was at half-mast as if he was about to fall asleep.

“Your wrists, sir,” Arnault said in a louder voice. “Can I see them?”

As David reached his hands forward, the sleeves of his shirt hiked up to reveal a chafed ring of red around each wrist. Arnault got up and walked behind David’s chair to take a look at the back of his head. “You’re still bleeding,” Arnault said. “You sure you don’t want a doctor?”

David sat up, suddenly alert. “What I want is for you to get to work looking for my fiancé.”

“That’s what we’re doing, sir. First we have to hear how she was taken. Any details you can give us about those men will help.”

“That’s all I remember. As soon as I got myself untied, I called Nicole,” David said. “I was afraid to call the police because they said not to. But Nicole, here—she convinced me it was the right thing.”

“Why’d you drive all the way over here to tell her? You could have done it by phone.”

“I don’t know,” David shook his head and was quiet a beat, as if considering it. “Guess I wasn’t thinking straight.”

The detective turned to Nicole. “What about the ransom they’re asking—two million and change. You got that kind of money?”

Nicole nodded. “Funny thing. That amount was wired into my account a few days ago. It was my inheritance from Robert Blair. You know about his murder case. You mentioned it when you visited my office. Two days ago, the tabloid website XHN ran a story saying I’d received money from the estate. Anyone could have seen it. ”

“So, you have the means to pay the ransom?”

She nodded.

“Did XHN specify the exact amount?’

“Yes. I have no idea how they found that out. But they have tipsters all over, and they’re not above hacking into phones and computers.”

“Okay,” Arnault said. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You go about your day as usual, except you’ll go to the bank and take out two thousand dollars in twenties.”

“They said twenty thousand dollars,” Nicole said.

“No way we’re putting twenty thousand dollars out there. We have a protocol for this. We’ll supplement the real twenties with blanks to make it look like the right amount. Otherwise, you’ll follow their instructions and make the drop tonight. Law enforcement will be hidden near the drop point to protect you. They’ll be careful not to be seen. Once these clowns pick up the money, our men will follow them to where they’re holding your sister. Don’t worry. We’ll get her back. They’re not as smart as they think they are.”

As Arnault stood up, his phone rang. He made a few grunts in response to what was said on the other end. Then he hung up and looked at David. “Our forensic guys are going over your apartment now. They say there’s no sign of forced entry.” He turned to Nicole. “They found your sister’s phone. It was under the bed. The last number she called, at 3:20 a.m., was yours. Did you speak to her at that time?”

“No,” Nicole said. “By the time I got to the phone, she’d hung up. I called her back on that line, their landline, and David’s cell, but no one answered. It worried me, and I almost went over there, but—” She stopped talking. Why hadn’t she followed her first instinct? It might have made a difference. By the time she got there, of course, the kidnappers would have already taken Steph. Still, the police could have started looking for her right away instead of hours later.

“We have a few more questions,” Arnault told David. “We’d appreciate it if you’d come down to the station so we can continue our conversation.”

“What are you talking about?” Nicole said. “This man needs a doctor.”

Arnault turned to her, his face expressionless. “He says he’s fine, and he’s declined treatment twice. If we keep him talking, he may remember more details that will help us.”

“Well, he’s not fine.” Nicole said. “His nose is probably broken, and he may have a concussion.” David was silent, the lid of his good eye starting to droop, as if he was drifting off again.

“Will you excuse us for a minute?” Nicole said. “I want a word with him.”

Arnault and his partner stared at her, as if they hadn’t understood.

She went to the front door and opened it. “Please,” she said, “step out into the hall so David and I can speak privately.” Arnault seemed puzzled by this request. But after some hesitation, he and his partner walked out into the hall. Nicole closed the door after them.

“Listen to me,” she told David. “Whether you think so or not, you need medical attention. You’ve told the detectives everything you remember, right?”

He nodded. “But some of it’s still foggy. Like, I think Steph called something out, but maybe I dreamed it. If I keep talking, I might remember—”

“It’s not a good idea to keep talking to the cops. When I let them back in, you’re going to tell them you want a lawyer.”

David looked at Nicole in confusion. “Why would I want a lawyer? I just want to help them find Steph.”

“As her fiancé, you’re their first suspect.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“Of course it is, but that’s how cops think. You’ve told them what you remember. Now you need legal advice. We’ll call my lawyer. She’s really good. When I let them in,” she said, “say you’ve asked me to call an attorney and refuse to answer any more questions. If you remember something that might help with the case, your lawyer can relay it on to them. Other than asking for a lawyer, don’t say another word.”

As she talked, David’s eyes closed.

She gave him a shake. “Did you hear what I said about the lawyer?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, beginning to drift off again.

Nicole shook him again. “You’ve got to stay awake.” She let the detectives back in, and David drowsily told Arnault that he wanted a lawyer. By now, his speech was so slurred that he sounded drunk.

The detective gave Nicole an accusing look, one eyebrow raised, then turned to David. “Is this what she told you to say? Don’t you want to help us find your fiancé? Believe me, we’re all on the same page here. We’re hoping you can remember more details to further our investigation. You’re not a suspect.”

“Lawyer,” David mumbled.

Arnault turned to Nicole. “Look, Ms. Graves,” he said. “I know you want your sister back, but this isn’t helping. She may end up suffering because we weren’t able to complete our interview of Mr. Stevenson. His memory is foggy. We could—”

“You heard him,” Nicole said, pulling her cell out of her purse. “I’m going in the other room to call his attorney. I’ll also be calling 911. He’s obviously in need of a doctor.”

Detective Jones, who’d been standing by listening, suddenly turned, walked into the hall, and disappeared into the bathroom. Nicole imagined him going through the contents of her medicine cabinet.

Meanwhile, Arnault reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and handed it to her. “Don’t use your cell,” he said. “It might be bugged. Use mine instead.”

Nicole took the phone into the kitchen, but she kept the door open so she could make sure Arnault didn’t keep prodding David with questions. She called 911 and asked the operator to send an ambulance. Next, she called Sue. Although Nicole tried to keep it brief, it took a while for her to explain. Sue agreed that David needed protection from further questioning. She promised to send someone to sit with him as soon as Nicole let her know where the ambulance was taking him.

When Nicole got back from making her calls, David was fast asleep with his head on the table. Once again, she woke him up.

Arnault had settled on the couch. She gave him back his phone. He took it but made no move to get up. Clearly, he wasn’t planning to leave anytime soon.