28

With the ruby-and-diamond pin safely on its way to Timothy’s office, Theodosia suddenly felt a million times lighter. Nothing was going to happen tonight, she assured herself. The Fabergé egg was safe and, come Monday morning, she would redouble her efforts to help Brooke. But tonight she was going to relax and enjoy the party. She might even flirt with Agent Zimmer if she felt like it. And, by the way, she wanted to take a careful look at all the splendid objects that the Heritage Society had on view throughout the room.

“Those Etruscan coins,” Theodosia said, pointing to a scatter of brass coins that lay on a drift of black velvet. “What do they date back to?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Drayton said. “These particular coins hail from the third century BC. You see the gold one with the lion’s . . .”

A tiny, shrill scream, almost a blip of a scream, echoed from out in the hallway.

The sound didn’t register with Drayton, but Theodosia picked up on it instantly. Her heart did a rapid flip-flop and then leapt into her throat. “Did you hear that?”

“Excuse me . . . what?” Drayton said. He’d been in the middle of speechifying.

“That little noise?”

Drayton cocked an eye at her. “Is Delaine making another scene? Startling everyone with one of her mouse shrieks?”

Another blip of a scream sounded, and this time it was slightly more distinct.

“Dear Lord,” Theodosia said. “That sounded just like Haley!”

“Our Haley . . . Where?”

“I think . . . out in the hallway,” Theodosia said. Deep in her heart she knew something was wrong. Felt it in her bones. So without another word to Drayton, she lunged for the door.

Drayton spun and followed on her heels. “We probably shouldn’t . . .” he began.

But Theodosia was already out the door and five steps ahead of him. “There!” she screamed. She flung out an arm and pointed toward the far end of the corridor, where a trio of shadowy figures danced and ducked and tangled in a mighty struggle. “Haley?” she cried out.

“Theo!” Haley’s piteous scream came back. “Help me!” Haley was twisting and turning, trying to escape the grip of two men.

“I’ll alert security,” Drayton said. “Grab those FBI . . .”

Theodosia snagged his sleeve and tried to pull him along. “No time. We have to help Haley now.”

“But the . . .”

Theodosia took off as though someone had fired a starter’s gun, leaving Drayton in her wake. She pounded down the hallway toward Haley. “Hang on, Haley!” Just as her slippery shoes started to gain traction on the thick carpet, a door flew open and she was swatted aside like a bug. Screeching, her right shoulder exploding with a flash of pain, she flailed out and stumbled, then crashed down hard on one knee.

The door whapped shut as Billy Grainger careened out of the small catering kitchen. He cut in front of Theodosia, struggling valiantly to steady his tray of champagne flutes, wobbling and swaying for a few seconds, fighting to keep his tray level and regain his balance. No such luck. He stumbled badly, causing the glasses to topple sideways and crash into one another. Foamy gluts of champagne spewed everywhere.

“You!” Theodosia cried as the spatter of liquid hit her. She batted at Grainger from where she was still half sprawled on the floor. “Help me!”

“Watch where you’re going!” Grainger yelled angrily as he tried to pull himself up.

“No!” Theodosia screamed back at him, gesturing and trying to make him understand. “A couple of guys just grabbed Haley. You have to help us!”

Grainger’s face drained white. “What?” he hissed.

“Down there,” Theodosia flung out an arm. “Two guys grabbed Haley and are trying to drag her . . .”

As Theodosia and Grainger struggled to regain their footing, the lights flicked off and the entire hallway was plunged into darkness.

“Where’d they go?” Grainger cried as he whirled about frantically. They could hear Haley screaming and struggling, but couldn’t see her.

Flailing a hand out, Theodosia located a wall and fought to guide herself along. While down at the far end of the hallway, a single figure stepped out of the shadows and said, in the cold, flat tone of an undertaker, “Pick the girl up and bring her along.”

•   •   •

“C’mon!” Theodosia called to Drayton and Grainger, trying to rally them in the darkness. “We’ve got to help Haley.”

But as the double doors clanged shut at the far end of the hallway, they were the only ones left fighting their way down the darkened corridor.

“Where’d they disappear to?” Grainger asked.

“Dragged her outside,” Theodosia huffed.

“How many guys?” Drayton asked.

“I don’t know,” Theodosia said. “Maybe . . . three?”

“So, a gang,” Drayton panted as he struggled to keep up with them.

When they finally reached the far end of the corridor, a small light shone on the reception desk. Theodosia clattered her way across the marble entry as Drayton and Grainger followed in her wake. She slammed the double doors open wide, almost decapitating the carefully manicured topiaries of Czar Nicholas and Czarina Alexandra in the process.

“I don’t see anybody,” Grainger said. He was glancing about feverishly, quivering like a Brittany spaniel on point.

Theodosia, Drayton, and Grainger all stood stock-still for a few moments, searching for the men who’d just carted off Haley. Streetlights shone dimly, a sliver of moonlight dappled the sidewalk, but they saw nothing.

“Where is she?” Drayton asked.

Suddenly, there was a telltale blur of movement from far down the row of parked cars. Theodosia caught it out of the corner of her eye and said, “There they are!”

It was dark as pitch, but Theodosia could see that Haley was still putting up a valiant struggle. Heads bobbed, bodies twisted, arms flew wildly, and then someone—probably Haley?—was rudely shoved into the backseat of a long, dark car.

“Let’s go!” Theodosia cried.

Three abreast, they thundered down the sidewalk. But they’d covered only half the distance to the dark car when its lights flashed on. Then the car’s engine roared to life and, a millisecond later, it squealed away from the curb.

“Dear Lord, she’s gone,” Theodosia cried. She felt like sinking to her knees in despair. Instead, she spun toward Grainger and snarled, “You better not be in on this.”

“I’m not, I’m not,” he cried.

“Then, who took her?”

Grainger threw up his hands in frustration. “I don’t know.”

“Had to be the jewel thieves,” Drayton said. “I think our worst fear just came true. They saw that jeweled pin and . . .”

“We’re going after them,” Theodosia said, making a snap decision and darting across the street. “Come on. Everybody into my Jeep.”

They all piled in, and she took off like it was the start of the Indianapolis 500, gunning her engine, breaking a nail as she snapped her seat belt closed.

“Where’d they go? Where’d they go?” Drayton quavered as they rocketed down the street.

“Back down King Street,” Grainger said. “And then I think they turned left on Tradd.”

“You think or you know?” Theodosia demanded. She was accelerating like crazy, weaving down King Street, throwing caution to the wind, hoping she wouldn’t sideswipe a car or kill a hapless pedestrian.

“Turn left,” Grainger shouted.

Theodosia squealed into the turn. She could feel the back end of her Jeep ready to let go, swinging ever so slightly with the centrifugal force. At the last moment, her tires dug in and found purchase. She fishtailed like crazy for a hundred yards and then straightened out.

Grainger leaned forward and squinted. “I’m positive that’s the car up ahead. Same curved taillights.”

Theodosia goosed her car faster.

“Be careful,” Drayton cautioned.

“No fear,” Theodosia said. She reached down, grabbed her beaded bag, and tossed it over the backseat to Drayton. “Dig out my cell phone and call Tidwell. Be quick.”

Drayton panicked. “Call him? How?”

“Speed dial,” Theodosia said through gritted teeth.

Grainger was riding shotgun, hanging on for dear life, but doing his best to spot for her. “I think they’re turning again. Yeah, that’s them. It has to be. Looks like they’re headed for the harbor.”

“Andros!” Theodosia snarled. “It has to be Luke Andros who grabbed Haley. I’ll bet that jackhole is going to put her on his boat and take off.” She had a sudden and terrible vision of a boat speeding out into the fog as the Atlantic rushed in, and Haley being dumped overboard into bitter cold water. Could Haley swim? Could she even dog paddle? And if they launched a rescue boat in time, would they even be able to spot her among the choppy waves?

“Theo!” Drayton cried. “I’ve got Tidwell on the line. What do you want me to tell him?”

She clutched the steering wheel as they flew along at breakneck speed. “Just hold the phone up to my mouth. I’ll do the talking.”

“Miss Browning?” came Tidwell’s steady voice. “What?”

“We need help bad,” Theodosia cried. “Haley’s been kidnapped by Luke Andros and two of his gang members.” She gave him a rapid-fire version of what had gone down. “We’re pretty sure they’re headed for Charleston Harbor.”

“Probably headed for the Charleston Yacht Club!” Grainger yelled.

“The Charleston Yacht Club,” Theodosia told Tidwell. “Can you alert the Coast Guard and pull out all the stops? I think Andros is going to try to make a getaway on one of his yachts.” She listened to Tidwell for another half minute, nodded even though he couldn’t see her, and said, “We’ll be there.” Then she said, “Okay, Drayton, you can hang up now.”

“What?” Drayton asked. “What’s going on?”

“Tidwell’s going to meet us at the Charleston Yacht Club,” Theodosia said. “He’s says he’s going to commandeer a Coast Guard ship if he has to.”

“Dear Lord,” Drayton said, gripping the back of Theodosia’s seat. “It’s going to be an international incident.”

Theodosia fought to coax more speed from her vehicle. She made a wide, careening turn onto Meeting Street, almost clipping the wrought-iron light standard on the corner. She trounced down on the accelerator and ran hard for two blocks, and then twisted left on Atlantic Street, chasing after the dark car.

They whipped past the Featherbed House B and B and the historic Ramsey-Hay House, never losing sight of the car ahead, but never quite catching up to it, either.

“Turning on East Bay Street now,” Grainger called out. “Yup, they’re headed for the yacht club.”

Theodosia turned, too, whipping past White Point Garden. Past the row of cannons, the rose beds, the bandstand, and the spot where an old pirate gallows had once stood. Fog was starting to roll in now, little puffs that reminded her of dank, dirty clouds, and she was forced to curtail her speed as the moisture condensed on her windshield. Even with her wipers beating, it was getting difficult to see.

“Parking lot up ahead,” Grainger said, pointing. “Watch out, don’t clip that signpost.”

Theodosia cranked the steering wheel hard and shot into what was a practically deserted parking lot. A blue Toyota sat in one corner, a long, black car was hunkered in the opposite corner.

“Is that the car? Is that the car we were chasing?” Drayton asked.

“I think so,” Theodosia said.

“Pull in tight behind it so you can block it,” Grainger advised.

Theodosia rammed her Jeep up against the back of the dark car and sat for a split second, trying to collect herself. Then she jerked the key from the ignition and kicked open the door. “Let’s go!”

It was a good two hundred yards down to the far pier, the length of two football fields, and they were all tired and winded when they finally arrived.

“You see anything?” Drayton asked as they tentatively stepped out onto the wooden pier. A chill drizzle had started up, obscuring everyone’s vision.

“It looks like Andros is still here,” Theodosia whispered. Between the bobbling masts and clanking halyards, she could see two large yachts sitting at the end of the pier. Music and lights and laughter had flowed freely from them last night, but tonight they were silent. “I think we’re in time. We just need to, you know . . . be careful and stay quiet.”

They tiptoed down the pier, boards creaking beneath their feet, rain pattering down, the water splishing and splashing as it swirled around the boats that were moored there. They were hoping against hope that they could somehow steal on board Andros’s yacht and rescue Haley.

But when they reached the far end of the dock, they saw . . . nothing. No kidnappers milling about, no crew ready to cast off lines, no sign of struggle, and no Haley. Just two dark yachts bobbing in the water. Apparently deserted.

“They’re not here.” Drayton exhaled hard in disbelief.

“Did we lose them during the chase?” Theodosia asked. She put a hand to her mouth, puzzled. “How could that have happened?”

“I’m positive that was their car back in the parking lot,” Grainger said.

A sudden, low, throaty rumble from a boat two piers over caught their attention. Then lights flashed on and lines were cast off amid a few mumbled shouts.

“Oh no,” Theodosia cried as she gazed across a raft of bobbing boats toward the other dock. She couldn’t believe what was happening. “There’s a different boat. Haley must be on a different boat!”

“It’s pulling away,” Drayton said, as the prow of a large yacht suddenly sliced into view.

“Let’s go,” Grainger said. “Maybe we can catch it.”

They rushed back down the long pier, ran through a small picnic area and past the Charleston Yacht Club’s clubhouse. Then they pounded out onto the dock where the ship had just pulled away.

And it really had pulled away. A yacht at least fifty feet in length churned up a froth of water in its wake, the glow of its running lights slowly disappearing in the dark.

“We’re too late,” Theodosia gasped as rain started to pour down harder. “She’s gone.”

“If Haley really was on that boat,” Drayton said.

“She’s on it,” Theodosia said. “I know she is. I can feel it.” She ground her teeth together and called out, “Haley!” It was a long, agonizing cry that barely hung in the air before it was muffled by the fog.

“Now what?” Drayton asked.

Theodosia’s shoulders slumped. “Now we try to call Tidwell again.” She reached a hand out. “Gimme the phone.”

Drayton blanched. “I think it’s . . . still in your car.”

“I’ll run back and grab it,” Grainger said.

But before he could make a move, the loud, high-pitched blare of a horn pierced the air. The horn blatted again and then a brilliant bright light flashed on.

“What on earth?” Drayton murmured as the light swooped sideways and suddenly shone directly on them, bathing them in a white glow and practically blinding them with its glare.

Like a ghost ship emerging from a bank of fog, a Coast Guard ship suddenly and miraculously glided into sight. It was an RB-M, one of the new, sleek, forty-five-foot response boats used for search and rescue.

Up on deck, a man’s voice, clearly enhanced by the aid of a loudspeaker, shouted down to them. “Stay where you are. Do not try to board us. We’re going to swing in close and attempt to pick you up.”

Theodosia was awestruck. She didn’t know whether to dance or cry. “Oh my gosh, Tidwell really did it! The man actually commandeered a Coast Guard vessel!”

The words were barely out of Theodosia’s mouth when Tidwell leaned out over the railing and hailed her. “Ahoy,” he called. Wind slicking back his hair, a yellow rain jacket billowing out around him, he gazed solemnly down at them. “How many?” he called out.

“Three of us,” Theodosia called back. “Please hurry!”