“You’re lucky those brats of yours are still breathing.”
The abductor’s voice slurred as if he were drunk or on drugs, his anger seeming to vibrate through the phone into Nick’s brain.
“If you’ve hurt them, I’ll kill you.” The words left his mouth before he remembered Sam’s orders that he was to wait for a nod or instructions before responding. Even if he had remembered, he doubted he could have held back.
“Your threats don’t scare me, Nick Ridgely. Are you ready to pay up?”
Sam nodded.
“I have the money you asked for.”
“All five million?”
“Yes, in fifties and twenties, just as you instructed. Now I want to talk to my sons.”
“But you’re not in control here, are you, big shot? So listen up and do exactly as I say.”
Sam mouthed the words for him to insist.
“I’m not doing anything unless you let me talk to my boys,” Nick said, keeping his voice dead level.
The abductor spewed a string of vile curses. “Then I’m through talking to you. Put Becky on the phone.”
Nick’s muscles clenched. His fury went nuclear and would have resulted in some curses of his own had Sam Cotrella not been there motioning Nick to give the phone to Becky.
Reluctantly he did so, exchanging the phone for her headphones as Sam made quick notes on the yellow pad he was holding in front of her.
She read his question into the phone with a control that surprised Nick. “Do I know you?”
“You did once. Back in your rah-rah days. Maybe we’ll just have us a grand little reunion on that plane to Mexico.”
Sam quickly scribbled the response. Becky read it into the receiver. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I don’t trust your husband. I want you on that plane with me when I flee the country—my insurance that I actually get to Mexico a free man with money in hand.”
Nick mouthed the words “no way,” but Sam was already scribbling a different answer on his pad.
Becky nodded. “Deal,” she said. “But the plane won’t take off until I know both boys are safe.”
“That’s the deal I offered.”
“We can meet at the airport in Houston where my brother Langston keeps his private jet.”
“No. I’ll tell you where we meet. You have the plane ready to go. I’ll call you and let you know when.”
Sam scribbled. Becky read. “Why wait? What’s wrong with now?”
“I got this high going on, baby. If you were here, we could be having a real good time. Guess that fun will just have to wait until we’re on your brother’s jet.”
Nick grabbed a pen, wrote out his own instructions and pushed them in front of Sam.
Becky is not getting on that plane with him.
Sam waved him off and nodded to Becky to follow the instructions he’d just written.
“What time will you call?”
“When I’m good and ready. Have the money, a pilot and you. If there’s anyone else present or if I even suspect you’ve called the cops in on this, the deal is off and the boys are corpses. You got that?”
“The boys can’t just be left at the airport on their own. Nick will need to be there,” she said.
“Fine, bring Nick. Maybe I’ll get his autograph.”
The man laughed as if this were all some big joke. If Nick could have gotten his hands on his throat right then, he could have strangled him without a second thought.
“Let me talk to my sons,” Becky insisted again.
“They’re not exactly with me right now, sweetheart. They’re kind of tied up somewhere else, but don’t you worry. They’re just fine. But you should have taught those little brats some manners. If I wasn’t so nice, they’d be in big trouble.”
“Don’t hurt them,” she begged, this time speaking on her own. “We’ll give you everything you ask. Just please don’t hurt them.”
But the kidnapper didn’t hear her plea. He’d already broken the connection.
“We’ll have to move fast on this,” Sam said, already punching in numbers on his cell phone.
Nick wasn’t giving in that easily. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but Becky is not going anywhere with that scumbag.”
“Of course not,” Sam said. “All the people in that plane will be FBI. A dozen more agents will be on the ground either hidden from view or posing as airport crew. Now, can you get Zach in here? Shelly, too. I can use their help in taking care of a few things. While you’re at it, get Langston as well so we can verify information about his aircraft.”
“I want to be there when he releases David and Derrick,” Becky said.
“We’ll talk about it,” Sam said as he started giving orders to whomever it was he’d called.
“I don’t want you there,” Nick said. He knew the statement had come out too much like an order the second he saw the rebellious expression on Becky’s face.
“I didn’t ask for your permission,” she said.
“I know,” he said, this time going for appeasement. “I just don’t want to add to the risk.”
Thankfully, she let the confrontation dissolve without an argument. The wheels were turning again. His sons, their sons could be home in a matter of hours. Nick wouldn’t breathe easy until they were.
Then the rest of his life could come crashing down on top of him—one heartbreak at a time.
* * *
BULL DROPPED THE PHONE to the seat beside him as he crossed the bridge heading back to the dilapidated cabin where he’d left the boys. He’d planned on buying another prepaid model from a convenience store in Livingston, but luck and fast thinking had saved him the money.
He’d stopped at an all-night truck stop on Highway 59 where he knew he could buy a fifth of cheap whiskey and some joints from the night manager. Under the table so to speak, though everyone in these parts seemed to know where to go for after-hours booze or a quick fix.
The phone had been easy pickings from a broad who’d stopped for coffee and left her phone sitting next to her cup and cigarettes while she went to the bathroom. He’d palmed it on his way out. She’d probably have it disconnected before he used it again, but that was okay. He’d stop at a pay phone next time—one on his way to meet Nick Ridgely.
The fifth of cheap whiskey was almost gone now. He shouldn’t have started it before he made the call, but his head had been still pounding from the blow he’d taken from the boys that morning, and he needed something to kill it. Once he’d started, he’d stayed with it.
Women, drugs and booze. That had always been his downfall. But in a few more hours he’d have plenty of money to buy all he wanted. Not cheap booze or tawdry women, either. He’d have the best that five million could buy.
The car’s wheels hit the shoulder and skidded completely off the roadbed. He yanked it back to the middle of the narrow strip of asphalt.
Slow down, buddy. Stay focused. Your next turn is coming up, and then it’s just a few more miles back to the cabin.
The car swerved again. He could barely keep his eyes open, but he had to keep driving. He didn’t dare leave those Ridgely brats alone any longer than he had to. They were his ticket out of here.
Just him, the pilot and Becky. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on her—and all over her. She probably wasn’t as hot as she’d been in high school in that sexy little cheerleading outfit. Firm little tits pushing at the fabric. He couldn’t count all the nights he’d gotten his rocks off thinking of those.
She’d ignored him then. She wouldn’t have that option now.
His turn was just ahead. He put on his brakes and slowed almost to a stop before turning on yet another winding, narrow road, this one dirt and half washed-out and with potholes big enough to bury a man.
Then a few more miles and he’d make the last turn onto the red clay trail that meandered back to the old fishing cabin. The place had belonged to his grandpappy back before the creek had dried up and become clogged with logs and trash.
His dad had brought him fishing out here a few times when he was a kid. The last time had been his seventh birthday, but he remembered it as if it was yesterday. His father had gotten the poles and bait from the car, then proceeded to get falling-down drunk.
His dad had hooked him with the jagged end of his fishing hook, then kicked him until he was black and blue for crying when he yanked it loose, tearing a bloody hole in his flesh as he did.
It was the first time he’d thought about killing his dad, years before he actually did it. That had been a long, long time ago, and no one had ever suspected him of murder.
Bull’s eyes closed. A second later he slammed into a tree.
* * *
“THE LAST PHONE CALL was made from somewhere in the area of Livingston, Texas, from a phone belonging to Marilyn Close of Longview. I’ve got someone checking her out as we speak,” Sam announced, once the entire family had gathered in the cozy kitchen. The room smelled of coffee and the spicy apricot coffee cake Lenora had just pulled from the oven.
“I bake and pray,” she’d said. “My way of holding together.”
He would never have called a family conference at 1:30 a.m., but apparently none of the Collingsworths had done much sleeping since the boys’ abduction. Now that he had all four of Becky’s brothers, plus a few of the women, in attendance, he was glad to have them aboard.
They not only worked as a seamless team but they were smart and all willing to do whatever it took to get David and Derrick home safely. Families like that didn’t come along every day, especially when they were also one of the wealthiest families in Texas.
“It’s likely the phone was stolen,” he continued, “but at least we know the general area where the abductor must be holding the boys.”
“I say we start combing that area for them at daybreak,” Zach said.
“Can you take care of that while still keeping the kidnapping quiet?” Sam asked.
“Absolutely.”
“Then go to it.” Sam made a couple more notes on his pad.
Nick stirred a bit of cream into his coffee. “What about the fact that the man seems to know Becky? Shouldn’t we be checking into that?”
“He didn’t say how he knew me,” Becky said. “He could have been lying.”
“We can’t assume he’s lying,” Nick insisted, “and if he does know you I don’t see how he’ll be fooled by an FBI agent who’s impersonating you.”
“You’d be surprised how easy that is to achieve,” Sam said, “as long as we keep the agent at a distance until the boys are with you.”
“Do we know who that agent will be?” Langston asked.
Sam nodded and sipped his coffee. “All taken care of. Her name’s Evie Parker, and not only is she petite like Becky but she’s a master with undercover disguises. She has her own collection of wigs in every color. When I talked to her, she said she could fool Becky’s mother as long as she didn’t have to stand too close. However, that might be a slight exaggeration.”
“But she hasn’t even seen me,” Becky protested.
“She has your picture.”
“How?”
“I snapped it with my cell phone and sent it to her. She’s on her way here now, flying in from Dallas with our pilot. They’ll land at the same place Langston keeps his private jet in case there’s no time for us to get together before that. She’ll get a car and drive out here from there if there’s time.”
Sam had a feeling there would be plenty of time and that this was not going to play out exactly as it was being scripted. Just a hunch, but his hunches had a history of being right more often than they were wrong. Agent’s intuition.
That and the fact that the kidnapper had been drunk when he called. The guy was obviously losing control of the situation. The question was why? He hoped the answer had nothing to do with the physical condition of David and Derrick.
“He must have known Becky in high school,” Jaime said, “assuming rah-rah days refers to her being a cheerleader. She wasn’t one in college.”
“Good thinking.”
“What can we do to help?” Matt asked.
“I need copies of Becky’s high school yearbooks. I’d like her to peruse them and see if any of the guys stir bad feelings.”
“My yearbooks are packed away in the attic.”
Matt stood up. “I’ll bring them down.”
“I’ll go with Matt,” Bart said. “There are lots of boxes in the attic. Finding the right one could take a while.”
Becky stuck a fork into the slice of coffee cake her mother had set in front of her. “I’m not sure what you mean by bad feelings.”
“Perhaps someone you had problems with. Maybe a guy who had a crush on you that you didn’t share. Maybe someone who aggravated you or even seemed creepy to you. We’re grasping at whatever we can find,” Sam admitted.
“I don’t remember anyone like that attending Colts Run Cross High.”
“Sometimes pictures can jog a memory. Have you ever been stalked?”
Becky hesitated. “Not exactly.”
Not the answer Sam was expecting. “I’ll need more than that.”
She laid the fork back down and reached for the mug of hot coffee, sipping slowly before answering. “Right after I started college I met this guy in my freshman psychology class who I could have sworn was following me around campus. He never asked me out—not that I would have gone. He had zero personality. But he always seemed to be around, staring at me from a distance. It freaked me out big-time.”
“Did you say anything to him about your concerns?”
“I thought about it, but before it came to that, he dropped out of school. But the really weird thing is, a few weeks ago I saw a man who reminded me of him in Colts Run Cross.”
Sam saw the clench of Nick’s jaw. Unless Sam was misreading the signals, he was more tuned in to his wife than Sam would have expected under the circumstances. And he was definitely protective of her.
His guess was that Nick Ridgely was not the one who’d initiated the divorce, though he might have made some dumb mistake that caused Becky to give up on him. Men with hero status had temptation thrown at them left and right.
Sam waited for Becky to elaborate on the man who’d reminded her of the college stalker. She didn’t. “Do you think it could have been the same man?”
“I don’t think so. It was more the feeling I got when I noticed him staring at me than his appearance. Not the old cliché about undressing me with his eyes, but more like the one about spiders crawling across the skin.”
“Did you only see him that once?”
“Yes, and then only for a few seconds. I’d stopped at Thompson’s Grocery to pick up a few items, and he was checking out in front of me. I’m almost positive he’s not from around here. I would have seen him before—or since.”
“Definitely weird,” Sam agreed. “I’ll need a description of him and as many specifics about the psych class as you remember. I’ll have someone check the school records and see if we can get a roster for that class. You may recognize his name if you see it printed.”
“I can sit with her while she skims her yearbooks,” Shelly offered. “I can jot down her description of the man she saw in the store and make notes on anyone else of interest.”
“I’d appreciate that.” It would relieve Sam to go over the exchange plans with the other agents who’d be involved. “And Nick, you and Becky should try to get a little rest as soon as she finishes taking a look at those yearbooks. I doubt we’ll be hearing from the abductor again before morning. He’s probably sleeping it off right now.”
“Is that everything?” Becky asked.
“For now.” But Sam would have felt a lot better about this if the kidnapper had let Nick or Becky talk to their sons. Not hearing their voices raised a whole new set of questions with possibilities none of them wanted to consider.
* * *
NICK WALKED TO THE family den and stared out the window as the dawning light of a new day dissolved the night.
Wednesday morning. Two days before Christmas. His heart twisted as if it were trying to wrench itself from his chest. Becky stirred from her position on the sofa but didn’t open her eyes.
He’d tried to talk her into going to her room for at least a few hours, but she wouldn’t venture that far from him and his phone. Not only did she want the chance to hear her sons’ voices but she wanted to be there if the kidnapper asked to speak to her again. Had it been left up to her, she’d have willingly climbed on the plane with the kidnapper in exchange for David and Derrick’s safety.
Except for Zach, he hadn’t seen the rest of the family in the past few hours. Zach had to be running on empty, but he’d left a half hour ago to get started on trying to locate the kidnapper and the boys. Sam had the FBI on the mission, as well. To Nick, it sounded like trying to find a particular face in a game-day crowd of seventy thousand.
Still, Nick envied their chance to do something useful. He would rather be doing anything other than pacing and waiting for the damned phone to ring.
He walked to the bookcase and studied the rows of family photographs. He picked up one and held it closer so that he could make out the details in the dim morning light.
In it, the boys were no more than four. David was crawling through a pile of wrapped presents. Derrick was on tiptoe reaching to hang an ornament on the Collingsworth Christmas tree. One of the many Christmases Nick had missed due to being on the road for an upcoming game.
Not that they hadn’t always celebrated again when he got home, but nonetheless, he’d missed the actual day the same way he’d missed lots of big moments in their lives. School plays. Derrick’s first touchdown on the parks department youth team. David’s first win in the local rodeo’s youth barrel riding competition.
Becky had captured the moments for him on film. At the time that had seemed enough. No. Who was he kidding? At the time, he’d been so involved with his own life, with the drive to win and the excitement of the upcoming game that what happened back home barely scratched his consciousness.
“What time is it?”
Becky’s sleep-husky voice cut through his thoughts. When he turned, he saw that she’d kicked off the blanket and was sitting up, raking her fingers through her disheveled hair with one hand and clenching a throw pillow with the other. Her torment was tangible, a heaviness that filled the air like thick, poisonous smoke.
Nick glanced at his watch. “Six-twenty.”
“You’d think he’d call.”
“He’s probably still sleeping it off.”
“If he’d only let us talk to the boys, if I just knew they were safe, that they aren’t being mistreated or abused, I could handle this.”
“Don’t think those things,” he pleaded, though the same fears were eating away at him. He ached to drop to the sofa beside her and cradle her in his arms. In spite of his words about not contesting the divorce, it wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted things to be the way they were in the beginning—when she loved him as much as he loved her.
Mostly he wished he had a chance to make up for everything he’d missed with his sons. He dropped to the edge of the leather hassock, waiting until Becky let her gaze lock with his.
Finally the question torturing his heart found its way to his tongue. “Am I a terrible father, Becky?”
* * *
BECKY FOUGHT the urge to lash out at Nick, to hurl all her frustration and fear at him. But it would only be a temporary release, a cruel, punishing sting that would do neither of them any good.
She opted to choose her words carefully. “David and Derrick love you,” she said honestly. “You’re their hero.”
“A hero, but I’m not much of a caretaker. I’m not there for them to do the little things other fathers do, like go to their ball games or help with their homework, at least not on a full-time basis.”
Surely he didn’t expect her to contradict that. Yet one look into his haunted eyes, and she couldn’t add to his guilt and pain. What purpose could it possibly serve?
“You love them,” she said, willing to let it drop at that.
“It’s not enough, is it? Not for the boys and definitely not for you. I’m away too much. You said it yourself a thousand times.”
She dropped the pillow and clasped her hands in her lap. “It was never just your physical absence, Nick. Even when we were together during the season, you weren’t really there. You pulled away emotionally. I know it sounds crazy, but I felt betrayed, as if football were your lover.”
Nick shrugged and looked away. “NFL football is demanding.”
“So is life, Nick.”
And she had never been able to simply turn off their marriage and life together the way he had. Never once had she become so immersed in anything that she didn’t need to reach out and touch him, if not in person then by letting their souls touch in some meaningful way on the phone.
Not so with Nick. It was as if they existed on different planets during football season, and the expanse of space that separated them couldn’t be bridged. Not even when they’d made love. That had probably hurt most of all.
“Things are going to change, Becky. When we get the boys back, things will change. That’s a promise.” He reached over and took her hands in his.
“I hope so, Nick, for your sake and the boys.” But he’d made those promises before, always when his back was up against the wall. To give him credit, he’d probably even tried to change. But then football season would start, and he’d fall into the consuming drive to be the best receiver in the league all over again.
“I just want the boys home safely,” she said. “I can’t think beyond that.”
“I know.” Nick reached up and tangled his fingers in her hair, his thumb brushing her earlobe.
It would be so nice to wrap herself in his arms and have him hold her. Just hold her, but she couldn’t let herself. Her mother would say she was stubborn. Too much like Jeremiah.
But it was more than stubbornness that made her keep Nick at arm’s length when she ached for the comfort of his arms. It was survival.
She looked up as heavy footfalls trod down the hallway and stopped at the doorway. Sam was standing there.
“There’s been a new development.”
The slump of his shoulders told her the news would not be good.