Deadly Alliance (12 page)

Sweat poured from Spencer’s forehead. “Hand me the phone.”

“The line died.”

“No!” Spencer’s eyes went cold.

“I’m phoning my husband.” Bayliss stood at an angle and spoke into her own cellphone.

Amy took a breath and sent a text message to Finn. “Cassidy’s gone missing.”

Her phone buzzed. “Finn,” Amy said as she stood next to Spencer.

Finn asked, “What do you mean by missing?”

“Cassidy was supposed to be here. At the church, Spencer said. She never made it.” Amy pushed the speaker button.

“You’ll need me,” Finn said. It wasn’t a question.

Spencer spoke into Amy’s phone. “Can you put a lid on this mess?”

“Spencer,” Finn said. “I’ll call you when I know something.”

Finn watched out for everyone. Amy respected him for that and didn’t want to distract him. With her pounding headache, she looked forward to a cup of green tea on his front porch.

Amy was the first person to file out. Even though it was late afternoon, the fog hadn’t lifted all day. The gloomy sky pressed to the ground. She shivered on her search for Finn’s pickup along the back of the parking lot. Where the heck? She walked slowly and tried to focus on her feet. She tried. And then she scrambled. Was this what Cassidy was doing? Get. Away. Get away, Cassidy.

A streetlight in the church lot was a cold circle of revelation. Cassidy was missing, and Amy didn’t think she was doing Les a favor.

Now Amy understood why Cassidy had asked her about Les’ death.

Cassidy tripped on the tip of the iceberg when she spotted Les. Terror lurked just below the water line. The biggest part of an iceberg hides, and Les hid out for three years.

Without her purse, Amy carried Finn’s keys in her pocket and clutched them. There it is, under the big pine.

Putting the key into the lock, she’d barely opened the door when an engine snarled behind her and stopped. She smelled beer and cigarettes. Someone pushed her forward, and then yanked her to the ground. A cloth bag went over her head. Her lungs screamed, but her stomach clenched like an iron fist. Can’t. Breathe. An arm went around her waist.

Amy pushed back with no avail. A hand grasped one hand and then the other. Her wrists were taped behind her back. She was lifted and whisked into the back of a van. She tasted bile. Her throat burned.

She smelled roses close by. Roses? She was snatched by a heavy-handed thug.

A male voice said, “Drive.”

Someone in front gunned up the van, took off like a rocket. Her head smashed on a hard surface. She braced herself against the side with the soles of her sneakers. The burlap hood over her head slipped sideways, and she saw outlines as the van tore along.

“Go the speed limit.” The man spoke with a harsh voice, grabbed her bound arms, but while being pushed onto her back, an odd familiarity hit her.

In front, the dome-light went on. “Got to put in the address,” the driver said.

The man beside her pressed his cheek against her V-neck T-shirt. “Takbir might like the edgy wig. Au natural is even better. You’re soft, curvy. Sexy in blue jeans.”

“Who are you?” She knew. “Les.”

“Miss me?”

With a wave of vertigo, she slumped and looked under the burlap bag. The stench of beer and perspiration was strong. Beer spilled on his clothes left stains. How long had he lived in the back of this van?

“Let me drink you in. I bought you a dozen red roses. Well, let me stand corrected. Half are for you.” Les’ fingers shifted along her denim clad thighs. “All this time, I’ve hovered in the background.” He hugged her again, ran his hands up her spine, dragged her close, molded her against him.

She recoiled, trembled. Deep muscles contracted until her bones shook. She adjusted her head to navigate the bag, moving it so that loosened threads sat over one eye. His face was thinner, his lips chapped, his skin pasty. “We don’t work, Les.”

“Nonsense.” He exhaled harshly. “You’re saying no? I put the condo in your name.”

“I’ll sign over the title.” Her teeth chattered. Her body quavered with cyclical spasms. “Turn around. I have the title at home.”

“We can both own it. You love me. You cared for the person you thought was me.” Les huffed in an exasperated sigh.

Amy shook her head. “It was complicated.”

“It worked out. My insurance paid for hospice. Liam wasn’t institutionalized.” He groped her.

She tried to scramble away. “I couldn’t let that happen.” Kindnesses made her feel good.

“Amy, the supportive one. You drove a taxi.” He touched her arm. “You stopped at home, checked on things.”

She jerked away. Another wave of nausea swept through her.

“What just happened? Did you turn into a man hater?” His voice scared her.

“It’s just you I hate.”

“Oh my God. You’re killing me. That’s it.” He quivered with howling laughter. “Let’s go back to when we started dating.”

“Right now? This is how you treat a date? Why not pull this bag off my head?” When he didn’t answer, she knew their destination was secret. “What do you want from me?” she asked.

“Appreciation maybe? I’ve worked hard. I’ve accumulated money.”

“You’ve stolen money.” She felt him lean closer and squirmed.

“I felt that.” Several days of salt-and-pepper whiskers covered his weak chin line. His bloodshot brown eyes surprised her the most. She saw fear.

“Please, Les. Stay away from me.” Her stomach tried to bolt the baby back ribs.

“You just flunked my test.” Les had an uncanny ability to let his feeling out. He was done with her.

“Les, you’re running scared.”

“I’ve been made.” The air was thick with smells his sweat. “I’m handing you over. They’ll forgive me.”

“I see.” How the hell was she supposed to help herself?

“Soon you’ll meet Omar al-Anbari.” Madness fueled his tone. “He has your cute little purse. Took a liking to your driver’s license photo.”

Amy rolled away, dropped her shoulders, but couldn’t reach the pocket knife in the pocket of her shorts. “Why not just give back the drug money you stole?”

“I need money to live on.” Les was moving to the passenger seat.

Who’s driving? A minute later she sneaked a peek under the hood. Darkness had fallen outside. She moved on her butt like a caged animal, restless, and on edge. She thought of Cassidy. Would the terrorists pass both of them around or butcher them with swords?

Her hands shook as she scoured around the van’s interior. She touched something hard, long. What’s this? Barbecue tongs.
After a couple of tries, she caught one side of the tongs. Now what?

A wave of tears flooded her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She let out a hiccup and choked on it. She held the tongs and pried open the Velcro pocket. Arching her back, she jerked back and forth. Finally the pocket knife fell out. Her whole body strained as she used her fingernails to open the Swiss Army Knife. This time, she pulled out the knife rather than the cork screw.

The duct tape was tight. She twisted to stretch it, plucking at it with the sharp knife. As she worked it apart, she supported herself with her left arm. The arm collapsed under her, sending a searing pain through her elbow. Hurting wasn’t so bad. Her hands were free, and she pulled off the hood to see Cassidy.

Sitting beside a trunk, Cassidy held a black pistol on her lap and brought it up to her lips. “Shhh. Their mirror is angled to see me.” The Live Wire looked beaten, pale and bit her lip to hide its wobbling.

A jacket in the corner would make Cassidy warmer. Amy scrunched her way over and lifted it. Her heart pounded as she became aware of an object in a pocket. A cellphone! She held it up to show Cassidy and then punched in Finn’s number. Her text message, “Bad Romance,” had not yet made a delivery ping. Out of range! She prayed for a satellite connection.

They knelt together in the back of the van. Amy clutched Cassidy as tightly as she clutched her. “Friends forever.”

“Ditto.”

* * *

Finn stopped by the sheriff’s office.

“Busy day. I’m starved.” Sheriff McGill reached for his cream cheese slathered bagel. “This will have to do. What are you here to feed me?”

“I’m sharing updates.”

McGill frowned, took a bite and spent an extra two seconds to focus. “The Cassidy update?”

Finn nodded. “She’s in the wind. Spencer expected her at the church.” His temper ran high. Amy hadn’t returned his text.

“Right, the Bearwood Closet project.”

“This adds to the chaos. Cassidy’s a bit of a flake.” Finn held back on Cassidy and Les’ motel visits.

“Come again?” McGill drummed his fingers on the table. “Cassidy is working for Bayliss. My wife’s a psychologist. She considers her to be an okay person.”

“At one time I considered Les to be an okay guy.” Finn was wrong. He learned otherwise, and Les cheated death. Finn ached to find out why Amy went dark, ached over his emotional investment. Too much passion clouded judgment. Time to breakup.

A sudden thought overcame him. Amy was far different than his mother. She had her own dreams, her own desires, and had no intention of abandoning them. Was Les holding a gun to her head, forcing both Cassidy and her to go with him? Were they bargaining chips? He sucked in a hard breath.

McGill said, “Let me work another angle.” He phoned his wife and hit the speaker button. “Bayliss, can you gather information from Sean’s sister, Vivienne, on her brother’s whereabouts?”

“Hold on, Honey,” Bayliss said.

McGill cupped the receiver and said to Finn, “Sean used burner phones, prepaid and purchased to be used briefly and then replaced.”

“I heard,” Finn said. “Sean collected them from different parts of the world.”

McGill looked away when Bayliss spoke. “Yesterday Vivienne phoned him with a country calling code of +31, The Netherlands. We know it’s bullshit.”

“Yeah.” Finn shuttered. “Isn’t Sean at risk for kidnapping?”

“Sure,” McGill said. “He’s a Rourke.” The sheriff spoke into the phone again. “Thanks, Honey.” He kissed the receiver and hung up.

“Sean isn’t concerned with his welfare. That bothers me.” Finn checked his cellphone again. Nothing from Amy. “Bayliss doesn’t let anything backslide. It’s good she gained Vivienne’s trust. Anything else?”

“Vivienne told Bayliss that Sean surfaced and drove his mother to LAX. Fiona Roarke is on her way to a new Rourke residence. Cobh, Ireland.”

Inner torment gnawed at Finn, but he put it aside. Find the schemers, Sean and Les. “Sean isn’t registered at UC Riverside this semester. He’s up to something.” Finn knew Aidan Rourke held rental properties. “Sean lived in one of their unoccupied rentals.”

“You checked the vacant cabin?”

“Yup, their cabin on Tallmadge Road.” Finn turned his attention to the quiet, empty log home. “No signs of forced entry. No signs of a struggle. Sean hadn’t packed up.”

McGill brightened. “Let’s see if Sean has his burner on.” The sheriff turned toward his StingRay device and punched in his cell number. “His cell is up on Fuller Ridge. Hot damn, it sits in a charger. I’m doing an extraction of his recent calls.”

“Print them.” Finn shifted nervously.

“Sure.” The printer hummed with a fan noise. McGill handed him several pages and then sat back against the edge of his desk, arms crossed.

Finn shuddered when he recognized Rose and Dean Kelly’s phone number. “Sean is in contact with Les.”

“Here I thought he was a sweet kid. Check this. His calls ended three days ago. I’ll email this information to Guhleman.” As always, the sheriff’s tan uniform was pressed and impeccable. The only wrinkles were the creases Finn saw deepening across the sheriff’s forehead. Dealing with the press took its toll. The entire state of California and the nation compared the Lake Arrowhead case to other hostage cases.

“I don’t envy your public relations job on this.” Finn heard a ping from his cell and read a text message. Bad romance. No one but Amy would send this.

McGill must have recognized horror on his face. “What is it?”

“Amy sent me a message.” Finn’s gut told him Amy got dragged along for a ride. “Pinpoint the location of the last message.” He chastised himself for doubting her.

McGill put his hand out, palm up, and caught the dropped phone. “I’m on it.”

Finn claimed a seat for himself on the credenza next to the fiberglass trout. He kept his eyes on the computer monitor. One port of the computer connected to the StingRay.

“Got it. Position is static. Not moving.”

“Not moving? This is a handover.” Finn pictured the scene as if it was a movie. Amy and Cassidy were there with Les and others milling about. All are talking in a tense and agitated fashion where a hostage exchange was about to go down. Or, Les was nervous. Had to stop the van and take a leak.

McGill smacked him on the shoulder. “I’ll drive. You phone Gary Guhleman.”

As they headed toward the sheriff’s cruiser, Finn had Guhleman on the line. “Les has Amy Kintyre. Probably Cassidy Holloway also.”