Gone (9 page)

Chapter Nine

Marcie ran upstairs to get a blanket and a coat to throw in the car just in case. When Marcie didn’t come right back down, Joe went upstairs to check on her. She was standing in the hallway, a worried expression on her face. She had on jeans and was carrying her purse, a blanket and a coat.

“Got everything?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, looking up at him. “I can’t seem to get my thoughts together.”

He gave her a little smile and held out his arms, not knowing whether she would be grateful or resentful that he wanted to comfort her. But she stepped forward and he pulled her into his embrace. “Do exactly what he says and remember, I’ll be close.” He lifted her chin with his finger. “Very close.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Don’t worry about that. You just concentrate on giving Howard the money and getting Joshua.”

Her lip trembled at the mention of their son’s name. She nodded.

Joe kissed her forehead, then handed her the satchel with the money in it. “Tell me which way you’re going.”

“We’ve been over that,” she said.

“I know. Just tell me one more time, so we’re both sure. My car needs gas, so I’m going to leave now and catch up with you on the road. You might not see me, but I’ll be right behind you.”

“Should I call you after he calls me?”

“No,” he said quickly. “No. Don’t call me. If Howard takes your phone away, he’ll see that you called me and he’ll assume you’re telling me where you are. We can’t take that chance. You just do what Howard tells you, and I’ll keep up. I promise you I will.”

She nodded, looking doubtful.

“Did you get that toy block you got from that house?”

“No. I forgot,” she said, then gave him a small smile. “Thanks for reminding me. I know you think it’s silly.”

“I don’t think it’s silly at all. It’s a connection to our child. Okay, then, you’d better grab that block. I’ve got to run. Marcie?” He looked into her eyes. She looked so frightened and so hopeful that it broke his heart. “Be careful.” He turned to head down the stairs.

“Joe?”

He turned back.

“We will get him, won’t we?”

He nodded and stepped close to her. He put his palms on both of her cheeks and kissed her lightly on the lips. “I swear to you we will.” Then he turned and vaulted down the stairs. If his plan were going to work, he had only a couple of minutes to get ready.

* * *

W
HEN
E
THAN
LEFT
the Powerses’ home, he didn’t go far. He parked a block down the street, where he could watch the house without being seen. His cop’s instincts and experience told him that he wouldn’t have to wait long.

He thought about Joe Powers. From the moment his partner had shown him Joe’s birth certificate, Ethan had felt a connection with the man who had been born within a month of Ethan himself. He figured he probably ought to be resentful of his grandfather for having a son and a grandson the same age. Instead, Ethan had been curious about Joe Powers, and now that curiosity was turned toward Powers’s missing son.

Powers’s front door opened and Joe emerged. He got into his car and drove away. That surprised Ethan. He’d figured the kidnapper would want Marcie to make the exchange. He debated following Joe, but the attorney hadn’t looked as though he were headed for a ransom drop. He’d had nothing with him but his car keys. So Ethan continued to wait. Sure enough, within about one minute, Joe came walking through a neighbor’s yard. After checking carefully to be sure no one was watching, he climbed into the trunk of the older vehicle.

Now
that
was interesting. Ethan perked up. He’d been right about the phone call. The exchange was this morning, and as he’d figured, the kidnapper had insisted that Marcie come alone to make the exchange. Joe had been warned not to go. Ethan understood Joe’s need to be there to protect his wife and make sure the kidnapper hadn’t harmed his son. It’s what Ethan would have done. But those two facts didn’t make Joe’s plan any smarter or safer.

Ethan didn’t have to wait five minutes before Marcie came out carrying a large purse and a large, obviously heavy tote. She passed by the trunk and opened the back right door and put the tote on the seat. Then she tossed her purse into the passenger seat.
Money.
The tote held money. There was a boxy shape to it that suggested stacks of bills. Ethan’s heart raced. She was on her way to meet the kidnapper and, unbeknownst to her, her husband was hiding in the car’s trunk, in the hopes of protecting her. Although Ethan understood Joe’s motive, he couldn’t even begin to fathom what Joe planned to do once Marcie got to the meeting place. He knew that climbing out of a car’s trunk was a cumbersome process and he was dreadfully certain that if Joe tried to come to his wife’s defense, he’d be dead or injured before he managed to get his feet on the ground.

That did it. Ethan had to follow them. Since he knew about the ransom call, he had an obligation to keep Marcie and Joe safe. As he pulled out behind her car, allowing enough room that she wouldn’t notice that he was following her, his brain continued to process what he’d seen. They were going to need someone on their side to protect them against the kidnapper. He knew that it was possible to successfully exchange money for a kidnapped child or adult, but he had no idea what the percentages were. He certainly had no idea what the outcomes were when a family handled the exchange alone, without the help of the FBI or the police. All he knew was that he didn’t want these new members of his family to be hurt or—worse—killed, because he didn’t do his best to protect them.

Ethan dropped back a couple more car lengths from Marcie, which put him several blocks behind. He doubted seriously that she would notice him, but the kidnapper would be watching for a tail. And Ethan didn’t want to be so close that the kidnapper could make him as a tail.

Before they even got as far as Kenner, Ethan’s phone rang. He glanced at the dashboard, where the caller information was displayed on his car’s Bluetooth. It was Dixon Lloyd, his partner.

“What’s up, Dix. You know I took the day off, right?”

Dixon got straight to the point. “Our suspect in the household murder case just took a woman hostage,” he said crisply.

“What?” Ethan wiped his face. “Damn it! Where?”

“Mercedes Boulevard.”

“In Algiers? Listen, Dix, can you handle this by yourself? I’m—”

“No,” Dixon said. “Even if I wanted to let you slide, the captain’s demanding to know where you are. Said he didn’t approve a day off.”

Ethan muttered a few colorful words. “I left a message for him. He didn’t call me back to tell me to come in.”

“I’m just quoting him. He wants, and I quote, ‘Delancey’s butt out there at that house talking to that maniac
now!
’”

Ethan exited the interstate. “All right, I’m turning around. Where are you?”

“On my way there.”

“Give me the address,” he said.

Dixon recited it and Ethan tucked it into his memory. “Got it. I’m probably fifteen minutes away.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there in about nine minutes.”

“See you,” Ethan said, then punched the off button savagely, and cursed. He was abandoning Joe and Marcie, and he couldn’t dispatch another officer in his stead. There would be too many questions. And talk about a blowup. If the captain found out that Ethan was planning to help with a kidnapping without reporting it first, he’d take possession of Ethan’s badge by grabbing it through his butt.

He was still arguing with himself about whether he should reveal the kidnapping, when he got to the address Dixon had given him. Police cruisers and plain cars surrounded a pretty yellow house with blue shutters in the quiet neighborhood of Algiers. Two black vans were parked on the other side of the street and at least seven black-clad SWAT officers had rifles trained on the house.

Dixon saw him and waved him over.

“What’s going on?” Ethan asked him in a whisper.

Dixon pointed to his phone. “Got him talking,” he whispered, then turned his attention back to the phone. “No,” he said patiently. “I’ve already told you, there’s no way you’re getting free passage out of here. Not a car and for damn sure not a plane. You’re going to—” He winced and held the phone away from his ear and Ethan could hear a voice ranting and raving through the speaker.

“Sounds like you’re doing great,” he said to Dixon. “Why the hell did I have to bust my butt getting out here?”

Dixon raised his brow, shifted his gaze behind Ethan, then back as he continued talking to the killer who’d taken the woman hostage. “No, Donald, I haven’t hung up on you and yes, I’m taking your demands
very
seriously,” he said, just as the captain walked up next to Ethan.

“What the hell took you so long to get here, Delancey?”

* * *

B
Y
THE
TIME
Marcie reached the road to Rhoda’s house, it had started to rain. She turned on the windshield wipers and shivered, both from the damp chill in the air and from worry. She was already late. The rain was just going to make everything worse. The dirt-and-shell roads that wound through the swamps of south Louisiana could turn to gumbo within minutes in a rainstorm. Marcie had seen truck and ATV tires get so coated with the sticky stuff that their wheels would no longer turn.

Her phone rang, startling her. “Oh, no,” she muttered. It was Howard. If he were watching the house, he knew she hadn’t made it on time. She answered, her heart in her throat.

“Hey, Marcie,” Howard said. “Where are you?”

She didn’t want to lie, in case he could see her. “I’m close to Rhoda’s house. I should be there in a few minutes.”

“That means you’re late. Well, I ain’t got time to wait. Here’s your instructions. Pay attention. You keep going on that same road until you come to a fork. There’s a sign in the middle of the two roads. One side says Bayou DeChez. The other side don’t say nothing. You take the fork without the sign. It’s starting to rain, so watch your wheels. Don’t run off the shoulder, else you’ll get stuck. And trust me, woman, there ain’t nobody gonna pull you out if you’re that dumb. Keep going ’til you see a house on stilts. It’s got a rusty metal roof and a blue door. You wait there.”

“Wait?” Marcie cried, her heart sinking to her toes. “Why do I have to wait? How long? Will Joshua be there—?”

“Woman,” Howard interrupted, “I told you, you don’t get to ask questions. You better listen to me or you’ll never get to see your kid. Now, you wait at that house and don’t even think about going anywhere. I’ll call you. Think you can handle that?”

Wait.
She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Yes,” she said hoarsely. She knew that Joe was probably right and Howard was just a big coward and a bully who wanted people to pay attention to him. He liked running the show, so she needed to play up to him, because as far as her child was concerned, he
was
running the show.

The faint thread of hope that had kept her going for the past two years began to grow and strengthen. This was finally happening. If she did what Howard wanted her to, she would see Joshua soon. “Yes. I can handle it. When are you going to call back?”

Howard laughed. It was a gritty, ugly sound. “You ask another question and this’ll be the last time you ever hear my voice. Do you understand that?”

“Yes,” she mumbled as despair warred with impatience inside her. “Yes. I understand,” she said more loudly.

“It’s started raining, so it’ll get dark early. Don’t slip off the road, ’cause if you get stuck in that swamp mud, it ain’t going to be pretty. There a lot of gators.”

“What if—?” Marcie cut off the question a split second before he hung up. She looked at her watch. It was almost two-thirty. His warnings ramped up the fear inside her to near panic. She was driving into the swamp alone in the rain in a car that didn’t have four-wheel drive, carrying a bagful of cash and depending on the integrity of a man who was holding a two-year-old child for ransom.

She kept driving on down the road past Rhoda’s house. The rain wasn’t coming down hard, but that wasn’t good news. It was one of those slow, steady rains that could last for days. The farther she drove, the longer the road in front of her seemed to stretch. The rain was creating a haze that hovered over the swamp on either side of the narrow road.

Finally, she came to the fork in the road. She had to park and get out to read the letters on the sign. Sure enough, the right-hand sign, block-printed with what looked like a Sharpie, was weathered and missing letters, but it was readable. BAYO_ DECHE_. The other sign might have had words on it at one time, but there was nothing recognizable there now.

Marcie got back into the car and took the left fork. Her tires crunched on the broken oyster and mussel shells the highway department used in these parts to replace gravel on the narrow road. Just past the fork, she noticed a pile of broken electrical poles and wires on the side of the road.

Apprehension lodged in her chest. Obviously, they’d had electricity along this road at one time. But one of the hurricanes must have taken down the poles and nobody had ever replaced it. Thank God she’d brought a battery flashlight plus an emergency crank one.

Her tires slipped on the road that was getting muddier with every passing minute, and she crept along at a glacial speed. She prayed that it would stop raining and that no one else would try to drive out this way this afternoon. The road couldn’t be more than fifteen feet wide and it dropped down at least a foot off each shoulder into murky water. She’d driven on some narrow roads in Louisiana, but never one this narrow. She had no idea what she would do if she met another vehicle. If the wheel of her car ever dropped off that edge, she’d be stuck.

Finally, she saw something dark looming over the right side of the road. The stilt house, maybe. She couldn’t make out anything specific until she got much closer. When the structure began to take on shape and a little color, she saw how shabby it looked. There didn’t appear to be anything underneath or behind it except murky swamp water. No boat and certainly no car, since there was obviously nowhere to pull off the road. The cabin itself was a crooked, wobbly thing that looked like it had been blown down during Katrina and set back upright by a careless, gigantic hand.