Restore My Heart (37 page)

“At least it gives them another suspect. Speaking of Joe, is he there?”

“Joe? No, I thought he was meeting you.”

Ferguson hesitated. “So did I.”

Fear raised the hair at her nape. “Have you tried his house?”

“I reached his voice mail.”

A shiver danced up her spine. Joe wouldn’t leave without hearing from the FBI. Something was wrong, very wrong. “May I call you right back?”

Sally jotted down Ferguson’s cellular phone number, disconnected, then looked up the number for Leo Desalvo. Lucinda answered on the first ring.

“This is Sally. Have you seen Joe?”

“Not since he got that message from the police. He was meeting them to pick up the Darrin for the FBI.”

Blood roared in her ears. “Where was he meeting them?
Where?
Do you know?”

“Sally, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me.”

“I just hung up from the FBI, Lucinda. They’re looking for Joe so he can turn over the car to them.”

“Oh, my God.”

Joe’s head weighed a ton. How his neck continued to support it mystified him. The mother of all headaches hammered his skull. He forced his heavy eyelids to open, then reached to massage his temples. His hands wouldn’t move. They were bound together behind his back with nylon braided rope. What the hell?

A quick glance around identified his surroundings as the rear of a mini-van, complete with darkened side and rear windows. Spots danced in his vision at the shooting pain in his head. The smell of raw gasoline gagged him. Struggling against nausea, he strained to listen to the steady rumbling and vibrations confirming that the van was in motion. His back to the driver, he debated turning over. The movement would alert his abductor that he was conscious, but at least Joe would be able to see him.

He closed his eyes against the pain. He didn’t have to turn and look. He remembered. The man who’d boldly met him in the police station parking lot was the same man he’d seen kissing Barbara Bloom, the driver of the pickup truck who had nearly killed Sally.

Sally.

Anguish swept through him at the thought of her. She’d be waiting at the Universal Joint, wondering why he didn’t show. After what they’d shared last night, would she think the worst? That he’d had regrets and was running scared? He’d promised not to hurt her. Would he be able to keep his promise? Would he ever see her again?

She’d try to run a check on the pickup truck’s tag number. Would she succeed? Would it matter?

Don’t panic, Joe. Keep your head
.

The van jolted to a stop. The rear door of the van creaked open. Late afternoon sun poured in and clawed at his eyes. He blinked, momentarily blinded.

“You’re awake. Good.” The man grabbed Joe’s arm. “Come on. On your feet.”

Joe groaned. Every muscle protested the movement, as if he suffered a hangover. Had he been drugged? The guy had walked up to Joe, shaken hands with him, posing as a detective for Jefferson County. Joe, relaxed and off-guard, reacted too late to the assault. He’d sucked in the odorous fumes of the cloth jammed into his face. Chloroform?

Stumbling out of the van and onto the rough ground, Joe searched his surroundings. He tried to speak, to ask,
Who are you? What do you want?
But dry cotton filled his throat. “Water,” he rasped.

“I’ll get you a drink. Get inside.” He grabbed the nylon rope, pushing Joe to a garage door in the basement of a house.

Joe’s brief assessment yielded a nearby country road and a two-level home with a steep driveway leading to a basement garage. Déjà vu. He knew this place, although he’d seen it only in the dark.

This was Dan Alsop’s house.

The man he now assumed was Dan Alsop prodded Joe to a metal chair. “Sit.”

Still weak from whatever had rendered him unconscious, Joe obeyed. More rope materialized. Alsop wrapped it tightly around his ankles. “I’ll be back with a drink of water.”

He disappeared upstairs. Joe’s eyes adjusted from the afternoon sun to the dimness of the basement. His gaze swept the utilitarian room, taking in the metal press and chemical baths he’d seen earlier via flashlight.

Twisting, he managed to identify the vehicle behind his chair, not surprised to find the dark pickup with the oversize tool box in the bed.
Well, Sally, don’t bother running that license plate
.

Sally. Joe tried to swallow the lump in his dry throat. What were all those barriers keeping them from being together? He could no longer remember. Oh, yeah. His career. He’d lose his shot at a vice presidency if he didn’t get his nose back to the grindstone. And Sally couldn’t move to Atlanta because—

Oh, right. She had a business to run in Louisville. Besides, she wouldn’t be a happy Mrs. Desalvo if Joe left her at home all the time to work late and entertain clients.

Mrs. Desalvo? Wow, where had that come from? He experimented a bit with the name and discovered he liked it:
Sally Desalvo
. Nice ring to it.
Ring
. If he could escape this nasty mess alive, he’d buy Sally a ring. He’d convince her to marry him. A sudden shift in his emotions calmed him. Careers were empty dreams. Nothing else mattered.

If nothing else mattered but convincing Sally to spend the rest of her life with him, that could only mean—

“Here’s your drink.”

Joe blinked up at his captor. Dan Alsop had removed his jacket and tie, his costume as a county detective. His shirt stank of day-old perspiration. He held a flexible straw to Joe’s mouth. Joe sucked greedily, emptying the glass of water, then regretted it when his stomach roiled in protest.

Alsop stomped upstairs again. Instead of returning to Fantasyland, Joe focused on an escape plan. He’d need to get away before he could entertain the idea of a future with Sally. Or any future.

Tugging at his ropes, he succeeded in creating a tiny slack, along with a burning pain. The nylon rope had rubbed his wrists raw. The murmur of voices upstairs stilled him. He strained to quiet his breathing in order to hear. Was Alsop on the phone? Did he have an accomplice?

A woman spoke in low tones, her throaty voice a testament of years of cigarette smoking. “What were you thinking, Dan? This is kidnapping. Now you’ll have to kill him, you dumbass.”

“You said no killing. I was just to scare him and the girl.”

“Yeah, and you nearly killed a little old grandmother.”

“That was an accident. Besides, I got away, so don’t call me a dumbass.”

“Yeah? What about Vic?”

Dan raised his voice. “I didn’t kill Vic! I told you.”

“Then who did?”

“Baby, we talked about this last night. I may bend the law a bit, but I’m no killer.”

Bend the law a bit?

Assuming that was Barbara Bloom upstairs, Joe was in deep trouble. They needed him to take them to the Darrin. Without it, the FBI would have to find another faked collectible. With it, Joe Desalvo was dead meat. They couldn’t afford to let him go.

Their footsteps thundered down the stairs. Dan yanked at his arm. “It’s almost dark. Let’s take a little ride, kid. See if we can find ourselves a Kaiser Darrin.”

Special Agent Adam Ferguson’s promise to find Joe failed to calm Sally’s panic. No one in local law enforcement had contacted Joe about retrieving the Darrin. Sally needed to talk to Lucinda and Grandma, who’d taken the bogus call. An overwhelming sense of urgency pushed Sally to join the hunt on her own. But she’d have to get past her bodyguard father.

“Justin, I need to run an errand.”

He slammed down the hood on the Olds. “I’m not drunk and I’m not stupid.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re upset. What’s happened?”

With a resigned sigh, Sally told him. “I have to find Joe. He’s in danger.”

“And put yourself in danger, too?” He moved to her, gripping her shoulders, as if he wanted to shake her.

The concern in his eyes threatened what was left of her composure. Her father did love her. Joe’d been right. She cleared the sob in her throat. “If I have to.”

“Then I’m comin’ with you. Close the shop.”

Within minutes they were speeding toward the Desalvos’ home. Her father drove his pickup expertly through the afternoon rush hour traffic. He’d maintained the old Ford even though he hadn’t driven it a lot in the past few years. Under different circumstances, Sally would’ve enjoyed the ride. Justin Clay still had the driving skills of a racer, seamlessly taking the truck through its gears, fearlessly passing slower traffic.

She gave him directions, pleased she remembered correctly, since both times she’d been there, she’d ridden with Joe. After her father parked the truck, Sally slid from the high cab to the ground. Lucinda rushed outside to greet them.

“Thank you for coming.” The agitated woman’s face wore the strain of too much worry. “Come inside.”

“We’re greasy. You’d better put us in lawn chairs.”

Lucinda shook her head. “Nonsense. I was married to a car enthusiast, remember?”

As they stepped inside the airy kitchen, Sally detected the aroma of fresh baked bread. Joe had said his mother handled stress by cooking. “Lucinda Desalvo, meet my father, Justin Clay.”

Justin wiped his palm against his overalls, then offered Lucinda his hand. “Mrs. Desalvo.”

“Lucinda
, please.” She shook hands. “I see the family resemblance. I know your brother Sal.”

“And this is Elinor Casale, Joe’s grandmother.” Sally drew in a sharp breath at Grandma’s appearance. Gone was the spark in her lively eyes.

“I took the call.”

“I know.” Sally moved beside Grandma and hugged her. “Was it a man or woman?”

“A smooth-talking man.” Grandma’s voice faltered.

“This isn’t your fault, Mama.” Lucinda’s pale skin and the lines at her mouth and eyes revealed her worry over her son’s safety.

“If Joe didn’t know the guy wasn’t on the level, how could you?” Sally led Grandma to a chair. “Don’t upset yourself. We’re going to find Joe.”

Lucinda tried to play hostess, offering them seats and cold drinks. But this was no social call and Sally wasn’t about to jeopardize those white upholstered chairs. Declining her hospitality, Sally got down to business. “Lucinda, whoever’s got Joe wants the Darrin. We need to know where he hid it.”

Lucinda frowned. “He didn’t tell us.”

“He told me he had it stashed in a horse barn in Simpsonville. Any ideas where?”

“Fia has a friend who once lived on a farm in Simpsonville. I don’t remember how to get there.”

Grandma pointed at Lucinda. “You talking about little Angie Gayle, who rode in horse shows with Sofia?”

“Yes, but what was her last name?”

“Call Fia.”

But when Lucinda telephoned her daughter at the veterinarian’s office, Fia was tangling with a Doberman and unable to take the call.

“That’s all right, Lucinda, just tell her to wait for us. We’re on our way.”

Lucinda scribbled directions to the clinic on a ruled pad, tore off the sheet, then thrust it at Sally. “Have Fia call me. Is there anything else I can do?”

Sally dug in her fanny pack for Special Agent Ferguson’s business card. She read off the cell phone number. “Call him and tell him where we’re headed. I’ll phone him with the directions after I talk to Fia.”

Ignoring the stiffness in her leg, Sally rushed to the pickup. With a boost from her dad, she pulled herself up into the cab. He had the truck in motion before she’d clicked on her seatbelt.

The silence between them grew unbearable. Sally gripped her hands together. “By the way, I need you to pickup a Packard Caribbean at Ellen Kennedy’s house Friday morning. She needs points, plugs, and an oil change. Maybe a grease job, too.”

He snorted. “Since when do we have a tow truck?”

Sally smiled at his use of we. “We don’t. I suppose I’ll drop you by there and you can drive the Packard back.”

“Who’s Ellen Kennedy?”

An attractive widow
. No, she’d not play matchmaker. She’d let nature take its course. “She’s one of the victims in this scam, although she doesn’t know it yet.”

“Another counterfeit engine?”

“Afraid so. I’m sure Bloom Desalvo assets will be seized and restitution made after the FBI finishes its case.”

“You’re talkin’ like your cousin Maggie.”

Sally sighed. “The last couple of weeks have taught me a thing or two about the law, an education I’d just as soon have skipped, thank you very much.”

No, not true. If not for the FBI’s case, she’d never have met Joe.

“So this Kennedy woman could be in danger, too, if the FBI wants the Caribbean?”

“I hadn’t thought of that. She doesn’t know.” Sally shivered, wondering if the killer would go after the Caribbean after he destroyed the Darrin. “We should warn her.”

“Let the FBI handle it.”

Although the veterinarian’s office was closed when they arrived, Fia met them at the door and ushered them inside the waiting room. Already queasy from fear, Sally gagged at the odors of urine and wet fur.

“I just talked to Mom. Do you really think something’s happened to Joey?”

“I’m afraid so. Did she tell you what we need?”

Belatedly, Sally made introductions. Brendan joined Fia beside the counter and Fia explained to him what Sally and Justin were doing at his clinic after hours.