Thriller (56 page)

Karen’s despair overwhelmed her. “I can see that happening

all right.”

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Scanlon nodded. “Sarcasm won’t help. There are some alternatives. None is perfect, and they all take time.”

“You’ll understand if I don’t think spending the next two years

cutting through bureaucratic red tape to get Deidre back through

channels is a great solution.”

She cued up the last of the video again and checked the time

stamp on the image. “He’s been gone more than six hours. By private plane, he could easily be in Toronto already.” Karen knew

Jeffrey wouldn’t have risked planning to return on a commercial

flight.

“We’ll check the airlines to be sure,” he paused. “Otherwise,

I’m afraid we’re hosed here.”

Karen felt a slow burn rising from her toes to the top of her

hair. Every nerve ending alert. Beverly dead. Deidre missing. Jeffrey London gone.

Case closed?

Not a chance.

After the fifth lap, cold rain pelting her body, punishing her

for screwing up, Karen began to feel a bit better. Although her

racing days were long over, swimming still cleared her head. The

water slid past her wet skin. She completed a dive and turn underwater, gliding through the silky depths back to the surface,

flawlessly resuming the forward crawl. She used the steady

rhythm that allowed her mind to strategize. The problem wasn’t

finding Jeffrey but extracting Deidre from Canada. And then

keeping the girl away from Jeffrey. She finished fifteen laps while

the plan worked itself out.

When she left the practice of law, disillusioned and angry with

its compromises and failures, she’d turned to writing travel

books, seeking a totally different life. She quickly discovered she

loved the work. It satisfied her in a way she’d never expected.

And it allowed her to work privately as a recovery specialist, unencumbered by the rules lawyers were required to follow.

The lifestyle suited her. She traveled to research her books, but

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she carefully selected worthy clients and fashioned solutions for

them that achieved desired results. Clients like Beverly London

and her sister, Brenda.

Karen frowned and shook water from her eyes. Jeffrey would

never leave
his
child alone unless he was in prison or dead.

There was no middle ground. She must resolve that problem, too.

She needed a final solution.

Karen swam, one arm over the other, legs kicking, diving and

turning, ignoring the wind that chilled her whenever she rose

above the water. Her plan resolved, she finished with ten laps of

relaxing side strokes. Finally, she floated on her back, allowing

the icy rain to drench her face. The cool air now felt refreshing

because she knew what she was going to do.

Karen waited several months, long enough for Jeffrey to relax

into complacency before she flew from Tampa to Buffalo. At the

airport she rented an anonymous-looking gray sedan. She’d

avoided a nonstop flight to Toronto. Although faster and easier,

she’d be dependent on flight schedules for the return. Since 9/11,

airport security had become irritatingly problematic. She’d be required to prove Deidre’s identity, which would make them easier to stop and trace. No, driving into and out of Canada was best.

Reluctantly, she rejected buying an untraceable gun on the

streets of Buffalo. Taking a gun into Canada was a serious crime.

Canadian citizens weren’t allowed to carry concealed weapons.

Even owning them was severely restricted. If she was caught

she’d be arrested and probably imprisoned. Deidre would certainly be returned to her father. No, the risk was too great. She’d

take Deidre away from Jeffrey permanently using guile alone. She

refused to fail again.

Karen drove to Lewiston, New York, and checked into a momand-pop motel. She rented the room for two nights. Tomorrow,

she’d test her plan. The following day, she’d execute it.

She slept lightly for four hours, then dressed casually in khaki

slacks, pink shirt, blue blazer and running shoes. She grabbed

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her shoulder-length blond hair into a ponytail and studied herself in the mirror, pleased by the guileless soccer-mom effect

she’d created.

It was dark at 5:00 a.m. as she drove toward the LewistonQueenston Bridge. Jeffrey would expect her to take the shortest

route to and from Toronto. She intended to oblige. Drive time

was seventy-five minutes, barring construction or heavy traffic.

The border crossing went well. Off season, during the week,

the area was almost deserted both ways. Very few travelers meant

only one of the two customs booths were open. As in most of

the small tourist towns, the Canadian customs officer simply

asked her name, nationality, where she was going and when she

planned to return. She’d offered the typical tourist’s response for

a visit to Niagara Falls and paid the toll. He’d waved her through

without asking for ID.
May the return be so easy,
she thought.

She reached the private school where her research revealed

Deidre was enrolled. After circling the block twice to be sure Jeffrey wasn’t lurking and didn’t have Deidre under surveillance, she

parked in front. She had a clear view of the playground while

waiting for 10:15 a.m. It nagged her that Jeffrey seemed to have

allowed Deidre out of his control. Was he that sure of himself?

Had he arrogantly assumed she had given up? What was she

missing?

At 10:15 a.m., a young woman led twenty energetic children

out the door to the playground. She spotted Deidre. When she

saw the little girl with the strawberry curls for the first time,

Karen’s eyes teared. She wiped her eyes with her fingers, willing

the tears away. No time for sorrow now. The job demanded her

full attention.

Deidre seemed quiet and unfocused, but functional. Eyes dull

and heavy-lidded, she stood apart from the other children clutching a rag doll under her left arm and sucking her right thumb.

A low flame of suppressed anger began in Karen’s stomach.

Deidre’s parents had been locked into their own rage, unable to

put Deidre’s life first. The child would never be normal again.

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Deidre was a victim of a tragic struggle. All Karen could do now

was try to mitigate the damage. And get the bastard responsible.

Like every good lawyer, she’d analyzed the risks, then constructed plan A and plan B. With plan A, she and Deidre returned

home without Jeffrey’s interference, luring him back into the U.S.

where authorities would arrest him. Plan B provided an alternative if Jeffrey attempted to thwart her. He would be dealt with at

the border crossing. At least, in theory.

Yet again, she regretted the decision she’d had to make about

the gun and prayed her alternative would work, even if it cost

her her own life.

As always before executing the final stages of retrieval, Karen

slept fitfully. Finally, at 4:00 a.m., she gave up the effort.

She arrived at the school two hours early and parked down

the street, waiting for Deidre’s arrival. Just before nine, a station

wagon stopped. A young woman helped Deidre out of the back

seat, and held her hand as they walked to the school’s front entrance. The woman was gentle with Deidre, but Deidre demonstrated no affection when they parted. Deidre walked into the

school, slowly and alone, dragging the rag doll with her. The

woman returned to the station wagon and left.

When the children entered the playground for recess, Karen

left her car and strolled over. She called to Deidre twice. The child

looked up. A broad grin slowly lit her face. Deidre loped toward

her. “Aunt Karen!” she said, crying as Karen picked her up and

hugged her, too tightly. The child felt thinner inside her clothes.

Karen’s sadness, followed by hot anger, returned.

Within a few moments, Karen had explained to Deidre’s

teacher that Deidre had a dentist’s appointment and produced a

forged note from Jeffrey allowing her to take the child. The

teacher looked at Karen carefully, but released Deidre, probably

in part because Deidre continued to hold on to Karen as if she

never wanted to let go. Less than fifteen minutes after Karen first

saw Deidre on the playground, they were driving toward Lewiston. So far, plan A seemed to be working.

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Constantly checking the rearview mirror, she retraced the

route she’d taken the day before. Deidre, securely belted in the

back seat, had returned to her subdued behavior. She talked

quietly to the rag doll she’d brought along with her. About an

hour into the drive, her eyelids closed, her chin gently

touched her chest and she fell into the rhythm of sleep. A bit

of drool slid from the corner of her mouth onto the doll’s

head. She was so young, so sweet. So undeserving of this

mess. Karen clenched the steering wheel so tight her hands

cramped.

Was Jeffrey controlling her with medication of some kind? Another thing to despise him for. She glanced at her watch. Just like

yesterday, she was right on time.

When they approached the border crossing, Karen located

the passports, prepared to show them if she had to. She’d seen

no sign of Jeffrey or anyone following her for the entire return

trip, which worried her.

Jeffrey was crazy, violent, controlling. She’d expected him to

know where Deidre was every second, and to come after her. Or

at least, Jeffrey should have learned Deidre was abducted and reasoned that Karen would take the shortest route back to the U.S.

So far, she hadn’t seen Jeffrey. But her senses were on alert.

She’d learned never to underestimate him. There was something

she’d missed. Somehow, she believed, when they reached the border, he’d be there. Plan B. Could she pull it off?

Supremely focused now, she drove over the bridge without

noticing the spectacular views of Niagara Gorge. At the U.S.

checkpoint, the line of vehicles moved swiftly through the single

open kiosk. She looked into the cinder-block customs building,

which also housed the duty-free store. She saw one officer behind

the counter, and one clerk in the store waiting on a customer.

While she watched, the customer carried a bottle of liquor in

a plain brown bag to the rusty battered panel van in front of her

and got in. The panel van belched smoke when it backfired, and

its muffler had long ago surrendered to the rust belt.

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Midweek, off season, at lunchtime, the entire area was relaxed, thinly patrolled and almost deserted. She hoped this would

make Jeffrey more obvious, if he appeared and tried anything.

Karen mentally rehearsed the lie she’d tell if the customs officer asked her more than routine questions. Yesterday, the

process was casual, easy, intended to encourage tourism, not to

thwart a kidnapper.

Two cars ahead passed through the checkpoint. When the

panel van jerked toward the kiosk window, Karen pulled up and

waited at the yellow line. The van blocked her view of the officer. She glanced again toward the duty-free store. She saw a lone

figure, vaguely familiar, standing outside.

Jeffrey. He’d shaved his head and wore sunglasses. She didn’t

know how he’d found her, but he had. A tracking device on Deidre somewhere? Regular calls to the school just to check on his

daughter? However he’d managed it, he was here now. She had

to move. Adrenaline made her heart pound and sweat bead on

her brow. Plan B.
Stay calm.

Checking the rearview, she realized she’d have to move forward.

An eighteen-wheeler six feet behind blocked any alternative.

The officer in the kiosk seemed to be chatting too long with

the occupants of the van. But she couldn’t see him, and he

couldn’t see her. She tapped the steering wheel impatiently.

Mimicking the guy who’d joined the van, Jeffrey strolled toward her car. Quiet panic fluttered in her chest as she watched

him. Did anyone else see him? He reached the door, looked directly into her eyes as if to mesmerize her, grasped the handle

and lifted it.

The locked door didn’t open. Then he glanced into the back

seat where Deidre slept, covered by the blanket Karen had

brought, still holding the doll. A smirk creased his face. It was

the doll. That’s where he’d hidden the tracking device.
Bastard.

You think you’re so clever. We’ll see.

Karen lowered the back window and Jeffrey stuck his left

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hand on top of the glass. “Go away, Jeffrey, while you still can.

If you try anything here, they’ll kill you. Your choice.”

He laughed. “You’re kidnapping my child, Karen. Do you really think they’ll take your side over mine?”

While he held on to the glass and the door handle Karen

punched the accelerator. The car leaped forward. Jeffrey lost his balance. She slammed the brake. The car’s quick jerk threw him to the

ground. Her actions, and Jeffrey’s, were blocked from the customs

officer’s view by the panel van, which moved forward now, slowly,

through the gate. Maybe surveillance cameras saw him. Surely, the

border guards would protect her and the child. She hoped.