Czytaj książkę: «Ransom»

ONE

A crash from her sister’s bedroom brought Liz Cantrell bolt upright on the couch. She was alone in the apartment she shared with her sister and had been seated with her feet tucked beneath her, trying hard to be interested in the movie on the television with no success. She muted the sound and listened.

A floorboard creaked.

No way was that from the blustery January wind outside her second-story apartment.

Someone was definitely in Jillian’s room.

Alarm flooded Liz’s veins.

“Please, Lord,” she whispered as she fumbled to grab her phone from her sweatpants’ pocket.

A thud and then a man’s deep growl jolted her into action.

No time to call for help. She had to get out of there. Fast. She jumped to her feet and hurried to open the apartment door. The hinge squeaked as loud as a shotgun blast.

Thunder rumbled through the apartment.

Not thunder, but feet. A tall figure, wearing a plastic masquerade mask like those worn at Mardi Gras time and dressed all in black, rushed out of Jillian’s room. He had Jillian’s big burl-wood jewelry box—thankfully not their mother’s special jewelry box—in his gloved hands, spilling the contents of Jillian’s costume jewelry on the floor as he ran toward Liz.

Adrenaline fueled her fear. She whirled away and ran for the stairs leading to her family’s antique shop, her slippers snagging on the old carpet. The walls of the stairwell seemed to close in on her. She hated dark, confined spaces.

She pushed through her anxiety to scuttle down the stairs as fast as she could. The man came after her, breathing down her neck like a monster from a horror flick, adding to the fear tightening her chest and constricting her throat.

Before she reached the bottom of the staircase, the burglar grabbed a handful of her hair. With a painful jerk, he brought her to a halt and pushed her face-first against the stairwell wall. Pain exploded in her cheek and radiated through her head. Would he kill her? She squeezed her eyes tight, tensing her body in preparation to fight back and sent up an urgent prayer. God, help me! Help me, please.

“Where’s the necklace?” her attacker growled in her ear. His hot, stale breath made her gag.

“What?” Liz struggled to process what was happening. Why had this man broken into her home? What was he talking about? “What necklace?”

“Come on, Jillian, Travis bragged to me he’d lifted it from Santini’s shipment to give to you. Since Travis is so stupid to not keep his mouth shut, he doesn’t deserve it. And neither does Santini, the pig.” He pressed his weight into her, his knee jamming into her thigh, his elbow crammed into her back at the tender spot below her ribs. “Give it to me or I’ll kill you!”

His words beat into her, almost paralyzing her with terror. He thought she was Jillian. What would the man do when he realized she wasn’t Jillian but rather her sister? Kill her, then go after Jillian? She couldn’t let that happen. She had to protect her little sister.

Stark terror spurred her to action. She kicked her heel back hard and connected with his shin, eliciting a grunt. She followed with a backward elbow jab to his sternum just as her godfather, the town sheriff, had taught her when she was in high school.

The assailant’s hold loosened. She grasped her hair and yanked the clump free from his hand, ignoring the biting pain of strands being ripped from her head. She fled down the remaining stairs into the dark store. He chased after her.

The street lamp outside provided enough light for her to navigate through the antiques filling every square space of the shop her father had bequeathed to her and her sister.

She knocked over a short bookcase filled with rare first editions, hoping to slow her attacker for fear he’d catch her before she could escape.

She made it to the front door and flipped the latch. The door unlocked with a click that was drowned out by her shallow breathing. Opening the door would trigger the silent alarm and send the authorities. With a vicious push, she burst out of the store into the frigid night air, nearly bowling over an older couple walking a big Rottweiler. The dog strained against his leash and barked.

“Help me, please!” She grasped at the older man’s arm.

While the couple stood there, mouths agape, she caught a glimpse of the masked man as he barreled out the door onto the sidewalk. He paused for a fraction of a second, his gaze landing on the Rottweiler. He backed up as his gaze jumped to Liz and the elderly couple. With an audible rumble of frustration, he bolted in the opposite direction and disappeared down the darkened street.

A whoosh of relief gushed through her, followed closely by an invading sense of violation. The man had broken into her home and assaulted her. Why was he searching for the mysterious necklace? Neither she nor her sister owned anything of value. He’d said Travis had lifted it—stolen, he meant. Liz had never thought much of Travis from the moment Jillian had brought him home to meet her.

“Oh, my,” the gray-haired elderly woman exclaimed. “We should call the police.”

The older man patted his pockets. “I don’t have my phone with me.”

“I do,” Liz said just as the jangle of her cell phone in her sweatpants’ pocket startled her. With shaky hands, she fished the device out and glanced at the caller ID.

Jillian.

Liz’s heart jumped. An icy rush of dread washed over her. After the harrowing experience of the break-in, Liz’s imagination took flight with all sorts of horrific scenarios.

She pressed the answer button. “Jillian?”

“Lizzie, I need you to do something for me.” Jillian’s voice came over the line with a definite quiver.

Every nerve ending in Liz’s body alerted, ready to do whatever was needed to help her baby sister. “Are you okay?”

“I need you to bring me Mom’s jewelry box. It’s tucked into the bottom drawer of my dresser.”

“What’s going on, Jillian? Some man just broke in—”

“Lizzie, listen to me. I need you to do this.” Jillian’s sharp tone was so out of character. Pleading, wheedling and coaxing was more her style. Something was definitely wrong.

“Jillian, Travis is mixed—”

Jillian’s yelp cut Liz off. The sound of a scuffle on the other end of the line terrified her.

“Jillian!”

“Listen up,” a deep male voice said into Liz’s ear, sending a shiver of fear down her spine. “If you ever want to see your sister again, alive, you’ll bring the necklace to Fort George by noon Monday. Come alone. No police, or your sister and her no-good husband are dead.”

Panic revved in her blood. “Who is this? What have you done to my sister?”

The click of the call disconnecting slammed into Liz. Her mind raced. Her first instinct was to dial 911. To seek help from the authorities. Sheriff Ward had always counseled them to come to him if they were ever in trouble. This certainly counted as trouble.

No police, the man had said.

Jillian’s life was in danger. Jillian needed Liz to act on the promise Liz had made to their father on his deathbed.

Watch over your little sister, Lizzie, girl, he’d said. You’re the level-headed one. She’s going to need you.

Now more than ever Jillian needed Liz.

Liz dialed Jillian’s phone, but it went straight to voice mail. What did that mean? Fear clawed up her throat.

She called the hotel where Jillian and Travis were staying and had the desk clerk ring the honeymoon couple’s room, but there was no answer. Liz forced down her panic, knowing if ever there was a time to be calm and clearheaded, it was now.

She refused to think the worst. Not yet anyway. She had a deadline to make. Her sister’s life depended on it.

* * *

Liz flexed her fingers on the armrests of her seat as the plane dipped with turbulence as it made its approach to her destination. She didn’t like flying, in fact, didn’t enjoy leaving the island at all. She’d gone off to college at her father’s urging, only going as far as Charleston. And that had seemed miles away from the serene island home that Liz loved. She’d returned home for good two years later when Dad had had his heart attack.

But for her sister’s sake, Liz was heading north to bring the ransom to free her sister.

Last night, after convincing the sheriff she was okay, she’d spent the rest of the night locked in the downstairs office at the back of the store. She hadn’t wanted to take a chance on the intruder returning to find her even though the sheriff had promised a car would patrol the neighborhood.

She’d felt so guilty not confiding to him that Jillian had been kidnapped. But she couldn’t risk her sister’s life.

Staring out the oval plane window, she could see the white world outside as the plane descended toward the runway in Buffalo, New York. She couldn’t appreciate the snowy scenic view with her mind racing ahead with all that she needed to do.

Anxiousness made her antsy as she filed out of the plane and up the jet bridge along with everyone else. The frigid air seeping in from outside made her glad she’d worn her thick fleece-lined down jacket. Still, the chilly air finding its way through the collar of her coat sent a shudder through her. This was a different kind of cold than she was used to. It was biting, like the air had teeth and wanted to sink into her all the way to the bone.

As she exited the jet bridge into the welcome warmth of the terminal, two men stepped into her path. She barely glanced at them before sidestepping, but they followed her move and blocked her exit.

Irritated by the rude behavior, she ground out, “Excuse me.”

“Elizabeth Cantrell?”

The deep, smooth voice that hinted at an American Southern drawl stopped her in her tracks. Her attention snapped to the men. How did they know her name?

Both men were tall, broad-shouldered and handsome, yet very different. One had jet-black hair and looked to be of Native American descent. His warm brown eyes regarded her with curiosity. He was dressed in jeans, a warm winter jacket and boots still dusted with snow.

However, the other man’s obsidian gaze wasn’t warm or curious. He stared at her with such accusation that she took a step back. He wore a wool trench coat buttoned all the way up to the collar and black slacks and black shoes that didn’t look nearly warm enough for the weather. His dark brown hair was short and tousled, as if he’d run his fingers through the strands several times. If she weren’t so freaked out, she’d have found him handsome, but at the moment all she felt was annoyed and scared and intimidated. A combination that made her body tense.

“I’m Liz Cantrell. What do you want?” She hated that her voice trembled. Were these men sent from the man who had her sister? But how would the man know which plane she was on? A creeping sensation skated over her neck. She was being watched?

The man with curious eyes said softly, “Canada Border Services, ma’am.”

What? A panicked flutter started low in her tummy.

“US federal agent,” the other said in a low tone. “Come with us.”

Neither man wore any identifying logos. Caution told her not to trust them. Wariness crept into her voice. “How do I know you’re telling me the truth?”

The federal agent pushed aside his coat just far enough to reveal his gold shield. Then he slid his coat back into place.

A fresh wave of panic washed over her. These men were law enforcement. She couldn’t go with them. To do so would jeopardize her sister’s life. The man on the phone had told her not to involve the police or he’d kill Jillian and Travis.

She searched for an exit but realized the men had boxed her in. Even if she attempted to run, she wouldn’t get very far and would only draw attention to herself. To them. What did they want with her? “Why? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

The two men shared a glance, then the federal agent stepped to her side and gripped her by the elbow. His big hand was firm but gentle. His woodsy scent surrounded her in such contrast to his cold and accusing demeanor.

“This way, Miss Cantrell,” the CBS officer said.

Despite not wanting to attract attention, every instinct in her screamed she shouldn’t acquiesce. The man on the phone had told her no police. But these men couldn’t know that. And if they knew she had been on this flight, then that meant the kidnapper could also have eyes on her.

“Please, you have to let me go.” She dug in her heels but couldn’t keep the two men from surreptitiously forcing her to move forward.

“Wait.” Her voice rose. She winced. It wouldn’t do to show her panic. She collected herself and continued in a hiss, “Where are you taking me?”

They ignored her question and led her away from curious gazes and through a door discreetly situated behind a kiosk. They went down a long hallway. Terror gripped her. Where were they taking her? What would they do with her? To her? What would happen to Jillian? She sent up a silent plea to God for help.

She struggled to free herself but her captors wouldn’t let go. The long corridor seemed endless. The tight wall too close. Another door was pushed open, and she was thrust inside a small room that held a metal table and two chairs on either side. High in the corner a red light blinked on a camera. She was in an interrogation room, one like she’d seen on countless television shows.

A ripple of anxiety coursed through her veins, making her blood turn to ice. Why were they detaining her? How long would this take? What if the man holding her sister hostage found out? What if they took the ransom?

“We’ll be right with you,” the CBS officer said before shutting the door and locking her inside.

The faint smell of antibacterial cleaner burned her nostrils. She hated to contemplate the many germs that had contaminated the room. It wasn’t that she was a germophobe per se. But she couldn’t afford to catch a sickness now. Not when her sister’s life was in jeopardy.

Hysteria bubbled up at the ridiculous direction her brain went. A coping mechanism? The walls closed in on her making her skin crawl with desperation.

Frantic to escape, she looked for a possible exit besides the locked door. A window high in the wall was the only possibility. Pulling her jacket sleeves over her hands for protection against picking up bacteria or a virus, she tugged at the table but it wouldn’t budge. The feet had been bolted to the floor. Using the sleeve of her jacket, she dragged the chair over to the wall below the window and stepped up. Unfortunately, she still couldn’t reach the window. So much for escaping. She pounded a fist against the wall, the pain barely registering in her desperate mind.

She jumped down and wedged herself into the corner. Wrapping her arms around her middle, she prayed with everything in her. She’d been entrusted by their father to keep her sister out of trouble. She hadn’t done a very good job this time. Thinking back over the many times Liz had had to bail Jillian out of one scrape or another made this latest folly that much worse. Jillian was an adult, but her judgment and maturity hadn’t caught up to the number of candles on her last birthday cake.

Dad would be so disappointed. But Liz solemnly vowed to her father’s memory that she would do whatever it took to save her sister.

* * *

US Immigration and Customs Enforcement agent Blake Fallon watched the woman on the video screen. Elizabeth Cantrell. Or Liz, as she’d been clear to correct him.

Her DMV picture didn’t do her justice. Her honey-colored hair draped loosely about her shoulders, and her thick-lashed blue-green eyes reminded him of the Caribbean. The puffy, knee-length jacket hid her figure except for slender, jean-encased legs. The red color of her outerwear highlighted the pink in her cheeks.

His lips had twitched when she’d tried to reach the window. Good for her for at least trying. She was going to need to be brave and brash for what he had planned. He hoped she had the mental and physical mettle to help him bring down an international criminal.

“Here we go,” Canada Border Service officer Nathanial Longhorn said as he entered the room.

Blake and Nathanial served together on one of many joint teams consisting of various law enforcement agencies between the United States and Canada called Integrated Border Enhancement Teams—IBETs for short. Other members of their team were working to find the illegal contraband smuggler Idris Santini’s far-flung bases of operation in Canada, the United States and Venezuela.

Santini was like a cloud of smoke, visible one moment, then disappearing the next. But now Blake had a viable lead. A way of drawing Santini out into the open where Blake and his team would snag him in a tight net, like the dangerous critter he was. But to do so, Blake would need Liz’s cooperation. He’d get it by any means possible.

Nathanial lugged Miss Cantrell’s suitcase onto the table next to the video feed and popped open the lid. Nestled inside between Liz’s clothing was a small wooden jewelry box. Roses and a hummingbird decorated the lid and sides. It was delicate and appeared old. A family heirloom?

So far Blake’s information from his confidential informant inside the Santini organization had proved correct—a woman named Elizabeth Cantrell was planning to bring contraband for Santini into Canada via the border crossing in Buffalo, New York.

Blake snagged the jewelry box and lifted the lid. The rough stone necklace he’d been told about lay at the bottom of the box. He breathed out a relieved breath and untangled the necklace, then stretched it out on the table.

Nathanial snorted. “That’s it? Huh. Not what I pictured.”

The stones weren’t pretty and sparkly like polished, cut diamonds, but were still ill-gotten gains from the blood and sweat of people forced into labor in horrible mining conditions in a developing nation. “These gemstones may not look like much, but each one, when polished and cut, will be worth millions. There’s a rumor the head of Venezuela’s most violent gang had the necklace fashioned for his wife as an anniversary gift. Santini won’t get paid if he doesn’t produce the necklace before the date.”

Nathanial whistled. “No wonder Santini’s so hot to get his hands on it.”

“Yes.” Acid churned in Blake’s gut at the thought of Idris Santini. A man who’d stop at nothing to get what he wanted. Santini and his syndicate of smugglers funded an illegal mining operation in Venezuela. Though the authorities had tried unsuccessfully on numerous occasions to shut down the mine, Santini either bought off or killed anyone who endeavored to thwart him.

A joint effort between the IBETs and the current Venezuelan government had tracked Santini’s latest shipment to Miami, then to Canada. But by the time the IBETs team had the intel, the goods and Santini had disappeared.

Until today. Word was that a single, valuable piece had supposedly been stolen by one of his lower level minions to give as a gift to the man’s unwitting fiancée. Blake’s informant on the inside stated that Santini had personally abducted not only his man but the man’s new wife, Ms. Cantrell’s sister, and were holding the couple hostage in exchange for the necklace.

Thus Liz Cantrell was making the trek north.

That the woman hadn’t panicked but had followed the kidnapper’s instructions spoke to her determination. But not involving the police was pure recklessness. Liz Cantrell was no match for the likes of Santini.

Blake’s gut twisted. He hated to think what would happen to Liz and her sister if he didn’t intercede.

After swiping the necklace from the table Blake stuffed it back into the jewelry box, then headed into the interrogation room.

Liz had her back propped against the wall, her arms around her torso as if holding herself together. Her gaze lifted from the floor to him. Her pale complexion and frightened eyes tugged at him. He didn’t make a habit of intentionally scaring women. But he had to make sure she was malleable so when the time came she’d follow his directions without question. If the need arose her compliance could be the difference between life and death.

Her gaze dropped to the box in his hands. “That’s mine.” She pushed away from the wall. “You opened my suitcase.”

He set the box on the table. “That’s what happens when you carry undocumented diamonds.”

She made a face. “Diamonds? What are you talking about?”

He narrowed his focus on her. Did she really not know? Or was she playing him? His informant inside Santini’s operation said she was an innocent pawn.

Maybe.

Blake rarely trusted anyone. Let alone a man willing to sell out his boss.

Or most women.

In his experience women in general made the best liars and broke their promises much too easily. Truth and fidelity were moving targets, not hard and fast ideals.

But they were ideals that he honored.

He’d let himself be sucked in before by a woman to only be disappointed and hurt when the inevitable happened. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. Instead he took to heart his father’s motto, never let your guard down.

He shook off the memories scratching at his mind. The here and now needed his attention. Santini was the objective. And this woman standing before him was the means to an end. Nothing more.

Blake had pressed his informant for Santini’s location, but the man was more afraid of Santini than Blake. It was one thing to report a goods transaction and an entirely different one to give the cops Santini’s whereabouts. The informant had bolted, and Blake hadn’t heard from him since. But at least Blake had Liz Cantrell. She would lead him to Santini.

Lifting the lid, Blake grasped the diamond necklace, holding it up for her to see. “This.”

Her eyes widened. “Those are just rocks.”

“No, Miss Cantrell, they aren’t.” He dropped the necklace. It landed on the table with a clatter. Twelve stones, held together by thin gold wire. “Those are uncut diamonds. Illegally trafficked from the mines of Venezuela.”

She shook her head. “No.” A hand flew to her throat. “Oh, no.” Anger clouded her eyes. “Those aren’t mine.”

“Are you telling me you’re carrying them for a friend?” He tsked and shook his head. “Not the smartest move.”

Her lip curled. “You don’t understand.”

“Try me.”

She lifted her chin but remained mute. He had to give her props. She had a spine of steel so far. He didn’t know many who’d face him with such bravado, especially women.

He waited, letting the silence draw out. Her expressive eyes revealed her inner turmoil. She was struggling to keep from talking but something held her back.

Was she also more afraid of Santini than Blake?

Picking up the necklace, Blake said, “I’d hate to think you were caught up in something that might land you in jail. Or worse.”

She shivered and licked her lips. “May I have some water, please?”

A stall tactic. It wouldn’t do her any good to put off telling him what he wanted to know, but he nodded. A moment later, Nathanial brought in a small cup filled with water. Liz drank it down as if she was dying of thirst in a vast desert.

Nathanial left the room.

Deciding to try a different approach, Blake sat, giving her the illusion of authority. “We’re here to help you, Ms. Cantrell. All you need to do is trust us.”

“I wish I could,” she whispered.

Ah, her resolve was weakening. Maybe another little nudge. “If you work with us, then there’s less likelihood of going to jail.”

“I have to leave,” she said with an urgency that sent an alert to his senses.

“What’s the rush?” He steepled his hands. “Are you meeting a buyer for the stones?”

Shaking her head, she insisted, “No, it’s not like that.”

She was close to caving. He would get what he wanted from her. “The only way you get out of here is by cooperating. Tell me what it is like. And tell me the truth.”

Rubbing at her temples, she said, “I can’t. He said no police. He’ll kill my sister.”

So his informant was correct. An innocent woman’s life was in danger. Now more than ever he needed Liz’s assistance. “The only way to get your sister back safely is if you tell me everything.”

When she remained stubbornly silent, he reined in his frustration and pushed harder at her with his words. “You see how this is a sticky situation for you?” Blake nodded to the necklace. “You’ve been caught red-handed with illegal contraband. We could arrest you and put you in jail.”

Her eyes grew round with panic. “No, if you do that my sister is dead.”

He felt no satisfaction in threatening her. “Then cooperate with me.”

A pained expression crossed her face, then she seemed to come to a decision. She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin and met his gaze again, showing her spunk in the way her eyes sparked. “My sister married a man who is mixed up in something bad. Something that neither Jillian nor I have anything to do with. Now she’s been kidnapped.” She glanced at the stones on the table. “Those are her ransom. If I don’t deliver them to—” she frowned but there was no mistaking the unshed tears filling her eyes “—to Fort George by noon tomorrow, he’ll kill her.”

Anticipation revved in his veins. “Who is he?”

She wiped at an escaped tear. “I don’t know,” she ground out. “We didn’t exchange pleasantries.”

She stepped closer, her pretty face taking on a pleading expression that jabbed at Blake. He fought off the sensation. He couldn’t let her get to him. He wouldn’t be that weak. His job was his life. And he wouldn’t let anything interfere with his job. Especially not a beautiful, gutsy woman, no matter how much respect she stirred in him.

“Please, you have to let me go. My sister’s life depends on me giving that stupid necklace back.”

“I could charge you with smuggling or even terrorism,” Blake stated, gauging her reaction. Her distress appeared sincere. But he had to be sure. He had to know she wasn’t involved. That she wasn’t lying to him.