Authors: Penny McCall
His own judgment wasn’t proving quite so sound or reliable. He’d trusted Patrice and doubted Vivi right down the line. Sure, he had good reasons, but that was little comfort at the moment because, looking back, he could see what he’d purposefully ignored all along. Patrice Hanlon had every reason to hate him, and all the time she’d been pretendingto care, she’d been easing her way into his trust and biding her time. And yeah, it had taken him years to completely trust her, but he still felt like a fool.
He had to thank her for the perspective, though. Compared to Patrice’s betrayal, what Vivi had done was nothing.
“You should call Mike and have him activate a hostage team,” Tag said.
“You and I both know that isn’t going to fly,” Daniel said. “It’ll be come alone or Vivi dies, and it won’t be an idle threat.”
“Then take Patrice out today.”
“I called already. Her housekeeper says she’s out of the city for a couple of days. She’s gone under.”
“The guy in jail—”
“Patrice is his cousin, but that’s all I could get him to admit to before his lawyer showed up and shut me down. Once Patrice finds out he told me that much, he’s going to suffer an unfortunate accident in the jail yard.”
“Sounds like she’s pretty well covered,” Tag said. “I can change my flight.”
“No point,” Daniel replied, “unless you can help me figure out where Vivi is being held.”
“Can’t do that, but I know someone who can. Her name is Harmony Swift, and when she shows up at your door it will help if you trust her.”
“Not another woman,” Daniel groaned. “I’m plagued by women. No offense, Alex,” he added since he knew she was listening in.
“None taken,” Alex said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “I feel pretty much the same about men. Present company included.”
“I hate to break up the act,” Tag said, “but our plane is about to board. Pierce, you’re not going to get official assistance, so you’re going to need the unofficial kind. Harmony Swift is in analysis. She’s dying to get in the field, reads every file she can, listens in on all the wiretaps, and she’s a whiz at research because a large portion of her job is tracking violators on the Internet. If anyone can find Vivi, Harm can, and she’ll keep it on the q.t.”
“She’d be willing to do that for me?”
“She’d be willing to do that for me,” Tag said.
Daniel thanked him and disconnected, deciding it would be a good time for him to bow out of the conversation. Tag was the one who’d been stupid enough to confirm Alex’s opinion of men. Tag could face the consequences.
Daniel had his own woman troubles to deal with.
ALL IN ALL, VIVI THOUGHT, SHE WAS PRETTY COMFORTABLE. Okay, her hands were plastic-tied again, but her feet were loose and there was no chance of drowning. She was sitting on a car seat, a really nice car seat, butter-soft leather, lumbar support, and a headrest with built-in speakers that were, unfortunately, out of commission since there was no car and therefore no radio in the immediate vicinity. There were lots of cars nearby, not to mention trucks, semis, taxicabs, and one school bus. They were all in various stages of disassembly, chop-shop style, which explained her carless car seat . . .
Then it dawned on her, or rather it flashed across her mind. Daniel, lying on the ground with staring, lifeless eyes. And in the background, there’d been a wide assortment of vehicles in various stages of disassembly, chop-shop style.
It took her a minute to get past the horror of that vision, the complete and utter terror that she suddenly found herself in the place Daniel was supposed to die, and the fear that maybe she’d gone about this thing all wrong and she wouldn’t be able to prevent it.
She could have escaped, since her feet weren’t secured, but there was Hatch, leaning against the side of a Jaguar chassis about twenty feet away. He held a gun loosely in his right hand, index finger lying straight along the trigger guard. He’d been told to watch her, and that’s what he did. His eyes, dark, empty holes in his otherwise nondescript face, never left her. She didn’t think he even blinked.
So she might as well make the best of it. “Where are we?” she asked Hatch.
Hatch didn’t answer. Not a multitasker. All his focus was going into watching her. Talking at the same time appeared to be too much to ask. Walking and chewing gum was probably out, too, but she had a feeling shooting was as natural to him as breathing.
“How long are we going to be here?”
No response from Hatch again.
“Patrice didn’t waste her time telling you what’s going on,” she said. “I guess you’re just a weapon to her, and you don’t have to keep the weapons informed.”
That got a rise out of Hatch. His eyes became even colder and harder, with an edge of violence that had a thin layer of control over it. He looked completely crazy, serial-killer, stalker crazy . . . Okay, now it made sense. Hatch had feelings for Patrice. Mental note, Vivi told herself: Don’t say anything negative about Patrice or her relationship with Hatch.
“Would you mind loosening my wrists?” she said instead. “This tie thing is cutting off the circulation, and it’s not like I’m going anywhere with you standing over me holding a gun.”
Hatch was back to silent staring.
“And while we’re on the subject, I’d like to lie down. Since we have to be here all night there’s no reason we both have to lose sleep. My butt is going numb—”
“I can put you out of your misery,” Hatch said, cocking the gun and putting it at her head.
“Never mind.”
AN HOUR AFTER HE TALKED TO TAG, DANIEL’S DOOR-BELL rang. He answered the door and there was a leggy blonde standing there, with an expression that was way too cheerful for an FBI agent. “Harmony Swift,” she said, “but you can call me Harm. Everybody does. And you’re Daniel Pierce.”
He nodded. “Are you from California, by any chance?”
“Yes, why?”
“You have one of those California names.” And she looked like she should be strolling down Rodeo Drive, all tanned skin and long legs and blonde hair, wearing one of those skimpy designer dresses and cuddling a ridiculous, Thumbelina-sized dog in her arms.
“Tag Donovan sent me. He said you have a problem.” She indicated the plastic-covered front wall of his house. “Is that it?”
“That’s just a symptom of the overall disease.”
“Not as ugly as chicken pox—lacks the oozing, scabby quality—but I still don’t think it will catch on.”
“Design by Ford Motor Co. It’s a long story.”
“And I hear your problem has an expiration date.”
“Is that why you broke land-speed records to get here?”
“Air-speed records maybe,” Harm said. “If there was an air-speed limit.”
“Mike sent you on a helicopter?”
“I sent myself on a helicopter.”
“Kind of unusual, isn’t it?”
She shrugged, smiling with pep. “It’s easier to do my job if I occasionally . . . circumvent procedure.”
Daniel decided not to question her rule-breaking habits, especially since it was to his advantage.
“Maybe we should get started,” she prompted.
Daniel stepped back, taking the computer bag off her shoulder as she came inside, and leading the way to his upstairs office. “There’s water and cold drinks in the refrigerator. Or I can make coffee.”
“All I need is the Internet.”
“Wireless,” he said, setting her shoulder bag on one end of the desk.
“Tag said there’s a contract out on you, so I checked the organized crime situation in Boston, since that’s the most likely source of a hired hit. It appears that someone is marshalling the individual factions of the Irish mob into one organization,” she said, sounding all business, the incarnationof looks-can-be-deceiving, “and it’s not Joe Flynn. His name is on all the wires, and the confidential informants are talking about him, but his actions don’t fit the circumstances.”
“What are the circumstances?”
“A sharp increase in the typical crimes: vehicle theft, protection in the South End and branching out, probably drugs as well, but that’s a little harder to quantify in the early stages. And then there’s the contract on you.”
She sat in the chair Daniel pulled over for her, took out her laptop, and got it running. “There’s been a team of agents on Flynn for the last six months. He does a lot of schmoozing, talks to a lot of people, but it seems like the conversations all run along the lines of the one he had with you.”
“At Cohan’s? I’m on FBI surveillance?”
“Yeah, but don’t sweat it, you’re not even close to the most interesting person he’s been seen with. Flynn spends a lot of time talking to politicians, community leaders, federal prosecutors . . .” She smiled over her shoulder at him. “What we don’t see is him with any known criminals, and he practically never drops off the radar, so—”
“He’s a front.”
“Yep. There’s someone else calling the shots, someone who’s happy to let good old Joe take all the bows while they stay behind the scene and run the show.”
“This is all really interesting, but it doesn’t solve my problem.”
“Right, kidnapped psychic. Hey, if she’s a psychic, why didn’t she predict her own kidnapping?”
“She arranged her own kidnapping,” Daniel said. “It’s a long story.”
“It sounds like an interesting story, and we’ve got all night.”
“We’ve got until two A.M. to figure out where Vivi is being held,” Daniel corrected her. “I need to go in before they’re expecting me, and they’re expecting me at four.”
“Slave driver,” Harmony said, but she lifted her hands, surgeonlike, and wiggled her fingers. “Let’s see what we can find out on the World Wide Web.”
“Start with the name Patrice Hanlon. Joe Flynn’s niece,” Daniel added.
Harmony twisted around to look at him. “That’s a little too coincidental—I know, it’s a long story.” And she turned back around and set to work.
When two A.M. rolled around they hadn’t made a lot of progress. No surprise there. If Patrice was forward-thinking enough to start gaining his trust seven years in advance, she’d be covered everywhere else. But it wasn’t her criminal activities that interested Daniel.
“I compiled a list of her real estate holdings, like you asked,” Harm said. “They’re scattered all over the city and the surrounding area. Quite a number of them are suitable for conducting criminal activities—or holding someone prisoner—without risking exposure.”
“Give me a hard copy of the properties,” he said evenly. Inside he was roaring in frustration, but having a meltdown wasn’t going to help him find Vivi.
“There are way too many to check out before your four A.M. deadline.”
Daniel didn’t feel a need to respond, seeing as that was obvious.
“Well,” Harm said, “this was fun. Give me a call the next time you need help not figuring something out.” She took one look at his face and lost her sunny California smile. “I’m sorry, Daniel. I wish there was something else I could do.”
Daniel let out his pent-up breath, and got out of his own head for the first time since he’d found out Vivi was being held hostage. “You found properties the IRS would have missed. Finding Vivi is my problem—you’re not a field agent—”
“Don’t rub it in.”
Since that comment seemed weighted with things Daniel didn’t want to disturb, he decided it was best to let it pass. He took Harm’s bag and escorted her out to her car, which was still waiting at the curb, the driver kicked back and sleeping in the front seat. But as he opened the car door, a flash of chrome and red paint caught his eye. He handed Harm her bag and crouched down so he could see below the branches of the huge red maple at the edge of his driveway. And there, parked in front of his neighbor’s house, was Maxine.
“Was that truck sitting there when you came in?” he asked Harm.
“I don’t remember. Why?”
“No reason,” Daniel said. “Have a safe trip.”
Harm got in the car and the car took off. Daniel was already on his way next door. Vivi had left the truck. There was no other explanation. She’d figured he’d still be mad at her, so she’d parked it far enough away to not be apparent, but close enough so he wouldn’t miss it in the morning. The question was why?
Chapter 27