Born of Illusion (35 page)

Cole looks embarrassed. “I didn’t really thrash him. My friend has a tendency for exaggeration. Dr. Boyle tried to stop me and I hit him.”

I smile at the image of quiet, controlled Cole hitting anyone. “How do you think he found you?”

Cole shrugs. “I’m not sure he has. We kept my destination fairly secret and planted rumors that I was heading to Switzerland. One of the reasons I chose to stay with Mr. Darby is that the relationship is so distant. They didn’t believe anyone could trace it.”

“What do you think?”

It takes him a moment to answer. “I think Dr. Franklin Boyle is a very ambitious man who’s capable of anything. There are more members on the board who are sympathetic to him and his plan than we’d thought.”

“What is his plan?”

Cole shakes his head. “We’re not sure. We do know he’s recruiting untrained Sensitives. They don’t know how brutal he can be when he wants something.”

I remember what Dr. Bennett said about the Society and I nod. “That’s what . . .” The ring of the telephone cuts me off, and Cole and I freeze, my breath trapped somewhere in the vicinity of my throat.

Cole’s hand squeezes mine. “You have to answer,” he whispers.

He rises to his feet, pulling me with him. Each ring of the phone travels down my spine as we hurry into the sitting room. With a nod from Cole I pick up the receiver and he leans close to hear the conversation. “Hello?”

“Anna! I spoke to Uncle Jacques. Are you all right?”

“It’s just Owen,” I mouth to Cole. He frowns but doesn’t move away from the telephone.

“I’m fine. Cole is with me.”

There’s a pause. “Good. I’m glad you aren’t alone. Do you need me to come over?”

“I’ll be all right. I don’t want to make the kidnappers suspicious.”

“I can’t believe this. Do you have any idea who it might be?”

“No. Not really. Your uncle hired a private investigator to look into my abduction. He’s talking to him today as well as picking up half the money for my mother’s release.”

The pause goes on so long this time, I thought we’d been disconnected. “Owen?”

“Sorry. I’m just surprised. I didn’t know Uncle J had that kind of money.”

I slap my hand on my forehead. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. Maybe there was a reason Jacques hadn’t been in touch with his family for so long. I don’t know how to fix my blunder, so I keep my mouth shut.

“I’ll be over as soon as I can. I know you’re not alone, but I really want to be there with you. I have a stop to make on my way, but I should be there within the hour.”

He hangs up before I can protest. Somehow having him and Cole in the same room doesn’t seem like a good idea to me. I can tell by the tightness of Cole’s jaw that he doesn’t think so either.

I set the receiver down. “There has to be something I can do. When we hand off the money, I’m following them.”

He turns to me and catches both my hands in his. “I don’t want to put you into that kind of danger. What if your vision comes true?”

I stare at him and then let out some air. “I don’t want to be in that kind of danger either. But you don’t understand. The reason my mother is in danger is because they couldn’t hold me. It’s because of what I did last night. There are a million choices I made that led to this. I have to help her.”

“Maybe the best way to help your mother is to bring the police in?”

I shake my head. “I’ve read the newspapers. Most victims never return if you go to the police. I have to do something. And besides . . .” I bite my lip and stop.

“Besides what?”

“Nothing.” I give him a slight smile.

I don’t tell him that I know in my heart that my mother is waiting for me, just like always.

Waiting for me to come and bust her out.

Twenty-seven

I
spend the next hour pacing, waiting for a knock on the door or the ring of the phone. When a knock finally sounds, I freeze, afraid to answer it. With a glance at me, Cole cautiously opens the door a crack.

“Who are you?” Cole’s voice is as commanding as I’ve ever heard it, but the voice that answers is not only more commanding, but filled with frightening authority.

“I need to speak to Anna Van Housen. Cynthia sent me.”

I know that voice . . . I hurry to the door and fling it open. Outside my door is Arnold Rothstein.

“Thank you so much for coming,” I say, ushering him in and giving Cole a hard look. His brow furrows, baffled. I probably should have told him that I’d asked Cynthia for the rest of the money, but I had no way of knowing she was going to send her uncle over.

He takes a seat in the chair closest to the door. I sit on the corner of the settee while Cole remains standing in front of the hallway. After seeing Uncle Arnie’s eyes slide twice toward him, I signal Cole with my eyes to come sit next to me. He complies, puzzlement still on his face, no doubt picking up on both my relief and my uneasiness.

Uncle Arnie relaxes and gets down to business. “So, Cynthia tells me you’re having some trouble and need five big ones right away.”

I nod, my eyes straying to the black doctor’s bag he’s carrying. Does it contain money or guns or . . .

“She also told me you wouldn’t tell her why you needed the money. But you’ll tell me, right?”

His shrewd black eyes are locked on my face, and I nod. Of course I will.

“My mother’s been abducted. I’m not sure who’s taken her, but they want a lot of money to get her back.”

Reaching into his pocket, he takes out a cigar and raises an eyebrow. I nod. “Go ahead.”

As if I would tell him no.

He lights it and I wait as he puffs it to life. “And you’re going to pay up? Isn’t that risky?” he finally says.

I turn to Cole. “Could you please get me a glass of water? With ice? There’s some in the icebox. You can just chip some off.”

Cole looks like he is going to argue, but after another look from me, he inclines his head and goes into the kitchen.

My guest waits patiently, puffing away on his cigar, as if we were just exchanging pleasantries. Except that he is without a doubt the most deeply alert man I’ve ever met.

“I’m not letting them just take the money,” I tell him quietly. “I’m going in after her.”

The only change of expression in his face is a slight narrowing of his eyes.

“Is that wise?”

For some reason, I know that his handing over of the money in that bag hinges on my response to that question. I lean forward. “No one is better qualified to bust my mother out. I can pick locks, sneak in and out of just about anyplace without detection, and I am very, very good with a knife.”

He blinks, the only evidence of his surprise. He stands up as if something has been decided, and I stand as well. “I wish you luck,” he says. “You’re going to need it. But I have a few things to tell you.”

Cole comes in just then with my water and I take it automatically without looking at him. My eyes are fixed on Uncle Arnie.

“My men checked the perimeter of your home. We didn’t find anyone watching the place, but that doesn’t mean someone won’t be later. Also, the reason Cynthia didn’t come is because I wouldn’t let her. If something goes wrong, she is completely out of it and I never visited.” His eyes bore into mine and I nod, tremors going up and down my spine.

“Well, good then. That’s settled.”

He moves to the door, leaving the black bag next to the chair.

“Excuse me, you’ve forgotten . . .” I grab Cole’s arm to shut him up and he stops, though I can feel his agitation loud and clear.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Rothstein.” I open the door for him and he claps his hat back on his head and walks to the stairwell. “But you said you had a few things to tell me. You only mentioned two.”

He turns and gives me a wide smile. “If you ever get tired of the magic racket, give me a call. You’d be a hell of an asset to my business.”

He tips his hat and runs lightly down the stairs to where one of his men is waiting for him.

I shut the door and lean back against it, breathing rapidly.

“What was that?” Cole demands. “Who was that man, and why did he leave his bag behind?”

“That was Cynthia’s uncle, and he’s the boss of one of the biggest crime organizations in the country. That bag contains five thousand dollars.”

Cole freezes, his eyes wide. I see him swallow a couple of times. “Very well, then.”

That’s what I thought. But I just nod and go back to pacing.

The phone rings. It’s Jacques with the news that Joanna Lindsay has indeed been incarcerated. “They actually just moved her to Bellevue to be evaluated. Her daughter has been by her side the entire time.”

“So that’s a dead end, just like we thought.” Even though I expected it, my heart still sinks. Now we have no leads on who it could be. “What else did the investigator say? Anything new on my abduction?”

“Apparently, the police found an abandoned milk truck down by the river near the store where you were found. It had been stolen from the delivery company, but no suspects.”

Another dead end. “Anything else?”

“No,
chérie
. I’m very sorry. I am going to stop by the bank and then come back to the apartment. Be careful,
oui
?”

“I’ll be careful,” I promise, and hang up quickly.

There’s a knock on the door and my heart pounds until I hear Owen’s voice. “Anna, it’s me.”

I open the door, and he wraps me in a quick hug. “Do you have any word?”

Cole stiffens next to me, but I don’t have time to worry about him right now. “No, nothing.”

Owen gives me another hug and Cole clears his throat. “Didn’t you say Jacques was on his way?” he asks.

I nod.

He looks over at Owen, his dark eyes unreadable. “I’m going to go downstairs and clean up. Can you stay with Anna until your uncle gets here?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Owen tells him.

Cole nods and leaves and I lock the door after him. “Would you like some coffee?” I ask Owen.

He nods. “You look like you could use some too.”

We go in the kitchen and he indicates that I should sit, then he reheats the coffee Cole made earlier. A headache is blooming behind my eyes and I rub my temples. I accept the cup with a smile and Owen sits across from me, worry evident in his blue, blue eyes. Then I frown, noticing that Owen’s tie is askew and his blond hair is mussed. My throat tightens with emotion. He must have run right over.

He takes a sip of his coffee. “I don’t know what you see in that guy. What do we know about him anyway?”

I frown. Why does he always do that? The moment I feel warm and tender toward him he has to ruin it somehow. “Cole? I don’t know what you’re getting at but I trust him completely.”

Owen sighs, his eyes remorseful. “I’m sorry; I’m just so jealous I can’t see straight. I’ve been trying to let you know how I feel about you, but I’m such a dolt it never comes out right.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think this is the right time.”

“Wait. Let me get it out before I lose my nerve. I think we would be amazing together. We could be real partners onstage and off. We could travel and . . .”

I shake my head and he reaches out and covers my hand with his. His agitation is clear. “I’m sorry,” Owen continues, his blue eyes miserable. “I know my timing is off. We can talk about it later.”

I shake my head again. I may be a novice at romance, but as handsome and funny as he is, I’m pretty sure that Owen and I will never be more than friends. I pull my hand away gently. “No, we can’t. I’m sorry.”

I’m hit hard by a charge of anger so sharp, I almost gasp out loud.

“It’s the Limey, isn’t it?” Owen’s low voice vibrates with bitterness.

My hand trembles as I lift my coffee cup to my lips. I take a careful sip. “No. No. Of course not. I just . . .”

“You know what? Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

His emotions are fading, but they’re still brushing across my skin like nettles.

I stand and move to the sink. I pour the coffee down the drain, my stomach churning. Uncomfortable silence stretches between us. I want to say something, but exhaustion and worry make it impossible.

A knock at the door saves me from having to try and I glance at Owen, who is still staring morosely into his coffee cup. I walk down the hall. “Who is it?”

“Jacques.”

I let him in and he removes his overcoat, shaking off droplets of water. “It’s pouring outside.”

Owen comes up behind him and Jacques gives his nephew a nod.

“I have to go,” Owen says stiffly. “I’ve got something I have to do, but I’ll be back later.”

“Thank you for coming . . .” I stop, puzzled by the jumbled pulses of emotion coming from him. I concentrate, sweat breaking out on my upper lip. Barely suppressed anger pulses back to me, but there’s something else. A sense of . . . secrecy. My heart beats faster and cold rushes over me. Owen is
hiding
something.