Chapter 12
I
t was a starless night with a hint of rain in the air as Jack and Harry made their way on foot through what appeared to be a working-class neighborhood. “Reminds me of Baltimore, with the rows of brownstones,” Jack said. Harry just shrugged.
There was a bit of anxiousness in Jack’s voice when he asked, “Do you think she’s going to put up a fight?”
“Well, Jack, take a minute and think about it. If you were in her shoes, what would you do? Then take that thought a step further and ask yourself who exactly is she afraid of? Does she even know about
us?
Is she smart enough to be afraid of Lincoln Moss? Goodwin warned her, so that lets him out of the fear category. So why’d she run?”
It was Jack’s turn to shrug. “If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say that the day the picture hit the tabloid, she realized what she’d done and instantly regretted it. According to Goodwin, the two of them had an arrangement. People rat other people out all the time, even their friends, for money, and nothing ever happens to them. The worst thing that happens is they lose a few friends. How do you think all those tabloids get the goods on those movie stars? Cash for scandal. Whatever . . . here we are. Let’s just hope this doesn’t go down badly.”
Off in the distance, a dog barked, then another bark answered the lonely call. The light drizzle of rain that was falling when they started out was now a full rainstorm, coming down steadily. The street took on an eerie feeling, with the drizzle dripping past the yellow light emanating from the lampposts. Both men shivered in their wet clothes even though it was a warm evening.
Jack and Harry, aware of the time, marched up the nine brick steps that led them to a narrow sheltered slab of concrete with an equally narrow overhang. Jack punched the doorbell. A
bonging
sound could be heard inside. Both men watched through the oval glass in the center of the door as a heavyset woman waddled to the door. Outside, a light came on, illuminating them. Jack held up his gold shield. Harry was a little slower on the draw, but he finally got his out of his pocket. The door opened.
The first words out of Jack’s mouth were, “Do you speak English, mademoiselle?”
“Yes.” She waited, her eyes never leaving the gold shields.
“Vivian François sent us,” Jack said. It wasn’t really a lie, he thought. It was the right thing to say. Some of the tension left the woman’s shoulders.
“How can I help you gentlemen.”
“By taking us to wherever Ms. Petrie is right at this moment.”
“Ah, yes, Mademoiselle Petrie. I sensed she was trouble. I did not want to have her here, but Vivian is a very old and dear friend. She begged me. You understand this, no?”
Jack said nothing. He waited. Harry transferred his weight from one foot to the other. “I do not want any trouble. I operate a respectable rooming house. Follow me, and I will take you to Mademoiselle Petrie. You will not be returning here again, will you?”
“Absolutely not,” Jack said truthfully. He looked down to see a fat tabby cat rubbing against his ankles.
“That is Fefe. She loves it when we have guests, always hoping for a catnip treat. It is the second door on the left. I will leave you now, so you can conduct your business. We are finished, no?”
“We are finished, yes,” Jack said. He watched as the woman bent down to pick up the fat cat. Both he and Harry waited until she was at the bottom of the steps before they knocked on the door.
Jack looked over at Harry, and whispered, “Show time. Hold up that shield. I’m thinking that should be enough to scare the crap out of her.”
Jack knocked softly on the door but loud enough for the occupant to hear and not disturb the other guests on the floor.
“Yes, who is it?” came a muffled response. Jack and Harry remained silent. He rapped again, this time a tad harder. Petrie repeated her response. Jack knocked a third time and mumbled something. The door opened a crack, Harry pushed it, and the woman on the other side was pushed backward.
A ripe curse split the air. Jack closed the door as Harry clamped his hand over Jane Petrie’s mouth.
Jack leaned in close so he could whisper in Petrie’s ear. “Stop the caterwauling. We are not going to hurt you. Unless . . . listen to me . . . you don’t shut up. If you don’t shut up, we will slice off your ears.” He was rewarded with instant silence. “That’s better. Now listen to me very carefully. We want you to pack your things. Do it quickly. We are taking you back to the States with us.”
“No, no! You can’t make me go back there. I have dual citizenship. My mother was French. You can’t make me go with you.”
Jack whipped out a small, wicked-looking switchblade from his key ring and brandished it in the air. “What part of ‘we are taking you back to the States with us’ didn’t you understand? You caused some very nice people a lot of trouble. You’ll have to answer for that, not to us but to the people you harmed. Now, do what I say and pack your stuff. Or, leave it. The choice is yours.”
Jack nodded to Harry to call the pilot to tell him they were on the way. “Then go downstairs and have the lady call us a taxi.”
Jack watched as Petrie pulled a Gucci suitcase out from under the bed. He continued to watch as she threw her belongings in any old way, her toiletries on top of the mess. She closed the suitcase, locked it, and stared defiantly at Jack.
“Give me your passport,” Jack said.
“I will do no such thing.” Jack waved the switchblade in front of her. She swallowed hard but remained defiant.
“Last chance,” Jack said, advancing on her.
“I want a lawyer! I have rights!”
“I bet you do. Want a lawyer that is. You have no rights. I just took them away. Now, hand over the passport, or you’re going to be minus an ear.”
One look at Jack’s determined expression, and Petrie backed up a step and groped on the unmade bed for her purse. With one eye on Jack and the other on her purse, she fumbled until she found the passport. She handed it over, her hands shaking.
Jack looked down at the blue cover on the passport—American. “Now give me your French passport. What? You thought I was stupid. Well, shame on you. C’mon, hand it over.”
Petrie knew then that she was beaten. She fumbled some more in the oversize purse that could have passed for an overnight bag or a backpack and finally withdrew her rouge-colored French passport. She handed that over, too.
Jack skimmed through it as well as the American one. Many stamps on both. Well, Miss Jane Petrie’s traveling days were coming to a close. He jammed both passports into his jacket pocket and pulled the zipper to assure they remained safe and sound.
“Let’s go. You get to carry your own suitcase. Try anything funny, and you’ll regret it. My colleague is waiting at the bottom of the steps, so be fair warned. Do not talk, do not scream, just act normal. One peep out of you, and, like I said, you will regret it. And if you think for one minute that the taxi driver is going to help you, you’re wrong. What’s it going to be, lady? Decide now.”
“Okay, okay,” Petrie said through clenched teeth.
“Good choice. This might be a good time to tell you that Lincoln Moss has people tracking you down. So far tonight, we are one step ahead of them. If you’re smart, you’ll want to keep it that way.” Petrie nodded.
Seventy minutes later, Jack and Harry ushered Jane Petrie up the portable steps to Anna de Silva’s Gulfstream. Harry carried the Gucci bag and stored it beside the stewardess’s jump seat.
Ten minutes later, they were wheels up and headed back to the good old United States.
While Petrie sulked and cried, Jack and Harry were busy sending texts. Their ETA was sunup.
Mission accomplished.
It was raining the proverbial cats and dogs when Dennis West parked his car in the Home Builders Depot parking lot to wait for Jason Woods. He really wanted to be with Maggie, Ted, and Espinosa at the airport to greet Jack, Harry, and their guest. He’d spent a sleepless night worrying about Jason and Stacey. He had to put their minds at ease and warn them once again to be careful. Their peace of mind won out, and here he was. He didn’t even know if Jason or Stacey knew that the two women were gone. The only way they could know, he thought, was if Stacey stopped by the house before work. He seriously doubted that had happened because mornings were hectic, traffic was a bear, and she knew when she left last evening that the women were safe and secure. Possibly she might take a run by on her lunch hour to check on them, but he didn’t really see that happening either.
Dennis looked down at his watch; it was twenty-five minutes past seven. Both employees should be arriving right about
now.
He looked up and saw Jason Woods climbing out of a pickup truck he didn’t recognize. Dennis was out of the car in a flash, not caring if he got soaked or not. Jason himself was wearing a Home Builders Depot slicker.
“Jason, hold up. Please, this is important. I need to talk to you. It’s about Rosalee.”
Jason stopped in midstride and whirled around. “Mister, I am getting sick and tired of your harassing me. I’ve had enough. Beat it.”
“I wish it were that simple. I thought you might like to know that after your friend Stacey secured the two women, they left. I just wanted to tell you they are as safe as if they were in their mothers’ wombs. I wish I could tell you more, but right now, I can’t. If you will just be patient for a little while longer and not go off half-cocked, Rosalee will be back in your life. Do you understand what I just said?”
“Yeah, yeah, I heard you. Just who the hell are you anyway, mister, aside from being a pain in my ass?”
“In time, I’ll be happy to answer any and all questions, but this is not the time. In the meantime, I need to give you some money to pay for all the camping equipment you bought for the women. We left five hundred dollars on the kitchen counter to repair the back door. I’m sorry to say I had to kick it in. The element of surprise, you know. You might want to get on that as soon as possible. I did stack up the table and chairs, so the door wouldn’t blow open.”
“What . . . what the hell did you do? I mean, why would you do that?”
“Weren’t you listening to me? I kicked it in. I really didn’t want to do that, but we had to go with the element of surprise. And we didn’t want the women scooting out the front door. I didn’t have any other choice, Jason. The bottom line here is, Rosalee and Amalie are safe, and Lincoln Moss will never get to them, not in a million years. If it’s any consolation to you, they both wanted to leave a note for you and Stacey. Unfortunately, we could not allow that. That’s why I’m here, to put your mind at rest.”
Jason Woods swiped at the rain pelting his face. “I repeat, just who the hell are you people? Why should I trust you?”
“Maybe because I’m the only game in town? Does that work for you? Look, I didn’t have to come here to tell you all this. I could be home sleeping in a nice warm bed instead of standing here in the pouring rain. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m soaking wet, and these shoes I’m standing in cost five hundred bucks.”
Jason stared at Dennis for a long minute. Whatever he saw in his expression seemed to satisfy him, at least for the moment. “So, how long?”
“I don’t know, Jason. My best guess would be no more than two weeks. Possibly as soon as this weekend. There are a lot of things in play right now. Just trust me. Can you do that?”
Jason nodded. “What about Stacey? She stuck her neck out on all of this. Is she safe?” Jason realized something then to his own chagrin. He was more worried about Stacey than he was about Rosalee. Why was that?
“I want to say yes, but again, I don’t know. For now, my best advice would be for both of you to stick together. Don’t go anywhere alone.”
“You’re scaring the shit out of me, mister.”
“Good, that will keep you on your toes. Listen, I gotta go now.” Dennis held out a roll of bills. “Take it, you’re going to need it for your tuition. Sell the camping gear and keep the money. I’ll be in touch.”
Jason watched Dennis walk away in his sopping-wet five-hundred-dollar shoes. What kind of jerk paid five hundred dollars for shoes? He looked down at his beat-up Nikes. Hell, he didn’t even own a pair of leather shoes. He realized as he walked across the lot to the garden pavilion that he didn’t feel bad. He didn’t feel good, either. He headed for the break room to wait for Stacey. Five hundred dollars for a pair of shoes. Sheez.
Maggie, Ted, Espinosa, Jack, and Harry formed a cordon around Jane Petrie as they led her to the
Post
van. Maggie gave her a shove, and she sprawled across the seat. “I want a lawyer! Do you hear me, I want a damn lawyer! You kidnapped me! Kidnapping is against the law!”
“And what you did isn’t against the law?” Maggie shot back. “Buckle up and shut up, or I’ll pull out your teeth with my bare hands.”
“You’re terrorists! This is terrorism! You’re holding me against my will,” Petrie screamed shrilly.
“Will someone shut her up so I can concentrate on my driving,” Ted said.
Harry leaned over, and before Petrie could take a deep breath, she was out cold, thanks to Harry’s thumb finding and pressing oh so lightly on just the right spot below her left ear.
“How long will she be out, Harry?” Jack asked.
Harry shrugged. “An hour, maybe a little more.”
“Good, because the next step would have been to put a bag over her head so she doesn’t see where we’re going. I suppose if we went with the bag deal, it might be construed as terrorism. Not that any of us cares.”
“Talk to us, Jack. Tell us everything. And don’t leave anything out,” Ted said.
Jack rattled away nonstop, Harry filling in the blanks.
Jack ended up with, “This chick doesn’t think she did anything wrong. She thinks of herself as an entrepreneur. Survival of the fittest, that kind of thing. The funny thing is, she’s scared, but I don’t think she knows exactly what she’s scared of. My personal opinion is of losing her money. Not that Moss is gunning for her. Or us, for that matter.”