Authors: Kay Hooper
Brian scowled. “No,” he said. “Not there, I’m sure. We didn’t pass through Jackson, Mississippi.”
Josh ran a hand through his dark hair. “Well, then? There
must
have been a Jackson sometime during the trip, or she wouldn’t have said what she did. It has to mean something she’d expect you to remember. Think!”
“Wait.” Brian nodded. “Now I remember. It was Tennessee. Jackson, Tennessee. It was a special stop, just for one day. We had to go out of our way, I remember, but she insisted.”
“Why? What was special about it?” Josh tried to think clearly. “What did she want to see there?”
“She said—she’d always been intrigued by the ballad of Casey Jones.”
After a moment Josh said, “All I remember of it is that he was an engineer.”
“The railroad museum,” Brian said, his voice quickening for the first time. “It was the only thing we saw. Josh, wherever she’s being kept—there are
trains
!”
“Trains?”
Instantly both men bent over the huge county map spread on Josh’s bed, searching for railroad tracks and perhaps a freight yard.
If Serena had allowed fear to control her, she would have been completely helpless. She knew that. So, to take her mind off her quivering insides, she had been plotting from the moment she’d come to.
Her scheme was necessarily incomplete, since she couldn’t know when or how a rescue attempt would be made. But she did know one
would
be
made. She knew her father, knew Josh—and knew Brian.
They’d find her.
And when they did, Serena would be ready.
Serena was playing her role carefully. With every scornful look, every haughty gesture, and every arrogant word, she was carefully painting a picture of a rich man’s spoiled, contemptuous, self-assured daughter. A hothouse flower, cultivated in gentle soil and raised to be an ornament.
She was clearly, obviously confident that this was merely an uncomfortable interlude, an inconvenience soon to be dealt with by her loving father. She was annoyed, insolent. She complained of her surroundings, the dirt and darkness, with disdain. She was bored, restless.
Serena was—shrewdly—betting that these men had been told next to nothing about her. But even if she was wrong, there were certain things about her that they simply could not know, thanks to her father’s cautious foresight.
They couldn’t know she was hell on wheels, gifted with fast reflexes and a cool mind.
The role helped her to keep her mind off the
very strong possibility that she could be killed. Like Josh, she had a good idea of how the kidnapping was meant to be handled. The first book-end, she knew, had called his boss—who was most likely not the top man. But the top man, or men, would be notified that she was in custody.
Her two bookends were clearly expecting another call, probably to be told that Stuart had caved in. She amended that thought. The book-ends were functionaries only, who probably wouldn’t be told what was behind this. So, the phone call they were waiting for was to let them know that they could release their captive.
But Serena knew that wouldn’t be the call they’d get. Whether or not her bookends were apprised of just what was going on, the top men in this knew, or would shortly know, that Stuart would never cave in. They’d know that they’d been traced, and were being watched most carefully. Holding Serena would do them no good at all, and killing her would bring definite trouble down on their heads.
Serena also knew that what happened then was … well, problematic. The top men could, if
they wished, simply give the expected order. And if the bookends trusted their employers to make certain they wouldn’t face a kidnapping rap, the order would be obeyed.
But the possible variations on that were endless.
Her captors could decide—indeed, might have long since decided—that leaving behind a live witness to testify to a kidnapping wasn’t very smart. Or very healthy. They could decide to save their own hides. To kill her, dispose of the body, and head for parts unknown.
Serena could be reasonably certain that the original orders had been to take her, but keep her alive and release her when so ordered. Stuart would not, after all, do so much as a day’s work for the men who had ordered, or allowed, the death of his daughter. After all, she was all he had left.
And it was doubtful the orders would differ now, because the top men had a great deal to lose in having her killed, and a great deal to gain, relatively speaking, by returning her alive. They were being watched, and just because there might
be little or no courtroom proof against them didn’t mean they wouldn’t pay, and pay heavily, for having her killed.
So what it all boiled down to was that Serena’s safety depended, curiously enough, on the integrity of her captors. On whether or not they would carry out orders they’d been paid to carry out.
Serena didn’t want to count on that. It would have been, she knew, insanely foolish to do so.
So she complained occasionally, and made the expected threats against her captors, and pushed them as far as she dared. She was playing her role perfectly.
Now she could only wait for Brian and Josh to find her.
Josh was driving, following the route they’d selected, while Brian frowned over the map he was holding.
“There are five major rail-freight lines and Amtrak,” Brian said. “How can we be sure this is where they’re holding her? D’you really think—?”
Nodding, Josh pointed briefly to the area on the map circled in red. “It has to be near a freight line,” he said resolutely, fighting to convince himself as well as Brian. “They have to have somewhere to keep her; a warehouse would be less dangerous than an empty car, I’d say. An abandoned warehouse, most likely; they wouldn’t want to have some passerby or security guard stumble on them accidentally.
“According to the Chamber of Commerce and the contacts that Paul, our private investigator, has in town, the freight yard we’ve circled is the only one with empty warehouses nearby. The only one that isn’t used anymore. It fits, Brian.”
“D’you think they’ll have the car hidden?”
“Under cover, probably, but we should be able to find it. Paul’s certain they were driving a blue sedan. If they didn’t change cars … we’ll be able to find that, at least.”
“You told him not to crowd us?” Brian glanced over his shoulder at the car behind them.
“He knows. He’ll back us up once we get inside, but he’ll take no action on his own until Rena’s safe.”
They had already discussed how they were going to handle the situation.
After a moment Brian said quietly, “We can’t allow any shooting, and we know they’ll be armed. No matter how we go in, they’ll probably have Serena close, within reach. They’ll use her as a shield to stand us off or to get away.” He was still troubled by the plan they’d decided on.
“Not if she’s ready for us,” Josh said calmly. “Serena’s never been passive in her life; she won’t expect us to do all the work.” He sent Brian a strained grin. “She was taught early to have little faith in knights in shining armor. By now I’ll bet she’s convinced the dogs that she’s the frailest, most spoiled flower this side of the Civil War. It is, to put it mildly, a wrong impression.”
Brian stirred uneasily. “I know you said she was trained in self-defense, but if she takes them on by herself, or makes the wrong move once we show up—”
“She won’t. Serena isn’t out to prove anything, Brian. She won’t try to take them on alone, or try to disarm them when we come busting in. Count on that. Her first priority will be to make damned
sure she doesn’t get in our way. She knows very well that the cavalry’s rescue can be screwed up if someone gets caught in the cross fire.”
With a faint smile Brian said, “Sounds like you’re counting on her to think clearly. Will she?”
Seriously Josh said, “Stuart’s a farsighted man; he knew there was the possibility of something like this happening years ago. Especially after Mother was killed. So he taught Serena and me things most kids never have to learn. If it comes right down to it, I suppose our childhood ‘drills’ are partly responsible for Rena’s highly developed ability to plan ahead. Stuart would suddenly say, ‘What if—’ and detail some elaborate situation. We had to get ourselves safely out of it. Rena was good at it, damned good. Nine times out of ten she not only got herself out of the mythical situation, but, in doing so, thought of a solution even Stuart hadn’t considered.”
He sighed. “I’m not saying she isn’t scared, or that she isn’t in shock. The thing is, she’ll give in to the fear and shock only when the danger’s past. She’s amazingly cool-headed under stress.”
Brian believed him. He understood Serena now,
understood her completely. He knew the woman he loved would never give in to panic, because it was totally alien to her.
How he loved her …
Realizing they were getting close, the men fell silent. They found the freight yard and circled it once, warily, from a distance. Josh parked the car, and he and Brian watched the P.I. park his own car about a hundred yards away. They both looked carefully at the group of buildings in the distance. They were old, clearly abandoned, most of them half falling down or leaning one way or the other.
Brian pointed suddenly. “There. Is that a glint of blue? At the corner of that building?”
“Looks like it.” Abruptly Josh sounded his horn in a quick pattern.
Brian, who had started to object, caught on quickly and remained silent. He realized that the sound would not be unusual; there was considerable traffic around the area, and other car horns sounded intermittently. He also realized that he knew the pattern.
“S-O-S. She knows Morse?”
“She knows. And if she heard that, she’ll be ready.”
“If she didn’t?”
“If she didn’t, she still has reflexes like a cat. Come on, let’s very quietly find some way into that building.”
Serena heard the distant horn. Sending another scornful glance at her captors, she realized they hadn’t heard—or hadn’t listened. Which was just fine.
She had nearly exhausted her repertoire of snide comments, but managed a few more biting ones as she paced in a circle near the table and chair.
With great care she had gotten the two men accustomed to her bored, restless pacing. She walked, she glared at them, she picked up the Thermos and put it back down disdainfully, she complained in annoyance about a broken fingernail. They leaned against iron support posts and watched her, emotionless.
Serena estimated that neither one of them
could move fast enough to catch her instantly, but she also realized that there was no cover for her, no place to hide, except in the shadows along the walls. She marked the spot in her mind, trusting in her own speed more than anything else.
She paced, she muttered. She listened intently, ears straining.
All she wanted, all she hoped for, was a split second’s warning. Just an instant that would give her time to distract her captors somehow and make certain they couldn’t get their hands on her.
When the moment came, she was so ready for it that she reacted at once.
The phone in the small office shrilled suddenly, and as one of the bookends swiveled toward the sound, something came crashing through two of the dirty windows. Both men were caught off guard, startled, thrown off balance physically and mentally.
Serena picked up the Thermos and threw it hard at the bookend who was turning and reaching for his gun, and then she dived with all her strength toward the shadowy wall.
And all her strength was too much, as it turned out.
• • •
Rena was only dimly aware of things happening around her. Yells, crashes and thumps, grunts, and gunshots. Then she heard a hoarse voice and felt someone moving her, holding her, touching her with warm and gentle hands, saying something over and over to her, something she couldn’t quite hear and didn’t worry about. She instinctively felt safe.
She floated for a while, content.
Then she was being moved again, and there were new voices, and something was being done to her head. It hurt like hell, she realized. She was annoyed by the pain, and muttered a fretful complaint that emerged as a whisper. She vaguely heard someone mention “an injection for shock,” and wanted to tell the person with the officious voice that she wasn’t in shock. Her head hurt and she wanted to be left alone to suffer, but she was given no choice in the matter. She felt a prick in her arm, and she immediately lost all interest in the situation.
When Rena woke, it was with customary abruptness. She instantly sat up, and said quite clearly, “Of all the stupid—” Then she winced and lifted her hand to touch her forehead and the gauze pad taped there.
“I’ll say.”
The voice came from her left. She turned her head carefully and gazed at Josh as he sat slumped in a chair by her bed. Brian’s bed, she realized. She was in his room.
“I’ll say,” he repeated dryly, “it was stupid. I mean, to knock yourself out in your moment of glory …!”
“How did I know the wall was so close?” she asked reasonably. “It was dark. There were shadows. I couldn’t see very well. And besides, it didn’t feel like glory. Reality is a lot more scary than theory, let me tell you, and damnably hard to control. Where’s Brian?”
“I sent him down to get something to eat a few minutes ago. He’s been sitting here for hours, and he was starting to talk to himself.”
“Oh.” She tried to recall events, and realized everything was pretty unclear, especially what occurred
after she’d dived into the wall. “What happened to the bookends?”
Her half brother didn’t need the question clarified, although he grinned faintly at the word she used for her captors. “They’re in safe hands. Bound, gagged, and waiting in the warehouse with Paul. Stuart’s intelligence friends want a crack at them. If they can speak coherently, which I doubt.”
“Aren’t they feeling well?” Serena asked interestedly, banking pillows behind her and discovering that someone had changed her clothes, putting on her violet nightgown. She hoped that someone had been Brian.
Josh grinned again. “I don’t think so.”
“You and Brian?” she guessed.