He was just starting to turn up information on “Little Louie” Costanza when his phone rang. He answered eagerly, half hoping it would be Raleigh.
“Griffin.” It was Daniel, sounding all business. “Is Raleigh with you?”
“Why would she be—no.”
“I can’t locate her.”
“She’s
missing?
” Every cell in Griffin’s body went on high alert.
“She said she was going to the office to meet someone from the Houston P.D.—”
“And you let her go?”
“She’s not my prisoner, Griffin,” Daniel said a bit testily. “I sent her in the limo with the best bodyguard I have. But Celeste Boggs, who was at the front desk, said the man she was supposed to meet stepped outside for a smoke, and when Raleigh arrived, she went to look for him and never returned.”
“And neither did her mysterious contact, I take it.”
“No.”
“Where was this infamous bodyguard?”
“Parking the limo. Since she was inside the building, he assumed she was safe. So you don’t know anything?”
He wanted to scream and curse and reach through the phone to throttle Daniel Logan for being so careless. But that wouldn’t bring Raleigh back. “I haven’t heard anything, but I’m heading that way now.”
“Our security cameras have an image of the guy. He looks familiar, but no one here can place him.”
“Can you send it to me?”
“I’ll email it to you right now.”
Griffin had scarcely disconnected that call when his phone chimed again. Seeing that it was another blocked call, he assumed it was Daniel calling back with more questions.
“What?”
“Benedict.” The voice was electronically disguised. “I have something you want.”
Griffin stopped dead, his heart slamming into his chest wall. “Do you have Raleigh?”
“There’s something you want more than her,” the voice said, maddeningly calm.
“No. Nothing is more important than her safety.”
“What about…the story? The big story. The one that will get you the job with the seven-figure paycheck. You want that more than anything, don’t you, Benedict?”
“What do you want?” Griffin demanded.
“No, my friend, the correct question is, what do
you
want? If you want to see your girlfriend alive ever again, you’ll do exactly as I tell you. No police. No Project Justice. Not if you want an exclusive. But if you follow my directions to a T, I’ll give you the interview of your life. You’ll never have a chance at a story like this again.”
As if he cared about that! “Let me talk to Raleigh.”
“You’ll have to trust me—she is alive and well. A bit uncomfortable, perhaps—”
“You bastard! If you hurt her I’ll hunt you down and shoot you in the street like a rabid dog.”
“Do you want to see her again or no?”
Griffin reined in his temper. The man behind the tinny voice was trying to upset him. Best not to play his game.
“Just tell me where to find her.”
“There’s an alley just west of the Project Justice office. It’s overgrown with weeds and rusty Dumpsters. A nice, dark place to finish our business.”
“I’ll find it. But listen, you have to promise me—”
The line went dead.
So, Raleigh’s kidnapper thought Griffin’s ego was so big, that he wanted this story so badly, he would risk Raleigh’s life? Dream on. Griffin would call in the police, the FBI, the frigging National Guard—whatever it took. Honest to God, who cared about the damn story?
But then he had a better idea. As he headed for his car, which he’d parked in the street in front of his town house, he dialed Daniel’s number.
“Daniel. He called me. He told me where to find Raleigh.”
To his credit, Daniel didn’t doubt Griffin’s word or demand details. “Should I contact the police?”
Griffin quickly filled Daniel in on the specifics of the anonymous phone call, and the directions the man had given.
“You’d be crazy to meet him alone,” Daniel said. “He’ll kill you both. He might be trying to set up some sort of murder-suicide scenario.”
“I don’t plan to be alone. But I want Project Justice behind me. I’d rather have a handful of your people backing me up than the cops. You can mobilize faster, you’ll know exactly when to intervene—and I won’t have to spend an hour explaining things to you. Can you do it?”
“Absolutely,” Daniel said without hesitation. “But I’ll alert law enforcement, as well. I have contacts there who will take me at my word. I’ll have a plan and some backup for you in fifteen minutes. Can you wait until then?”
“Yes.” It would be insane to go blundering into the kidnapper’s trap. But this would be the longest fifteen minutes Griffin had ever lived through.
In reply, Raleigh screamed. But with her mouth taped shut, she couldn’t create any volume.
“Enough of that. I don’t want you announcing your whereabouts until I’m ready. You should be comforted to know your boyfriend is on his way. Be a good girl, don’t give me any trouble, and soon the two of you will be together again.”
Griffin?
Is that who he meant?
Oh, Griffin, it’s a trap. Don’t come.
She still had the use of her hands. And she had her bricks. But she didn’t have much time; Paul was about to close the trunk on her again. In a panic, she lobbed one of the bricks at him. It bounced off his shoulder, getting his attention but doing no harm.
“You little bitch!” He grabbed her right arm. She tried to kick at him but she was wildly ineffective. He was stronger than he looked.
With the remaining brick in her left hand she tried to hit his hands, to break his grip on her. His response was to backhand her across the face and grab the brick, tossing it aside.
While she reeled from the blow, eyes stinging and nose running, he wrapped her wrists in duct tape.
No!
He was not going to leave her helpless in this dark trunk again. Her nose was bleeding; she could barely breathe. She had to do something. She had to stop Griffin from trying to rescue her.
Raleigh made one more effort to use her feet. Her left foot still wore a black pump. Not as useful as a stiletto heel might have been, but it had a hard sole. She brought her knee up as high as it would go, then aimed carefully for Paul’s midsection and kicked as hard as she could.
This time she made contact. With an audible
oof
he let go of her hands and backed away. She swung her legs over the lip of the trunk and levered her self out.
Paul made a grab for her and got a handful of her hair.
She screamed and kicked backward, connecting with something hard. His grip loosened just enough that she could pull away, and she started running.
He slammed the trunk lid, jumped into his car and backed wildly out of the alley. He had no way of knowing how far away Benedict was, but he needed to get ready for the confrontation. A six-foot-plus male would be a bit more of a challenge than a lady lawyer in one shoe, though she’d shown more strength—and backbone—than he’d expected. His ribs would be bruised for a week.
He parked his car at the first available spot on the street, yanked off the fake mustache, glasses and hat, then jumped out of the car and ducked back into the alley. No sign of Raleigh. She was either hiding somewhere, in some weeds or behind a Dumpster, or she’d gone up. Either way, she was still trapped.
He watched the street, waiting for Benedict’s Mustang to come tearing toward him. He couldn’t wait to get the guy alone. Benedict’s huge ego would be his undoing. He had a reputation for going anywhere and doing anything for a story.
This was one story he wouldn’t write—unless he could write from the grave.
Gradually, Paul became aware of a police siren. Not unusual in this urban area. But it got louder. And louder. Then he saw the flashing lights, heading this way.
Crap. Had Benedict actually alerted the police? Or had someone realized Raleigh was missing?
No, the cops wouldn’t come blazing in here just because no one had seen the lawyer for a few minutes.
Benedict had caved. He’d been unselfish, for once in his life. Amazing.
Paul held out one final hope that the cops were heading somewhere else. But the black-and-white pulled right up to the Project Justice building.
Heart pounding, he knew he had just one chance to get this right. He ran up to the police cruiser as two uniforms climbed out.
“Thank goodness. He took her. He just grabbed her and stuffed her into the trunk!” Paul did his best to sound hysterical. He’d minored in theater while in college; he could play this role easy enough. Dancing back and forth from foot to foot, he pointed frantically down the street.
“Calm down, sir,” the patronizing officer said. “What did you see?”
Paul made as if to calm himself, breathing deeply, one hand holding his chest. “A man with a hat and a big mustache. He was walking with a woman—she had on jeans and a shirt—no, a sweater—and they were walking down the sidewalk. He stopped and opened the trunk of his car—”
“What kind of car?”
“A…it was black, I think. A sedan. I…I don’t remember. But it had Oklahoma plates, I remember that! He grabbed the woman and stuffed her in the trunk, and then he drove off!”
“Which way did he go?” one cop asked.
“When did this happen?” the other one asked.
They couldn’t have done a better Mutt and Jeff routine if they’d tried. “It just happened. Two or three minutes ago. He went that way and turned right at the light.”
One officer relayed the information into a radio; the other continued to pepper Paul with questions.
“What are you doing here? Can I get some ID?” a young, beefy cop asked.
Another slug living under a rock who didn’t recognize him. “Yes, of course. I was on my way home. I work in that building—” He pointed vaguely up the street. “I was headed to my car. I still can’t believe it!”
He showed the cop a bogus driver’s license he kept around for just such an occasion. “Please.” Paul injected as much desperation into his voice as he could. “Please, you have to help that woman.”
“Come on, let’s go,” the beefy cop’s partner said. “We have a sighting of the car.”
Really? A car Paul had just made up? That was fortunate. How many black sedans with Oklahoma plates were trolling the Houston streets?
Moments later, the police cruiser sped off in the direction the mythical car had taken.
That had been remarkably easy. Amazing how people liked and trusted him on sight. That, plus some damn good acting, had sent the police on a wild-goose chase.
Now, to find out what his prey was up to.
Why wasn’t Paul following her? Had she hurt him that badly?
If she turned around and went back the way she’d come, she would run right into him. And he had the advantage of good eyesight: hers was rapidly failing in the twilight. She could make out general shapes, but the details were lost. She had to hide or find another way out.
She’d heard a siren a few moments ago and hope had sprung into her being. But shortly after, the siren had started up again, then moved farther away. She wasn’t going to be rescued by the police.
Climbing the fence was no good. She wasn’t an action hero; that razor wire would slash her to ribbons before she could clear it. She eyed the hulking shape of a Dumpster, then the zigzag shape of a fire escape. If she could get inside one of the upper floors of this building…the Project Justice building, she realized, and her heart sank. No way could she get inside. Security was too tight. Probably no way to alert anyone inside the building. The windows were all dark at this end.
“Raleigh? Where are you?” The question came in a singsong voice, drifting down the dark alley, and her blood went cold.
She had to act now. Dumpster, or fire escape?
The fire escape won. It was a few feet off the ground, but reachable. She pulled herself up onto the metal stairs, her adrenaline giving her the strength of an Olympic gymnast. Then she climbed, as quickly and quietly as she could. Three flights, and she was as high as she could go. She chanced a look down and saw Paul—or something—moving up the alley toward her at a leisurely pace, as if he had nothing to worry about.
If he looked up, he would see her, and she would be an easy target. If there was something to hide behind…
That was when she saw the ladder that went to the roof. That was her only choice—farther up.
Her hands were slippery with sweat. She wiped them on her jeans then started the climb, expecting a bullet to slam into her body at any time. But luck was with her. She climbed onto the gravel-and-tar roof of the building. The gravel bit through her bare feet, but the pain hardly registered.
She couldn’t go anywhere from here—the fire escape was the one route down. But she had places to hide—big air-conditioning units, some ancient chimneys from an era when the residents of this old building had burned coal to stay warm.
Or, she could signal someone.
Unfortunately, it seemed everyone who worked on this entire block had gone home on time today. She peeked over the low wall toward the parking lot behind the building: deserted. She ran toward the street side, always keeping an eye toward the fire escape ladder, expecting to see Paul appear there any second.
So far, it seemed he hadn’t figured out where she’d gone.
She peeked over the low wall to the street. Empty. Not a single inhabited car, as if it were the middle of the night instead of a normal weekday evening.
There, she saw headlights at the end of the block. But would the driver see her?
She jumped up and down and waved her arms as the car approached, resisting the urge to scream out for help, because that would alert Paul to her whereabouts.
The car…it was slowing down. Yesss! Then she realized it wasn’t just any car. It was a black Mustang. Her hopes plummeted.
“No, Griffin,” she whispered. What was he doing? Of course, he didn’t yet know he was as much a target as she was. Maybe he thought he was coming to her aid, or maybe Paul had brought him here with some other ruse. Either way, Griffin had no idea his life was at risk.
The Mustang pulled in front of Project Justice and stopped, but Griffin didn’t turn off the engine or get out. He was waiting for something. Anytime he wanted, Paul could shoot him through the windshield. Griffin was a sitting duck. She had to warn him.
Raleigh looked all around for some means to signal Griffin without also calling Paul’s attention to her. Then she saw—or rather, felt—the answer. She stooped down and grabbed a handful of gravel.
With a silent apology to the mirror finish on Griffin’s beautiful car, she lobbed her handful of gravel at it. The small rocks showered the car with a satisfying rattle.
The driver’s door opened immediately and Griffin jumped out, looking up. He had a gun in his hand.
“Griffin. You have to get out of here.”
“Raleigh? Thank God—”
She was grabbed from behind, and pulled away from the edge of the rooftop. A strong hand clamped over her mouth as Paul put a gun to her head.
“Come get her, Benedict,” he called out in a husky, gritty voice that wasn’t quite his own, then laughed softly.