THE FBI THRILLERS COLLECTION Books 1-5 (85 page)

“And that makes a difference?”

“Maybe this time it does,” she said thoughtfully, lightly stroking her fingers over two thick black strips that were MAX’s speakers. She remembered hearing Dillon hoot when MAX had made his first statement, which was, if she remembered correctly, “Hooray for the Redskins.”

She said, “If it were a simple kidnapping, that would be different. But this is big, Dillon, and no one has a clue who’s behind it and what they want. Well, maybe Mason Lord does. You know, that’s got to be one of the reasons Ramsey’s there.”

“All right. I’ll phone the field office and let Agent Anchor know we’re coming.” Savich swiveled his chair back, pulled out his directory, and punched out some numbers on his telephone. The phone rang busy. “Damned thing. I think e-mail should be mandatory for everybody in every department and in every field office in the FBI, maybe even everybody in the world.”

She shook her head at him, picked up the phone, and
punched in the same numbers. When it was answered, she asked to speak to Agent Anchor. She said to Dillon, “Phones hate you. It’s time to face up to it. Just let me do the dialing from now on. Oh yes, hello, Agent Anchor. Agent Sherlock here from the CAU in Washington. I’m fine, you? Good. I wanted to ask you about the Santera kidnapping. Un-huh. Now, about that farmer you interviewed who claimed he’d sold his truck after his wife had reported it stolen?” In an instant she was staring at the phone as if it had bitten her. “You’re kidding me.”

She waited some more, nodded, then said, “When? How? Any leads?”

She asked more questions, then listened for a couple of more minutes. Slowly, she hung up.

“What happened?” Savich’s voice was tense, low.

“You won’t believe this,” she said. “The farmer’s dead. He was found three days ago just after dawn by his teenage daughter. His head had been bashed in with a hammer. Whoever did it just dropped the hammer by the body. No clues, no leads as of yet. Of course no fingerprints. As for other forensic evidence, we’ve got to wait to see. Agent Anchor said he’d call us when he found out anything more. He said they just found out about it from the local cops.

“The locals said that no one saw anything or anyone. His wife said he always went to the barn just before dawn to milk the cows.”

“And someone was waiting for him.”

She stared out the window. “He had three other kids besides the teenage daughter who found him.”

“Of course it has to be tied to the kidnapping, or whatever the hell it is.”

“Agent Anchor thinks so, at least he now thinks there might be a connection. What do we do now, Dillon?”

Savich pressed one of MAX’s buttons and said in a throaty FBI interview voice that imitated MAX’s, “We’re going to kick butt, Sherlock.”

“
I
’
LL SAY IT
again. No way are you going out there on your own. We’re in this together.”

He grinned down at her. “Before we get into it, let me compliment you first. You did really well with your dad. You hung in there, didn’t lose your temper, and finally he caved. He’s pretty smart himself. What I’m thinking now is that I should go to Denver, get personally involved, work with both the local cops and the FBI. As for you and Emma, you’ll both stay here.” He saw the fear draining the brilliance from her eyes. “I can handle myself, Molly. I won’t get killed. I promise.”

The emptying fear left her eyes and anger moved right in. She took three deep breaths.

“Good. You’re getting good at control. When my mom gets really mad at my dad, she throws something at him. My father can still move faster than any human I’ve ever seen.”

“I’m trying hard not to kick you in the shin. Listen to me, Ramsey. I know you mean well, but there’s no way I’m going to let you go out there alone and put yourself on the line.” She smiled at him. “It’s all for one and one for all. We’re the Three Musketeers. Call me D’Artagnon.”

“He was the fourth musketeer.”

“His is the only name I know.”

“I remember Aramis was one of them. Tell me, Molly, which one is Emma? Do we give her a sword or a gun, in this case, and let her fight right alongside us?”

She walked away from him, rubbing her hands over her arms. Then she hugged herself. “You and I have done a good job of protecting Emma. Besides, I can’t begin to imagine what she’d do if you just up and left. Don’t you understand? Emma needs us, both of us.”

He cursed under his breath and ran his fingers through his dark hair. “Okay. So you’re right. I agree. And I really don’t want to leave Emma in any case. Now here’s what we’ll do first thing. You’re going to call Louey in Germany and get him back here. It’s very possible he’s involved. How? I don’t know, but it’s possible. We need to talk to everyone.”

“I can try,” she said and walked to the phone. Three minutes later, the speaker on, they were listening to the phone ring at the Bristol Hotel Kempinski in Berlin.

Ramsey asked, “It’s what? Six
A
.
M
. there?”

“Something like that.” She asked for Louey Santera’s room.

The phone rang three times, then, “Mr. Santera’s suite. Rudy here. May I help you? It’s just past dawn here, by the way.”

“Good morning to you, too, Rudy. This is Mrs. Santera. I don’t know if Louey happened to mention it, but his daughter was kidnapped. Please put him on the phone.”

There was a miserable silence.

“Now, Rudy.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

After a three-minute wait, Louey Santera said, “Molly, that you? What the hell’s going on? Is Emma all right? I heard she was safe.”

“Yeah, she’s just fine. However, all is not what it seems, Louey. You’ve got to come home right now. Today.”

“I can’t. I have a concert tonight. Three more before I come back to the U.S.”

“Look, Louey, this is important. It’s about your daughter’s life. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“Dammit, Molly, I could probably come back by the end of the week, but not before then. I—”

“Today, Louey,” said Mason Lord, his voice soft and very gentle.

“Who’s that?”

“Hello, Louey,” Mason Lord said. “This is your ex–father-in-law. How are you feeling this morning? It is morning, isn’t it?”

“Yes, damn you, it’s morning. So Molly went home to Daddy, did she?”

“I suggest you get yourself back here, Louey. You can make the Lufthansa flight from Frankfurt to Chicago.”

“I can’t, I—”

“Today, Louey. There are many things we need to talk about. Perhaps you have some explaining to do.”

They heard a woman’s voice in the background. “Who is that, Louey? Why are you breathing so hard?”

Molly laughed. “Bring her along, Louey. No one wants you to get lonesome.” She hung up.

Ramsey looked ready to burst into laughter. He said, “If it were between a grand jury and your father, I’d bet any day on your dad getting him home.”

“Oh yes,” she said, and yawned. “He’s good at scaring people’s socks off.”

“I like your hair,” he said, surprising both of them.

She blinked at him. “My hair? What did you say? You like my hair?”

“Yes,” he said. “I do. It’s substantial, your hair. I like all those curls. It’s good hair.”

“Well, I like your hair too.”

He began to laugh. She joined him. The door opened and Mason Lord looked in. “What is going on here? Why are you two laughing?”

Molly just shook her head. “Will we be picking Louey up at O’Hare?”

Mason Lord looked back and forth between them. “I think Judge Hunt should pick Louey up. That would catch the little bastard off guard.”

Ramsey merely nodded. “I’d be delighted. I’ve got lots to say to Mr. Santera. I’ll use my old prosecutorial style.”

“My daughter,” Mason Lord said precisely, “doesn’t have nice hair. She looks like a grown-up Little Orphan Annie. She has her grandmother’s hair.”

He’d had it. Ramsey walked up to Mason Lord. He got right in his face. “Why don’t you tell Molly how happy you are to see her after three years? Why don’t you tell her that she’s got brains and grit and you’re about the luckiest guy alive to have her for your daughter?”

Mason Lord turned on his heel and left the bedroom. Ramsey knew he’d gone too far. Mason Lord was enraged, nearly over the edge. But when he turned in the doorway, it wasn’t Ramsey he went after. He said, his voice low and vicious, “Don’t bother wasting your time sleeping with her. Louey said she was a cold lump in bed. No fun at all. Of course I had to have him disciplined when it got back to me what he’d said, but there it is anyway.”

Molly didn’t fold at all from the hurt of his words. Instead, she said, her voice filled with amusement, “Well, Louey’s the expert, isn’t he? Bottom line, Dad, I’m really glad I didn’t get some disease from him.”

She saw her father pause a moment, and then he was gone from her view.

Ramsey said, “The two of you are quite the duo. Look, Molly, you’re an adult. I know it must hurt when he goes after you, but kiss it off. It’s not important. There are lots more important things to think about and the most important is standing right there.”

“Mama, why is Grandfather angry?”

Emma was standing in the doorway, her hair long and
tousled, her nightgown with its pink bows nearly to the floor. She was clutching her piano against her chest. It was nearly as big as she was.

Ramsey said, “She needs a doll.”

“Your grandfather wasn’t what you’d call really angry, Em. It’s late and he’s older, you know? Older people get cross quickly when they get tired.”

“Boy, what a whopper.”

“Be quiet. Em, Ramsey is just trying to make a joke. I’m going to give him lessons. Now, come back to bed. I’ll tuck you in.”

“I’ll come with you.” Ramsey walked to Emma and picked her up in his arms. “This piano weighs a ton, Emma. I think I’ll have to remove an octave.”

Emma reared back in his arms and looked at him closely. “That was funny, Ramsey. Not as funny as Mama, but funny. Has she given you a lesson already?”

“Thank you, Emma. She hasn’t yet given me any lessons at all. Actually, I came out with that one all on my own.” He took the piano, handing it to Molly. Emma sprawled against him, her head on his shoulder. She sucked her fingers.

There was a queen bed in the bedroom. It was Molly’s old room, he realized. There wasn’t a ruffle to be had. What there was were bookshelves all up and down one wall, filled with paperbacks and hardcovers, piled indiscriminately. On the other wall were photos, dozens and dozens of photos. Many were framed, most were arranged lovingly and carefully on corkboards.

“Mama takes pictures,” Emma said to Ramsey when he laid her on her back. “She took all these when she was young.”

“I see,” he said, and leaned down and kissed Emma’s forehead. He stroked her hair back from her face. “You go to sleep now, Emma. I don’t want you worrying about anything, all right?”

“You won’t leave, will you, Ramsey?”

He’d already made that decision, with Molly’s help, but still, what if something happened? Something he couldn’t foresee made him leave?

She whispered, “You don’t know if you should tell me the truth. It’s all right. Everybody lies. Except Mama. She never lies.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” Emma said. “Mama, will you come to bed soon?”

“Yes, love, in just a little while. Ramsey and I have bunches of things to discuss.”

She turned off Emma’s light, but left the door ajar. Just a slice of light shone into the room from the three Tiffany lamps standing at intervals in the wide corridor.

Ramsey said, “I won’t leave you, Emma, unless I have to, and then I’ll tell you first.”

Emma didn’t say anything.

“We can hear her if she has a nightmare,” Molly said quietly as she followed Ramsey back to his room.

“Now,” he said once they were in his bedroom, “tell me what you think we should do.”

“Beat up Louey Santera again.”

“After we beat him up.”

She sighed. “I don’t know, Ramsey. So much has happened.”

“One of the first things is to take Emma to a doctor and to a child shrink.”

“Yes,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about that. I don’t want to take her to her regular pediatrician. He’s a man. I want to take her to a woman.”

“That’s probably smart.”

“I’ll make calls tomorrow, get some names. Where do you think those men are, Ramsey?”

“If they’re here, they’re cursing a blue streak. There’s just no way in here. Miles told me he has six men patrolling the grounds around the clock. I think this place is more secure than the White House.”

“I heard Mason tell Gunther to bring in another three men to patrol. He’s not taking any chances.”

“He loves you and Emma.”

“Yeah, right. It’s all a matter of possession. He just doesn’t want anyone messing with something he sees as his.”

“Whatever it is, it’s still a start. We’ll see. Tomorrow—” He rubbed his hands together. “Tomorrow I’ll get to meet dear Louey face-to-face.”

“It won’t be one of the high points of your day. Trust me.”

“As Emma would say, you made a joke.”

“Sometimes truth’s funnier than fiction.”

L
OUEY
Santera was furious and it showed. His mouth was tight, his lips a skinny pursed line. Then he saw a reporter and the fury was masked immediately by a charming smile and a little-boy shrug. “Hi,” he said to the reporter, turned, and gave a smile to the accompanying photographer, then saw Molly and gave a wave.

The reporter, a longtime friend of Ramsey’s, said cheerfully, “I hear you flew back, breaking concert dates, when you heard your little girl was kidnapped.”

“I couldn’t leave immediately,” Louey said, nose sharp, on the alert instantly. “I naturally came back as soon as I could.”

“Is it true your little girl is safe and at her grandfather’s house? Her grandfather is Mason Lord, isn’t that right?”

“Yeah, he is her grandfather, and yeah I heard she was at his house. It’s over now, thank God. Did you hear? My concerts went great, too.”

“I’ve heard you’ve had your problems with Mr. Lord. Is that right, Mr. Santera?”

A man came from behind Louey Santera to plant himself directly in front of the reporter. He was a young guy, stringy, with acne scars. “Mr. Santera just flew in from
Germany. He wants to be reunited with his little girl. He’s tired. He’s said all he’s going to say. Good day.”

The reporter said, “Come on, Mr. Santera, what’s going on here? Your little girl was kidnapped over two weeks ago. You’re coming back a little late, aren’t you?”

“No comment.”

The young guy with Louey actually shoved the reporter. The photographer flashed a photo.

Louey Santera was white-faced. Ramsey smiled as he stepped up to him. “Mr. Santera? I’m here to greet you. I’m Ramsey Hunt, currently residing with Mr. Mason Lord. Do come this way, out of all this crowd of people. Ah, yes, here’s Molly.”

“Get out of his face,” the young guy said, and gave Ramsey a shove. The guy might look scrawny and too young, but Ramsey spotted the moves immediately, the watchful eyes, the stance.

“That isn’t polite,” Ramsey said, and in a move that was subtle and smooth, he gently clasped the young man’s hand and twisted his thumb back. The guy gasped with pain. He didn’t move.

“Now, back off,” Ramsey said very quietly. “I’m not a reporter.” He applied a bit more pressure on the thumb. “All right?”

“Leave be, Alenon,” Louey Santera said.

The young guy nodded. There was cold hatred in his dark eyes. It seemed to be awfully easy to make enemies these days. Ramsey released his thumb. “Now, let’s get out of here. Molly, say hello to your ex-husband.”