Authors: Jannine Gallant
“The girlfriend who cared so much she was clingy?”
“Your sarcasm is warranted since I didn’t explain the whole situation.” He let out a long, shuddering breath. “She tried to kill herself. Swallowed a bottle of pills then called me.”
Her gasp came through sharp and clear.
He rushed on, needing to spit out the words. “I called 9-1-1, then afterward waited around the emergency room for hours. She almost didn’t make it.”
“Oh, God. I’m sorry.”
He rested his chin on a clenched fist, elbow propped on one knee. “I stayed with her until her mom was able to fly back from Europe. Turns out, she’d pulled the same stunt once before when a relationship was unraveling.”
“That’s awful.”
“Yeah, it was. Anyway, I’ve kept things casual with women since then. Until you.”
“You don’t think I’d
ever—
” Her voice broke.
“No, of course not.”
“There’s a big difference between wanting a partner in a relationship to be emotionally available and going totally
psycho
when you hit a rough patch!”
A long sigh slipped out. “I know.” His gaze strayed toward the river. The camera crew was repacking their equipment, apparently finished filming for the evening. “Damn, looks like everyone is getting ready to go.”
“Go where at this hour? Surely it’s dark there.”
“Not quite, but close. The director insisted he needed this exact spot for a night scene they were shooting. The take out point is only a short distance away on a fairly flat stretch of the river.” He sighed. “I guess I should get my ass down there and help load up, but I didn’t want to wait any longer to call you. I’ve been worried all day.”
“No reason to be.” Her voice was soft. “I’m glad you told me about Johanna. It does help explain a few things.”
“I hope you know how much you mean to me. I should have been a lot better about expressing my feelings before I left.” He huffed out a breath. “I suck at this.”
A piercing whistle spilt the air.
“Ah, hell. Sawyer’s calling me the same way he does his damn horse. I’d better go.”
“We can talk later.” Humor crept into her voice. “I just got back to the car, and I need to clean the sand off Rocky. That should be fun. Give me a call once you’re settled for the evening.”
“Phone sex?” His tone was husky.
She snorted with laughter. “I don’t know about that. I—
hey
, back off, mister.”
“Ainslee?”
The phone clattered. Indistinct words came from a distance. Barking, shrill and strident.
“Ainslee! Ainslee!” Griff’s voice rose. “Ainslee, are you there? Are you okay?”
Nothing in response but a man’s voice, not one he recognized, growing louder.
“If you even attempt to get away, I’ll hurt you. Maybe I’ll start with that little shit of a dog if he tries to bite me again.”
Griff skidded down the trail and slid in an avalanche of small rocks, managing to stop himself on a hardy bush growing out of the side of the cliff. Heart pounding, he kept going, stumbling in the dark, the phone pressed to his ear.
“Where the hell is your phone? I saw it fall when I grabbed you.” The male voice again.
“Under the car. You made me drop it, you freak! Let go of me!”
“Not a chance. Goddamned dog.”
A thud and a yelp.
“Don’t hurt him!” Ainslee’s voice was thick with tears.
“Shit, I see headlights.” His voice faded then the squeaking groan the passenger door made when it opened. “Get in the car, now. We’re going for a ride.”
“Why’re you doing this?” Ainslee’s voice quavered. “Take my wallet, the SUV, whatever you want. Just leave me and my dog alone.”
“I want a hell of a lot more than your wallet.” The man’s laugh was low and ugly. An engine started.
Panting for breath, Griff hit the bottom of the trail as the connection faded in and out. Holding the cell over his head, he kept running. “Sawyer, I need your phone. Now!”
His brother turned with a jerk. “What’s wrong?”
Griff pushed past a couple of actors. “Some freaking asshole grabbed Ainslee while we were talking on the phone then drove off with her. I need to call the police!” His voice rose in a shout.
Sawyer didn’t argue, just pulled his cell out of a waterproof bag already packed into the raft. “No service except for emergency calls. Try 9-1-1.”
Griff drew in a ragged breath and forced himself to think. “That won’t help if I can’t give them an exact location. I’ll just be wasting time. I need to talk to the detective who was trying to reach me earlier. Carter, I think his name was.” He grabbed hold of the nearest raft with his free hand and gave it a shove. “Maybe he can track her phone.” With a grunt, he pushed the raft deeper into the water. “Let’s go. I hope to hell there’s service at the take out point.”
“There should be.” Sawyer waved an arm. “Four strong paddlers load up with Griff. Go.”
Benedict, along with a couple of the camera crew and one of the actresses, scrambled to comply. Griff stood in the back of the raft and clenched the phone in his fist high over his head. He hadn’t lost the connection yet and prayed he wouldn’t. The fragile link to Ainslee was all he had. Every now and then a word or two was audible. She must have dropped her phone somewhere in the car, not on the ground as she’d said. Smart.
“Is this the place?” Blake Benedict pointed toward a flat stretch of gravel along the shore as the raft bounced and dipped in the current.”
“Must be. I see lights and tents. Left side paddle hard. Right side back paddle. Back paddle!” Griff braced himself as the raft swung toward the edge of the river. When it grated over rocks, he leaped out and splashed ashore.
“Do you have service?”
He glanced over his shoulder at Talia, the actress who’d flirted with him earlier. Lowering the cell slightly, he checked the bars. Four. “Thank God.” He pressed the phone to his ear. The only sound was Rocky whining.
“Shut that fucking dog up. It’s driving me crazy.”
“It’s okay, baby.” A pause. “Where’re we going?”
“You’ll find out when we get there. Until then, just sit there and be quiet. You and the mutt, both.”
Silence. He lowered the phone. “Yeah, I have service, but I don’t want to break this connection.”
“Use mine.” The actress handed him her cell.
“Thanks.” He did a quick Internet search to find the number for the SFPD, made the call then asked for Detective Carter.
The police officer who’d answered spoke in a bored voice. “The detective’s gone home for the day. Can someone else help you?”
Griff gritted his teeth. “No, I need him. This is an emergency.”
“Isn’t it always? Maybe if you explain the nature of your business—”
Cutting the man off, he held his temper with an effort. “My name’s Griff Wilde. I have new information relating to the Parnell Jones case, and a woman’s life is in danger. The detective’s been trying to reach me for two days. Surely you can contact him and have him call me back at this number, not the one he has on file.”
The officer spoke sharply. “If someone’s being threatened, why didn’t you call 9-1-1?”
“I don’t know where she is.” He forced the panic out of his voice. “I was on the phone with her when she was grabbed by some crazy son of a bitch, but the attack relates to the Jones case.”
“I’ll call Carter. He’ll be in touch.”
Griff lowered the borrowed cell and pressed his own to his ear. The only sound was the rumble of an engine. When the noise stopped, he tensed.
“Are we here? I don’t see anything?” Ainslee’s voice came across higher than normal and tinged with fear.
“Nothing to see. We’re miles from the nearest house, so if you scream, no one will hear.”
“Why would I scream? Just tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you. Then you can let me go.”
“I hope it’ll be that easy, but I’m covering my bases. Just in case you lie to me.”
“Lie about what?” Her voice rose another octave.
“Where you put the treasure, bitch. It wasn’t in your room at the lodge.”
“How do you know? Did you break into my room?”
“That isn’t your biggest problem right now.”
A car door creaked.
“I don’t have the treasure.”
He snorted. “Sure you don’t.”
“I don’t. I swear!”
“Get out of the car. We’re going to go have a little chat. When we’re finished, I bet you’ll be telling a different story.”
Griff’s breath came in harsh pants as he clenched the phone in his fist.
“I’m telling the truth now!” A door slammed, cutting off Ainslee’s tearful voice.
When the borrowed cell rang, he switched phones and punched the connect button. “Carter?”
“Is this Griff Wilde?”
“Yes. The bastard who was after the treasure has Ainslee.” He sank down onto a stump and hung his head. “I’m afraid he’s going to hurt her—or worse. You have to find her.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m in Utah, and I don’t know how long it’ll take me to get back to California. I can’t help her.” His voice cracked. “I can’t be there for her when it really matters.”
“We’ll find her.” The detective’s voice softened. “But first I’m going to need a few details.”
The other rafts arrived while he repeated everything he’d heard on the phone. Lights flashed as the actors and crew headed up to the camping area. Sawyer stopped by his side and dropped a hand on his shoulder.
“So, she was in Rockpoint when this man took her?” The detective cleared his throat. “In your estimation, how long was she travelling in the vehicle before it stopped?”
“A half hour. No longer.”
“What do you hear on the phone now?”
Griff pressed his cell to his other ear. “Nothing. They left the car.”
“Do you know the license number? I’ll put out an APB. Maybe we’ll get lucky and a patrol car will spot it wherever it’s parked.”
He rattled off the number and a description of the SUV. “Lucky I needed the license for motel registration, and I have a good memory. Oh, the car has New York plates.”
“Got it. Did the man’s voice sound at all familiar?”
“No.” Griff frowned. “I’m almost certain it wasn’t Ogden Morris. No Bostonian accent. And it sure as hell wasn’t Marietta Damonte.”
Carter grunted. “Too bad we don’t know who we’re dealing with, but we’ll track Miss Fontaine’s phone—just as soon as I can get a trace approved.”
Griff jerked upright. “How long will that take?”
“I’ll rush it as fast as I can, but I have to find a judge to sign a warrant, and it’s late. It may take some time.”
“No! This guy made it clear he’d force some kind of confession from her if he had to.” His voice broke. “He could be hurting her right now.”
“I’ll do my best, but there’re procedures I have to follow. I’m putting out the APB right now.”
“Fu…” He drew in a breath when Sawyer’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “Screw procedure.”
“I want you to hang up your cell.” The detective’s voice hardened. “We can’t track Miss Fontaine’s phone if her battery dies.”
“What if they drive somewhere else? I could—”
“The police will handle this. Hang up the phone. Oh, I still want to talk to you when you get back to the Bay Area. Any idea when that might be?”
“As soon as is physically possible.”
“Call me when you get here.” He repeated his cell number before the line went dead.
With mumbled thanks, Griff handed the borrowed phone over to the actress who was still hovering nearby. His finger trembled as he pressed the button to disconnect the call on his own cell—his final tie to Ainslee. “Shit.” Taking a deep breath, he added the detective’s number to his contacts.
“Someone from the company I hired to set up camp will drive you back to Moab.” Sawyer touched his arm. “You can catch a flight out first thing in the morning.”
“I can do better than that.” Blake Benedict slipped his cell into his pocket as he walked toward them. “The studio jet will be waiting to take you to San Francisco when you get to Moab. I just got off the phone with the pilot, and he’s making the necessary arrangements.”
Griff jumped to his feet. “Serious?”
“You bet.”
“I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You don’t have to.” The smile on the actor’s lips slipped away. “I know how it feels to be far away when someone you love needs you. Go find your woman.”
“Oh, I will.” Griff took the flashlight his brother handed him and ran full tilt up the steep trail leading to the road.
And when he did, the asshole who’d taken Ainslee was going to wish he’d never been born.
* * * *
In the dark, Ainslee tripped and fell over a root. Pain shot through her knee as her captor jerked her to her feet. Her lungs burned. Gasping for breath, she stumbled forward at a trot.
“Move it.”
They’d left the car parked beside the road in a state park near the ocean, then hiked inland through ferns and huckleberry bushes, dodging around madrone and oak trees. After walking for nearly an hour, Ainslee’s legs shook with each step.
“I can’t see where I’m going. There’s not even a trail.”
“Too bad.” His flashlight beam barely penetrated the dark. “Anyway, we’re almost there.”
Drawing a shaking breath, she forced her feet to move, wondering where
there
was. She didn’t bother to ask. Whoever this man was, he didn’t like being questioned—or contradicted. Her cheek still stung from the last time she’d argued with him. He’d told her to be grateful he’d only tried to slap some sense into her instead of using his fist.
When tears ran down her face, she brushed them away with her free hand. Falling apart wouldn’t help. She wasn’t sure what would. At her side, Rocky scurried through the underbrush as fast as his short legs could manage, whining all the while.
“Finally.”
Dragging her by the arm, the freak entered a small clearing. Faint moonlight revealed a tiny shack with wood piled near the front door and a stovepipe sticking through the roof.
“If I’d had to listen to that mutt whimper for one more minute, I would have killed it.” He jerked open the door. “Get inside.”
Ainslee did as she was told. The wicked blade of the hunting knife he wore strapped to his leg was more than enough motivation. She didn’t want to give him an excuse to take it out of the sheath again. Giving Rocky a backward shove with a booted foot, he slammed the door. Left outside, the dog howled.