Did You Miss Me? (16 page)

Daphne winced. ‘“Riding shotgun” isn’t the expression I would have chosen today.’

‘Except that I am, ma’am,’ Coppola said. She reached to her feet and brought up an impressive-looking assault rifle.

‘At least now we’re evenly matched with the bad guys,’ Daphne murmured.

‘If there’s any incident,’ Hector said, ‘Agent Coppola leads the defense. I cover her. You hide in the floorboards. This car isn’t bullet-proof, but it is bullet-resistant. You’re wearing a vest?’

‘A new one,’ she said. ‘My old vest was taken by CSU.’
Because it was riddled with holes from Marina’s bullets
. Daphne shuddered as the thought of how close she’d come to death briefly snuck through her terror over Ford. Then the moment was over and fear for her son threatened to paralyze her once more.

She closed her eyes, knowing there was a call she needed to make. Dreading it.
Travis
. Ford’s father needed to know.

Her hands trembled as she dialed Travis’s number from memory. It wasn’t in her contact list. She hadn’t wanted to desecrate her phone with his name. It began to ring and her stomach turned inside out. Like a coward, she hoped no one would answer.

‘Elkhart residence.’
Damn
. The nasal tone belonged to Remington, the butler who was proud to be descended from a long line of butlers. In Remington’s mind, being a butler trumped being a mountain girl like Daphne, no matter how polished she became.

‘Remington, this is Daphne. Please connect me with Judge Elkhart.’

‘Daphne? I’m afraid I can’t place the name.’

Her temper snapped. ‘Dammit, I’m
not
in the mood for your games.’ Since the divorce he’d thought it funny to not remember her. ‘I need to talk to Travis about Ford.’

‘He’s not in at the moment,’ Remington said snidely.

‘Then connect me with wherever he is. This is not a social call. This is . . .’ She exhaled carefully, controlling her temper. ‘This is a matter of life and death.’

‘One moment please.’ There was a minute of silence, then the phone picked up.

‘This is Nadine. What is this matter of life and death, Elizabeth?’

Oh God, no
.
Not today
.
Please
. Travis’s mother hated her. And the feeling was mutual.
But this isn’t about you, Daphne
. Or even Elizabeth, the middle name that Nadine insisted on calling her by since forcing her marriage to Travis.
This is about Ford
. And in Nadine’s own praying-mantis type way, she loved her only grandson.

‘Ford has been kidnapped.’

Nadine’s gasp was audible. ‘What? What is this?’

‘What I just said. Ford has been kidnapped. I need to talk to Travis.’

‘He’s not here. He’s in court this morning. Oh my God.’

Daphne could hear Remington in the background. ‘Madam? Madam, are you unwell?’ The old lady’s heart had never been that strong.

Daphne hated her, but didn’t want her to have a heart attack. ‘Are you all right?’

‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I am not all right. Elizabeth, what have you done?’

‘I don’t have any details,’ she said, ignoring the accusation. ‘I’ll keep you apprised.’

‘Don’t you
dare
hang up on me, Elizabeth. Have you received a ransom demand?’

‘Not to my knowledge.’

‘Have you informed the FBI?’

They informed me
. ‘They are involved.’

‘When did this happen?’ Nadine’s voice was thinning. She’d be hysterical in a minute or two. This time Daphne couldn’t blame her.

‘Last night. He went to a movie and didn’t return to his dorm.’

‘How could you let this happen, Elizabeth?’ she demanded shrilly.

Daphne bit her tongue. There were so many ways to reply. Most of them unproductive. ‘If you could pass this message on to Travis, I’d appreciate it. As I said, I’ll keep you apprised. If you hear anything, please call me. You have my number.’

Daphne hung up, staring at the phone crunched into her fist. There, that was done. At least she hadn’t had to talk to Travis. She didn’t think she had the strength to deal with him at the moment.

She had scarcely drawn a breath when her cell began to ring. The caller ID said
Blocked number
.

Her heart stopped, then began to race.
It’s the one who took Ford
.
He has my son
. ‘There’s a blocked number calling in.’

Coppola turned to meet Daphne’s eyes. ‘I’m texting Bo Lamar. Keep the caller on as long as possible. We’ll try to trace.’

‘I can record the call. Should I?’

‘Answer it while I find out if recording it will impact triangulation.’

‘Okay.’ Daphne sucked in a breath and answered. ‘Hello?’

‘What the fuck is going on, Daphne?’

She flinched for the second time in five minutes, meeting Coppola’s gaze with a shake of her head. ‘It’s just my ex,’ she said quietly.

Travis’s mother called her Elizabeth, because her first name was ‘far too vulgar for an Elkhart’. When they’d been married, Travis had bowed to his mother’s wishes, calling her Elizabeth as well. When he called her anything, that was. He’d pretty much ignored her from day one. Once the divorce papers were signed, he’d taken to calling her ‘Daphne’ in a way that made her name sound . . . like trash. Which was exactly how he’d treated her for the twelve years she’d borne his name. And raised his son.

‘
Just
your ex?’ Travis said icily.

‘Yes, Travis. Just my ex. You’ll be contacted by Agent Lamar to have your phones tapped. Until then I suggest you start answering your phone, in case they call you instead of me.’

‘
“They”, meaning whoever kidnapped my son.’

Daphne pressed her fingertips to her throbbing temple. ‘That would be the “they”.’

‘How could you let this happen?’ he asked, fury in his tone.

Again she bit her tongue. ‘Ford is twenty. He is independent. I did not “let” this happen.’
Except that the Millhouses took him to punish me
.

She should tell this to Travis, but somehow couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

‘That’s what comes from going to college in the ghetto. If he’d gone to Princeton . . .’

She let him rant. Arguing never did any good. Not when Travis knew he was right. Which was always. When he paused to breathe, she cut him off. ‘I have to go. Next time I call, please make yourself available.’ She hung up and leaned her head against the seat. ‘That was fun.’

Hector was frowning. ‘In all due respect . . . Wow. I thought my ex was bad.’

‘Yeah. Well. You probably should set up a phone tapping at the estate. Just in case.’
In case this isn’t because of me
.
Except it is
.
My fault
.
All my fault
.

‘The estate?’ Hector asked carefully.

‘River Oaks, in Northern Virginia, Loudoun County. About an hour west of here.’

‘Horse country,’ Hector said. ‘Is it a ranch?’

Daphne laughed bitterly. ‘No. That would be vulgar. It’s an estate. Family money. They have stables and grooms. But the land is not an “economic enterprise”.’

‘Okay,’ Hector said slowly. ‘Upper crust?’

‘The crustiest. They’ll cooperate because my ex-husband is very politically minded. He won’t want to anger law enforcement. His mother will observe all the proprieties.’

Hector looked genuinely confused. ‘But this is his son, too.’

‘Yes, he is. But there’s . . . friction. In the divorce, they made Ford choose.’

‘He chose you.’ Hector sighed. ‘Hell of a thing to do to a kid.’

‘Ms Montgomery.’ Kate Coppola kept a vigilant watch on the cars that crawled alongside them in mid-day traffic. ‘Why do you record your calls?’

‘Because of the death threats from the Millhouses. I got a wire-tap warrant first. I didn’t want to give them any ammunition.’ She winced at her word choice. ‘Hell.’

‘Do you have any of those threats saved on your phone?’ Coppola asked.

‘Yes. The police have them, too.’ Daphne scrolled through the screens on her phone, then froze. ‘Wait. I got a text from Ford this morning.’

‘When?’ Hector asked tersely.

‘I was in court.’ Hands shaking, she managed to find the message. ‘Here it is. He texted me at 10.04. “Good luck, Mom”.’ She looked up, hope trembling through her. ‘He’s okay. He texted me. This is all a mistake.’

Not looking hopeful at all, Coppola dialed on her cell phone. ‘I’ll call Agent Carter. He’ll need this information.’

Anger burned her chest. ‘He texted me, dammit. We can find out where he texted from. We can find him.’

‘Joseph, it’s Kate . . . No, no, Ms Montgomery is unharmed. She remembered that her son texted her this morning at—’ She listened, then glanced over her shoulder carefully. ‘Yeah, that’s the time.’

All the air left her lungs.
No
. Daphne didn’t realize she’d whimpered it aloud until she heard the sound of her own voice. Her hand lifted to cover her mouth, to keep the other whimpers in, but they escaped, keening sounds of pain.

That’s me
, she thought.
That sound is coming from me
. The last time she’d heard that sound . . . 
I was in a doctor’s office
. The doctor had just delivered the bad news, using words like
diagnosis
and
chemotherapy
and
metastasize
but all she’d been able to hear was the keening sound of pain ripping from her throat.
I’d rather be back there than here
.
I’d trade places in a heartbeat
.
I’d go through it again if it brought Ford back
.

But those kinds of bargains were fruitless. This she knew. Her lungs were working now, hard. Each breath hurt.
Hurt
.

Ford, where are you? Where are you?

Kate looked at Daphne from the corner of her eye. ‘Straight home.’ She hung up. ‘They knew about the text already. They dumped Ford’s cell phone records.’

There was more she wasn’t saying. ‘Where did he text from?’

‘The text was sent from an alley, a few blocks from the courthouse.’

‘Is Joseph there now?’ she asked.

Kate hesitated. ‘Yes.’

‘Then take me there.’ She met Hector’s eyes in the rear view mirror. ‘Now.’

‘Daphne,’ Hector started.

‘
Now!
’ Daphne shouted and both agents flinched. She quieted her voice. ‘Or I will get out of this car and hail a cab. Hitchhike if I have to. What’s it going to be?’

Tuesday, December 3, 1.35
P.M.

Joseph got out of his car and jogged to the alley where Deacon’s car was parked. Deacon was nowhere to be seen. ‘Novak,’ he called.

‘In back of the Dumpster,’ Deacon called back. A few seconds later, he emerged, a backpack dangling limply from a pen, hanging by the shoulder strap. ‘This is all I found.’

‘Then let’s have a look,’ Joseph said.

Deacon unzipped the compartments and took a little whiff. Then coughed. ‘Somebody carried their lunch in this. Whoever that was ate a lot of garlic.’ He looked up, blinking rapidly. ‘That’ll curl the hair on your chest.’

Joseph waved the pungent odor away, then paused, studying Deacon’s strange eyes as he cleared them of moisture. ‘You’re not wearing contacts, are you?’

Deacon looked amused. ‘Nope. What I got is what I got.’

‘Your eyelashes are white, too. Why?’

Deacon shrugged again. ‘All my hair is white. Even the ones on my chest.’

It bothered him, Joseph realized. ‘I’m sorry, Deacon,’ he said. ‘I figured you were pretty impervious. I was wrong.’

‘It gets old,’ Deacon confessed.

‘The eyes work, though?’ Joseph asked. ‘No vision issues, blind spots that I need to know about? No vulnerabilities in a firefight?’

‘No. My vision is at the top of the chart, actually.’ Deacon’s odd eyes took on a thoughtful gleam. ‘You’re worrying about me?’

‘Worry isn’t the word I’d use,’ Joseph hedged.

Deacon grinned. ‘You were worrying about me. You like me, you really like me.’

Joseph snorted. ‘You’re an ass, Novak.’

‘I know. Makes life more interesting. To answer your question, I have no vision defects. It’s all cosmetic. My good vision is unrelated to the color. Dad had great eyes, my mother’s side provided the ice-breaking conversation topic.’

‘Well, it’s a damn fine weapon if you ask me,’ Joseph muttered. ‘Catches people off their guard. As well you know.’

‘Hell, yeah.’ Deacon opened the backpack. ‘What do we have?’

Joseph shined his flashlight inside. Reaching in, he brought out a plastic . . . something. ‘What the hell?’

‘Looks like a shoe horn,’ Deacon said.

‘A bit.’ Joseph opened the backpack wider. ‘And a single dollar bill. That’s all.’

Out on the street a car came to a screeching halt. Doors slammed and arguing voices approached. Joseph stood, the backpack in his hands. Beside him Deacon also rose, his hand on his weapon.

‘Where is he?’ a woman demanded, and Joseph sighed.

‘Have you met SA Montgomery?’ he asked Deacon.

‘No, but I have a feeling I’m about to.’

‘Yep.’ Joseph started walking, meeting her as she entered the alley from the street.

She walked faster when she saw him and for a tiny second he let himself stare. Then he saw her red eyes and knew she’d been crying and abruptly checked his lust. ‘Joseph, he texted me. From here. Ford did.’

‘Somebody holding his phone texted you,’ he said gently.

‘But why?’ she asked plaintively. ‘Why go to the trouble?’

‘I don’t know. All we’ve found so far is this backpack. Do you recognize it?’

‘No. What’s in it?’

Joseph took out the plastic piece and watched her flinch. ‘What? What is it?’

‘It’s the same color as the knife Reggie used to stab Deputy Welch,’ she said. ‘Kind of the same shape, too. But that’s not a knife.’

Deacon took it from Joseph and sniffed it. He made a face. ‘It smells sour. Like unwashed skin. But it’s not a knife. It’s not even sharp.’

Daphne carefully turned, and began walking away.

‘Daphne.’ Joseph grasped her shoulders and made her look at him. Her blue eyes were filled with tears. And devastation. ‘Aw, honey,’ he whispered. ‘You hoped.’