Guilty (42 page)

What could they possibly want her to do?

Short answer: nothing good.

Maybe she was supposed to deliver a message. Or steal something. Or rob someone. Or ...

The possibilities took on hellishly sinister overtones the more she thought about them. Jim Wolff was a highly controversial figure. A former vice president. The clear front-runner for his party's nomination. Quite possibly the next President of the United States. He had heavy security around him at all times. Access to the fund-raiser was tightly controlled. Already, she'd had to turn in the name of her planned escort for the evening—Tom, whom she had asked over the weekend when things between them were different, although the date was clearly not going to happen now—to be vetted by the FBI or the Secret Service or whoever vetted those things.

The thought hit her like a two-by-four—was it possible they thought they could blackmail her into helping with an assassination attempt?

But then, it wasn't going to happen. Nothing was going to happen. Because she wasn't going to be there for it to happen to.

Time s up. We have to go.

Even though it broke her heart to leave.

But she knew she had to be careful. They had known where she parked her car. They had cornered her in the alley Monday. They found her in the restroom today.

They
were
watching. And the really terrible thing about it was, she didn't have a clue who
they
were. Anyone—colleagues, juror, people in the system, passersby—could be one of them. They could be watching at any time, and she wouldn't even know. Kate shivered at the thought.

They couldn't be allowed to guess that she was going to run away.

She didn't know what the consequences would be, but she was confident they would be bad.

With that in mind, she made sure to keep the rest of the day as normal-seeming as she could. Luckily, because she was so anxious she could barely think, the highlight of the afternoon was a deposition, which she could do in her sleep. She put her office in order, got her briefcase—the money was stashed in there—and her coat. With all her heart she wanted to say good-bye to Mona, to Bryan, to Cindy, and to the entire rest of the ninth floor. She'd been so proud to work there, so proud to be one of them, so proud of the life she had made for herself and Ben. But in the end she didn't say a word to anyone, because she couldn't. The whole key was to make this look, to any possible observer, like any other day. Forty-five minutes early—not too early to be suspicious but early enough to avoid Tom—she walked out of the building for the last time.

She had a huge lump in her throat as she drove away.

The plan was, she was going to meet Tom at the back door of the building at six. Tom would wait for a while, she knew. He would call her cell phone. He would go up to her office. He would look around the building. First, he would be scared when he didn't find her. Then, when he saw that her car was gone and figured out that she had left without him, he would be livid.

She couldn't let him just wonder what had happened to her. Once she had Ben, once she was safely out of the city, she would call him and let him know she was leaving.

Although, of course, she couldn't tell him why.

Dangerous as it probably was, she made one final swing by her house. Her heart was in her throat as she ran inside, but there were still a few last things she couldn't leave behind. Ben's teddy bear, which he loved. A few of his favorite stuffed animals. The book he was reading. The damned beginner basketball.

That was what finally made her cry.

As she pulled out of her house for the last time, tears were streaming down her face, and it was all because of that stupid basketball.

Forever after, every time she looked at it, she would think of Tom.

And her heart would break.

When had she fallen in love with him? She didn't know—but she had.

Getting Ben was quick. Of course, not knowing that he would never see them again, he left the Perrys with a nonchalant "bye," which she just as nonchalantly—she hoped—echoed.

When he got in the car she had a bad moment, because there was no way he was going to miss the stuff piled in the front passenger seat. Even though she had been very careful to cover it with her coat.

"What's all that?" he asked, right on schedule, frowning at the mound.

"Oh, just some things I picked up today." She had been debating when to tell him the truth for most of the afternoon, but she wanted to hold off for as long as she could. Even if he begged not to go, she couldn't change her mind, and that would upset both of them. If he cried, she would cry, too. It was all she could do to keep her composure now. "How did school go?"

As far as distractions went, that worked. He told her, and she nodded and made what she hoped were the appropriate responses as she turned, not toward home but toward the expressway. He would see they weren't headed home soon and ask. ...

Twilight had fallen, and her automatic headlights were now on. The twin beams arced over a stand of near-leafless trees, a closed-uptight metal garage, and an empty lot as they left the residential neighborhood behind. Stopping at the stop sign just before the ramp to the expressway, she saw that it was ten minutes past six o'clock. Tom would be getting impatient by now. He probably wasn't too worried about her yet, but he soon would be.

Oh, God, she didn't want to leave. Her heart felt like a giant hand was squeezing it dry.

"Who's that?" Ben gasped, startling her out of her reverie. It was the only warning she received before the window behind her smashed with a boom. Little beads of glass hit her in the back of the head as she jumped and her head whipped around toward the sound. "Mom!" Ben screamed in terror.

With a single all-encompassing glance, she saw that his window had been broken out and someone—a man, dressed in black, black gloves, black coat—had an arm in the opening, reaching down to open his door.

"No!" she screamed.

A car squealed to a halt in front of her, blocking them in, blocking her from stomping the gas and rocketing away. A man jumped out of the car, but all she saw of him was a blur as she turned in her seat, frantically seeking another way out. Behind her a second vehicle slammed on its brakes, stopping her from going in reverse. Screaming, shoving the transmission into park, adrenaline exploding like a bomb inside her, Kate surged partway through the opening between the front seats to grab her son, to keep him inside the car, to fight off the man who had wrenched the door open and, impossibly, unbelievably, was yanking Ben out.

"Let him go!"

"Mom!"

She couldn't hold him. His blue jacket was satiny, slippery.

"Ben!" she shrieked as he was pulled from her grasp, then turned and catapulted from the car through the driver's door to go to his rescue. "Help! Help!"

But they were alone at the stop sign, and it was almost dark, and the world was gray and full of shadows so no one could see, even if there had been anyone nearby. But there wasn't, this particular spot was light industrial, with small businesses in warehouses and pole buildings that seemed to be deserted. No cars in the gravel parking lots, no cars on the street...
There is no help.
"Mom!
Mom!"
"Let him go!"

Even as she threw herself after him, something slammed hard into the back of her head. The pain was blinding. Kate dropped to her knees and saw stars, and no doubt would have blacked out had she not been so riveted on saving her son. As the world swam around her, her eyes never left him. Kicking and fighting for all he was worth, Ben was being carried away, screaming, in the grip of a large man in black with a ski mask over his face.

Toward the white panel van that was blocking in the Camry from behind.

"Mom!"

"Ben!" It was a choked cry uttered as she struggled to get to her feet.

She didn't even see the man who punched her in the stomach until the blow landed. It felt like a train ramming into her just below her belly button. Folding forward, sick with pain, her breath exploding from her body, she collapsed to her knees again and at the same time caught a glimpse of her attacker—but only as a quickly moving shape. Then he was behind her, grabbing her around the neck in a choke hold as she held her midsection and gasped for breath.

"You shouldn't've tried to run," he said, as he yanked her upright. It was the same man as before, the voice from the restroom and the SUV.

"Mom!" Ben's terrified voice pierced her like a spear. "Mom! Mom!"

Hauled to her feet, shaking, her knees barely able to support her weight, Kate gagged and choked and fought, straining against the arms locked around her neck and waist as Ben, screaming, was thrust into the back of the van. The door rattled shut.

Ben.

But she screamed it only inside her head, because the arm around her throat was now too tight for any cries to escape.

Ben,
she screamed silently again as the van reversed and then, with a squeal of tires, shot forward again, driving around them, disappearing into the dark.

"Ms. White, you need to listen closely," the man holding her said. "You didn't do what we told you once already, and now, see, you've put your son in danger. Tonight and tomorrow, you act normal, like nothing's wrong. Tomorrow night, you go to that fund-raiser and you wait for us to call you and you do what we say" He paused, and his arm around her neck loosened just enough so that she could suck in air. "You do that, you get your son back. You go to the cops or anybody with this, or you don't answer the phone, or you don't do what we tell you when we call, and your boy's dead. You understand?"

"Ben," Kate choked out, her eyes straining desperately in the direction the van had taken.

"You understand?"
His arm forced her head up. "Yes.
Yes?

He let go. Her knees gave way, and she collapsed onto the ground.

C h a p t e r 29

THEY WOULD KILL HIM. The fear filled Kate with an icy dread, causing her heart to pound in slow, sickening strokes, making her pull over twice to vomit during the short drive back to her house. She was deathly afraid she knew how these people worked: Now that they had Ben, they would kill him no matter what she did. Oh, God, would they even wait until tomorrow? Or was he already ...

She went dizzy at the thought.

Stop,
she ordered herself fiercely as her mind reeled from visions of her terrified little boy being hurt, being ...

Shuddering, she had to force the hideous images away. If Ben was to have any chance at all, she had to get and keep a clear head.

Dear God, please keep him safe.

As she pulled into her garage, she felt a wave of nausea so strong that she nearly didn't make it into the house in time.

I shouldn't have waited. I should have left yesterday, or the day before. ...

She'd stayed to get more money. She'd stayed because she hated to leave. She'd stayed for Tom.

Tom.

The thought of him steadied her. There was someone she could run screaming to, someone she could turn to for help, someone on her side, after all.

You go to the cops or anybody with this . . . and your boy's dead.

He was dead if she didn't: She was convinced of it.

I have to be careful. They might be watching.

Okay. Make this look real. I'm home, doing exactly what they want.

Quickly, she went through the downstairs, closing the curtains, making sure the panels met at the center so that no one could see inside, turning on lights as she went. She went up to her bedroom—she couldn't even look at Ben's open door without tears streaming from her eyes—and closed those curtains and turned on that light, too. Then she called Tom.

"Where the hell are you?" he exploded at her over the phone when she said his name. "Damn it, Kate—" "Tom, listen."

He must have heard the distress in her voice, because he broke off in mid-tirade.

"What's wrong?"

She took a deep breath. The idea that they were watching, listening, with eyes and ears everywhere, unnerved her. If she thought that by doing what they wanted tomorrow, they would release Ben unharmed, she would have done anything. But she didn't. And so this was the only choice she could make. Making it terrified her.

"Something's happened." Her voice sounded raspy to her own ears. She heard him inhale. "I'm on my way." "No! No." She tried to think. "Don't come to the house. Go to the corner of Spruce and Mulberry"—two blocks away—"and wait for me there."

"What the hell?"

"Tom, please. How long will it take you to get there?"

"Fifteen minutes, max." "Park. Stay in the car. I'll come to you." "Jesus, Kate, what the hell is going on?" "I'll tell you when I see you," she said, and disconnected. She was already wearing her black pantsuit and flats, which was good because she wanted to blend into the night. She went out to the car to retrieve her black coat, doing her best not to look at Ben's things that lay beneath as she uncovered them. Putting on the coat, buttoning it up to her neck, she wrapped the gray wool scarf around her head to hide her bright hair. Then she turned on the TV in the living room, just to make it look even more like she was still home in case anyone was watching and could tell about things like whether or not the TV was on. Then she went into the kitchen. Turning off the kitchen light, she waited a moment. Then, taking a deep breath, she opened the door and slipped outside into the dark.

There was a full moon, but it was still low in the sky and pasty white, and the light it gave off was faint. The night was cold and breezy, which was good because it helped clear her head. Heart pounding, casting furtive glances everywhere, keeping to the deepest of the shadows, she made her way to the intersection, watching for Tom, keeping carefully out of sight. Tom pulled up just a few minutes after she got there. Before he had time to park, she ran across the sidewalk and tapped smartly on the passenger window. The door unlocked with an audible
click,
and she slipped into his car.