Touch & Go (35 page)

No contact information for follow-up questions. No room for renegotiating the ransom terms or demanding a good-faith gesture, such as the release of the youngest family member. Just a flat-out exchange. Pay the money or pick up the bodies.

“How do we know they won’t kill the Denbes the second after we wire the money?” Nicole scowled. She was twirling a loose strand of blond hair around her finger, a nervous habit Wyatt knew she hated, but couldn’t break.

“We don’t,” her fellow FBI agent, Hawkes, countered. “Sounds like the whole exchange happens long distance. We pay, the Denbes provide an address, then we get to rescue them.”

“Talk about a KISS approach to kidnapping,” Wyatt drawled. “Keep it Simple, Stupid. Which is exactly what they’re doing.”

“Insurance company won’t go for it,” Nicole warned.

“Denbe Construction will threaten to sue if they don’t,” Tessa countered. She was standing next to Wyatt. Her hair smelled like strawberries, and he really did want to remove that plain black hair elastic, just to see how it fell around her shoulders. Now was not the time or place to notice such things, of course, and yet he did. “After all, the policy contains a risk-of-imminent-death clause, and here’s a video of the insurants stating they’ll be killed if monies aren’t delivered. Seems pretty slam dunk to me.”

“We need more information,” Nicole continued primly. “That’s the whole point of the negotiations. We should be demanding concessions, such as the release of the girl. Instead, we’re being squeezed just as tightly as the insurance company. Told nothing. Ordered to deliver everything. We take all the risk, they gain all the reward.”

Wyatt held up his hand. “Let’s talk about that. Before we get too far into what this video doesn’t tell us, let’s discuss what it does.” He ticked off one finger: “Experienced captors.”

“Professionals! We already knew that!” Nicole, still twirling her hair.

“We thought in terms of hired muscle, most likely former military. But what about prior kidnapping-for-ransom experience? You guys have databases. Got any lists of professionals, known offenders who’ve done this kind of thing before? That might tell us something.”

Nicole frowned, but nodded. She gestured to Hawkes, who started typing.

“They’re using an iPhone.” Tessa continued brainstorming. “Given that tomorrow’s phone call will be in FaceTime. They’ll dial Justin’s number in the FaceTime mode and once we pick up, it’ll be like a video conference. We can see and hear them, and they can see and hear us.”

“Given the quality of the video,” Hawkes said, “an iPhone would work. Now, FaceTime requires a Wi-Fi connection, but that’s not really
an issue in this day and age. Could be they have Wi-Fi available at their location, or they brought a Mi-Fi, creating their own hotspot.”

“Can we trace it?” Wyatt, the nontechie, asked.

“The Wi-Fi signal? If the signal were unsecured and we were within distance to receive it, yes, there are some tools that could lead us to the source. But that means being able to pick up the Wi-Fi signal, identifying it’s the one being used by the UNSUBs and already being within a few hundred yards—or less—of the broadcast location.”

Wyatt took that to mean no. “What about the iPhone?”

“Don’t have a phone number to trace; the call number was blocked when Justin dialed customer service. Best guess, given these guys are pros, is that the iPhone is either stolen or a knockoff. Big black market for consumer electronics, making it easy enough to pick up a couple of disposable phones for a job like this. At least”—Hawkes shrugged—“that’s what I would do.”

“The girl was surprised,” Tessa said quietly. “Justin appeared to be talking off the cuff, but this video, the way they intoned the words. It’s almost like Ashlyn and Libby were following a prewritten script. The threat of death… You could tell that caught Ashlyn off guard.”

“She didn’t freak out,” Wyatt murmured, though the look on her face, the moment after reading that line, would haunt him.

“They’re unharmed,” Nicole said. “Not beaten, like Justin. Also, holding up well given the situation. Seems to indicate that thus far, they’ve been treated better than he has.”

“They’re not worth more if beaten to a pulp,” Wyatt said bluntly. “Justin is. But I agree. Whatever threats the kidnappers are using, it’s enough to gain cooperation without rendering them hysterical.”

“Professionals,” Tessa murmured, the obvious distinction.

Wyatt bent over, scrutinizing the video. “Background looks like wood paneling,” he said.

“Agreed,” Hawkes seconded.

“Consistent with many hiking lodges.” He turned this around in his mind, trying to think through the logistics. “The Denbes will provide the address of their location once the money is transferred,” he muttered out loud. “Meaning the kidnappers have to wait around to ensure their demands have been met, most likely somewhere close enough that the family continues to play by the rules, even when on the phone with us. Then, the moment the payment has been wired to the designated account, two things will happen at once: Law enforcement will descend upon the provided address, and the newly wealthy kidnappers will flee the premises. If you ask me, proves once and for all they’re definitely in northern New Hampshire.”

Three pairs of eyes greeted him with open skepticism.

“City cops,” Wyatt informed them dryly. “You’re accustomed to dozens of uniformed officers who can be anywhere and everywhere in five minutes or less. Now, in my neck of the woods, closest backup is an easy twenty, if not forty, minutes away. Plenty of time for experienced kidnappers to make their exit, before we can make our entrance.

“So”—he straightened, warming to the subject—“we should check out roads. The kidnappers would look for multiple byways. Otherwise, they risk driving directly past arriving officers. Their target hideout would include rural lodges, campsites that lie near multiple points of access… I need a map. And not one of your digital screens. But a real, impossible-to-fold-up paper map that we can mark up with highlighters and abuse with drippings from our lunch.”

“Got it,” Nicole said, and headed for the rear of the mobile command center, where apparently even the FBI kept things as antiquated as real maps.

While Nicole dug through a pile, Wyatt used the opportunity to ask, “Any luck interviewing Ashlyn Denbe’s friends?”

Hawkes took the liberty of answering. “Yes and no. According to
Ashlyn’s BFF, Lindsay Edmiston, Ashlyn didn’t have a boyfriend and wasn’t the type to sleep around. However…”

Wyatt and Tessa eyed him expectantly.

“Even Lindsay thought Ashlyn was keeping a secret. Friday night, when the parents were supposedly on their date night, Lindsay had invited Ashlyn over to her house, but Ashlyn had refused. According to Lindsay, that was unusual, Ashlyn not being the type who preferred staying home alone. Lindsay had begun to suspect there was a boy in the picture. In fact, Lindsay wondered if on Friday night when the parents were out, Ashlyn had really been all alone in her bedroom.”

“She had the boyfriend over?” Tessa asked sharply.

Hawkes glanced up at them. “Maybe. But Lindsay already swears not anyone from the local high school.”

NICOLE AND HAWKES HAD MORE INTERVIEWS to conduct. They departed, leaving Tessa and Wyatt to work the map. Wyatt fixated on roads, towns and wilderness areas in northern New Hampshire. He couldn’t get Ashlyn Denbe out of his head. The way she’d perked up, looking briefly excited at the promise of her and her family’s safe return. Only for her face to freeze over again, as she and her mother continued to read down the script, getting to the part detailing what would happen if the kidnappers’ demands were not met. The killing of the first member of the Denbe family.

Wyatt got on the phone with his deputy, Gina, who’d apparently been working with the cellular providers to block out sections of the mountains that lacked cell service. Then, he contacted Fish and Game, as well as the wildlife agency, updating their own tireless searches of dozens and dozens of campgrounds and trailheads with more Xs, more Os.

In the end, he marked up the map with multiple games of tic-tac-toe, while identifying a mere quarter of a million more acres to
search. Taking into consideration major thoroughfares, he homed in on his three “most likely” northern cities: Littleton, which had a major interstate, 93, running right through it, ready to bring the captors down to Boston or up into Vermont. Second choice, Colebrook, on the New Hampshire/Vermont border, with Route 3, as well as 26 and 145, all converging in one extremely isolated town. Finally, Berlin, on the eastern side of New Hampshire’s narrow tip, bisected by Route 16, but also very close to Route 2 into Maine. Bigger than the first two options, and a rougher town given the boarded-up mills, but then again, probably a comfortable enough place for hired muscle.

Wyatt drew three big Os, based solely on assumptions and guesses and gut feel. A lot of maybes, given an entire family was on the line. Ashlyn. Libby. Justin Denbe.

Wyatt set down his pen.

He sighed heavily.

Tessa, standing across from him, seconded the motion.

“Tomorrow, three o’clock. It’s not going to happen,” she stated simply.

“No,” he agreed. “Even if the insurance company pays… No good reason for a bunch of professionals to let that family walk away.”

“We have to find them.”

“Yep.” He glanced at his watch. “Twenty-six hours and counting.”

“I want to know the identity of Ashlyn’s mysterious boyfriend,” Tessa muttered. “Innocent bystander, or one more person with access to the security code for the house?”

“Good point.”

“Is it just me, or does every member of this family have a secret?”

Wyatt shrugged. “Find me a family that doesn’t.”

“Good point.” But her tone said she wasn’t happy about it. For that matter, neither was he.

Wyatt looked around. FBI’s command center had emptied out, everyone pursuing various leads, their own insider information. Dividing and conquering, the best way to cover the most investigative ground in the shortest amount of time. Frustrating, though, when others were covering the questions you wanted answered most.

“FBI is covering Ashlyn,” he stated now, refocusing. “That puts us on Denbe Construction. You know, interviewing all the various liars on the management team.”

Tessa brightened. “I wonder if Ruth Chan’s plane has landed.”

“Excellent idea.”

They left the mobile command unit, and went to find the CFO instead.

Chapter 32

MICK ESCORTED US TO DINNER. The moment he appeared at the cell door, Justin was tense. By unspoken agreement, Justin took up position on one side of Ashlyn, while I stood on the other.

In contrast, Mick seemed relaxed, positively grinning as he gestured for all three of us to exit the cell, no hand restraints, no person-by-person procession. Like Z, he took the lead, allowing the three of us to walk unhindered behind him. He kept his right hand lightly caressing the Taser holstered at his waist. Otherwise, Mick strolled along as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

The promise of nine million dollars making him giddy? Or simply the joy of the final countdown? In twenty-four hours or less, this would all be over. We’d be gone, one way or another. Picked up by the police, or…killed by our captors? Maybe Mick wasn’t as excited about the possible payout as he was the opportunity to finally exact his revenge. I couldn’t picture Radar shooting us down in cold blood. But Mick, he would do it with gusto.

While Z would keep it quiet and quick. Nothing personal. All business.

I missed Radar. For one thing, my nausea was returning, not to mention a general sense of gloom and doom. Withdrawal symptoms, creeping up on me as insidiously as any black-clad commando. I needed a pill. Wanted a pill?

My beautiful orange prescription bottle. Two, three, four hydrocodone tablets. That lovely feeling of melting. The world slipping sideways, till no hard edges existed anymore. Don’t worry. Don’t overthink. Just go with the flow.

Fuck the methadone. I wanted real drugs.

We arrived at the commercial-grade kitchen. Mick spread his arm expansively.

“Liked the cinnamon buns,” he said. “Now go work some magic.”

I walked through the refrigeration unit and dry storage, trying to muster some enthusiasm, but mostly thinking I’d like to poison the whole lot of them. Undercooked hamburger? Improperly handled chicken? People got sick off meals all the time. Surely I could think of something.

Of course, we ate the same food. Meaning what would I gain in the end? Six people down with a GI bug? If our captors were incapacitated at all, most likely they’d leave us in our cell to rot. Maybe even postpone the ransom exchange. Earn us another night in this hellhole while they recovered.

No. No food poisoning. Comfort food. An iron-rich, carbo-loading, strength-building meal to fortify my own family, so that tomorrow, come game time, we’d be as ready as we could be.

I wanted hamburger, but couldn’t find it in the refrigerator. Funny, because I could’ve sworn I’d seen some this morning, when I’d grabbed the bacon for breakfast. Of course, they must’ve fed themselves lunch. Maybe they grilled up burgers?

I settled for cans of stew meat from the dry storage, then returned for a block of cheese, only to discover it was also gone. Sliced up to toss on their burgers?

My head ached. The stark overhead lights, bouncing off all the stainless steel, hurt my eyes. But I forced myself to contemplate both the walk-in pantry and the massive refrigeration unit. Both were definitely sparser. In fact, if I conjured up that very first meal of pasta
and sauce, what I’d inventoried then versus now… Z and his team were either eating up a storm or…cleaning out.

Our captors were covering their tracks. Preparing for the end.

“Hello?” Mick called out, voice already threatening. I forced myself to return to work.

I set up Ashlyn with two cans of spinach. She promptly wrinkled her nose. I added canned corn, a jar of onions and canned carrots.

Mick gazed at me doubtfully. “That ain’t cinnamon rolls.”