Touch & Go (44 page)

Mission complete, each helped himself to one of the waiting four-wheelers. They would not race through the woods together, but set out alone, each heading to his own vehicle, waiting for him at a spot he’d chosen ten days prior and discussed with no one. Life would be resumed under a new name, known by no one and probably never shared. These men could work together. But they survived alone.

Radar was still considering tropical beaches and large-breasted women. As for the others, he could care less.

He pulled away first. One by one, so did the others.

Monday afternoon, 4:05, the whine of four-wheelers scattering north and northwest. Staying off major roads and away from clearings where one might be spotted by, say, a police chopper flying overhead.

North, northwest, as if approaching Vermont, or even Canada.

Except for one driver. Who, thirty minutes later, arrived at his vehicle and promptly headed due south.

Back to Boston, and some unfinished business there.

Chapter 40

THE FBI AGENTS TOOK ASHLYN from me. I wanted to protest. Wanted to grab her hand and hold my daughter close. But the EMTs needed to check her out, they said, and as I’d been the one requesting a doctor, I had to let her go. Not to mention, the last of the adrenaline was leaving my bloodstream and I could feel myself crashing.

Each word became harder and harder to find. Each question took longer and longer to answer. A tunnel formed in my vision, with the light very far away.

The EMTs came for me, too. They sat me in the back of an ambulance, taking my vitals, fussing over my low blood pressure, the abrasions on the palms of my hands. But I wasn’t seriously hurt. That was the irony. I was detoxing and shocky and traumatized, but strictly speaking, I didn’t suffer from a single incapacitating injury.

The last look on my husband’s face. The grim determination bracketing his mouth as Justin went at Mick head-on. The blade, that huge, serrated blade, sinking into my husband’s chest. He’d said he would keep Ashlyn and me safe, and in so many ways, Justin had always been a man of his word.

My modern-day caveman. Incapable of being faithful to me. But willing to die for me instead.

The EMTs cut me loose with instructions to follow up with my
doctor for a full detox regimen. One of the medics already appeared skeptical, as if he’d met too many others like me, and already doubted my success.

I missed Radar. I didn’t have to explain myself to him. He knew all my deepest, darkest secrets and none of them had shocked him.

Ashlyn finally emerged from the back of the ambulance. A medic was offering his hand, but she climbed down on her own. I watched my daughter cross the parking lot toward me, fifteen years old, chin up, shoulders back. She hurt. I could feel her pain radiating from her. But she walked, step by resolute step, her father’s daughter, and that made me ache all over again.

She arrived and the feds pounced. We were ushered into the back of a black sedan, and with an impressive line of law enforcement vehicles in tow, we sped away.

OUR DESTINATION WAS the county sheriff’s department conference room, where we met a whole group of county, state and federal officers who needed to ask us some questions. Because our kidnappers were still out there, a blond FBI agent explained, and time was of the essence, and surely we wanted to help catch these terrible men, let alone recover our loved one’s body.

Justin’s body. I wondered if even now Z and Mick were tossing him into a ditch.

The sheriff’s detective was there, the one who’d first arrived at the prison and brought us blankets. I focused on him, because even though the crisp-talking blond FBI agent—Adams?—was the one who seemed to be running the show, Officer Wyatt had a steady demeanor I needed right now.

I noticed the investigator, Tessa Leoni, was beside him, both of their expressions carefully neutral. I thought she stood closer to him than strictly necessary. And I thought they both held themselves
slightly apart from the rest of the room, as if they wanted it understood up front that they were only part of the circus, not the ones running the show.

Ashlyn wanted food. A deputy disappeared, returning shortly with a stack of take-out menus. She shook her head, asked if they had a vending machine. Two Snickers bars, two bags of potato chips and one can of Diet Coke later, my teenager was happy.

I went with coffee. And water. And a trip to the bathroom, where I washed my hands and rinsed my face over and over again.

When I stood up and confronted the face in the mirror, I had to pause, touch my own reflection with a trembling hand, because truly a woman who appeared that gaunt, that exhausted, that
old
couldn’t be me. The hollows beneath my cheeks. The bruises beneath my eyes. The sheer fatigue etched into each line of my face.

I had failed that woman. I had not taken care of her. And here I was, maybe exactly where I deserved to be.

When I opened the bathroom door, Tessa was standing in the hall, obviously waiting for me. She smiled faintly, as if she knew exactly what I’d just done, the thoughts that had gone through my head.

“It gets better,” she murmured. “Even if it doesn’t feel that way right now, eventually you will feel like something more than a shadow of your former self.”

“How do you know?”

“My husband was killed two years ago. I almost lost my daughter as well. Her name is Sophie, and she’s been very worried about your family. She told me to look for you in cold, dark places, and bring you hot chocolate and chocolate chip cookies.”

I smiled faintly. “I could use some hot chocolate.”

“Does Ashlyn have a boyfriend?”

I shook my head, no longer surprised by any question. “Not that Justin and I knew.”

“The pregnancy was a surprise?”

“We only figured it out when she miscarried in prison. My family…we haven’t been doing so well, even before this happened.”

She seemed to accept that. “The medic person helped her?”

“Yes.”

“You like him. You speak of him with respect.”

I shrugged, feeling, ironically, as if I was betraying Radar’s trust. “He took care of us when we needed him. I respect that.”

“Did you like the other two as well?”

Immediately I shuddered. Not when I thought of Z. Even with the cobra tattoo, there was something commanding about him, an admirable quality of extreme self-control. On the other hand: “Mick, the one with the checkerboard hair, I don’t think he’s sane. He promised to hurt me, but only after hurting Ashlyn first.”

“So if he was in the military,” Tessa said out loud, “maybe not honorably discharged?”

I nodded, understanding now where she was going with this.

“And Chris Lopez?” she asked abruptly.

Now I was surprised. “What about him?”

“He likes you.”

I shook my head, already dismissive. “He works for my husband. He’s one of the guys. I don’t… They’re like a gaggle of boys. I don’t even look at them individually. They’re just… Justin’s sidekicks. Very talented, each and every one of them, but not entirely sane.”

“Did you know Lopez is Kathryn Chapman’s uncle?”

“What?”

“And he’s the one who sent you those texts six months ago?”

I gaped at her, couldn’t help myself. In turn, the investigator nodded slightly, as if that had been half the point: to see my reaction and gauge it for herself.

Down the hall, the conference room door opened, a reminder of the rest of the task force, still awaiting our return.

Tessa produced a card. She handed it to me. “If you think of anything,
of course, please call. But also…if you ever need to talk. Just talk. I can’t promise to understand everything, but I think given my own experience, my own family… I will understand enough.”

She offered me one last bolstering smile, then led me back to the conference room. I took a seat, and the blond FBI agent announced that, per protocol, they would be separating Ashlyn and me. Of course, if I wanted to call a lawyer, a family member for support…but again, time was of the essence and they really needed to get started.

I gazed at my daughter. She had chocolate smudging the corner of her mouth, and absurdly, that reminded me of when she was four years old and had smeared brownie batter all over her face, even on the tip of her nose, which she then tried to reach with her tongue again and again. I’d laughed till I cried, while Justin had grabbed the camera and we’d been happy then. I swear, we had been so, so happy…

I must’ve made a sound. Maybe distress. Because my daughter reached across the table and squeezed my hand.

“It’s okay, Mom. We’ve made it this far, right? I can do this.”

She got up and followed two agents out the door, while I fisted my hands on my lap in order to let my baby go.

The second the door closed behind her, Special Agent Adams got down to business.

She started with the basics. How we’d been taken, where we’d been taken. How much did our captors know about us, what had we managed to learn about them?

I relayed Radar’s medical expertise, several of his comments that led me to believe he was former military. Justin’s initial belief that they didn’t mean us harm, as they carried Tasers, not guns. Also when Mick attacked me, Z had Tased his own man to get him to back down.

Except then they’d pulled Justin from the cell and beaten him to a pulp without any explanation.

The investigators exchanged several glances at this.

“You mean,” the blonde, Special Agent Adams, reiterated, “the kidnappers did not start by talking of ransom?”

“No. That was our idea. After the beating, it occurred to Justin that he could evoke the imminent-death clause of his life insurance policy, making us worth nine million dollars. And that kind of money might be what it would take for them to let us live.”

“In the days leading up to the kidnapping, did you feel any threat? Such as someone watching you? Notice people loitering around your neighborhood, perhaps contractors across the street? Feel any sense of danger?”

I shook my head.

“Did they know about Justin’s affair?”

I recoiled, wondering how this would be relevant, but then again… “Actually, Z seemed to know about Justin’s…extracurriculars.” I wanted to keep the bitterness out of my voice. I didn’t.

“How would you describe the state of your marriage?”

I shrugged tiredly. “Strained. Awkward. But we were trying. Date night. This whole thing… Date night.” The taste of oranges mixing with champagne upon my lips.

“Did you ever contact a divorce lawyer after discovering that Justin was cheating on you?”

I shook my head.

“Why not?”

The question confused me. “We have a daughter. We have a life. Maybe some people throw that away after…one mistake, but I wasn’t going to.”

“Are you aware of the terms of your prenup?” the second FBI agent asked me. Special Agent Hawkes.

I nodded uncomfortably, still not understanding this line of questioning. “Yes. I renounced all claim to Justin’s company, in return for fifty percent of our personal assets. The company was from Justin’s father and predated me. The concession seemed fair enough.”

The blond agent studied me. “Are you aware that you have no personal assets? That, in fact, Justin ran your entire life, your homes, your cars, your furniture, everything, through the company?”

I shook my head, feeling dazed. The interview wasn’t going the way I’d thought it would. I’d hoped it would be about the men who’d just murdered my husband and assaulted my family. Not about…me. “Justin paid the bills. I never thought to question… But it wouldn’t have mattered. I hadn’t asked for a divorce. Not to mention, in prison, Justin offered to rip up the prenup, give me anything I asked for. He was sorry.”

“So you were going to divorce him.” The second FBI agent again.

“I didn’t say that. Justin also said he’d miss me. He’d miss our family.”

“Well, it’s all a moot point now.” Special Agent Adams, not sounding harsh, just matter-of-fact.

“He swore he would keep us safe,” I whispered. “Justin knew he wasn’t the perfect husband, the perfect father. He worked too much, was absent too often, let alone the whole matter of faithfulness. But he swore he would keep us safe. We were his family and he would not fail us. And he didn’t.”

I stared them in the eye. Dared these investigators to besmirch my dead husband. Dared them to question a marriage and life that had already cost me so much.

They didn’t.

Instead, another investigator, with wire-rim glasses, spoke up for the first time. “So, what can you tell us about the missing eleven million dollars?”

I stared at him blankly, and felt the ground open up beneath my feet yet again.

BY THE TIME ASHLYN RETURNED TO THE ROOM, I was done. I couldn’t answer one more question, I couldn’t absorb one more “truth” about me, my husband or the family business. Someone had embezzled money from the firm. A lot of it. For a long time. And apparently, in the past few weeks Justin had stumbled across the theft and taken some countermeasures.

Except he’d never related anything to me. Maybe because for the past few weeks, he’d still been sleeping downstairs in the basement, a husband kicked out of his own marital bed.

The firm’s financial future was rocky. Not insurmountable, I was told, but rocky. Which, given that the firm owned my homes, my car and my furniture, was probably something I should care about, if not for my own sake, then at least for Ashlyn’s. Except I wasn’t sure I could absorb one more shock.

My husband was dead. Someone close to us had been stealing from us for over a decade. And most likely, that same person had hired Z and his team, probably not because of ransom at all, but to remove Justin from the picture before he uncovered the full extent of the embezzlement scheme.

Which must have had Z and his team laughing on the inside. Here they were, already paid to kidnap and torment us, probably with instructions to buy time, maybe even to kill Justin but have it look like part of a separate crime. Then we’d gone and offered them an additional nine million. Win Z over? Manipulate him into doing our bidding? Please. Talk about double-dipping. First, he got paid by some shadowy client, then, got even more money from his own victims.