Tell Me You're Sorry (43 page)

“I'm in it right now,” Stephanie said.

“Oh, no,” Jenny's friend murmured. “Do you think you'll make your flight?”

“At this point, it's doubtful. And if I don't get there in time, this is all for nothing. We're screwed.”

“So do you want me to send the response?”

“Yes, please, send it,” Stephanie said. She prayed it wouldn't all be for nothing.

“All—” Carroll's reply was choppy. “—call you back if—” there was another break.

“Carroll?” She looked at the phone screen: “Low Battery.” “Carroll?”

They'd been cut off.

 

 

 

“See where the road takes a turn in a couple of blocks?” Ryan asked the taxi driver. He pointed to the spot where Stephanie had noticed him ducking into the woods near the Metcalfs' house yesterday. He dug a ten-dollar bill out of his wallet. “You can let me out there. I'd rather they not see me coming. I—I want to surprise them.”

As the cab continued down the road, Ryan took out his phone and stole another look at the text he'd received twenty minutes ago:

After getting that text, he'd immediately phoned for a taxi. Then he'd tried to call Stephanie. But he'd gotten the automated voice mail from the service provider. That wasn't a good sign. She would have picked up for him.

Ryan left a message for her to call him back as soon as possible. Then it occurred to him, he'd better shut off the ringer if he planned to go sneaking around outside Alison's house. Now the phone was set to vibrate.

The taxi driver pulled over at the curve in the road, and Ryan gave him the ten for a $6.50 fare. “Keep the change,” he said. “And can I ask you a really stupid question? Which way is north?”

Ryan retraced his footsteps from the walk yesterday with Alison. He kept to the edge of the woodsy road and stopped to check out the front of the Metcalfs' house. The red Hyundai was parked in the driveway. The curtains in all the front windows were closed.

Cutting through the neighbor's yard, he crept around to the back of Alison's house. Inching along the stone wall, he passed below the balcony Alison had scaled yesterday. He snuck up to a window and peeked inside. All he could see was darkness—and his own murky reflection. Ryan darted past the window. Then he paused for a moment and looked down at his sneakers. They were covered with mud.

He had no idea what Alison expected him to do once he got inside the house. Her text had been pretty vague. She'd merely said she needed him. Whatever for, he wanted to help her.

He turned the corner to the north side of the house. On his tiptoes, he reached for the first window and gave the lower sash a shove. He put his back into it. But it didn't budge at all. He slinked around some bushes and tried the next window down. At least it was easier to reach. As he gave it a push, the sash moved up with a squeak. Ryan hesitated. He tugged at it again, and the window creaked even louder.

He'd only gotten the damn thing open a couple of inches. Frustrated, he gave it one quick, forceful push. It let out a loud groan, but he'd pried the window open all the way. He kept wondering if anyone had heard it.

Ryan waited for a moment—for the sound of footsteps. He peeked into what looked like the furnace room. It was too dark to really see anything. The only thing he heard was a radio in some far-off room. It was playing an old tune: “I Only Have Eyes for You.”

With a shaky hand, Ryan pulled out his cell phone. He dialed Alison's number, let it ring once, and then hung up.

Sticking his head inside the window opening again, he looked down at the eight-foot drop to the floor. He climbed up to the ledge, and carefully lowered himself down from the sill. He jumped the rest of the way. Because of the mud on his shoes, his feet almost slid out from under him as he hit the cement floor. He braced himself against the wall to keep from falling, and tried to catch his breath.

He was in the utility room—with the furnace and water heater in one corner, and the laundry sink, washer, and dryer in the other. Pipes ran along the ceiling. Three support beams were spaced down the center of the cavernous area. Boxes, old furniture, and toys were pushed against one wall.

Suddenly there was a muffled boom, and then a steady hum. It took Ryan a moment to realize it was the air-conditioning system starting up. He let out a grateful sigh.

But then a light went on.

He saw the brunette woman near the door to the basement hall. She clutched a skinny blond boy by his hair and held a gun to his ear. The poor little kid looked terrified. Tears streamed down his face and he was trembling. He'd wet his pants, too.

“Ryan, I don't believe you've met Alison's little brother, Danny,” the woman announced. “He just got back from a friend's house a few minutes ago. Isn't that right, Danny?”

She gave his hair a tug.

The boy seemed too scared to talk. His lips moved, but no words came out.

With an icy smile, she gazed at Ryan. “Danny, this is Ryan Farrell. He's going to tie you up for me—just like I tied up your daddy and your sister upstairs.”

Ryan stared at her. “You're Nicole, aren't you? Or are you her sister?”

“We just talked on the phone the day before yesterday,” she said. “I should be insulted you don't recognize my voice.”

“Listen, Nicole, you don't have to do this,” Ryan said.

She pulled at the boy's hair again, jerking his head back. “Danny, did you know I was married to Ryan's dad? We're family.”

“Damn it, you're hurting him,” Ryan whispered.

She slowly shook her head at him. “I should have recognized you yesterday. You look just like that no-good prick father of yours.”

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-NINE

 

T
he screen on the self-serve ticket kiosk read:

Stephanie was afraid of something like this happening. She had to remind herself that it might not be because the police were looking for her. People booking one-way tickets often got flagged for screening.

She hurried to the line for the ticket agent. The couple in front of her had a lot of baggage—in more ways than one. They bickered with each other and bickered with the agent. She was a stocky Asian American woman with a pretty face and a patient smile.

It had taken Stephanie over an hour to drive the last eight miles to the airport. Her flight had already taken off. The next available plane was at 5:40—with a connection in Portland. It got her into Spokane at 9:35. That was cutting it close if she expected to intercept the real Jenny's abductor. Hell, it took twenty minutes to drive to Erica and Ben's cabin from the airport. She was really pushing it.

She wished the people in front of her would just shut the hell up, accept their seat assignments, and get out of the way. After this, she'd have to put up with the TSA screeners. They were bound to question her about the cat tracking device in her purse.

If she got past the ticket agent—and the police didn't come for her—she wanted to sit down someplace and find a plug to recharge her phone. She wondered what Ryan was doing.

“Next?” the agent said, patiently smiling at her.

Stephanie approached the counter. “Hi, I need to go to Spokane. I was hoping to catch the five-forty to Portland and connect there.” She handed the woman her driver's license and credit card. “I tried to get the ticket at self-service, but it directed me here.”

The woman set down the driver's license and typed something into her computer. She frowned.

“I'm going one way,” Stephanie said. “And I'm not checking in any bags. I'm sure after your last customers, you're probably happy to hear that.”

The woman didn't even crack a smile. “Excuse me for just a minute, Ms. Coburn,” she said. Then she took the driver's license with her to the agent at the next station over. They talked for a moment. The other woman looked directly at Stephanie, and again, at the license. She typed something into her computer, studied it, and then reached for the telephone.

Stephanie stood there with her stomach in knots. She couldn't exactly make a run for it. They had her driver's license. Any minute, she expected security guards to close in on her.

It seemed to take forever for the other woman to get off the phone. She eyed Stephanie again, and shook her head at her coworker. Finally, the ticket agent returned to the counter. She handed her the license, and got busy typing on the keyboard again. “Do you have a seating preference to Spokane today, Ms. Coburn?”

Stephanie wanted so much to ask her what the problem had been. But then she thought, why push her luck?

“Aisle, please,” she replied.

The agent typed, and eventually a ticket was spit out from the machine.

All the while, Stephanie thought about Jenny Ballatore, tied up in the back of a minivan or a camper right now. Her captor was probably driving through western Montana—hauling his prisoner to Seattle for her execution.

Stephanie remembered Jenny's ransacked apartment.

They'd already taken away so much that belonged to her. And unless someone stopped them, they would take away her face, too.

 

 

For the last two or three hours, he'd had the radio cranked up. Maybe it was his way of keeping awake or fighting the monotony of highway driving. The bass was especially heavy. Jenny found she could keep up with the rhythmic
boom, boom, boom
. She'd managed to turn herself around in the tiny coffin-like compartment. In time with the music, she kicked at the drawer panel. She'd been at it long enough that her feet were bleeding. She could feel the wet, warm blood splashing with every kick. Each bang against that hard wood sent a jolt of pain that shot all the way up to her knees. Yet, she felt the panel loosening, splintering at the corners—and it only made her kick harder.

She tried to keep from crying, because as her nose filled up with mucus, it became more and more difficult to breathe. She hoped her tears and sweat would loosen the duct tape a little. She kept trying to move her jaw. She wasn't sure if it was wishful thinking, but the rope around her wrists seemed to be slackening, too.

Jenny kept telling herself she wasn't going to give up.

Past all her kicking and the booming bass from the car radio, she could hear scratching. She knew it was Simon. He was outside the Winnebago's bedroom door.

Right now, he seemed like the only friend who actually knew where she was.

 

 

Ryan did what he was told.

With the gun in her hand, Nicole Jayne barked instructions at him as he tied up Alison's younger brother. “Don't worry, we're going to get out of this,” Ryan whispered into the boy's ear. He noticed the ear was bleeding a bit from her repeatedly jabbing the gun barrel at it.

When he was finished tying up Danny, she gave a tug to the rope around the boy's wrists and ankles. She tossed Ryan the roll of tape. “Tear some of that off and cover up his mouth, good and tight.”

Ryan stared at her. “Why, for God's sake? The poor kid's terrified. He hasn't uttered a word in the last fifteen minutes. What's the point? Don't you have a heart?”

“Tape it up,” Nicole said.

As Ryan obeyed her command, he thought about Stephanie's niece and nephew. This woman and her partner had done the same to them in a basement bedroom. They'd tied them up and shot them.

Ryan figured at least his brother and sister had been drugged—and died in their sleep. He hoped to God they'd been spared this kind of terror in the last minutes of their lives.

He gently fixed the tape in place over Danny Metcalf's mouth.

“All right, let's go upstairs,” she said.

Ryan treaded out to the hallway, past the guest room to the stairs. With the utility room doorway open, he could hear Danny whimpering anxiously as they left him alone in there. He climbed the stairs—with Nicole a few steps behind him. She poked him in the back with the gun.

Upstairs, he found Alison facedown on the hallway floor. Her hands were tied behind her, and her ankles were bound. Alison's father was a few feet away from her, tied up in the same manner. They both appeared to be unconscious. Ryan caught a glimpse of the blood on Mark Metcalf's forehead. He figured Nicole Jayne must have clubbed him on the head with something.

“Take your girlfriend downstairs,” Nicole said.

With the way Alison's hands were tied behind her, Ryan wasn't sure how to carry her. He finally lifted her over his shoulder like some stupid caveman. Then he took her down the stairs. One of her sandals fell off on the steps. He was careful not to bang her head or feet on the banister.

“Alison, can you hear me?” he whispered as he carried her into the utility room. “Alison?”

“She can't hear you,” Nicole interjected. “With the stuff I gave her, she'll be out for at least another hour.”

Gently Ryan set her down on her side next to her brother. But Nicole would have none of that. “I want her on the other side of the room,” she insisted.

He did what he was told.

They went back upstairs for Alison's father. He struggled to hoist Mr. Metcalf over his shoulder. On the stairs, Ryan clung tightly to the railing, because he felt himself teetering on the steps under the extra weight. He almost tripped over Alison's sandal halfway down.

Just when he thought he'd regained his footing, he felt her kick him on the back of his knee.

Both his legs gave out from under him. Ryan lurched forward. Mr. Metcalf fell off his shoulder and toppled down the stairs like so much deadweight. Helpless, Ryan tried to grab at the banister again, but it was too late. He went tumbling down the stairs—just seconds after Alison's father. As he hit the floor, Ryan heard a loud snap and felt something crack in his lower left leg. The pain was excruciating.

Ryan couldn't move. The basement corridor seemed to be spinning.

He heard her footsteps as she slowly came down the stairs.

His leg was broken. He knew there was nothing he could do now to save Alison or her family—or himself.

That was his last thought before he passed out.

 

 

“Hi, Ryan, I really wish I was talking to you instead of your voice mail,” Stephanie said into her newly recharged phone. She stood by herself, off in a corner of the boarding gate area. They'd just made the final boarding call—all rows—for her flight, but people were still lined up at the Jetway.

“Listen, I'm on my way to Spokane,” she continued. “I'm hoping to stop this guy who has the real Jenny. If it all goes according to plan—fingers crossed—he'll be in police custody by ten or eleven tonight. I'll call you with an all clear when that happens. At that point, don't hesitate to call the police and have them nab his partner. Meanwhile, take care and just wait for my call, okay?”

She clicked off the line. It wasn't until five minutes later, when she was standing in line in the Jetway that Stephanie realized she shouldn't have left that message. What if Ryan's phone fell into the wrong hands?

But it was too late now.

 

 

“Would you turn that damn music down?”

“I like it loud,” he said into his Bluetooth. “It keeps me awake.” With his eyes on the road, he reached over and turned down the volume on the radio. “So—what's going on?”

“Well, they're all here, one big happy family, just waiting for you,” she said. “I've had them tied up in the basement for the last three hours. I'm afraid Joe Quarterback's football career is a thing of the past. I'm pretty sure he broke his leg falling down the basement stairs.”

“That's a shame,” he said, drumming his fingers across the steering wheel. “I guess we'll just have to shoot him—like a horse, huh?”

“Must have smarted some, because he passed out,” she said. “But he woke up a while ago. The others are awake now, too. I was just down there, checking on them.”

“What are you doing now?”

“Inventory, chum,” she replied. “I'm going over the living room and dining room, gathering things and trying to figure out what's worth stealing in this dump. I think we'll make out okay. So—how's our little package?”

“She was dead asleep about three hours ago when I last checked. I'll peek in on her again after I swing by this cabin in Spokane.”

“Are you that close to Spokane?”

“I just gassed up in Kellogg, Idaho,” he said. “So I should be at this place in about ninety minutes, tops. Then I'll be rolling into Seattle around two-thirty.”

“Call me after you've checked out this cabin. I want to know what kind of haul you get.”

“Will do,” he said.

She hung up.

He turned the volume back up on the radio. He started slapping the steering wheel in synch with the
boom, boom, boom
of the bass.

Suddenly a deer ran out in front of the Winnebago. It happened so fast.

He slammed on the brakes. The tires screeched.

He watched the stupid animal scurry out of the headlight beams—and into the woods on the other side of the Interstate. He looked over his shoulder to make sure nothing had broken in the Winnebago. The cat was freaking out a little, but that was nothing new.

Turning down the radio, he listened for a moment, but didn't hear anything from the bedroom. He imagined that his friend in cargo storage had gotten quite a jolt. He imagined her banging her head against the side of that drawer. And the thought made him smile.

He moved his foot to the accelerator, and then cranked up the radio again.

 

 

The sudden stop sent Jenny's whole body crashing into the side of the drawer. Her shoulder got the worst of it. For a moment, when she heard the loud crack, she thought she'd broken something. And she had.

She'd broken the drawer panel.

 

 

“Sorry to be calling again,” Stephanie said into her phone.

Hurrying to her boarding gate in the Portland Airport, she was wary of every security guard or cop she passed. This was her home turf, where the police had her listed as presumed dead or missing. Service people at the different stands, TSA employees, and other airport personnel knew her here. She couldn't afford to be recognized by anyone.

As worried as she was about getting stopped, she was more concerned about Ryan. She still hadn't heard back from him. In his last phone message at three-thirty—over five hours ago—he'd been on his way to see Alison at the Metcalfs'. He didn't say whether or not their houseguest was home.

“I'm starting to panic here,” she said into the phone. “I hope you're all right. Give me a call just as soon as you get this. And to be on the safe side, please do me a favor, and erase my last message, okay?”

She clicked off the line and stashed her phone in her purse.

“Stephanie?”

It was a man's voice, and it seemed to come from someone over by the Hudson News stand. But Stephanie didn't dare stop or even look in that direction.