Aint too proud to beg sfdg-1 (22 page)

First, she knew she was stuck like a bug in a glass jar. All doors were locked solid with numeric keypads and pass codes. All the windows had been welded shut and coated on the outside with an opaque film that kept her from getting a sense of her location. She couldnt even tell if she was on a ground floor or twenty stories up. Shed seen Cummings carrying a small flip phone in his pocket, but otherwise there were no telephones, no computers, no way to reach the outside world. Even the TV in her suite had no live signaljust a DVD player and a stack of movies.

Also, it was obvious to Josie that Bennett Cummings wasnt a hardened criminal, and certainly not a natural-born kidnapper. Bennett couldnt bear to look at the red marks on her wrists. With each mention of how he planned to shoot her, he sounded more and more like a bad actor in a low-budget movie, like he had to impress himself with his diabolical plan as much as he needed to impress Josie. Cummings was nervous. Hed had about six drinks the night before, and he paced for hours. Josie watched him from a crack in her bedroom door.

But there was one other thing she sensedBennett Cummings was stuck, never allowing himself to grieve the loss of his daughter. Josie had spent the last eight years looking into the face of grief, so she knew what she was talking about. He was still so angry he couldnt see straight, and he thought revenge against Rick would make his loss easier to bear. It didnt work like that, of course, but you couldnt tell that to someone when they were caught up in their hate the way Cummings was.

Josie couldnt help but wonder if this whole mess might have been avoided if Bennett Cummings had found a way to grieve. Thats when it hit hermaybe conversation would be the only weapon shed need.

I hope youre not planning a doomed escape attempt. Cummings said that as he walked from the kitchen and dining areas of the house to where Josie sat in the fancy living room. He handed her a to-go cup of convenience-store coffee.

Josie looked around her. The place was something out of /Architectural Digest/. Josie figured that if she had to be kidnapped, this was a swanky way to be imprisonedmodern, sleek furniture, bamboo floors, geometric art, a slate waterfall built right smack in the middle of the room. It would probably be stunning if the sun were allowed to shine through the huge windows.

Josie studied Cummings as he walked toward her and took a seat in a matching leather and chrome chair. He seemed tired.

Im not planning my escape, Mr. Cummings, she said. I was just thinking of Margot.

His eyes flew wide. She saw his pulse beat against the thinning skin of his throat. Shes not yours to think about, he snapped. You do not have permission to do so.

Josie shrugged. Its just that the only things I know about her is what Rick told me. I was just wondering what kind of person she was.

Cummings glared at her. He was a very smart man. Josie suddenly questioned her approach.

She was beautiful. Intelligent. Funny. And then, after your boyfriend got through with her, she was sad, limp, gray, and brain-dead. He produced a sneer. Any more questions?

Josie swallowed. Do you have any pictures of her with you?

He didnt move. He didnt answer.

I was just curious.

Cummings remained stone-still.

Im sorry. Youll have to forgive me, Josie said, making her voice as kind as she could. You probably dont know this, but I write obituary feature articles for the /Herald,/ and Ive learned that talking about a late loved one can be cathartic for the family. Im embarrassedits just a reflex, I suppose, and I do apologize.

Without comment, Cummings got up from the chair and left the room. Josie was about to groan out loud at her own stupidity when he came back, a copy of the morning /Herald/ in his hand. He threw it down on the coffee table.

Of course I know about you, Miss Sheehan. He laughed. Everyone in San Francisco knows about you this morning.

Josies lips parted in shock. She reached for the paper. Top left, above the fold, the headline read:

HERALD REPORTER MISSING, POLICE FIND SIGNS OF ABDUCTION

As much as she hated to admit it, the article tickled her. The headline was relatively snappy. The piece was well written yet did not clue in Cummings about the methods the police were using to investigate the crime. Editors had chosen a photo of Josie and Genghis in Dolores Park, one that Bea had probably given them, and Josies hair looked great.

Friends and family offered a $500,000 reward for anyone with information that led to an arrest. There were quotes from her mom and dad, Beth, Rick, and Bea. The article described her as a woman who was cherished, missed, and fretted over.

Josie looked up, her eyes locking on Cummings. She would get out of there alive. She had no doubt. Because that was Josies beautiful life they were talking about in the paper, and she wanted to live it.

Josie began to sob. At first it was legitimateshe was humbled by how rich her life was, how fortunate she was to be loved the way she was.

But after a few minutes, Josie noticed how her crying affected Bennett Cummingshe looked terribly uncomfortable. So Josie cranked it up a notch, wailing about her family and her dog and how all she wanted was a chance to have a happy life. She cried until Bennett Cummings couldnt stand it anymore.

At the twenty-four-hour mark, investigators had made progress on some fronts but were stymied on others. An airport bureau cop spotted the 1998 Buick Skylark with Rhode Island plates in the short-term lot. The vehicle had already been towed to SFPDs forensics services division, but so far, there was no evidence linking the car to Josies abduction.

Police were viewing hours of security-camera footage that might have captured someone walking either to or from the car. But nothing yet.

The cell phone number Gwen Anders had provided was a prepaid phone from a Minneapolis wholesaler, paid for in cash about a year earlier. There was no way to determine who had purchased it or was using it. However, the FBI had begun pulling cell tower records to see if the number had connected with any of the areas sixty-plus towers within the last week, which could, at the very least, narrow down a search area.

Rick knew investigators were moving as fast as they could. He had no complaints. The San Francisco police detectives and the FBI agents were doing their jobs well. It just wasnt fast enough for him. It wasnt good enoughbecause they still hadnt found Josie.

Her parents were holding up remarkably well. Though Josies dad reassured him they didnt blame Rick for their daughters disappearance, her mothers eyes told him the real storyhed better get Josie back to them in one piece. Genghis moped around Ricks Pacific Heights home, obviously missing his owner. Once Josie was home safe, Rick would be happy to tell her that her dog was a devoted companion, after all.

He worried about her. He pictured her tied up and gagged and left without food or water. He worried that Cummings might hit her. Rick feared Josie would give up on him, decide he wasnt coming for her. The idea of that took him to the very edge of insanity.

He had to get out of the house. He grabbed Teeny and Genghis and they walked from one end of Pacific Heights to the next, mostly in silence, up hills and back down, for more than two hours. They were about three blocks from home when Teenys phone rang.

Rick watched him nod and say, Youre kidding. Teenys eyes shot to Rick.

Absolutely. Thank you.

They have a two-block radius for us, Teeny said, his smile out of sync with the shock on his face. A call was placed from the phone two days ago, about an hour before Cummings showed up at Gwens condo. Theyve pinpointed the call as coming from the Presidio District.

Ricks heart began to pound.

Whatever youre thinking, dont think it, Teeny said. Theyre putting together a hostage-recovery team, part FBI and part SWAT Rick was already halfway down the block.

Rick!

H
ere.

Josie wiped her cheeks with a fresh tissue and nodded pitifully, accepting the hot chocolate from Cummings. She took a sip while Cummings collapsed in a kitchen chair. He put his head in his hands. She didnt blame himshed cried all morning, then taken a nap, cried all afternoon and into the evening. She could hardly stand herself.

Are you all right, Mr. Cummings? she asked.

His head moved back and forth in his hands.

Can I do anything?

She heard him laugh, his face still hidden.

What are you thinking?

He slowly raised his head. The display of sorrow on his face made him look twenty years older, like a man on his deathbed. Josie was startled by the change.

I was just thinking about my drive here from the East Coast, Cummings said. He fell back against the chair, his hands limp in his lap. I kept running into young women who needed helpa waif in a coin laundry somewhere in the Midwest, an overwhelmed mother in a Wal-Mart. I drove a young woman named LaShelle all the way from a Nebraska truck stop to San Francisco and then put her on a plane to Los Angeles. She wants to be a recording artist. Cummings laughed to himself. I gave her a check for a million dollars to follow her dream.

Josies mouth fell open. That never happened to me at a truck stop.

Cummings gave her a weak smile. I just now realized what that was all about.

It was about Margot, wasnt it? Josie bit her bottom lip. You werent able to save her, were you?

No. I was not.

But you could save one of these women.

Cummings shrugged.

Josie knew she had to tread lightly with this next part. When someone dies young, it rocks everyone off kilter. Its hard for us to understand why someone whod hardly lived had to die. Its not right and it isnt fair.

Cummings looked at her, nodding his head faintly.

What do you regret most, Mr. Cummings? Josie knew she was pushing it, but if she could get him to open up, she might be able to neutralize some of his rage. Was there something in particular that you wished youd said or done with Margot while she was alive?

Cummingss eyes flashed. Miss Sheehan, an obituary writer does not a psychoanalyst make.

She laughed. She couldnt help it. There was something about Bennett Cummings that she liked. He had a wry sense of humor. He was very smart.

And he was utterly lost. He was a man who seemed to have everything, but was lost anyway. And lost people did desperate things.

Josie hoped to God she wasnt already forming an unhealthy affection for her kidnapper.

All I know is people can torture themselves after their loved one is gone, worried they failed them somehow. Josie wrapped her hands around her mug of hot chocolate, searching for the right words. Ive noticed that for some people, thats where most of the pain comes fromtheir own guilt.

You are quite astute, Miss Sheehan. He got up from the table, and Josie assumed he was done with her lecture. But he was back in a moment, a fresh vodka and tonic in one hand and a BlackBerry in the other. He turned on the device and swung his chair closer to hers.

Josie was treated to a slide show of Margots life, a life of an American princess. It boggled the mind how privileged shed been. She was extremely pretty, Josie said, meaning it.

She looked just like her mother, Bennett said.

You havent mentioned your wife. Josie sat quietly while Bennett scrolled through additional photos of his daughter. Is she still alive?

Shes dead, for all practical purposes.

Josie frowned. I dont understand.

He turned to her. At this proximity, Josie could see all the wrinkles in his skin, all the broken blood vessels on his cheeks and in his eyes. He looked worn out.

I thought Rick was done with women. Bennett looked directly into Josies eyes. Tell me how this thing between you came about.

Josie smiled slightly, aware how hed turned the tables in an instant.

Rick had been alone since the accident, yes. But something very special happened when we metit was an attraction that seemed bigger than both of us. We fell in love.

Do you trust him?

Josie nodded. I do. Absolutely.

Cummings chuckled. You know, looks fade and money is not the answer.

Josie tilted her head, intrigued. Im aware of both those things, Mr.

Cummings. Yesterday you told me I was naпve and stupid. Well, Im not.

Then allow me to tell you a story, Cummings said, standing up. I think youll find it illuminating.

She followed him into the living room, where he stood before the waterfall. He stared down at the tiny lights that danced under the clear water.

Id known Rick Rousseau since he was a toddler. His father was a decent enough mana good businessman. His mother was beautiful but she died young. I knew Rousseaus type. Too pretty. Too charming. Too wild. The male equivalent of my daughter, really. Cummings smiled sadly. I didnt give him a second thought until Margot came home at Christmas break of her sophomore year, four months pregnant.

I see, Josie said, vaguely uncomfortable with where this was going.

Do you? Cummings paused, looking down at her. It was Rousseaus baby, Miss Sheehan. He got my daughter pregnant and didnt have the decency to own up to his responsibilities. He was a coward. My wife took Margot to the clinic and got it taken care of, though at first the doctor said four months was too far along. Through it all, Rousseau was nowhere to be found.

The bottom of Josies belly dropped. Her brain buzzed. /What?/ That was the only comment she could muster.

Margot was never whole after that, always so sad. She told me later that she regretted her decision terribly, that she should have had the child but was afraid. Bennett shook his head. Rousseau came back into her life almost a decade later, to finish the job he started. And even then it took another seven years! But he eventually got what he was after.

Cummings looked at Josie, his eyes filled with tears. He killed my little girl.

Josie could do nothing but stare at him, searching for some indication that this was a trap. All she found was a very sad old man who had lost his entire familyhis wife, his daughter, and his grandchildby one mans hand.

But. Josie swallowed, breaking her eye contact with Cummings. He swore to me he never got anyone pregnant and that he had no children.

Cummings chuckled. I wonder what other lies he told you. He shook his head. Miss Sheehan, you truly are a fool if you think Rick Rousseau is a decent man.

She ran into her suite and slammed the door shut. She fell on the bed and cried. She cried for Margot and her parents. She cried for Rickhow could a man be so corrupt? How could he have lied to her like that? With all the trimmings? With such sincerity? How could he be so sinister?

But mostly, Josie cried for herself. Cummings had been right. Bea and Ginger and Roxie had been right. She was gullible, naпve, and so very stupid. She had really thought Rick loved her. She had fallen for it. Again!

She pounded her fists into the fancy bed linens, the rage pouring through her as it all came back to herthose days at the ranch walking hand in hand, all those talks she believed were heartfelt, deep, and true, all those hours shed spent in Ricks arms, and under his spell. It was too much to bear.

Bennett sat up the entire night, drinking and thinking and listening to poor Miss Sheehan in there, her heart in tatters.

What would killing that poor girl accomplish? She was somebodys daughter. How would another young womans senseless death fix anything?

He drained his drink, suddenly fascinated with the nature of his self-loathing, so foul and so dark. He shuddered.

Bennett couldnt save Margot. And now he couldnt save himself. It was too late. Even without homicide, the kidnapping alone would send him to prison for the rest of his days.

But he could save Miss Sheehan.

Bennett looked at the clock on his BlackBerry, noting that it would be dawn soon. Enough was enough.

A soft melody passed through his mind like it was carried on a breeze.

It was catchy, but a little bittersweet. It was his song. /You wouldnt hurt a fly, Benny./ He entered her room on unsteady legs. For a moment, he panicked at the sight of her limp body. Had she done something to herself? Had there been side effects from the tranquilizer? How could he have done that to her in the first place? When Miss Sheehan mumbled in her sleep, he sighed, greatly relieved. Bennett shook her shoulder.

Lets go, he said. She bolted awake, blinking at him in terror. She scrambled to a sitting position.

Dont shoot me. Please.

Im not going to shoot you. Im going to take you home. Ive incon ve nienced you long enough.

He reached down for her and pulled her to a stand, leading her toward the living area. Without warning, an explosion blew one of the side doors right off the hinges, the force of the blast so severe it rocked them backward. Through a rolling wave of dark smoke, at least a dozen men in riot gear swarmed into the house.

FBI! Hands up! Step away from the hostage!

Bennett did what was demanded of him, and within seconds he was thrown to the floor, the crushing weight of a boot pinning his head in place.

She saw Rick instantly. She knew him by the way he moved, the elegant way he was built. As he cleared the smoke, Josie watched him coming right toward her, a look of joy on his face. It was so convincing. Maybe he really did care for her, in his own way. But she wanted more. She wanted the whole thinga man who was good deep down, a man she could trust.

Never again would she let this happen to her.

Are you hurt? Thank God! Josie? Did he hurt you? Ricks hands grabbed her upper arms. Baby, look at me!

Im fine, she said, watching the police drag Cummings to his feet. He didnt hurt me at all.

Rick crushed her in his arms. His body trembled against hers. He kept saying her name over and over, kissing her hair and face. /Josie. Josie.

Josie./ She was relieved when the paramedics peeled Rick off her and forced her onto a gurney. She didnt know how shed ever be able to look him in the eye again.