Helen Hanson - Dark Pool (35 page)

He sat at his chair and inspected the envelope. The writer used a thick marker to write Kurt’s name in all capitals across the front. Tape secured the flap along the back. He slit the tape with a penknife and lifted the tines of the metal clasp. No glue. The flap opened easily.

When Kurt pulled out the contents, he gasped.

At the top of the first page he read—From the Desk of Patrick O’Mara.

 

 

Chapter Sixty-One

 

 

Maggie remembered playing with the toy telephone she owned as a child. Her mother pretended to call her from the real phone in the kitchen. They made appointments for the salon, planned picnics on the beach, talked about the weather. It was a nice memory of her mother, and she had so few. She’d heard phones ring maybe 50,000 times in her life. But it sounded duller, heavier this time as if traveling from some great depth. Phones announced all the miserable events of her life. Her mother’s humiliating departure, Trisha’s agonizing diagnosis, Travis’ disgrace, her father’s first step over the edge. Yet none of those earlier ringing phones so completely filled her with dread.

 

She let the phone ring once. On some level, she thought it might be a wrong number. Someone punched a five instead of a six. One digit to the left and her father would walk in the house and life would resume its normal ebb and flow. The phone rang again. Two digits to the left and Trisha would be alive and healthy, and Daddy would be making strawberry waffles for—

“Maggie.” Travis shook her by the upper arm. “Answer it.” A single knit concerned his brow.

She picked up the receiver and pushed the talk button. “Hello.”

The mechanical voice sounded like a synthesizer during a brown-out. The noise swelled in her head, and she had a hard time discerning anything. “Please, I’m sorry. Could you slow down?”

In the movies, only hyper-alert people answered the ransom calls. They captured the minutest details of a ransom message delivered in one smooth take. Often they heard some subtle background noise that led them directly to the hideout. Maggie just wanted to understand all the words and not throw up.

She turned the receiver outward, so Travis could hear too.

“Skyline Boulevard intersects with Kings Mountain Road. There’s a cell phone at the base of the stop sign on Kings Mountain Road. I’ll call you on that number in one hour. Come alone. Just you and your brother.”

“We don’t have two million dollars.”

“Your father does.”

“But he can’t—”

“One hour. Is that clear?”

Travis bobbed his head.

“Yes,” Maggie said. “Please don’t hurt my father.”

“That depends on you and your brother.”

She thought she heard him hang up. “Hello.”

The doorbell spooked Maggie. The phone clattered on the counter.

Travis said, “Whoever it is, I’ll get rid of them.”

The ocean waves seemed to move in slow motion today as if the water had become more viscous. She used to love surfing, but she hadn’t surfed since Trisha became ill. No time, she told herself, but really, she was afraid. Surfing required a concentration she couldn’t afford to spend on anything frivolous. A solitary lapse meant risking peril. One slip and everything would spin out of control. The wave would close off the remaining light, snuff out all the air, and drag her down into the deep, dark pool.

“Maggie.” Ginger stood next to her with a fist on each hip. “Any news?”

She lifted her face to meet Ginger’s. “No. No news. You are always so sweet to us. Thank you for everything.” Maggie stood and hugged her and then rested her hands on Ginger’s shoulders. “I’m sorry. Now’s not a good time. Can we visit later?”

Ginger’s face wore apprehension. “I brought you some
Keke pua’a
.”

Maggie noticed Travis with some bags.

“Do you need anything?”

“Just Daddy.”

A frown dimpled Ginger’s chin. Maggie knew her friend had more to say but decided against it. “I’ll leave you be. Let me know what I can do.”

“Thanks.” Maggie walked Ginger to the foyer, kissing her cheek before she departed.

With the closing door, Maggie shifted gears. Her pace picked up energy as she entered the kitchen. She’d already showered and dressed before the call. “How much time?”

“Fifty-five minutes.” Travis was packed and ready to go.

“It will take us half an hour to get there. I need a couple of minutes to get my shit together.”

“Sorry. Ginger looked so sad. And she brought food. I couldn’t brush her off.”

Maggie felt badly about lying to Ginger, she deserved far better treatment by them, and Maggie could trust her. But trusting Ginger about the kidnapping or the ransom didn’t buy them any advantage. Even if Maggie told her, she simply couldn’t do anything to help.

Unfortunately, the only one that could help, she didn’t trust at all.

 

 

Chapter Sixty-Two

 

 

Maggie usually enjoyed the drive along Skyline Boulevard. A two-lane road flanked by trees with branches stretching overhead to greet the other side, it inspired her to imagine. Today, with only forty minutes left before a stranger murdered her father, it was the very reason she hated it. After the kidnapper’s call, her imagination added butane to the fire. She pressed the accelerator.

 

Travis kept his laptop plugged in the 12V outlet and clicked away at something. Maggie didn’t know what he thought he’d accomplish this late. Either he had two million dollars on tap, or Daddy was a dead man. Travis said he wasn’t sure, but Maggie would have to trust him.

Right.

She felt as if they were a mile high in the sky and falling. No sign of a net. Maybe they’d find some nylon and bounce. Or hit concrete and splat.

Another ache rolled through her.

No matter the outcome, she’d never again blame Travis. She finally understood his frustration. He’d been abused like a sideshow clown and then abandoned in center ring to tame the angry lion. When all along, Daddy had rammed the big cat in the eye with a stick.

Maggie had always regarded her father as a moral man. But what the hell was he thinking? She knew she’d never get a satisfactory answer to that question. In his current state, she couldn’t even be certain he was thinking.

They neared the drop point. Or the pick-up point in Maggie’s case. Why would they leave a cell phone? She thought they just wanted money.

The rendezvous site was more than two roads crossing. A five-way intersection occurred there. Skyline Boulevard coming and going counted for two of the spokes, King’s Mountain Road turned into Tunitas Creek Road on the other side of Skyline, and Blue Jay Way spurred off for no apparent reason to the south-southwest. None of the five roads offered Maggie an escape.

Travis looked up as they reached the site with seven minutes to spare. He snapped his laptop closed and slipped on a pair of latex gloves. Maggie slowed to make the hairpin road to the left, turned her car around, and parked on the side of the road.

The stop sign stuck out of the ground with no cover. She expected to see a bush or at least a hearty fern. Travis jumped out as another car putted up to the intersection from Blue Jay Way. When the other vehicle was out of sight, he squatted at the base of the stop sign. He dug at the ground and then hustled back to the car with something in a sandwich bag.

Travis opened the bag and let the phone drop to his lap.

“Any fingerprints?”

Travis lifted the phone by the edges as if it were capable of injecting venom. He rocked it back and forth to let the light reflect off the surfaces. “I’m no CSI, but it looks like somebody wiped it. I would have.”

“Me too.” According to her watch, they had five minutes before the next threat. “What time does it show?”

“Four minutes to go.”

Her breath shuddered. “So. Do you have a plan?”

“I have—” He hesitated too long to bring her comfort. “—a decision matrix.”

“A decision matrix.” Any other time, she would have laughed. “Seriously?”

His eyes widened. “Do you really want to hear it all?”

She didn’t. Travis’ world relied on gut and sense and reason. Maggie’s needed tangibles, anything she could touch and grip and clutch. She had enough fault lines cracking her terra firma.

They both fell silent.

And time ticked.

Cyclists whizzed past them in packs down Skyline Boulevard. Maggie wished she were one of them. Dressed in colorful spandex, blasting down the road, going somewhere. Her luck, she’d end up in a pack with Carl Pinkerton.

A car turned down their road. She avoided eye contact as the phone cried in Travis’ lap.

Their heads whipped toward each other.

Time’s up.

She clasped her hands to steady them. Travis leaned in and gave her the phone.

She hit the talk button. But the caller only wanted her to listen.

“I’m watching you. I know you’re alone. I’m sending a text with directions to a warehouse. Drive directly there. Park on the south side of the building and enter through the door at the southwestern corner. Bring the phone. Get here within thirty-five minutes, or your father is a dead man.”

Her inhale never made it back out as words. She wanted to tell him there wasn’t enough time, but she didn’t even know where she was going. When she hit the end-call button, a text awaited.

“You read it.” Her hand wobbled as she passed the phone to Travis.

He stared at the tiny screen.

“I don’t want to know any more than the next step.” She put the car in gear and gripped the wheel. “Don’t tell me three or five or ten steps right now. I can only do one.”

Alarm shadowed her brother’s face as he put his arm around her. “We’ll get through this, Magpie, I promise.”

She pushed a palm across her eye, hair bouncing off her cheeks as she nodded. “Tell me, Trav. What’s the next step?”

“We go find our father.”

 

 

Chapter Sixty-Three

 

 

Stephanie.” Kurt rarely bellowed, but the moment called for some excitement. He’d studied the contents of the package from Patty O’Mara long enough to understand the significance. The man was full of surprises even from the grave.

 

He heard the clomping before she hit the doorway. “Is there a fire?” She feigned annoyance, but a lilt in her voice cued her curiosity.

“Maybe.” His smile amped. “Call Spencer Thornton. Ask him to meet me for dinner tonight. Tell him to name the place, and I’ll be there.” Thornton always had a busy schedule, but Kurt hoped he could make time. Thornton paid a small fortune to hire a magician. Kurt wanted him to enjoy the show.

“Will do.” Stephanie stepped outside but held on to the doorknob. “Does your sudden exuberance have something to do with the delivery?”

“Possibly.” He waved her away. “Now, go. I’ll explain all my secrets after the grand finale.” He picked up the phone and punched ten digits.

Stephanie had the last word. “Ever the showman.”

Some days, all he had was his smoke and mirrors. But not today.

“Samantha. It’s Kurt. How soon can you get here?”

 

 

Chapter Sixty-Four

 

 

A black Mercedes drove onto the road and u-turned behind Maggie’s car. In front, another sedan idled up to her bumper.

 

Thirty-five minutes. She had to leave. Now. She honked the horn.

Travis grabbed her hands. “Maggie, don’t.”

In her rearview mirror, she saw a man in a dark suit approach the window. She rolled it down.

“Ms. Fender.”

“Move your car. I have to get out of here.” Wait. How did he know her name? Travis’ face told her she was behind the curve again. Damn that curve.

“We know you didn’t have opportunity to place the GPS tracker in Jack Scarson’s car when you went to his house, but we have one on yours. May I see the cell phone?”

Maggie remembered the man from Penniski’s place as being the bigger of the two thugs. Her gnawing ache exploded into panic. “Please. I have to leave. He’s going to kill my father.”

“The phone.”

With or without weapons, she didn’t have a choice. Her car was pinned and surrounded by mobsters. She gave him the phone.

He pushed a few buttons and studied the screen a moment before handing it back. “We have little time to lose.” He handed her a key with a quick release. “Add this to your ring, now. Make sure you keep these with you at all times.”

She considered not taking it, but time was ticking like a bomb. He waited for her to clip it on her key ring and said, “Please, lead the way.” With a single wave, the lead car cleared her path.

“Let’s move, Maggie,” Travis said. “We’ve only got thirty-three minutes.”

The muscles in her legs began to twitch, her foot bouncing off the pedal. She hunched over the steering wheel and started her car. The engine coughed but refused to ignite.

“No!” She slapped the dashboard. “Not now.”

“Try it again.”

The engine wouldn’t turn over.

“Pop the hood.”

By now, two of Penniski’s henchmen stood at the front of her car. Her hair hung over her face as she pulled the hood-release lever. Travis got out and disappeared behind the open hood.

“Try it again, Maggie.”

Still nothing.

The main thug went to consult with those by the engine. He returned to her window. “Do you have sufficient fuel?”

By her watch, they were down to thirty-one minutes. She turned the key to the accessories position. Out of gas.

Her head dropped to the steering wheel.

“Yuri,” he said. “Get some petrol in this vehicle.”

Someone maneuvered the lead car close to hers. Another man positioned a flexible hose into his gas tank and put the other end in his mouth. He stood close to Maggie’s open fuel port. When the gas showed up in the hose, he shoved the end into Maggie’s tank.

As fuel siphoned over to her vehicle, Maggie kept one eye on her watch. Twenty-nine minutes.

The men closed up her car, and Travis rejoined her in the front seat. “He said to take off.”

She fired up the engine and pulled onto the main road. Even with the sedans out of her view, she knew they’d follow her to the warehouse. Daddy’s life was just a poker chip.