Riptide (25 page)

“He was taunting us,” Thomas said. He got to his feet and began pacing the long living room. “I wish to God I knew where he was. I'd just put an end to it. Face him, just the two of us.”

Becca said, her voice overloud, too sharp, “No.” And everyone stared at her. “I will not let you face him alone, Father. No way.”

They took a break in the kitchen, drinking coffee. Then Thomas took them to his office to see some of his high-tech goodies. Then they went back to the living room. It was then that Agent Cobb said to Becca, “May we try one more time to put you under?”

She agreed. What else could she do?

This time, though, Agent Cobb handed her a small white pill. “It's a Valium, to help relax you, to keep you from focusing on something else that might be holding you back. Nothing more than that. You game?”

She took the Valium.

And ten minutes later, when Agent Cobb said, “Are you completely relaxed now, Becca?” she answered in an easy, light voice, “Yes, I am.”

“You're aware of everything going on here?”

“Yes, Adam is over there staring at me as if he'd like to wrap me into a very small package and hide me inside his coat pocket.”

“What is your father doing?”

“It's still hard for me to think of him as my father. He was dead for so very long, you know.”

“Yes, I know. But he's here now, with you.”

“Yes. He's sitting there wondering if he should let you continue with this. He's afraid for me. I don't know why. This can't hurt me.”

“No, it can't.”

“She's right,” Thomas said. “But I'll deal with it. Continue, Agent Cobb.”

Agent Cobb smiled and patted her hand. “Now, Becca, let's go back to that night when you awoke to that prick in your arm.”

She moaned, then jerked.

“It's all right,” Agent Cobb said quickly. “Listen to me now. He's not here. It's okay, you're safe.”

“No, it's not okay. He'll kill him. I know he'll kill him. What am I going to do? It's all my fault. He'll kill him!”

Just a slight pause, then Agent Cobb said, “You mean that he'll kill you, Becca? You're afraid that he injected some long-waiting poison in your arm?”

“Oh no. He'll kill him. I've got to do something. Oh God.”

“Do you mean he'll kill your father?”

“No, no. It's Sam. He's got Sam.” And then she started crying, deep, tearing sobs that jerked her wide awake. “Oh, no,” she said, staring at all the appalled faces. “Oh, no.”

“It's all right, Becca,” Agent Cobb said. “You'll be just fine now.”

Thomas said very slowly, “So that's what McBride had to say to you. Krimakov kidnapped Sam and had McBride call the director to find you and have you call him.”

“No,” she said. “No. I don't know what you're talking about.”

Valium, she thought. She'd just killed Sam, just killed her father, God knew who else, all because of one damned Valium.

Adam was on his feet. “Where's your address book? I'm going to call McBride, find out what's going on here.”

“No,” she said, jumping up to grab his arm. “No, you can't, Adam.”

“Why the hell not?”

T
he room was dead silent.

“No, you can't have my address book.”

“Fine. I'll call information.” Adam walked toward the phone. “We've got to know exactly what's going on here.”

Becca didn't say another word. She ran out of the living room, grabbed her purse from the table in the entryway, and made for the front door.

“Becca! Dammit, come back here!”

She heard Adam yelling but didn't pay any attention. She heard her father's voice, then Special Agent Cobb's voice. She didn't slow. She was out on the narrow front porch before Adam reached the entryway.

She heard all of them shouting at her, running after her, but she knew she had to get away. No one else was going to die. Not Sam. Not her father. She had to stop it. She didn't know how she was going to do it yet, but she would think of something. She should have thought of something before—maybe even been a bit on the subtle side.
Yes, you fool, you should have just calmly left the living room, pretending to go upstairs or go to the bathroom, whatever.
But no, she'd lost it—here she was running away with people chasing her, FBI agents everywhere. But that didn't matter,
either. She had no choice. If she could prevent it, no one else was going to die. She ran.

There were no sidewalks in this very nice neighborhood, just big lawns, thick curbs, and the road. She hit the road. She was fast, always had been since she was on the track team in high school. She put her head down, turned off all the voices, and ran. She felt the breath pumping in and out of her lungs, felt herself filling with energy, with power, expanding, moving faster, faster. Her feet in Nikes were unbeatable.

She ran right into Sherlock. Both women went down.

Becca was on her feet in an instant. “Sorry, but I've got to go.”

“Stop her!”

Sherlock grabbed her ankle and pulled. Becca went down on the edge of a lawn, hitting her hip on the curb. A shaft of sharp pain went through her, but she ignored it. She was ready to fight, ready to do whatever she had to, but Sherlock had somehow managed to straddle her, how she didn't know, but she'd been fast, too fast, and now she was holding her arms down. How could she be so strong when she was so small, hardly anything to her at all? How did she get her in this position so quickly? Sherlock was leaning over her, her curly red hair bouncing against Becca's face. “What's going on here, Becca?”

“Get off me, Sherlock. Please, you've got to let me go. I don't want to hurt you.”

“You can't hurt me, so don't even try. Tell me what's happened.”

Becca started struggling, but then it just didn't matter, and she stilled because Adam was there, not even panting hard, standing over them, staring down at her, his hands on his hips. “Thanks for bringing her down, Sherlock. That wasn't very smart, Becca.”

Sherlock didn't like this one bit. She looked at all the men running to the scene, even the two dark-suited FBI guys who'd been parked discreetly down the street. “What's going on, Adam? Oh yeah, given that I could have
hurt Becca dragging her down, I'd really better like the answer.” She pulled herself off Becca and slowly got to her feet. She held out her hand.

Becca looked at that slender white hand that was surely too strong, but she didn't move. She just rolled over away from them, grabbed her purse, and was off again. A sharp pain went through her hip but she ignored it.

She got at least ten feet before two arms went around her waist and she was picked up, twirled around, and thrown over a man's shoulder. She hit her chin against his back. “Hold still,” he said, and his voice was calm and quiet. Too calm, too quiet.

Sherlock was one thing. Having a big guy haul her over his shoulder was another. It was humiliating. “Bullshit,” she yelled, and jerked and pulled and kicked. “All right,” he said, and pulled her down. He brought her back up against him, wrapped his arms around her, and held on tight. No matter what she did, she couldn't get free. He'd pinned her arms to her sides but good.

Three hours, she thought. Time was running out. “Oh God, what time is it?”

“I'll tell you after you promise not to run away again.”

She leaned down and bit his hand, hard. He didn't make a single sound, just jerked her around to face him and said, “I'm sorry, Becca,” and lightly tapped his fist against her jaw. It was the strangest feeling. It didn't really hurt, but she saw a whole skyful of white lights, popping all over her brain, then it was as if someone switched off the lights. Just nothing. She slumped against him.

“She's a fighter,” he said to Sherlock, who was standing beside him as he picked Becca up in his arms. He looked at the back of his hand. At least he wasn't bleeding, but he could see the row of even teeth marks. That had been close, too close. But now he had her, thank God. She was too thin, he thought, as he carried her back. She didn't weigh enough; well, he'd see to that. He'd force food down her gullet if he had to. He frowned as he realized she was a fast runner, very fast. He wasn't certain if he could have caught
her if Sherlock hadn't been there. He didn't like that thought, not one bit. He saw Thomas striding toward him, looking frantic.

“What's going on here, Adam?” Suddenly Sherlock was right in his face, and she wasn't going to move. He couldn't very well clip her on the chin. She'd probably flatten him. Since she was married to Savich, he wouldn't be surprised if she had a black belt, maybe two.

He said, “Krimakov kidnapped Sam McBride. Come on back to the house and we'll let everyone know what's happening. She promised McBride that she wouldn't tell anyone. However, when Agent Cobb gave her some Valium to relax her so he could hypnotize her, she inadvertently spilled the beans. She did go under. Then it all came out.”

“This is insane,” said Sherlock. “That maniac kidnapped Sam? Let me get ahold of Savich. I can't believe this. Is that guy everywhere?” She stepped away and pulled the cell phone out of her purse.

The agents who'd been watching the house were now standing next to Thomas and agents Hawley and Cobb.

They parted from his path and Adam carried Becca back into the house, not saying another word. He hoped no neighbors in this lovely neighborhood had seen this bizarre action and called the cops.

“I hope you didn't hurt her,” Thomas said, right on his heels.

“She nearly bit my hand off,” Adam said.

“Yeah, but you brought her down.”

“No, that was Sherlock. I just clamped my arms around her.”

“You weren't gentle enough.”

“Thomas, what did you want me to do, lie down and let her stomp on me before she ran another four-minute mile?”

“Yeah, Adam,” Agent Hawley said. “She got you good, but it's not bleeding. Good straight teeth. Put her down on the couch.”

Thomas covered her with an afghan Allison had given him some seven years before. He didn't realize it was quite hot, since they'd left the front door wide open and all the cold air had seeped out.

“I was careful,” Adam said, but he was sitting beside her, lightly touching her jaw where he'd hit her. “She shouldn't even bruise. Listen, Thomas, she was going to run and run until we brought her down. She would have fought me until I might have hurt her by accident. She wasn't thinking.”

“Yeah, I guess I understand.” Thomas raised his eyes to Hawley and Cobb. “We're in deep trouble now.”

Becca moaned and opened her eyes. She lurched up only to have two hands push her back down, and Adam's voice close to her face saying, “If you try anything again, I'm going to lock you in your room. If you bite me again, I'll lock you in your closet and feed you moldy bread and water.”

Her hair was hanging in her face, her jaw felt swollen and sore, and she was so mad she wanted to spit. More than that, she was desperate. She was tired of failing. All she'd done since Krimakov had come into her life was fail. She raised her head and looked him squarely in the eye. “That wasn't funny. Go to hell.”

“No, I won't do that. What I want to do is help you if you'll just let me.”

The three hours were up, she knew it. She had to do something. She had to do something right this minute. But it didn't matter. It was too late. All of them knew now. She said, trying to control her misery, her deadening fear, “I've got to call Tyler. I promised to call him in three hours. If I don't, I don't know what he'll do, probably go to the media. Don't you understand? Krimakov has Sam. He wants me to come to Riptide, doesn't want me to tell you or Dad. Tyler is desperate.”

Adam came down on his knees in front of her. “Becca, look at me.”

“I was looking at you. You're trying to lighten things up.
You can't. You can't help me. Only I can do something here. I don't want to look at you. Just because you're stronger, well, never mind what you are, Sherlock got me first. It doesn't matter. I've got to call Tyler. You can't help.”

“All right.” He rose and offered her his hand. A big hand, she thought, a strong hand, and she wished she could take it and bite it again, then flip him over the back of the sofa.

“You all right, sweetheart?” Thomas said, handing her a cup of tea.

Sweetheart? He'd called her sweetheart and it seemed to have come out naturally, not a fake endearment. It nearly made her cry. No one had ever called her sweetheart before. Her mom had always called her honey, or when she was a little girl she'd been Muffin.

She didn't let it touch her. She couldn't, not now at any rate. “I've got to call Tyler, tell him that I'm coming right away to Riptide and that none of you are coming with me. Do you understand? Sam dies if anyone comes with me. No, Adam, just shut up. I will not let that little boy die.”

“But that doesn't make any sense,” Thomas said slowly. “He wants you, that's true, but he wants me more. Why doesn't he want both of us to come to Riptide? The package deal he always wanted? What's he up to now?”

Becca said, “I don't know. I agree that it doesn't make any sense at all, but that's what he wrote in his note to Tyler. He told Tyler how to contact me, and then when I did call, Tyler was to tell me to come to Riptide alone. Not to tell either of you or Sam would die.”

“Note?” Sherlock said. “What note?”

“The kidnapping note,” Becca said. “Krimakov left it on Sam's bed after he took him. Told him exactly what to do, told him that if I didn't come, he'd kill Sam, just like Linda Cartwright.”

“It might not even matter now,” Sherlock said, “but if we can get the note, I'll give it to our handwriting experts. Also, they can compare the handwriting to other
documents that you have, Thomas, with Krimakov's handwriting on them.”

Thomas said, “There are some samples of his handwriting, yes, but what good would it do to analyze it? You're right, it probably doesn't even matter now. We're coming down to the endgame here.” Thomas sighed and streaked his fingers through his hair. “I wish to God I knew what kind of gambit Krimakov was playing.”

Sherlock said, “I do, too, but since we don't, we have to keep using the tools we've got. If he gives us the time, if he continues with his delaying tactics, and more distractions, I can get the two samples of his handwriting compared. Maybe they could tell us how far over the edge he's gone, or maybe prove that all he's done is cold manipulation and butchery, and he's as sane as you and I. Our people are good, trust me. There's no reason not to do it.”

“I've got to talk to Tyler,” Becca said, rising, throwing off the afghan. “Reassure him. Tell him what's going on here.”

Sherlock said, “At the very least, if there's still time, the analysis and comparison will let us know what we're up against. Trust me on this. Get that note from Tyler, Becca.”

“Yes, she will,” Thomas said. “Go make your call, Becca.”

Becca nodded and walked to the phone, pulling the small address book out of her purse as she walked. She looked up Tyler McBride's number. She dialed.

After three rings, Tyler answered, his voice frantic. “Becca? Is that you?”

“Yes, Tyler.”

“Thank God. Where are you? What are you doing? What's happening?”

“Okay, Tyler, just listen to me. Here's the plan. It's the only way to handle this, so don't yell at me. We're all coming up to Riptide, but not together. No, just be quiet and listen. We're all going to trickle in. He'll never know there's anyone else but me in Riptide. I'll come directly to your
house, we'll speak, he'll see me, then I'll go to Jacob Marley's house. He'll come for me there. You know it. I know it.” She drew a deep breath. “He has no reason to kill Sam. He'll have me, so he can keep his word and release him.”

“The others will be hiding in Jacob Marley's house?”

“No, but they'll be close by. It will work, Tyler.”

She was aware that all of them were staring at her, but she just shook her head at them. It was the only way to go, and all of them knew it. There'd been no reason to flail about and discuss any number of options into the ground. She had to go and she knew no one would let her go alone. Fine. They had a chance now. “Oh yes, Tyler, I need you to give me Krimakov's note. Sherlock wants it. Now, just go about your business. Don't say a word to anyone. We'll be there in under four hours.”