Ransomed Dreams (9 page)

“I might not be good company for basketball, but if you were interested in dinner …”

He leaned back in his chair as a slow smile creased his face. His powers of observation weren’t out of tune after all. And she’d practically asked him out. He liked that.

He’d be a fool not to ask now. “Are you free this Friday? I know a great restaurant in Old Town Alexandria.”

“I’d like that.” Gracie straightened books and lesson plans on her desk that were already in perfect order. “Thanks for saving me from dishonoring my Southern upbringing.”

“Never asked a gentleman for a date before?”

“No. And if we don’t say our good-byes soon, I might chicken out on accepting your invitation.” Gracie stood, her face a study in the color crimson. It went well with her long auburn hair.

“Then I’ll be leaving now.” Steven headed toward the door. “I’ll e-mail you this afternoon. ’Bye, Gracie. It was a pleasure seeing you again.”

“Good-bye, Steven. I’ll see you Friday.”

He smiled, then turned to leave. He could feel her gaze following him down the hall. For the first time in almost five years, he felt excitement about what tomorrow might hold.

Tom had watched unnoticed outside Gracie’s classroom door.

Now he paced in his private office with growing frustration.

If she hired a private investigator …

He shook his head and refocused. He’d missed the first part of her conversation with the super-stud FBI agent. The one his mother had praised in their morning meeting for exemplary work as a Crimes Against Children coordinator. A job good old mom had done during her last years in the Florida Bureau office. Too bad she hadn’t started a school down there. He would have preferred the Florida sun to the ridiculous winters of his Alexandria hometown.

He took a drink of Coke and wished for something harder.

Mother Dear had offered him a job here though, not in Florida. And it was one he’d mastered with ease. A career his dad would have been proud of. Mother was still too busy recovering from widowhood and a failed second marriage, so he had to work harder to get her attention.

Now Gracie Lang and her FBI date could topple it all.

If only Mother knew about his surveillance work or computer prowess.

Not like that could ever happen.

It was bad enough that his school would be crawling with even more feds in September.

Tom slumped into the leather seat behind his carved cherry-wood desk. Expensive Kandinskys adorned his walls. He was still in charge here. The FBI and Secret Service hotshots would be answering to him come September. Surely he could find a way to stop one little widow from Georgia. Even if she did hire a private investigator.

Tom brushed a hand through his dark curls. Ideas surged through his brain.

Now to pick just the right one.

G
ordon felt rested after the insufferably long weekend.

Couldn’t say the same for his pawns locked away in the cellar of the drafty old three-story farmhouse. The girls had screamed ’til they reached exhaustion. With no one around to hear. Poor fools.

He double-checked each window lock in the ramshackle country-bumpkin estate on the outskirts of Alexandria. Curtains drawn against the late Tuesday afternoon sun, he drank his frustration away with an early evening bitter.

Sir Walter Kensington had spent the weekend frantic and fuming at coppers and agents alike. Good. But he hadn’t suffered enough. Not nearly enough.

Gordon glanced at his timepiece. The moment to contact Ambassador Kensington had come, but his sister had yet to telephone confirmation of his plan’s safety.

When he did e-mail the ambassador, he’d make his demand short and very clear. The FBI would be up all night trying to decipher his note.

To no avail.

He rang his sister first. “Good afternoon, dear Charlotte. Is the estimable Sir Walter Kensington in his office?”

“I knew I shouldn’t have answered.” She sighed. “I’ve warned you about calling my cell during the day. The embassy is teeming with agents. I don’t want trouble.”

“Ah, but trouble has found you, has it not? Thanks to your good employer. Don’t forget Harry’s blood.” Gordon toasted the desolate land outside his temporary residence. The FBI would
never follow his paper trail. Ten years in Her Majesty’s Special Forces served him well.

“You’d best get this over with soon. Everything is being watched. But you already knew that.”

“That I did.”

“How will you do it?”

Gordon sneered. “Watching your words, Charlotte? There’s no trace on your mobile contraption.” He pulled steno notes from his satchel. “No worries about how this will be handled either. Harry and I did our respective work well.”

“Harry lived within the law, Gordon.”

“Harry was killed because of that.” He could see Harry’s coffin in his mind. Her Majesty had condescended to allow Gordon a short viewing, thanks to his former clearance.

Harry Landridge died in service to his cherished country
.

And now it was as if he never existed.

Harry’s killer would soon pay.

The ransom demand would send the coppers and federal agents scurrying for political motive. Experts from London would be retained. No one would ever suspect the Landridge family.

And the results would torture the Queen’s representative the entirety of his natural life.

“Be done and go home soon, Gordie.” Her line went dead.

His sister’s whispered words reminded him of their childhood treasure hunts in the dark. Charlotte had no heart for intrigue or danger, but he needed her now. She would not disappoint him. Or Harry.

Gordon assembled his high-tech office in the front room of the old farmhouse. One thing he would say for America was her fast, efficient black market technology Once finished, he’d sell the pieces all over the world in channels untraceable. Or even back to Britain through the same pathways Sir Kensington had operated.

God save the Queen.

Thirty minutes later, he connected to Sir Kensington’s
personal e-mail account. Gordon sent the encrypted file, then disassembled his equipment. The file contained details of the ransom demand and a few tidbits of incriminating evidence from Harry’s investigation. Clues that Sir Kensington would “forget” to share with the FBI.

Then his pure British bloodline would rot in prison.

Steven cursed the Beltway traffic.

He should have known better than to go home today for a shower and dinner with James. His son could have waited one more day.

Olivia might not.

Finally, the Massachusetts Avenue estate drew near. Steven parked his Explorer among a throng of federal vehicles. He was the last to arrive.

Clint met him at the residence entrance. Stetson in hand, wearing blue jeans and leather boots. “Simmer down, partner. You’re not too late for the action. Seems Sir Walter delayed contacting us after the ransom demand. The electronic trail could take us a good while to trace, but you have some Intel to work with.”

Steven stormed past Clint. “Since the immediate threat is active, why are you here dressed like that?”

Clint caught up to him with quick strides. “Dinner? Family? Ring any bells?”

“Still, we don’t need to hand Sir Walter any fodder for dissing us to the unit chief.” Steven reached the ambassador’s study and stopped, pocketing his credentials. “Why don’t you send up some prayers for me? I’m gonna need them to bring those girls home. Especially if the good ambassador isn’t being forthright with us.”

“Tread carefully. His daughter is still missing.”

“I know. All too well.”

Steven knocked and entered without waiting for an invitation. “Sir Walter, I’ve interviewed two possible suspects but had
to release them for lack of evidence. Immediate action after that e-mail could have given us the ammunition we needed to find your daughter.”

The gray-haired gentleman stood to his full height. “I will not have you barging into my residence like this.”

“Do you want your daughter returned?” Steven squared off with the diplomat across his chaotic desk.

The man crumpled into his leather chair. With eyes scanning the thick tan carpet, he rubbed his prominent nose. Even his voice dropped a notch. “Yes. More than anything.” He motioned to the guest chairs. “Please, sit. Tell me about your suspects. Given this ransom demand, maybe I can give you something that will constitute reason to detain them again.”

Steven squinted. He’d never consulted with the parent of a kidnapped child on a case. He had no intention of starting now. But … “Both British nationals came willingly with the help of your embassy staff. Nothing to hide, it appears.”

“You don’t believe them?”

“I believe someone kidnapped your daughter and is twisting the knife in your back. I believe Olivia and Jordan are still alive.” Steven leaned forward. “But they might not be for long if we don’t move quickly.”

“I will pay the ransom. I have already wired for my available funds. They should arrive in the morning.”

“Ten million dollars? We will not pay possible terrorists. Sir Walter.”

The older gentleman’s eyes blazed. “If I follow your instruction and my daughter is killed, I will hold you personally responsible.”

Great. At least he didn’t work in Organized Crime and receive a steady diet of this garbage. “Tell me about the e-mail.”

“There was nothing in the e-mail but directions to a location where I will receive my daughter and her friend in exchange for the amount demanded.”

Steven met the ambassador’s intense gaze. “Nothing else?
Then why did our technicians find British black market references deleted from your e-mail to us? Tampering with a federal investigation is serious business.”

The man’s face grew pale, and he pointed a bony finger at Steven. “I sent all the information you needed. Must you treat me like a common criminal?”

“Maybe you misunderstand our goals. Our first priority is returning your daughter to safety.” Steven leaned back into the cool leather chair. “Your actions place you under intense suspicion.”

“I had nothing to do with my daughter’s disappearance! You must be mad to think me a suspect.”

“Then explain your behavior.” Steven could only hope the ambassador would throw him a useful bone. Or Agent Maxwell would have this British citizen deported, without a job or entrance to the United States ever again. Maybe even jail time.

Sir Walter set to pacing behind his desk, passing all manner of classical texts in the bookshelf behind him. “I consider it a threat to implicate me in my daughter’s kidnapping.”

“Your behavior did more damage than the original e-mail would have done.”

Steven considered the diplomat’s nervous body language and the obscure references the man had tried to eliminate. None gave them any clue toward Olivia’s investigation. In fact, they were dead ends, according to the British Security Service.

Could the ambassador be telling the truth?

“We have a purse with a bloody smear, an abductor who knew about Olivia’s whereabouts and lack of security, and no credible eyewitnesses to a murder and double kidnapping. Now a ransom demand via an encrypted e-mail with elements you deleted. I need your full cooperation and disclosure of any relevant information.”

Sir Walter slumped into his chair. “There were British consuls under Secret Intelligence Service investigation for black market arms trading. I assisted Her Majesty’s forces in apprehending them.”

Steven made quick notations on his pad. “I need more information than that.”

“Speak with Sir Peter Barnstable. He should verify everything.” The ambassador flicked his hand in the air and studied the carpet once again. “The consuls were jailed. I can’t imagine their involvement in this. But the references …” He buried his head in his hands. “Could the former consuls have anything to do with my daughter’s kidnapping? Please, Agent Kessler. Please find Olivia.”

Steven stood and pocketed his notepad and pen. “We’re doing everything in our power, Sir Walter.”

The man nodded and waved him toward the door.

Clint met him on the other side. “Straight story this time?”

“Nothing simple to validate.” Steven loosened his tie. “According to the ambassador, this is home territory trouble. British intelligence, no matter our countries’ mutual sharing policy, is not going to break ranks for my investigation.”

Clint whistled low and long. “So you believe Sir Walter?”

Steven shrugged. “Not entirely. But now I have something to move ahead with. Our first and only promising lead. Maybe the honorable Peter Barnstable from SIS will be of assistance this time.”

They walked out to Steven’s SUV, pausing to show credentials a dozen times. “How do you know this Barnstable guy?”

“International training class at Quantico. Not a friendly chap.”

Clint leaned against the Explorer. “You need some sleep, partner. Gotta rest up for the big date Friday and all.”

“Whatever. With everything that’s going on, I may have to cancel.”

Clint adjusted the cream-colored Stetson atop his cropped brown hair. “Nothing doing. I can handle things for one night. You’re going out two-stepping on the town Friday.”

If everything went according to plan in the morning.

If not, time with one Gracie Lang might remain a pipe dream.

W
ednesday dawned ripe with possibility.

Gracie had an upcoming date for the first time in years, and it didn’t feel like betraying Mark. She spun around in her pink flowered sundress. When she stopped, the reflection in her full-length antique mirror caught her off guard.

The skeptical eyes most of all.

“Okay, maybe it feels a little like betrayal.” She stroked Jake’s honey-colored fur as he watched her every move. “But like Beth said, that’s ridiculous. Mark would want me to be happy again. Of course, I think she just wants to meet a real, live FBI agent, but at least Bethy’s talking to me like old times.”

Jake didn’t comment.

She chuckled and gathered her scrapbooks, placed everything on the bed, and sat down. “Today, Jake, I’m going to meet one of Steven’s friends who will help us find the awful man in the black truck.” Gracie bent down to ruffle the hair on Jake’s muzzle. “Once we put that man in prison, that’ll be such a weight off my heart. Justice for my family And maybe Steven will help us celebrate that victory too.”