Deadly Intent (41 page)

Abbie almost knocked over her laptop trying to get to the hutch’s drawer where she kept odds and ends. Rose quickly got out of her way, but didn’t take her eyes off Abbie.

“Who is it?” she mouthed.

Abbie signaled her to be quiet and set a spiral-bound notebook down on the kitchen counter. “I’m ready,” she said into the phone.

“Do you know how to get to Route 80 West?”

Route 80 West was the major highway that led to the Pocono Mountains, where she and Ben skied every winter. “Yes, I do,” she said. “But please, let me talk to Ben. Let me make sure he—“

“In due time. Follow 80 West until you reach Route 715 North, which parallels Pocono Creek, and take the Camelback exit.”

Abbie wrote frantically. “What do I do at the exit?”

“Follow 715 until you come to a crossroad and a wooden sign that says Private Road, No Trespassing. Be warned, the road has been cleared, and every twist and turn is visible from the house up on top of the hill. In other words, I’ll see you coming.”

“You’ll see me coming,” Abbie repeated, anxious not to upset or contradict the caller. “And then what?”

“What will you be driving? Since I have your truck.”

Abbie thought quickly. The only cars out there now were Sergeant Tyler’s and Rose’s. “An Oldsmobile,” she replied, drawing a startled look from Rose. “I’ll be driving a green Oldsmobile with Ohio plates.”

“Fine. At the bottom of the private road, you’ll stop and turn the car around so that the back faces the house. You

can’t miss it. It’s the only one up there. After you stop, you’ll get out of the car and open the trunk.”

“Why do I have to open the trunk?”

“I want to make sure you didn’t decide to do something cute, Abbie, like bringing the cavalry with you.”

“I won’t bring anyone. I promise. I’ll do everything you say, just let me talk to Ben.”

“Not until you get here. That should be about two hours from now, if you leave right away. And Abbie, not a word of where you’re going to anyone. Remember, I can see you as you come up the private road. If you’re not alone, the boy dies. If I think you’re not alone, the boy dies. Are we clear on that?”

“Yes.”

The line went dead.

In one quick motion, Abbie switched off the phone, tore the page from the notebook and jammed it into her purse.

Rose grabbed her arm and spoke in a low but firm voice. “You’re not doing what I think you’re doing—meeting some lunatic without knowing if he’s legit or not.”

Abbie jerked her arm free. “Rose, for God’s sake, he has Ben.”

“How do you know? How do you know the call wasn’t from a serial killer who heard about the kidnapping and is using that to lure you somewhere?”

“Because a serial killer wouldn’t have my cell phone number.”

“Who does?”

“I don’t know! It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that if I don’t do as he says, Ben will die. Is that what you want, Rose? For my son to die?”

“Of course not. All I ask is that you don’t go alone. Call John.”

“No. The instructions were explicit. No police. No one. Just me. Or Ben dies.”

“How do you know the kidnapper won’t kill you both?”

“That’s a chance I have to take.”

Leaving Rose to mull over that last remark, Abbie ran upstairs, opened the armoire, unlocked the top drawer and grabbed the gun, which she had unloaded after her botched attempt to kill Arturo. Her mind focused on the task, she reloaded the PPK, slipped some spare cartridges into her pocket and tucked the weapon in her waistband, pulling the loose sweatshirt over it.

Back in the kitchen, she checked her purse to make sure she had money, then looked at Rose. “I need your car, Rose.” Her voice turned imploring. “Please.”

Rose folded her arms across her chest and assumed a stubborn expression. “What if I refuse?”

“You won’t. Because you don’t want my son’s death on your conscience.”

With a sigh of resignation, Rose walked over to her own purse on the kitchen table, took out the keys and handed them to Abbie. “I know I’m going to regret this.”

But Abbie was already out the back door.

Forty_Three

John!” Rose sounded frantic. “You’ve got to come to Abbie’s house right away.”

John, who had started to take off his jacket, stopped in midmotion. “What happened?”

“She got a phone call and tore out of here like a bat out of hell, with my car.”

“Where the hell is Tyler?”

“Right here. The call came on her cell phone. He never heard it ring.”

“Where did she go?”

“She wouldn’t say. Apparently the kidnapper—if that’s who it was,” she added doubtfully, “threatened to kill Ben if she didn’t follow his exact instructions.”

“Damn!” John dragged his hand through his hair. He hadn’t thought of her cell phone. “How long ago was that?”

“She just left. She made me swear not to call you, but.. .I’m scared, John. That call could have been from anyone—a rapist or a serial killer. They do that, you know, they prey on—“

“Stay where you are, Rose. I’ll be right over.”

Sitting at her desk, Tina was watching him anxiously. “What’s wrong? Did something happened to Abbie?”

“Come on,” he said, running ahead of her. “I’ll tell you in the car.”

Sergeant Tyler and Rose were in the kitchen when they arrived. The technician immediately started to apologize.

“I’m sorry, John. She left through the back door. I didn’t realize what was happening until I heard the car. I ran after her but it was too late.”

“It’s not your fault.” He turned to Rose. “Did she say anything at all, give any clue while she was talking on the phone as to where she was going?”

Rose repeated some of the comments Abbie had made, including the apparent warning that whoever was waiting for her would see her coming. “The rest she wrote on that pad over there.” She pointed to a spiral-bound notebook.

John picked it up and held it at eye level. There were impressions on the blank page left by Abbie’s writing. He took the pencil that lay beside the notebook and started rubbing with the side of the point over the entire page in a light, zigzag motion, right to left, left to right, until the entire page was covered with gray and the words stood out in white relief.

John jotted down what he read. “Looks like she’s heading for the mountains.”

“We’ll need backup.” Tina took her cell phone out. “And a chopper if we want to stop her.”

But the only police helicopter had been dispatched to a multivehicle accident on the 1--95 and wouldn’t be back for hours.

Tina clicked off her cell. “Shit.”

“That’s okay. I may know where to find a chopper.” John tucked the directions in his pocket. “Let’s go.”

“What about backup?”

“We’ll call it in later.” From the car, he called his father and told him what he needed.

On the way to his father’s house, John stopped to buy a topographic map of the Pocono Mountains; according to

the directions on the notebook, that’s where Abbie was headed.

Spencer hadn’t wasted any time either. A map similar to the one John had brought was already spread out on his desk. An avid skier, he knew all the resorts—Camelback, Shawnee, Big Boulder. Jack Frost—as well as the less traveled back trails.

“Did you get the chopper?” John asked.

“It’s gassed up and ready to go.”

John let out a sigh of relief. When he had talked to his father earlier, Spencer hadn’t been sure if Colin Birghman, his old army buddy, was even in town. Now CEO of a small but successful airline, Birghman traveled from one meeting to another in the same type of aircraft he had piloted in ‘Nam—a helicopter.

“What about a pilot?”

“He’ll be waiting for you at Princeton Airport. By the way, I don’t know how many people you’re planning to take with you, but the bird can only accommodate five passengers, including the pilot.”

Tina was already on her cell phone, requesting a two men SWAT team, M-16’s and bulletproof vests. Before hanging up, she gave the dispatcher directions to Spencer’s house.

“Look here, son.” John and Spencer bent over the map. “According to your directions, this is the route she’ll be taking.” He picked up a highlighting marker and traced the winding road in bright orange all the way to a red X. ‘ ‘And this, to my estimation, is where the house sits.” He tapped another, smaller X. “That’s Big Sky Airfield. Colin uses it occasionally when he goes to the mountains.”

“How far is the airfield from the private road?”

“A couple of miles. There’ll be a car waiting for you.”

He had thought of everything. “Thanks.” And now for
 
the hard part. “Is there any way to get to the house without being seen?”

Spencer’s finger moved a fraction of an inch. “I remember a trail in that area. It should lead you all the way to the west side of the house, but I warn you, it’s three hundred feet up.”

John turned to Tina. “How’s your climbing, Wright field?”

“Every bit as good as yours, Ryan.” She laughed. “Which, come to think of it, probably ain’t that good.”

The temperature cooled off considerably as Abbie got into the mountains, leaving urban civilization and congestion far behind. The last time she had traveled this route had been in February, when she and Ben had gone to Camelback for a ski weekend.

Pictures of years past flashed by as she drove—the hesitant toddler, who had stared at the snow-covered mountain with a look of apprehension, the more daring five-year-old, I who had been filled with confidence and bravado, the excited kid, gliding down the slopes like a pro, stopping on a dime at the end of his run and grinning at her, saying, “So, Mom, you think I’m good enough for Steamboat Springs now?”

But darker thoughts kept intruding—the Acura parked outside Ben’s school, the look on Ben’s face when he had
 
realized it wasn’t his mother behind the wheel, Ben being dragged out of the car and into a strange house, maybe unconscious, maybe fighting.

Ben tied down.

Her hands gripped the Oldsmobile’s steering wheel. I’m coming, Ben. Just hang in there, baby.

Whenever she moved, she could feel the reassuring pres

sure of the PPK against her back. This time she would not freeze. This time it wasn’t her life she would be trying to save, but her son’s.

She continued in a northwestern direction, driving through familiar territory—Stroudsburg, Bartonsville, Tannersville. Vacation homes that ranged from modest cabins to luxury mansions were sprinkled along the mountainside. Two miles past the Camelback exit, she saw the sign for the private road. On the top of the mountain sat the house, made entirely of redwood and glass, glinting in the sunshine.

As instructed, she backed down the road, got out of the car and went to open the trunk. Except for a spare tire and a crowbar she wished she could smuggle into the house, there was nothing anyone could object to.

Twenty or thirty seconds went by. Nothing happened. A chilling thought hit her as she remembered Rose’s warning. What if this was some sort of a setup? The brainstorm of a psychopath who had only wanted to lure her to his isolated mountain retreat?

At last, her cell phone rang.

“Proceed,” was all the voice said.

It took Abbie a little over fifteen minutes to reach the house. The Acura was nowhere in sight. She turned off the engine and got out.

The massive redwood door was halfway open. The moment Abbie walked through it, she heard a hiss and spun around. The door had closed. Remote control, Abbie thought. She stood still for a moment, looking around the large foyer with its shiny hardwood floor and huge antler chandelier. Bright sunshine poured in from the twin skylights above.

Her heart pounding, she started down the long hallway. “Hello?”

There was no answer, but the first door on her left was open, so she walked through it. The first thing she saw was a bank of tall windows overlooking Big Pocono State Park and Camelback Mountain.