Redemption (11 page)

Jamie was supposed to have shown up an hour ago.

He looked at his watch. An hour and a half ago. He refused to believe she'd lied to him about being partners.

She'd promised him. She was telling him the truth.

And he chose to believe.

She was exhausted so she may have taken a longer nap. Nothing was wrong.

His hands tapped on the counter as he glared at the coffee cup.

They'd set this up through texting. Maybe she didn't have the right address. He rechecked his phone. No, he'd given her the right name and address.

She'd forbidden him to show up at her motel room or to even call her. The nerve of that woman. One of the things he loved about her. Jamie believed in right and wrong. Jamie believe she knew best and wasn't afraid to tell everyone else what they should do. In no uncertain terms she'd let him know she was in charge—if he wanted to accept the offered partnership. And he didn't really have a problem with that except he wished she'd let him keep better track of her comings and goings.

Of course, she could take care of herself. He knew that. No real reason to worry as he tapped the face of his watch.

The woman had faced death more times than he had, and walked away without a scratch. Well, except for the last time. She'd barely survived that from what he heard.

He didn't know personally because she'd refused his calls.

But still, he'd feel a lot better if he knew where she was right now.

 

****

 

Jamie was sprawled on the bed where Ryan had pushed her. She was not moving. Feet were on the floor but her hands were flung over her head as if about to be flayed.

By the fury on Ryan's face that might be the plan.

Jamie closed her eyes in a wordless prayer.

I am with you.

She stared up at the gun pointing at her heart. It had a silencer on it.

Ryan wasn't playing games.

Jamie tore her gaze from the weapon to his face.

His expression was hard and angry. Not smiling.

She forced a smile.
Play it cool.
Ryan might be a hothead, but she couldn't believe he was a killer. He had a right to be angry. But she'd seen a gentler side of him.

“Can I sit up?”

“No.”

“What can I do?”

He glared at her. “Do not move a muscle. And then tell me who you are and what you want. How about that for starters?”

Taking a chance, she propped herself up on her elbows.

“I said not to move.” He stepped closer keeping the gun aimed at her heart. His knees touched hers. “And I meant it.”

“I can't talk in this position.”

“Sure you can, sweetheart. I can hear you just fine. By the way, how's that sunburn of yours, now?”

Stinging actually, but she wouldn't admit that to him. She stared at him. This was a mess. How was she going to regain control of the situation? “Ryan, what's going on? I don't understand why you're here.”

“Wrong answer. Try again, sweetheart, and it's your last chance.” He clicked off the safety as his knees ground against hers.

OK—the innocent approach wasn't going to work.

She glared at him. This was all about control. She needed to take it back. Her voice was firm and calm when she spoke. “I'm not telling you anything until you let me sit up. We need to talk. And I'm not talking on my back.”

“Really. I kinda got the feeling that was your plan.”

She said nothing.

“Suit yourself.” He threw himself down on top of her. She screamed, but barely got it out before his free hand muffled it. She grabbed his wrist and struggled to pry his hand from her mouth.

He pressed the gun against her.

She stilled as she struggled to breathe.

His weight bore down on her.

“Look, I am not playing games here. I don't want to hurt you. Really, I don't, but I will. I don't know who you are, or what you want, and I don't care. All I want right now are some answers from you.”

She slowed her breathing, but said nothing. Enrique's grin popped into her head. She wished she'd agreed to let him stay in the room next door to hers like he'd suggested. There really was such a thing as being too stubborn and independent. When she'd gained control of her breathing, her gaze moved to Ryan's face.

“That's better. A woman who knows her place. I like that.”

She gritted her teeth, but said nothing.

He moved allowing her to breathe.

Using the gun, he caressed her cheek, her chin. “I gotta say you were good. I fell for the whole thing. I don't like admitting that, but you got me. So pretty in all that pink. I believed all those sweet things that came out of your mouth.” The gun moved up her chin and to her lips.

Was he talking about the flirting part or the God part? Better to not respond. Let him talk out some of his anger. Maybe they could have a real conversation after that.

“Stupid me. I actually went home and read that Bible you gave me. Then I went to call you to tell you about it. To see if you really believed those things. And you know what?”

She didn't say anything.

He grabbed her hair and pulled her face closer to his. “And you know what I found? I asked you a question. You oughta be polite and answer me.”

She squeezed back the tears. “What did you find, Ryan?”

“You didn't actually call anyone while I was in the store. It would have shown and it didn't. That made me curious about how you had this mysterious chat with your mama about your grandmother needing you so much you had to leave right away. I got downright suspicious.”

“Ryan, let me explain.”

His eyes glittered with anger. “You played me and I don't like that.”

Tears leaked out of her eyes and down her cheeks. “I wasn't playing you about God, Ryan. That part was real. You know that, right?”

Their gazes met.

No one spoke.

They simply stared at each other.

Jamie thought she saw a softening in his eyes and a slight nod, but then the tattooed rattler around his arm lurched towards her. Before she could move, he smashed a cloth against her nose, her mouth. And then, there was nothing but the smell of ether.

 

 

 

 

22

 

Enough was enough.

Enrique paid the bill and stomped out of the diner. Jamie might be calling the shots, but he was still in the game, and he had no intention of playing it from the sidelines.

Jamie's plan had been to take a nap before showing up at the restaurant. They were both tired from taking the red eye flight. But she was almost two hours late.

He pulled into the motel's lot. He was staying there, too, but in a different building. Another Jamie idea. Her rental car was parked in the same spot as the last time he'd seen it.

His muscles relaxed a bit.

Maybe, she really was tired and had overslept.

He pulled his car into an empty spot and watched.

They weren't in that big of a rush.

If Jamie needed her sleep that was fine.

An hour went by as his blood pressure rose.

Not willing to wait any longer, he grabbed his cell phone and hit number one—Jamie's speed dial on her cover identity's phone. No answer. He hit speed dial number two. Her real phone. It went directly to voice mail. That phone stayed hidden, but she'd check it for messages whenever she could. He typed her a text—WHERE R U? 911. He sent a text message to the other number and waited. After five minutes he dialed the motel and asked to be connected to her room.

No answer.

He called one of the tech people at his office. “Hey, Penny. Need you to run these numbers for me and find the location.”

She called back a few minutes later. “Both numbers are at the same place. And that's the same place you're at.”

“Thanks.”

He stared at the door. It was more than three hours since the scheduled time. He opened the car door and marched towards Jamie's room. But he didn't want to blow her cover. He made a U-turn and walked to the motel office.

Five minutes later, he had the keys to the adjoining room. Inside he put an ear to the shared door between the rooms.

Quiet. No voices. No TV. No screaming.

He knocked and waited.

No response.

Using his lock-picking tool, the tumblers clicked into place. He inched the door open and listened. Quiet as a tomb. The room was empty.

He opened the door wider and stepped inside.

 

 

 

 

23

 

Jamie rose to awareness—slowly—confused. Then she remembered Ryan and that rattlesnake tattoo coming at her as if it was alive. The memories rushed back. She struggled to move. In spite of her head throbbing, Jamie opened her eyes.

Ryan must have moved her while she was unconscious.

Rough-hewn beams crossed the ceiling. A log cabin? Maybe a garage or tool shed? No, there wouldn't be a bed in a garage.

Her gaze landed in the corner.

Toys. A bright red fire engine. A baseball mitt and a plastic bat. Was Andrew here?

She twisted her head hoping for confirmation.

“Oh, so you're awake.” Ryan's voice sent a chill up her spine. He sat on the bed beside her. With a gentle touch, he brushed the hair out of her face. “Now, maybe we can talk.”

Not likely, since she had tape on her mouth. She glared at him.

“I gotta give you credit. You are a spunky one. Giving me the evil eye while I've got you trussed up like a pig waiting for slaughter.”

Jamie refused to show fear.

“OK, now. I'm going to take the tape off your mouth and we're going to have a chat. You can scream your lungs out if you want, but nobody's going to hear you. And the only thing it will accomplish is to make me angry.” He lifted the gun in his hand. “Well, angrier.” He rubbed his hand on the barrel. “Now, are you going to behave?”

She nodded.

Ryan pulled the tape off her mouth in one quick motion.

An involuntary moan escaped.

“Let's start with some easy questions. Who are you and why are you here?”

“I'm assuming you looked in my purse. I lied when I told you my name was Barb. I have no desire to hurt Michael Zinkleman.” A slight exaggeration. Any man or woman who kidnapped his own child deserved a little hurt. “I'm looking for Andrew, his son. His mother misses him and wants him home. I just want to take him back to her.”

“Oh, please. You expect me to believe that Suzanne sent you.”

“She didn't send me. I decided to come on my own. I owe her, and I wanted to help her.”

“How'd you get my name?”

“The yearbook.”

His free hand moved to her head. He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled.

Tears sprang to her eyes.

“Strike one.”

“I went to his parents. His dad gave me your name.”

“Figures. How much did that cost?”

“Five thousand.”

“He won't win the father of the year award.”

“And neither will Michael. If he wanted to run that was his option, but to take that child away from his mother was wrong. And you know it.” She forced her voice to sound more self-righteous than she felt. Still woozy—still confused.

“He had no other option.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

He gave her hair another tug. “I'm the one asking the questions. Who are you working for?”

“No one.”

He wrapped more hair around his fingers.

“I'm telling you the truth. Nobody hired me to do this. It was a thank you to her.”

“For what?”

“She helped a friend of mine when she was in trouble.”

“Isn't that so sweet? So you're just repaying the favor.” His index finger marked a one through the air. “That's one for sisterhood.”

“It's the truth.”

“You're not a cop?”

“No.”

“You're not FBI or CIA or any of those other letters?”

“No. I'm just a friend of Suzanne's.”

He wrapped more hair in his fingers. The pressure increased. “Then that means the really bad guys hired you. Strike two.” He clicked the safety off the gun and moved his finger to the trigger. “You're out of strikes. The next lie and it's your knee.”

“I am not lying. Nobody hired me. Do you remember the incident a few months ago where the two little girls were kidnapped from Sunberry?”

His eyes narrowed and he nodded.

“One of them was my friend's daughter. Without Suzanne, my friend might never have found her child. I wanted to do the same for Suzanne and find her son. That's all. It's not a mystery.”

“And just exactly why did you think you could find them when nobody else could?”

She met his gaze straight on. “Because I'm a good liar. That's why.”

“I'll give you that. You are a good liar.”

“Ryan, we need to talk about God. I wasn't lying about that.”

“God and I are just fine. I need to know what you know, and then...” His voice trailed off. A moment of uncertainty. Apparently, he hadn't thought that far ahead. He might not kill her.

“Where's Andrew, Ryan? Let me have him and I won't try to stop Michael from leaving. I just want Andrew.”

“Mmm. Again very sweet, but why did you think you could find him? I think I'm still missing something. So that's the question I need answered. Remember you're out of strikes.”

“I am not. I still have two strikes. I didn't lie before.”

He laughed. “You sure have a lot of guts. Barb or Bridgette. Which is it?”

“It's Bridgette. You can check my ID.”

“I guess I should have done that before I let you touch my cell phone or come to my house.”

“How did you find me?”

“Lucky break, actually. I flew in to Jackson Hole and needed a place to crash for a few hours. Went to the motel. And happened to see you checking in. I couldn't believe my eyes. Imagine my surprise.”