Hush (41 page)

She met his eyes, felt the steady strength of that calm blue-gray gaze, and told him. Everything.

HAVING ABANDONED
the Acura, which he judged to be too well known now, Finn was behind the wheel of a black Lexus commandeered from Agents Waters and Silverman. The four agents were in an identical black Lexus behind them (nobody ever said the Agency was creative). Riley was beside him, and Bax, because Bax had earned his trust, was the backup of choice in the backseat.

They were on their way to Houston, to Margaret's house. Still not sure whether he was more stunned by, appalled at, or proud of Riley's chutzpah in siphoning off money from the stolen billions that she'd found when the whole world and its mother had failed to do so, he wanted to get his hands on those papers she'd hidden in the dog's ashes before he told anybody anything. If the information was in his hands, he became the target, not her.

Just thinking about the amount of danger she'd been in ever since she'd found that money put him in a cold sweat.

He was wary of sending a message, of transmitting by even the most secure means, that he had ascertained that Riley really did have knowledge of the whereabouts of hidden bank accounts, or that papers actually detailing those accounts existed, and where. No means of communication was totally secure, and if the word got out there'd be the equivalent of an operative feeding frenzy with Riley, and the papers, both serving as chum.

She was with him, because he didn't dare let her out of his sight. Until the money was officially found, she wouldn't be safe.

“Don't forget that Emma's the number one priority,” Riley reminded him as she had at least half a dozen times since she'd told him the whole story. He got the feeling she still wasn't completely convinced she'd done the right thing, and Emma was at the heart of that. Riley was afraid that once the key to the money was in his hands, it would be out of his hands, so to speak, that the Agency would take it and whisk it away rather than use it to ransom Emma.

What he said to her was, “Emma will be saved.” His internal answer was more complex:
Emma would be saved if it was humanly possible to save her.
He was still working on ways to get it done.

“I know,” he answered, and smiled at her, because she was beautiful, and amazing, and she'd trusted him, and—

Get your mind on your business. This is not the time for that
.

Bax said, “Hey, I just got a text. Ed Harper—you know, the guy who sent those emails to Jeff—is claiming George bribed him to send them. He said he was visiting his cousin at the prison like he does every week and George promised to give him insider investing tips if he did that for him. We've got an agent on the way to talk to George about it now.”

“Good luck with that,” Finn said, while Riley frowned and said with obvious disappointment, “So those emails probably didn't come from Emma's kidnappers.”

“It's not sounding like it,” Bax said. “I—”

He broke off as Finn's cell phone rang. It was positioned on the console between the seats, because Riley wanted it where she could keep an eye on it. He reached for it, looked at the number, and felt his heart rate and pulse start to slow down.

“This may be them,” he said to Riley, who was looking at his phone with a combination of horror and hope. She sucked in air audibly. Her hand shook as she reached for the phone. The call was being monitored and recorded remotely. If this was the kidnappers, top operatives would be listening in, analyzing, and trying to trace the call as she spoke.

Riley took the phone, wet her lips, punched the button, and said into the phone, “This is Riley.”

Finn couldn't hear the other end of the conversation, but from the way the color faded from her cheeks he knew who it was even before she mouthed at him, “It's them.”

“Y
ou called the FBI.” The voice on the other end of the phone was ugly with accusation. It was a man's voice, not foreign. No particular accent that she could discern. She didn't recognize it.

Riley felt panic squeeze her chest. “I know where the money is,” she said, without confirming or denying his accusation. “I can give you bank names, account numbers.”

“Text them to this number. We'll let her go.”

Having pulled over to the side of the road, Finn was on his alternate phone, listening to one of the agents who was monitoring the phone call, while Bax was leaning forward into the space between the front seats, agog with interest. Finn shook his head at Riley, who knew the answer to that without him having to tell her. She'd been coached on what to say when the kidnappers called by, she presumed, the same expert hostage negotiator
who was listening in, in a phone call before leaving the safe house. Finn made a winding motion with his hand, which she interpreted as “keep the kidnapper talking.” If she could keep him on the line long enough, they might be able to trace the call.

“Texts, emails, they're not secure. You know that. I want to make sure you get what you want, so Emma can come home.” She'd been told to try to set up a face-to-face exchange. “We need to meet. I'll give you the list of accounts, and you give me Emma. How about—” She was about to suggest, as she'd been instructed, in front of the zoo.

“We'll call you later tonight with a place.”

She sensed he was about to hang up. “
Wait
.”

Finn was mouthing something at her: “Proof of life.”

Right. She remembered what she'd been told to do.

“I need to make sure she's alive. I want to talk to her. I—”

“Riley.” It was Emma.

“Em! Are you all right?”

“Yes. I'm so scared. I miss Rogers so much. And Kenny—”

Emma made a sound, and Riley heard some kind of commotion, as if she was being dragged away from the phone.

“Em!” Riley cried, her stomach dropping clear to her toes.

“Be ready.” It was the kidnapper, back on the phone. Then he hung up.

The sound of dead air was the most terrifying sound of all, Riley discovered. Her eyes locked with Finn's. Her chest was so tight she could hardly breathe. She felt dizzy, sick.

“Em,” she said. It was almost a whimper.

“You heard her, she's all right. They're going to call back.
They want the money.” Finn took the phone from her grasp, then pushed her head down so that her head was resting on her knees. Riley didn't resist. She was too weak. Her head spun.

“Breathe,” Finn ordered, and she did, in and out, while he spoke to the hostage negotiator.

In a few minutes, when her head had cleared sufficiently, Riley sat up.

“Better?” Finn asked. His face was tight with concern.

Riley nodded. “She was trying to send a message,” she said. “There is no Rogers in her life. There is no Kenny.”

“Are you sure?” Finn frowned at her.

“Kenny Rogers,” Bax exclaimed excitedly, while Finn repeated what she'd said to the hostage negotiator. Then Bax frowned. “But what does it mean?”

That was the terrible thing. Riley didn't have a clue. None of them did.

BY THE TIME
Riley walked into Margaret's house, it was dark outside. Since talking to Emma, she'd had time to regain her composure. The last thing she wanted to do was upset Margaret more, or infect her with her own terrible fear. When, five minutes out because Finn wouldn't let her do it any sooner for fear of a security breach, she'd called to let Margaret know she was coming, Margaret's voice had broken her heart. It was thin, and quavering, and sounded like it belonged to someone who was very, very old.

“Riley!” Margaret came up off the couch to envelop her in a hug. Her normally fastidious ex-mother-in-law was more disheveled
than Riley had ever seen her. Margaret's hair looked like it hadn't been combed since Riley had left, she was wearing what Riley thought were the same clothes except for, and this was despite the baking heat, the addition of a cardigan sweater, and there wasn't a speck of makeup on her face. “I'm so glad to see you.”

Riley hugged her back. Margaret felt like skin and bones in her arms. The TV was on, and so were the lamps. They didn't help. The atmosphere in the house felt heavy, depressing.

Like somebody has died.

“I talked to Emma,” Riley said first thing. She hadn't been able to tell Margaret that over the phone, again because of security concerns. “She's all right.”

“You actually spoke to her?” Still clinging to Riley's hands, Margaret sat down abruptly on the couch. “Oh, my God. Thank God.”

Then her eyes went past Riley to Finn, who had come in behind her and was standing discreetly back, in front of the closed door.

“This is Finn,” Riley introduced him. He was once again wearing his suit jacket, but he'd left his tie off and his shirt was open at the neck. He looked very big in the modestly sized room, and so toughly handsome that Riley was conscious of feeling a little glimmer of pride in him. She was dying to
really
introduce him to Margaret, in a way that let Margaret know that he was important to her, but these were not the circumstances. “Agent Bradley.”

“Mrs. Cowan.” Finn took the hand Margaret extended to him as she murmured the appropriate greeting.

“Won't you sit down?” Margaret, with her always impeccable manners, indicated the chair beside the couch.

“Thank you, but we'll only be here a moment.” Finn gave Riley a meaningful look. He'd already impressed on her how vulnerable she was in this house, which was a place where she was known to spend a considerable amount of time and might well be under surveillance.

“Where's Bill?” Riley asked. She'd known before she arrived that she needed to be in and out, to grab the papers she'd hidden and go, but leaving Margaret, having seen the way she was, was going to be much harder than she'd anticipated.

“He ran to the store,” Margaret called after her, because Riley, steeling herself to do what she had to do, was already heading for the kitchen. “He's been so good to me. He's been here with me the whole time.”

The cop car was once again parked in the driveway, so Riley didn't worry about Margaret's physical safety once she left. Instead she worried about her mental state. She'd been through so much. How much could one woman take? But as soon as Emma was safe, Riley would be back, bringing Emma with her. Hanging on to that thought like a lifeline, Riley headed for the kitchen. She flipped on the light, made a beeline for the cabinet and poor Horatio's mortal remains.

“Do you think they'll let my daughter go, Agent Bradley?” she heard Margaret ask, and then she was listening to the rumble of Finn's deep voice as she went up on tiptoe to reach the top of the cabinet.

Riley had the pewter urn on the counter and was in the process
of unscrewing the lid when the back door opened. She looked up, startled, and then relaxed as she saw that the new arrival was Bill, who she presumed had used a key Margaret had given him and was coming in from the store. Unlike Margaret, on whom the strain of the last couple of days had left a visible mark, Bill looked like his usual lawyer self in a navy suit, white shirt, and red tie.

She smiled at him, and he took a long step that put him directly in front of her, pulled a gun out from under his jacket, and pointed it right at her forehead.

Riley's heart leaped into her throat. Her breathing suspended.

“If you make a sound, I'll kill you where you stand,” he whispered. Riley stood frozen, her hands still on the urn, staring at him in shock. He glanced at the urn. “You put the papers in there?” He shook his head. “Bring it. Walk out the door.
Now
.”

In the other room, Riley could hear the drone of the TV. She could hear Finn's voice, and Margaret's. In the split second that was all she had, her mind explored the situation wildly. The sound of a shot would bring them running. But then she took another look at that pistol—it had a silver thing screwed on the end of its barrel that was almost certainly a silencer. Which meant that he could, indeed, shoot her where she stood and no one would hear. If she screamed, Finn would be there in seconds. But she took one look at Bill's eyes—they were cold and hard in a way she'd never, ever seen them—and knew she didn't have seconds.

If she screamed he would shoot her on the spot.

Carrying Horatio's urn, with Bill's gun trained on her every step of the way, she did what he said and walked out the door.

“
HOW DID YOU
know I had papers hidden in the urn?” Riley asked as Bill hustled her through the back gate and across the dark yards on the same route she had used previously to enter and leave the house unseen. Windows glowed in the houses they passed, but curtains were drawn. No one was outside. He had his hand twisted in her hair and his gun kept nudging her neck, and he'd already made her give him the papers with the account numbers on them and had stuffed them in his pocket. Horatio's urn had been tossed in some shrubberies.

“Margaret told me everything the two of you did, except where you put the damned copies of those bank account numbers you made, because
that
she didn't know. She was so agitated, you see, after hearing you on TV today that she just couldn't keep the secret any longer, and I was right there.” He chuckled. “I've been searching the damned house ever since that TV broadcast. When you called, I knew you were coming for those papers. I told Margaret I was going to the store, and then I watched through the windows to see what you would do. I was right: you went for the papers.” He shook his head. “In the dog urn, of all places.”

“Bill—you care about Margaret. She cares about you. Our family cares about you. You have a great career, a great life. You don't
need
billions of dollars. Why would you do this?” Riley's pulse drummed in her ears, her heart pounded like a trapped animal's, and she was still so stunned that she was finding it hard to think clearly. Instinct told her that getting him talking to her, reminding him that he was a close family friend and she'd known him for years, was the best tack to take.