Part 7 (1/2)
”I told you there are no pictures.”
She was lying, and it made no sense under the circ.u.mstances.
The dynamics of this situation were getting stranger, and despite the old man's a.s.surance, Chase wasn't sure that he hadn't been fight about the husband.
But did it really matter? he thought. He had been hired to do a job. To take Sam's million to Melchor Mfizquiz on Sat.u.r.day and see what happened. If nothing did, then he might be able to convince them to reevaluate what was going on.
”Look,” he said, trying to be patient, trying to remember that people in this situation sometimes said or did weird things. He was used to that. Samantha's baby had been taken, he had no doubt about that, and she was ent.i.tled to act a little peculiar.
”I have to have some way to identify the baby.”
”Why?” she asked.
”So I'll know we're getting the fight one back,” he said.
It was getting more bizarre by the minute. Apparently whatever had happened between Samantha and the baby's father had had some pretty far-reaching effects--a lack of trust, for one. Or maybe his own actions five years ago had had something to do with that, his conscience reminded him.
Samantha looked at her father, but the old man's face was unrevealing. Sam's reputation as a good poker player was apparently well-deserved. His lips pursed, but he didn't say anything, and finally she turned back to Chase.
”Why would they try to give you the wrong child?” she asked.
”You said that it was to their advantage--” ”If they figure out that I can't identify your baby, Mrs.
Berkley, they can give me any child. They could keep Amanda and ask for another million. Maybe two. Or maybe we just won't hear from them again.” He said that deliberately, trying to remind her that things could go wrong if he wasn't allowed to do his job.
”I don't know what they'll do if we do something stupid. I thought you wanted her back,” he said.
”If not, then we're wasting our time.”
”I'll go,” she said.
”You're going to handle the exchange?” he said, allowing his sarcasm to show.
”No,” she said softly.
”You are. That's what Sam's Or/ paying you for. I'm going along to make sure you bring back the right child. To make sure that the baby you get in exchange for Sam's million dollars is really my daughter.”
Chapter Four.
”What's the point?” Sam had asked her later that night.
They were standing on the balcony of Samantha's bedroom, looking out on the darkness. It didn't seem that anything terrible should happen in a world that was heavened with such a sky, she had been thinking Sleeping somewhere under it, safe and warm, she prayed, was Amanda.
”As if she were my own daughter,” the leader had promised her, and she had held on to his vow like a talisman.
To it and to the fact that he had crossed himself as he'd made it. Please, G.o.d, she prayed again, keep her safe.
”I don't know,” she said.
”I honestly don't know. It just seemed that ... it was better to do it this way.”
”Whatever Chase McCullar may be, he ain't no fool.”
”I know, but I needed some time, Sam. Maybe if you hadn't just sprung him on me. Maybe if I'd known that your expert--” ”It's dangerous, baby. Going down there with him.
There ain't any reason for it. There's nothing you can do.”
”I thought there was nothing to it. To dealing with the kidnappers.” Her mockery was obvious.
”That's what you both told me. Just hand over the money and get Mandy back. I thought it was in everyone's best interests that it should go smoothly.”
She certainly wasn't gullible enough to believe that nothing could go wrong, and she knew Sam understood that, even if Chase might not. Of course, there were dangers involved, most of them revolving around carrying that much money in cash--ripe for the taking. But since even she didn't entirely understand what had prompted her to decide to go along with Chase, she certainly couldn't explain it to her father.
”You know better than that,” Sam said.
”Nothing in this life is without risk. Nothing that's worth doing.”
”Or worth having,” she whispered.
”What?” Sam asked, turning to face her. He had been looking out over the land, hidden now by darkness, which had been in his family's keeping for five generations.
”Nothing's without risk,” she said, smiling at him.
”I.
was just agreeing with you. Mandy's worth any risk. At least we agree on that.”
”Is it because you think...” He paused, searching for the right word.
”Because you're hoping--” ”I'm hoping to get my daughter back, Sam. That's all I'm hoping for. Don't let your imagination run away with you. Nothing's changed. Nothing's going to change.”
She turned and went inside, closing the French doors behind her. Sam Kincaid put his big hands on top of the railing, the knotted fingers closing hard around the wood.
Stubborn as a mule, he thought again. But then so was he. Muleheaded, his daddy used to say. And once a mule made up his mind to something, right or wrong, it usually took a two-by-four between his eyes to change it. You might not like the two-by-four, or like using it, but results were what mattered. Especially with a mule.
”SING IT AGAIN,” MANDY begged, blue eyes pleading.
”But then you must go to sleep,” the man said.
”It's very late and past the time when all good little girls should be asleep.”
She watched his mustache move as he talked. She had never known anyone who had a mustache. She liked the way he sang, too. The way the words all sounded different, even the Spanish ones. Different from how Rosita had taught her. Thinking of Rosita made her miss her Mama again, but he had said that she could go home soon. Very soon, he'd promised.
So she had settled down on the bed he had carried her to and listened again to the song about the cat. She was trying to remember all the words so she could sing it to Mama when she got home.