Part 42 (2/2)
Misty's eyes went electric with shock. Murdock brought the zip ties and rags, grabbed her, gagged her and bound her hands, and shut the tailgate.
The men got in the back seat. Vance turned his gun on the Kanans. Calder leaned across Jo and hit the power lock, making sure neither the doors nor the tailgate could be opened from the inside. She pushed the remote and the garage door began whining up. She put the Tahoe in reverse.
”Drive,” she said.
Jo backed down the driveway into the street. She looked at the dashboard clock. It was ten P.M.
”Where are we going?” Jo said.
Calder got on her phone again. She put the SUV in drive. ”San Jose airport.”
* 35 *
Ian Kanan turned right. His gaze swept the street.
He was in a residential neighborhood. It was full dark. The road signs were in English. His heart was pounding.
Had he just outrun somebody? He checked the road behind him. n.o.body was on his tail. Was he chasing somebody? He checked the road ahead. n.o.body was making tracks.
A rosary swung from the rearview mirror. On the dashboard was a plastic bobblehead Jesus, wearing shades and holding a soccer ball. Whose truck was this?
He pulled down the sun visor and found the registration. Nikita Khrushchev Diaz.
His confidence swelled. Nico had his six. If he was driving Diaz's truck, it meant he'd been gaining ground. But Diaz wasn't here, and neither was his family.
Notes on the dashboard. Slick's in the backpack. CHECK YOUR WATCH.
He looked. It was ten o'clock.
The outer band was set for a few minutes ahead. Why?
He unzipped his backpack and saw the battery. He checked the truck. Behind the seats he had an armory. G.o.d bless Nikita Khrushchev and all bobblehead messiahs.
A vibration in his pocket startled him. His phone had just gone active.
That had to mean he was on some kind of countdown. The watch-band setting might mean he was due to go to an appointment.
He took the phone from his pocket expectantly. Then he saw the display. ”s.h.i.+t.”
Riva Calder.
She was the last person he wanted to talk to. Dealing with her at work was enough of a strain. During a crisis, especially one he didn't understand-no way.
The phone vibrated again. He hesitated.
Why would she be calling him so late in the evening? Even Riva never phoned him at ten P.M. She was too smart for that. She couldn't hide the crazy l.u.s.t she harbored for him, but she knew that calling him late on a Friday night would be self-defeating.
Except she was doing it. He didn't get it-but he didn't get Riva. A successful, bright, driven woman, she had a thing for him like an abscess, some wound that went deep and dirty. Some lesion that she liked to dig at, like popping st.i.tches before they could ever heal. She was lucky Misty hadn't taken a baseball bat to her head years back. But Riva never called him after hours on his cell. She knew he wouldn't answer.
Unless something was wrong. He answered. ”Riva?”
”Ian, thank G.o.d. I've been trying to get you for hours.”
Her voice came out in a rush, like she'd been running. ”Your house was broken into. Misty and Seth are missing.”
A thought brushed past his mind, thin as smoke. A woman was involved with the kidnapping... it was just the shadow of something that had been s.n.a.t.c.hed and stolen. And like that, the thought swirled away again.
”I know. I'm going to get them back,” he said.
”Ian, oh, Christ-we're running out of time.”
”What do you mean?”
”The kidnappers couldn't reach you. Have you had your phone off?”
”Who did they contact?” he said.
”Chira-Sayf. They tried to get Alec and when they couldn't, they sent a crazy message through the switchboard. Security called me.”
He sat up straighter. ”What message?”
”Meet them at ten fifteen.”
”Where?”
”San Jose. Half a mile north of eight-eighty on Coleman Avenue, west of the airport.”
”Did they say anything about my family?”
”'The Kanans will be arriving home from their trip. Pick them up there. And bring the luggage.' Ian, did they mean a ransom?”
”Wait.” He grabbed a Sharpie. On the back of his left hand, in big letters, he scrawled, 10:15 p.m. SJC. GO. He dropped the pen in the center console. ”On my way.”
”Ian, what's-”
He hung up, dropped the phone on the pa.s.senger seat, and jammed Coleman Avenue into the GPS. A smooth female voice filled the car, sounding as if she had all the time in the world.
”In one hundred yards, turn right.”
A route appeared on the screen, an arrow leading him to his family. He put the truck in gear.
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