T. Bunn - Winner Take All

A heavily accented woman’s voice said, “I am calling for a mutual friend.”

The words were enough to push him into high gear. Forget the heat and the hangover and the gripping misery of compounded defeat. “What?”

“Someone connected to you by the one who is now gone.” She spoke with the dull rote of one reading from a page. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“This party, they now have the child.”

“Where are you?”

“Never mind. She is hidden. Make any move, take any action at all, and the child will never be found. Speak one word and all will be lost to you. The party says, they have nothing else to lose.”

“What do you want?”

“Five million dollars.”

“All right.”

“Five million dollars,” the woman repeated. “Or the child disappears.”

“I said I’d pay you.” Marcus appeared at the side door. Dale reached over and hammered down the door lock so hard he ripped the skin. He pressed his palm into the sweatpants to stem the blood. “What do you want me to do?”

“You will stay in North Carolina. They will have you watched. Believe me. They will know.”

Dale turned away from Marcus’ stare. “I understand.”

“The blond one. The troublemaker. You know who I mean?”

“Kirsten Stansted.”

“She will be the go-between.”

“Give me five days.”

“You have forty-eight hours.”

“I can’t get the money-”

The line was dead. Dale cupped the phone to his chest. Took three deep breaths. Then reached over and unlocked the door.

Marcus clambered inside. “What is going on here?”

“Something’s come up.” Dale struggled to bring his heart back under control. “I have to get back to Wilmington.”

“Did you hear about HHS?”

“What?”

“Health and Human Services. They’re lodging a complaint against you.” Marcus pointed at the phone. “Is that what this was all about?”

“Just drive, okay?”

Marcus remained as he was. “It’s vital that you show up for the hearing with Judge Sears tomorrow morning.” When Dale did not respond, he asked again, “What’s going on?”

Dale could not bring himself to meet his attorney’s eye. “Maybe a miracle.”

Marcus did not call back until late that afternoon, which meant Kirsten had yet another day for circular condemnation. Not that talking with him helped anything. Every conversation with Marcus became a struggle with herself. And they were growing worse, not better.

She wanted him so bad the hunger seared her chest and turned her bones to kindling for her heart’s flames. For years she had assumed her earlier experience had cauterized all desire, all hope for ever knowing a normal relationship. No question about it. She was terrified of this man.

Now here he was again. Hurriedly Marcus described how it had taken him almost a dozen calls to arrange a meeting with Evelyn Lloyd. Kirsten was to meet her the next morning for the introduction inside the Met. Then he raced through other things he needed her to check on. But his impatience was evident. Hurriedly he concluded that portion, then began spelling out the latest developments. As though only now could they be sorted out, here while she was listening. “Dale agreed to the ransom amount without a quibble. He’s gone down to sell his house and his boat. Apparently a local agent has made a cash offer for the house, the boat, the works.”

“Five million dollars,” she repeated, thinking this was not what she wanted to be talking about. The awareness of where she wanted this conversation to go left her cheeks flaming. No matter they were in the middle of a murder-one case, not to mention a kidnapping and a ransom situation where she was to act as go-between. Her breath seared her nostrils with internal heat.

“It’s going to wipe Dale out, putting this amount together at short notice. Suggesting we get the police involved almost got me fired. Ditto for trying to talk them down. All he can see is, this is the only chance he has of getting his child back.”

“Marcus, we’ve got to talk.”

“What do you call what we’re doing now?”

“No, I mean …” She could not believe this was happening. But the hunger gnawed away at everything. She wanted to talk about what she wanted. Which was him. She wanted to know this man. She wanted to brand him with her love. Her impatience to move forward ate at the barriers she had spent years building, the silence and the reserve and the distance and the reasons why she could never love any man.

“Kirsten?”

There was only one way this was going to work. She didn’t know how she knew, but she knew it was not just true, but real . She had to talk. She had to tell him why she battled so against him, and even more, against herself. “Marcus, I have to tell you something.”

He caught the change. “Honey, what’s the matter?”

She wanted to curse him. To rage at him like she should at all men for their macho ways and their ability to hurt and crush and blind. But she couldn’t. Past wounds were no longer enough to bind her. The words rushed out like lava. “Everything I told you about myself is a lie. But that’s not for now. I don’t know if I can ever …”

She stopped to pant, squeezing the receiver so hard her ear felt mashed to a pulp. “I was raped.”

He moaned in the manner of one who did not know he had even breathed, much less spoken.

“I was seventeen. There were three of them. I was drugged. It was on a boat. But that doesn’t matter. After that I went a little crazy. Not right then. Later. But I did. I tried a lot of things, Marcus. None of them worked. Every time I was … with a man, all I saw was the smoke. And the stars.” She knew that would make no sense to him. But the further she went, the less she could say for whom she spoke. “So I stopped caring. I stopped feeling. I stopped everything. It was better that way. Safer. And it worked. Then you came along. And it doesn’t work anymore. I can’t stand this, Marcus. I can’t stand it. I can’t keep myself trapped away. I can’t …”

She slammed the phone down. Rose to her feet. Walked from the bed to the window to the door and back. Passing the mirror over the desk she caught sight of herself.

She was amazed to find her face drenched with tears.

The phone rang. She stared at it. The phone rang seven times. Then stopped. Kirsten could not unlock her chest. Her need for air was a burning fury, almost as strong as her desire to hear him speak to her. About love and healing and comfort and sharing. The phone started ringing again. If she could make her chest move she could reach for the phone. The phone stopped once more.

The silence. Not breathing, not really even thinking. Not letting anybody touch her in this sterile little cocoon. Trading one tight little cage for another. Going through life with no change. Nothing moving, especially not inside herself. Flying all over the globe, going through the motions of having a life. But held by the safety of empty silence. Just like now.

She did not lower herself so much as crash to the floor. Crawled across to the bed. Knelt there waiting. When the phone rang again, she made the grab before the first ring was through, not giving herself time to enter lockdown again.

Marcus started speaking. He said the words. She felt them cascade over her but she could not actually hear what he said. All she could make out was the tone, the message of concern and love and acceptance. It broke her entirely.

When Marcus entered the courtroom early Monday, Hamper Caisse was seated in the first public row. Hamper gave a little double take at Marcus’ appearance. Marcus was too preoccupied to take much pleasure in turning the tables. The conversations with Kirsten and her revelations had left him utterly drained. He had also spent futile hours trying to track down Dale. Under any other circumstances, he would already be headed to Wilmington.