Catherine Coulter - The Target

"She can play the piano for you. She's incredible."

"Enough!"

Everyone looked at Mason Lord. He relaxed slowly, saying nothing more, knowing that he had all their attention again.

Louey said, "Why did you want me to come back? You got Emma. What else is there?"

"It appears there's a conspiracy afoot. Not just one kidnapper, Louey. Judge Hunt believes there are a goodly number of men involved since it appears to be a very professional operation, and they're all after Emma. Indeed, the men tracked Molly and Ramsey all across Colorado into California. Do you know anything about this, Louey?"

"That's ridiculous! What would I know about that? Emma's my daughter, for God's sake. I don't know anything about any conspiracy."

"Well, there's a problem," Mason Lord continued, his voice suddenly soft, oily with sincerity. It reminded him of Bill Matthias's voice, a lawyer in San Francisco unoriginally called Slick Willie. "I'm not behind any conspiracy, Louey, and there, quite simply, isn't anybody else. There's another little point that's really very disturbing. The man who had Emma. He abused her sexually and beat her."

Louey lunged to his feet, his face white. "No! That's impossible. Molly said that, but I didn't believe her.

There must be a mistake… not Emma, no one would dare touch Emma like that."

Mason Lord sat slightly forward. "Didn't you bother to make sure that the man you hired to hold Emma in that cabin in the Rockies wasn't a child molester?"

Louey collapsed back into the chair. "Listen, I didn't hire anybody! I don't know anything about any of it.

Dammit, she's my daughter. I wouldn't have my own daughter kidnapped."

"Oh?" It was Molly's voice coming from behind him, cold and hard. "You'd do anything for money, Louey. Anything. I'll just bet you owe some big shot lots of money and you left the country because you couldn't pay. Is that it?"

He turned on her, so furious the pulse pounded wildly in his thin neck. "You have the gall to talk high and mighty about money. You took me for every dime I had. You didn't deserve anything at all. All you managed to do was get pregnant. Dammit, I didn't have Emma kidnapped!"

Mason Lord slowly rose. He pressed his palms against the desktop. He said in that same soft, oily voice, "I think Molly's right. You're in big debt to somebody and this was your way of paying them off. Tell us the names of the men, Louey. Tell us who helped you pull this off. Tell us why they're still after Emma."

"I don't know about any men! I don't know anything! Molly's dead wrong."

"Gunther, please come here."

Gunther, huge and menacing, his big hands relaxed at his sides, said, "Yes, Mr. Lord?"

"Gunther, please take Mr. Santera to one of our guest rooms. He's weary from his long journey. He flew in from Germany today, you know. Yes, he's tired and needs to rest. Take him upstairs and put him to bed. Stay with him, Gunther. Remind him that life is sometimes very difficult. Remind him that I forgave him once, but patience is a precious commodity. Remind him that I'm not always such a patient man. Oh yes, he doesn't need to speak to that creature who is supposedly his bodyguard. Keep Mr. Santera quiet and apart. He needs to rest."

"I didn't have Emma kidnapped!"

"I'll see you after you've had a nice rest, Louey," Mason Lord said. He rose and watched as Gunther wrapped one huge hand around Louey Santera's upper arm and pulled him toward the study doors.

Louey jerked around at the door. "If it's Molly who's claiming I did that, she's crazy. She hates me.

Maybe this judge character is her lover and they wanted the money. Yeah, maybe Molly did it."

Gunther quietly closed the study doors, and there was silence.

Ramsey whistled. He said, "I sometimes forget the awesome power people like you wield. Every day I deal with people claiming that they're as innocent as their dear grannies, but you know they're lying through their teeth, you know that most of them are thugs, cons, just plain scum, and many times much worse.

"And the thing is, of course, that in our justice system you can't just beat the crap out of them even though you know they're so guilty they're bulging with it. No, we play by rules that seem absurd in their gentleness, in their lack of focus and force. We use compromise and negotiation, not metaphorical thumb screws." Ramsey shrugged. "On the other hand, your performance hasn't yet resulted in anything, except to terrify one skinny little man. Molly would probably disagree with me on how often we get to it, but the truth is always there, somewhere. Don't beat the crap out of him yet, sir. Your threats are just as potent.

I'd like a chance to talk to him myself. From what I could see, Molly should probably keep her distance.

She's quite good with that pistol of hers."

Mason Lord said easily, "Of course I know my threats are potent, Ramsey. They wouldn't be potent, however, if occasionally I didn't back them up, and the knowledge of that got around. Talk to Louey, see what you can dig out of the little bastard."

Ramsey nodded, then said to Molly, "I'm thirsty. Would you like to drink a glass of lemonade with me and Emma?"

"Yes. Then I've got phone calls to make."

Dr. Eleanor Loo, a tall Chinese-American woman in her mid-thirties, was wearing a leg cast. She rose clumsily when they came into her office. Molly had gotten her name from Emma's new pediatrician. Her fingers were crossed when, after introductions were made, Dr. Loo turned to Emma. She just smiled at her, then said, "Let me sit down, Emma. My leg makes me a bit awkward and the cast is heavy. At least it doesn't hurt much anymore. I broke it skiing. It was a beautiful fall, right off a twelve-foot cliff.

Everyone said I looked so graceful sailing off that cliff. I don't suppose you ski?"

"My mama does. I'm learning." Emma didn't move, just stood there between Ramsey and Molly.

"You've had three lessons, kiddo," Molly said. "You're going to be very good. Maybe you'll be lucky and not go sailing off a cliff, but it happens. Remember when I strained the ligaments in my right knee?"

"Yes, Mama. You had to have physical therapy."

"Me too," said Dr. Loo. "I'll ski again, but not for another year. I miss it. Now, Emma, why don't you come over here and sit by me?"

Emma didn't move. She tightened her hold on Ramsey's hand.

Ramsey said easily, "Tell you what, Dr. Loo, why don't I just let Emma sit on my lap for a while. Is that all right?"

"Sure thing. I understand that you're a very smart girl, Emma. Your mama told me that you escaped from this bad man all by yourself, that you thought it all through and figured out what to do."

Emma was frozen. Ramsey couldn't even hear her breathe. But he forced himself to keep quiet, to wait.

He supposed he'd expected the shrink to go easier, to ease into Emma's experience, not just dive in, face first.

Dr. Loo said, "How did you figure out how to escape?"

Emma licked her lips. It was the first movement she'd made. Ramsey wanted so much to pull her against him and cover her with his arms, protect her, but he knew there was no protection when the wound was raw and deep, all on the inside. He looked at Molly. Her face was white and set. She was trying to look relaxed, but she wasn't succeeding. Her hands were fists on the chair arms.

Emma said in a small reflective voice, "I thought and thought."

Ramsey felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. Emma's voice was a whisper of sound. He was surprised any of them even heard her words.

Dr. Loo waited for more, but Emma didn't say any more. Dr. Loo said then, "You thought well. How long did you think about it?"

"All that day. But I didn't know how I could get the string off my hands, and then he forgot. He just forgot and went outside to smoke."