James Patterson - Thriller - Stories to Keep You Up All Night

"Dammit!" she muttered. She blamed herself. She should have forced Beverly to turn Jeffrey in last year. If she had, Beverly would be alive now.

"Look." Scanlon pointed to the image.

She shook off her recriminations and watched Jeffrey reach the bottom of the stairs, his body twisted to the right, toward the garage door. Light flooded the foyer.

Camera three captured the entire scene. Beverly stood very near the same location where she was lying now. "Jeffrey!" her voice screeched from the laptop's inadequate speakers. Karen winced.

Deidre awakened, looked around, sleepy-eyed, disoriented. "Daddy?" she said, as if she was surprised to be held in his arms. Which surely she was. He hadn't seen her in fourteen months, and the last time was under harrowing circumstances.

"Put her down, Jeffrey," Beverly's panicked voice instructed.

He chuckled, changed direction and strode toward the front door.

Beverly grabbed his arm, jerking it from under Deidre's legs. Jeffrey grasped the child tighter, held her close to his chest. Then he yanked his right arm from Beverly's grasp, reached around his back, slipped a.38 from his belt and shot her twice.

Beverly fell to the floor. Deidre screamed, "Mommy! Mommy!" and thrashed wildly.

Jeffrey held on to the frightened girl. He strode through the front door and out of camera range. The screen reflected the empty foyer. After an excruciating few seconds, Beverly's faint groans stopped.

Moments of stunned silence followed before Scanlon laid a hand on Karen's shoulder. "We'll get a warrant and an APB. Any idea where he's taken her?"

Numb, she said, "He's a Canadian citizen. Lives in Toronto. Wealthy. Probably flew here in his private plane."

Scanlon sighed, resignation showing in the slump of his shoulders. "If he gets her to Canada before we catch him, that's a big problem."

"Why?"

"Canada won't extradite him for a crime that carries the death penalty. And we won't waive the death penalty unless he pleads guilty and accepts a life sentence."

Karen's despair overwhelmed her. "I can see that happening all right."

Scanlon nodded. "Sarcasm won't help. There are some alternatives. None is perfect, and they all take time."

"You'll understand if I don't think spending the next two years cutting through bureaucratic red tape to get Deidre back through channels is a great solution."

She cued up the last of the video again and checked the time stamp on the image. "He's been gone more than six hours. By private plane, he could easily be in Toronto already." Karen knew Jeffrey wouldn't have risked planning to return on a commercial flight.

"We'll check the airlines to be sure," he paused. "Otherwise, I'm afraid we're hosed here."

Karen felt a slow burn rising from her toes to the top of her hair. Every nerve ending alert. Beverly dead. Deidre missing. Jeffrey London gone.

Case closed?

Not a chance.

After the fifth lap, cold rain pelting her body, punishing her for screwing up, Karen began to feel a bit better. Although her racing days were long over, swimming still cleared her head. The water slid past her wet skin. She completed a dive and turn underwater, gliding through the silky depths back to the surface, flawlessly resuming the forward crawl. She used the steady rhythm that allowed her mind to strategize. The problem wasn't finding Jeffrey but extracting Deidre from Canada. And then keeping the girl away from Jeffrey. She finished fifteen laps while the plan worked itself out.

When she left the practice of law, disillusioned and angry with its compromises and failures, she'd turned to writing travel books, seeking a totally different life. She quickly discovered she loved the work. It satisfied her in a way she'd never expected. And it allowed her to work privately as a recovery specialist, unencumbered by the rules lawyers were required to follow.

The lifestyle suited her. She traveled to research her books, but she carefully selected worthy clients and fashioned solutions for them that achieved desired results. Clients like Beverly London and her sister, Brenda.

Karen frowned and shook water from her eyes. Jeffrey would never leave his child alone unless he was in prison or dead. There was no middle ground. She must resolve that problem, too. She needed a final solution.

Karen swam, one arm over the other, legs kicking, diving and turning, ignoring the wind that chilled her whenever she rose above the water. Her plan resolved, she finished with ten laps of relaxing side strokes. Finally, she floated on her back, allowing the icy rain to drench her face. The cool air now felt refreshing because she knew what she was going to do.

Karen waited several months, long enough for Jeffrey to relax into complacency before she flew from Tampa to Buffalo. At the airport she rented an anonymous-looking gray sedan. She'd avoided a nonstop flight to Toronto. Although faster and easier, she'd be dependent on flight schedules for the return. Since 9/11, airport security had become irritatingly problematic. She'd be required to prove Deidre's identity, which would make them easier to stop and trace. No, driving into and out of Canada was best.

Reluctantly, she rejected buying an untraceable gun on the streets of Buffalo. Taking a gun into Canada was a serious crime. Canadian citizens weren't allowed to carry concealed weapons. Even owning them was severely restricted. If she was caught she'd be arrested and probably imprisoned. Deidre would certainly be returned to her father. No, the risk was too great. She'd take Deidre away from Jeffrey permanently using guile alone. She refused to fail again.

Karen drove to Lewiston, New York, and checked into a mom-and-pop motel. She rented the room for two nights. Tomorrow, she'd test her plan. The following day, she'd execute it.

She slept lightly for four hours, then dressed casually in khaki slacks, pink shirt, blue blazer and running shoes. She grabbed her shoulder-length blond hair into a ponytail and studied herself in the mirror, pleased by the guileless soccer-mom effect she'd created.

It was dark at 5:00 a.m. as she drove toward the Lewiston-Queenston Bridge. Jeffrey would expect her to take the shortest route to and from Toronto. She intended to oblige. Drive time was seventy-five minutes, barring construction or heavy traffic.

The border crossing went well. Off season, during the week, the area was almost deserted both ways. Very few travelers meant only one of the two customs booths were open. As in most of the small tourist towns, the Canadian customs officer simply asked her name, nationality, where she was going and when she planned to return. She'd offered the typical tourist's response for a visit to Niagara Falls and paid the toll. He'd waved her through without asking for ID. May the return be so easy, she thought.

She reached the private school where her research revealed Deidre was enrolled. After circling the block twice to be sure Jeffrey wasn't lurking and didn't have Deidre under surveillance, she parked in front. She had a clear view of the playground while waiting for 10:15 a.m. It nagged her that Jeffrey seemed to have allowed Deidre out of his control. Was he that sure of himself? Had he arrogantly assumed she had given up? What was she missing?

At 10:15 a.m., a young woman led twenty energetic children out the door to the playground. She spotted Deidre. When she saw the little girl with the strawberry curls for the first time, Karen's eyes teared. She wiped her eyes with her fingers, willing the tears away. No time for sorrow now. The job demanded her full attention.

Deidre seemed quiet and unfocused, but functional. Eyes dull and heavy-lidded, she stood apart from the other children clutching a rag doll under her left arm and sucking her right thumb.

A low flame of suppressed anger began in Karen's stomach. Deidre's parents had been locked into their own rage, unable to put Deidre's life first. The child would never be normal again.