Джеймс Паттерсон - NYPD Red 6

“What about alerting the doormen to be suspicious of any ambulance that shows up?” Kylie said.

“Fat chance getting that past zone captain St. Claire. He made it clear that we are forbidden to tip off a single building employee to the possibility that an ambulance that shows up at their door might not be legitimate. Ninety-nine point nine, nine, nine percent of these emergency calls will be real emergencies, and St. Claire said if one doorman stops one paramedic for one minute and that causes one person to die, we can all look for new careers.”

“Good job, Danny,” I said.

“Ditto,” Kylie said. “Thanks.”

“I didn’t do all the heavy lifting,” Corcoran said. “Moss and Devereaux from the Two Oh put in just as many hours.”

“Well, tell them we both said—” Kylie stopped and looked up. Cheryl was walking toward us. “Keep us posted,” Kylie said. “I’ve got to run.” She left me standing there with Corcoran and hustled down the hall to talk to Cheryl.

“What’s going on with those two?” Danny asked.

I shook my head. “You don’t want to know.”

At this point, neither did I.

CHAPTER 39

DETECTIVE RICH KOPROWSKI pulled up to the hydrant on the corner of Ninety-Second and Park. “This is your office? ” he said, looking up at the towering red-brick building. “I didn’t think any of these Park Avenue co-ops were zoned for commercial.”

“They’re not,” Jamie said, “but it takes more than a zoning law to stop my mother from getting what she wants.” He opened the car door. “Thanks for the ride. See you later.”

“I’d be more comfortable going up there with you.”

“Not a chance. I’m blindsiding my mother, so unless you have a trick for getting her to part with twenty-five million, you can leave. I’ll find a ride home.”

“ I’m your ride. Here’s my cell number,” Koprowski said, handing Jamie his card. “I’ll wait right here.”

Jamie pocketed the card, marched past the doorman, strode into the elevator, and stared straight ahead as he rode up to the penthouse. He’d squared off with his mother before, and he had a perfect record: It never went well. Ever.

But this time he was no longer a spoiled rich kid pissing away his life and her money on sex, drugs, and defense lawyers. He was a married man. He had a baby on the way. How could she say no to helping her own grandchild?

He stepped into the vestibule and pulled the key card from his wallet. Would it even work? By now she might have deactivated it as punishment for his marrying the woman she called “that gold-digging whore.”

He swiped the card and heard the familiar electronic click. He opened the door and spotted her immediately. She was sitting at the table in the glass-walled conference room, flanked by a casting director, a stylist, and a photographer. They were contemplating the relative merits of three male models who were standing at the far end of the room, chests bare and bronzed, abs tight as fists, eyes as vacant as the dark side of the moon.

Jamie swung the door open. “Out! All of you!” Nobody moved. “Now!” Jamie said.

All eyes were on Veronica. Without even looking at her son, she slowly lifted her right hand and flicked it in the air. The casting director jumped up and shooed the models out of the room, and the others followed.

“ This is what you were so busy with that you couldn’t return any of my phone calls?” Jamie said.

“Why bother returning them?” Veronica said. “You wouldn’t have liked what I had to say.”

“Say it now.”

“The kidnapper did you a favor. Good riddance.”

“She’s pregnant with my child!”

“How do you even know it’s your baby? You dodged a bullet, Jamie. And now you want me to pay money to bring back the one person I told you to stay away from?”

“She’s my wife. I love her.”

“And do you think she married you because she loves you?”

“Trust me, Erin knows my financial situation. She didn’t marry me for my money.”

“Of course she didn’t. She married you for my money. I’ve worked my ass off for thirty years, made a fortune, and someday it will all be yours, and you’ll have barely lifted a finger.”

“I don’t want it all. All I’m asking for is twenty-five million dollars. You can take the rest and build a monument to your empire and your ego.”

“Twenty-five million dollars?” Veronica said. “For that trailer trash? Never.”

“All my life, Mom, everything I ever wanted, every goal I ever pursued, every dream I ever followed—none of it was ever good enough for you.”

“Oh, please, Jamie, save the my-mother-is-a-heartless-bitch-who-never-loved-me sob story for your shrink. And while you’re at it, tell him that I didn’t get where I am today by negotiating bad business deals.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about giving some maniac twenty-five million dollars and hoping that he won’t murder the only person who can possibly identify him after the money is in his bank account. Of course he’s going to kill her—and I’m not going to pay him just to prove I was right.”

“You’re heartless.”

“I’m a businesswoman, and in case you’ve forgotten, you still work for me. The Young Designers Fashion Show is at the Brooklyn Army Terminal tomorrow. I will be in the front row, and I expect you to be sitting next to me.” She stood up and left the room.

Jamie lowered himself into a chair. His mouth was dry. His head was pounding. Of course that maniac is going to kill Erin , he thought. His mother was right. She was always right. He rested his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands. He sat there for almost a minute before his phone vibrated in his pocket.

He didn’t recognize the number. The kidnapper? So soon? His hands were trembling as he answered. “Hello.”

“Don’t say a word,” the man on the other end said. “I know they’ve tapped your phone.”

Jamie knew the caller’s voice. “Don’t worry,” he said. “They can’t listen in on the conversation. They can just monitor that I got an incoming—”

“Which part of ‘Don’t say a word’ did you not understand? Forget what the cops tell you. Don’t trust them for a minute. They’re not on your side. They’re just like your mother. They don’t want you to pay the ransom. It’s the only way you can possibly save Erin, and nobody wants you to do it.

“Nobody except me,” the voice said. “I can get you the money. I want you to meet me in the same place where we cracked open that seven-hundred-dollar bottle of Jack Daniel’s Monogram. And don’t let the cops follow you.”

The line went dead.

Jamie stood up and took a deep breath. A hint of a smile formed on his lips. There was hope .

CHAPTER 40

JAMIE TOOK THE elevator to the basement and left through the service entrance on Ninety-Second Street. The plan was to get back in an hour or two, reenter through the side door, and exit through the lobby. With any luck, Koprowski would still be waiting for him in front of the building.

NYPD had been babysitting him since Sunday night, and it felt good to be able to make his own decisions without a bunch of helicopter cops telling him what to do and how to do it. He didn’t care how much experience they had. They were on a mission to catch a criminal. His only goal was to bring Erin and the baby home safely.

He walked to Madison and flagged a cab. Harris and Anna Brockway lived in Connecticut, but they had a pied-à-terre on West Forty-Eighth. That’s where Brock had introduced him to that ridiculously expensive 94-proof bottle of Jack.

The Brockways were not to be trusted. He knew that. Erin knew that. They took good care of her, but only because there was something in it for them.