Amelia Autin - A Father's Desperate Rescue

“When?” Dirk demanded roughly, then said, “Hold still,” placing his hands on her arms just above the duct tape, making sure she didn’t move while Patrick sliced through her bonds with the switchblade knife he’d pulled from his pocket. When Vanessa’s hands were free, Patrick focused on her ankles. Dirk helped her to a sitting position once she was completely freed, then briskly rubbed her wrists to restore circulation while Patrick did the same thing to her ankles.

Then both men turned their attention to Chet. A darkening contusion on his forehead showed how he’d been overpowered before he’d been gagged and bound, but he was conscious now. “What happened?” Dirk asked as he and Patrick freed Chet. “How long ago?”

Vanessa answered his last question first. “About two hours ago, I think. I...I can’t be sure, but I think so. I thought it was room service with lunch when the doorbell rang.”

Dirk frowned. “The front door to the suite?” he asked. “Not the butler’s entrance in the kitchen?”

Vanessa looked startled for a moment, as if she’d just realized something. “Oh, I...I didn’t think of that. But yes, the front door. Chet answered it, and before I knew it one of them had knocked him out and there were two men in the living room. One of them was Chinese—” Dirk started to ask another question, but she answered it before he could get the words out. “I didn’t recognize them. But I’d know them if I saw them again, especially the second man, the one who wasn’t Chinese. The one with a gun.” She shuddered. “His eyes. They were so cold.”

“Did they leave a ransom note?” Dirk’s brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders, but icy fear trickled down his spine at the thought of his daughters—Bree’s daughters—in the hands of kidnappers. Your fault. His conscience was quick to judge. You failed to keep your daughters safe. Just as you failed to save Bree.

Vanessa shook her head. “They didn’t leave a ransom note with me. Did you find one in the other room?”

“No.” Dirk jumped to his feet, tuning Vanessa’s voice out as he pulled his smartphone from his pocket. He scrolled quickly, then selected the number for the US Consulate for Hong Kong and Macau, thanking his lucky stars he’d been advised to store the number in his contacts for the duration of his stay here.

“Mr. DeWinter!” Chet was trying to get his attention, but Dirk impatiently waved him to silence.

The phone rang and rang. Dirk started to heave a sigh of relief when the phone was finally answered, but the relief soon turned to despair when a recorded voice came on the line. “Due to the impending typhoon, the US Consulate for Hong Kong and Macau is closed until further notice. We expect to resume normal business operations as soon as the typhoon passes, but please call ahead before coming to the consulate. If this is an emergency, please contact the Hong Kong Police Force or the Public Security Police Force of Macau—” Dirk disconnected before the message ended, then caught Patrick’s eye.

“The US consulate is closed because of the typhoon,” he said roughly. “The message says to call the Hong Kong police in an emergency. You don’t happen to have their number, do you? Otherwise I—”

“Not the police!” Vanessa shrilled. “The kidnappers said if you call the police they’ll know, and they’ll kill the girls and dump their bodies in the harbor.”

Patrick reluctantly concurred. “She could be right, Mr. DeWinter. You don’t know anything about these kidnappers—they might have paid off someone on the police force to notify them if you call in the cops. And do you really want to take that chance?” He bit his lip. “Paying ransom in Hong Kong is a tricky business. It used to be illegal, in fact. But nowadays it’s usually handled by ransom negotiators and almost always done before the police are notified.”

Vanessa struggled to her feet, then put a hand on Dirk’s arm. “The kidnappers said the only way you’ll ever see the girls alive again is to wait for them to contact you and do exactly what they say.”

“They know I’d pay—” Dirk’s voice broke, and he had to stop a moment. “I’d pay anything to get my daughters back. But I can’t just do noth—”

“My cousin is a private investigator,” Patrick said suddenly, interrupting him. “And a ransom negotiator.” He pulled out his own smartphone, his finger hovering over the keypad. “Should I...”

“I don’t think—” Vanessa began before Dirk cut her off.

“Call,” he ordered Patrick after only a moment’s hesitation. No way was he going to go against the kidnappers’ orders and contact the Hong Kong police...not yet. But he was also smart enough to know that paying the ransom demanded, no matter how much, wasn’t a guarantee he’d ever see his daughters again—alive or dead. He had to do something. His life would be over if anything happened to Linden and Laurel.

Dirk gave a hand to help Chet to his feet, then led his daughters’ nanny and bodyguard into the living room while Patrick called his cousin. “What else can you remember about the kidnappers?” he asked Vanessa as he seated her on the sofa. He grabbed a notepad and pen from where they sat beside the phone and handed them to her. “Jot down every detail you can think of while it’s fresh in your mind.”

He turned to Chet, who was hovering beside the sofa, and brusquely indicated he should sit, too. “I know you were unconscious, but do you remember anything before they hit you?”

Chet shook his head as he sat. “I don’t even remember answering the door,” he admitted. “Vanessa says I did, so I must have, but...” He touched the swelling on his forehead, feeling it gingerly. “I just remember coming to on the floor in the girls’ bedroom, bound and gagged beside Vanessa. The twins were already gone.”

Patrick entered the living room saying, “My cousin will take a cab and be here in less than fifteen minutes—assuming they’re still running with the typhoon about to hit soon.”

Dirk glanced at Vanessa. “What have you got for a description so far?” Before she could answer, he turned his attention back to Patrick. “Linden and Laurel don’t like strangers. They’d probably have been crying at the very least, maybe even screaming, so how could the kidnappers get away without anyone noticing and calling the police?”

Patrick shook his head. “I’ll bet anything your daughters weren’t conscious when they were taken out of here. The kidnappers wouldn’t want to take a chance someone would notice them.”

“Chloroform,” Dirk said, a chill of recognition washing through him. “That’s what that smell was when I first walked in.” His anger went from white-hot to ice-cold. “Those sons of bitches chloroformed my little girls for money.”

His iPhone rang suddenly, and he answered immediately, even though the caller’s ID was blocked. “Yes?”

“Mr. DeWinter?” The voice was as American as his own, silky smooth, with menacing overtones.

“Yes?”

“We have your daughters.”

Dirk drew a deep breath, tamping down his sudden, overwhelming rage. “Whatever the price is, I’ll pay it.”

The voice on the other end of the line laughed softly. “Of course you will, Mr. DeWinter. Of course you will.”

“How much?” he demanded. He put a tight clamp on his emotions, trying to force himself to focus, as if this was happening to someone else. His brain was already operating at warp speed when he said, “But you have to give me time. Everything’s closed here—banks, everything—because of the typhoon. I can have the money wired from the States tomorrow, but—”

The cold voice cut him off. “You’ll be contacted with the details—how much, when and where. But don’t worry, you’ll have all the time you need. The only thing you need to know right now is, if you call the police, your daughters are dead.”