Lisa Gardner - Touch & Go

“Any fresh ideas who might be behind it?” Wyatt again.

Anita regarded him curiously. “It doesn’t have to be any of us, does it? I mean, if it’s a ransom case, and he’s been taken by professionals… Well, I mean, anyone can tell Justin is a wealthy man. His homes, his cars, the company. Maybe he was targeted because of who he is, not who he works with.”

“They knew the security code to his town house,” Tessa rattled off. “They knew the family’s schedule, the home’s layout and exactly when and where to strike. This was an inside job, and you’d better believe Justin is as aware of that as we are. Meaning the second he and his family are safe at home… You really think Justin’s going to just let this whole incident slide?”

Anita had paled. She shook her head.

“It’s going to be warfare,” Tessa continued. “Justin himself is going to go after each and every one of you, even if it means dismantling his own company brick by brick. The more you know him, the bigger your exposure is going to be. So speak now, Anita. We’re willing to listen. Justin, on the other hand, after having watched his wife and daughter suffer…”

“I don’t know anything,” Anita insisted. “I wouldn’t harm Justin, let alone his family. And I can’t think of anyone else in the firm that might.”

“Not even someone who was unhappy with the direction things were moving?” Wyatt pressed. “Might think he or she could do better, if they were in charge?”

A slight hesitation. “You should talk to Ruth Chan.”

“The CFO?” Tessa asked. “The one on vacation?”

“We finally spoke this morning. She was going to head straight for the airport, try to get on the first available flight out. But in the beginning, when I told her what had happened to Justin… She got real quiet. It’s not that she said anything, or confessed anything. Just…”

Tessa and Wyatt waited.

Anita finally looked up. “She didn’t seem shocked. I told her Justin and his family had gone missing, and it didn’t seem to surprise her at all.”

Chapter 30

ZLED ASHLYN AND ME through a maze of broad corridors. At first I thought we must be heading to the kitchen for lunch duty, but after we bypassed those doors, I gave up guessing our destination and simply followed in his wake.

He hadn’t bothered to shackle our wrists. Nor did he walk between us. Instead, he strode forward several paces, shoulders loose, body language relaxed, a man who might as well be on a Sunday stroll.

Now that the ransom wheels were set in motion, did he figure he had little to fear regarding an attempted escape? Or, when it came to him versus us, did he just figure he had little to fear?

Ashlyn was moving slowly. She should be resting in bed, not roaming a vast, hard-floored building. When we got home, I’d take her directly to the doctor. As well as have a long-overdue heart-to-heart chat.

Z finally arrived at a heavy steel door. He opened it and we entered a modest room, with floor-to-ceiling wood paneling against one wall and a raised dais. A gold cross was mounted on the wood paneling. Chapel, I realized. We had reached the prison’s sanctuary.

Radar was already there. He had every light on and was walking around the space with his iPhone, either filming or snapping photos. He looked up when we entered, but his face was as expressionless as always.

“We’ll start them here,” he said to Z, pointing to a spot on the dais. “Should give us enough light, with a neutral-enough backdrop. I gotta go with a wider frame to include two people, so the viewers are going to see more. But wood paneling’s pretty nondescript.”

“Their jumpsuits?” Z asked.

Radar held up his phone, aimed it at Ashlyn and me. “Not gonna happen. Orange collar clearly visible.”

Z nodded, apparently having expected this answer. He gestured toward the corner, where I saw a pile of clothing on the floor. Our clothing. From the first day. Was that yesterday, or the day before? Time grew murky when you spent 24/7 under the glow of fluorescent lighting. I didn’t know how lifers learned to stand it.

“Tops only,” Z instructed us. “Just throw them on over your jumpsuits, then we’ll figure out the collars.”

I finally understood what they were trying to do. Disguise us and our location. Of course, the ransom demand had to be beamed to the authorities, who would scrutinize the video footage for any clues as to our whereabouts. For example, cinder-block walls, orange prison jumpsuits, anything else they could see in the frame. So we’d film against the one noninstitutional wall in the entire facility, while wearing our last known garments.

As usual, Z had thought of everything.

I handed Ashlyn her baby blue waffle-knit shirt. Raising her arms over her head clearly pained her, so I helped drag the form-fitting sleep top over her oversize jumpsuit. The jumpsuit top bulged awkwardly, while the bright orange collar poked through the waffle shirt’s crewneck like an out-of-place bird of paradise flower.

Z took one look and shook his head. “Top of the jumpsuit, off.”

Ashlyn and I looked around. The room was one open space. No alcove to tuck inside, or half wall to duck behind.

“We need privacy,” I stated primly.

Z stared at us, cobra tattoo nearly hissing. “Why? Radar’s already seen it all, and I could care less. Get it done.”

We remained standing there, staring at him. Myself, I could do it. But strip my daughter, bare her to these two men who’d already taken so much from us? Ashlyn’s shoulders had hunched, her body unconsciously rounding as if to make herself small. I couldn’t take it. I positioned myself in front of her, crossed my arms over my chest, and faced off against Z.

“We need privacy,” I repeated.

Z sighed. He spoke as if addressing two small children. “Let me explain how this is going to work: You will do exactly what I tell you to do. You will say exactly what I tell you to say. Or, if you misbehave”—he leveled his gaze at me—“I’ll let Mick beat the shit out of your daughter. Or, if you misbehave”—his gaze switched to Ashlyn—“I’ll let Mick beat the shit out of your mom. Now, fix the wardrobe.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” Ashlyn whispered behind me. “Remember, when I was little, at the beach? We can figure it out.”

When Ashlyn was little, it was often just her and me at the beach, given Justin’s work schedule. Ashlyn hadn’t the patience for the overcrowded changing room, let alone the long line. So I would hold a towel around her as a makeshift curtain, while she wiggled her suit on or off. Later, I got to the point where I could lie in the sand with a towel draped over the top of my body, and make my own wardrobe adjustments while my four-year-old giggled uncontrollably.

If I thought about it, it had been her and me against the world for a long time. And my daughter was right: having come this far, no reason we couldn’t figure things out.

She reached her hands under her waffle shirt and worked the snaps. She got one arm out, then the other. With the waffle shirt hanging loose around her shoulders, she divested the short sleeves of the jumpsuit top, then got her arms back in the waffle top. We left the top of the jumpsuit hanging down at her waist, where it would be out of the video frame.

Next, my turn. I’d been wearing a champagne-colored wrap top. Also form-fitting, and never going to work layered on top of a baggy jumpsuit. I gave Z and Radar my back, and got to it. Undressing wasn’t so bad. Snap, snap and the top of the jumpsuit dangled down while I kept my arms crossed protectively over my chest. Ashlyn handed me my top.

For a moment, I smelled oranges and my eyes welled with longing before I realized it was simply the citrus notes of my perfume, embedded in the silky fabric. Postcards from another life, one that I knew hadn’t been that long ago—one day, two days?—and yet already was completely alien to me.