“Listen to me very carefully,” Egan said. “I know what has happened to Bent—”
Maggie cried out.
“Don’t panic. For now, he’s safe. Do you hear me? He hasn’t been harmed. But in order to keep him safe, you’re going to have to let me handle things. Do you understand?”
“No,” Maggie said. “No, I don’t understand anything. Where is Bent? What’s happened to him?”
Janice gasped. “He knows where Bent is?”
“Who’s that?” Egan asked. “Who’s there with you?”
“Janice Deweese. In case you’ve forgotten, Janice is my dearest friend and my assistant at Rare Finds.”
“Then you can trust Janice?”
“Yes, of course I can trust her.”
“With your life? With Bent’s life?”
“Yes.”
“I assume you’ve alerted the local authorities,” Egan said. “But what I’m going to tell you, I want you to keep it to yourself. Or at least between you and Janice.”
“God in heaven, Egan, will you just tell me what’s going on?”
“Bent’s life could depend on your following my instructions, on letting me handle things without involving any law enforcement other than the ones I chose to bring in on this.”
“Bent’s life could—” Maggie choked on the tears lodged in her throat. Her son’s life was in danger and Egan knew from what or from whom that danger came. How was it possible that Egan was involved in Bent’s disappearance when he’d never been a part of Bent’s life? She didn’t understand any of this. Nothing made sense. It was as if she’d suddenly passed through some invisible barrier straight into the Twilight Zone.
“Maggie!” Egan demanded her attention.
“I don’t understand anything. None of this makes any sense to me. Explain to me what’s happening. Where is Bent? Why…why—”
“Don’t do anything. And don’t speak to anyone else tonight. If there are people in your house, get rid of them. I’ll fly into Parsons City tonight and I’ll explain everything to you when I get there.”
“Egan, wait—”
“I’ll get your son back for you, Maggie. I’ll bring him home. I promise you that.”
“Egan!”
The mocking hum of the dial tone told Maggie that Egan had hung up. She slumped down in the chair at the secretary, covered her face with her hands and moaned.
Janice knelt in front of Maggie, then pried Maggie’s hands from her face. “What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure,” Maggie admitted. “Somehow Egan found out that Bent is his son and he knows that Bent is missing. Egan said…he said that he knew what had happened to Bent and that he wanted me to let him handle everything. He promised me that he’d bring Bent home.”
“Is Bent with Egan?”
“No, I don’t think so.” Maggie stared straight through Janice. “Egan is coming here tonight to tell me what happened to our son.”
Bent glared at the plate of food his jailer had brought to him several hours ago. He was hungry, but he hadn’t touched the fried chicken, mashed potatoes and green beans. He had no way of knowing whether or not his food had been poisoned. But why his captors would choose to poison him, he didn’t know. They could easily have killed him a dozen different ways by now.
Although they had taken his book bag and his cellular phone, they hadn’t robbed him of either his wallet or his wristwatch. And other than drugging him initially in order to kidnap him and keeping him bound and gagged in the car and then on the airplane, his abductors hadn’t laid a finger on him. Of course, they had blindfolded him when they’d taken him off the plane.
He had heard one of them, the guy who’d approached him in the school parking lot, tell the other one, a younger, more clean-cut man, that the general didn’t want the kid hurt.
“He’s waiting for the kid’s old man to show up first.”
Bent didn’t understand. What did his father have to do with his kidnapping? He hadn’t seen Gil Douglas in over a year. And he hadn’t spoken to him in three months. After his parents’ divorce his relationship with his dad had slowly deteriorated. And it wasn’t as if his father was rich. Gil spent every dime he made, as a chemical engineer, on his new wife and two-year-old daughter.
Nope, it didn’t make any sense at all that his dad was involved in any way, shape, form or fashion with his kidnapping.
So what was going on? He had been abducted, flown across country to only God knew where and was being kept prisoner in a clean, neatly decorated bedroom and served a decent meal on a china plate.
Bent checked his watch. Fifteen after nine. He’d been missing for more than twelve hours. His mother must be out of her mind with worry. She’d probably called the police and had every friend and relative in Parsons City out scouring the countryside for him. And what had she done when no one had been able to find him? His mom would stay strong and hopeful. And she would go to her kitchen to think and plan. He could picture his mother now, in their big old kitchen, baking. For as long as he could remember, his mother had baked whenever she was upset, depressed or needed to make a decision.
Boy, what he’d give for some of her delicious tea cakes. And a glass of milk. And his own bed to sleep in tonight.
Eaten alive by frustration and an ever-increasing fear, Bent tried the door again. Still locked. Stupid! He scanned the room, searching for any means of escape. There were no bars on the two windows, both small rectangular slits near the ceiling. He shoved a chair against the wall, climbed onto the seat and peered out the windows. The moonlight afforded him a glimpse of the shadowy, enclosed courtyard below and the two men who seemed to be guarding the area. Scratch the idea of climbing out the windows.
He heard voices in the hallway, but couldn’t make out the conversation. His heartbeat increased speed. Sweat dampened his palms. What if they were coming for him? What if—
Footsteps moved past the door. Silence. Was someone standing outside the door guarding him? Had another someone stopped by to issue orders?
Bent balled his hands into tight fists and beat on the door. “Let me out of here! Why are you doing this? What are you going to do with me?”
He pummeled the door until his fists turned red, until they ached something awful. And he hollered while he banged on the hard wooden surface—hollered until he was hoarse. But no one replied. No one released him. It was as if no one could hear him.
Anger boiled inside Bent, mingling with fear and frustration. He kicked the wall, denting the Sheetrock with his toe. Damn! He couldn’t blast his way out of here. He was stuck, trapped, caught.
Bent flung himself down on the neatly made bed, shoved his crossed arms behind his head and glared
