help locate Carrie before it was too late.
“Mostly, we went to the stock shows. Wait,” Trav said, stopping abruptly. “I remember something else now…when I asked her if she was okay, she said she was tough…something about coming from good stock.”
“Fort Worth—stock show. Good stock. Stock.” Ry mulled the information around in his head. Then he swore and headed for the door. “She handed it to us on a platter. He’s got her at the abandoned stockyards on the edge of town.”
Alex caught up with Ry, grabbed his arm, then released it immediately when he saw the deadly intent in his friend’s eyes. “Look, man. You can’t head out there half-cocked. You don’t even know for certain if that’s where he’s holding her.”
“I don’t know she’s not there, either.” He looked over his shoulder at Trav. “When Birkenfeld calls again to set up the exchange, stall him so he’ll stay put. And if you come up with a different location, call my cell. Leave Vincente out of it for now. I don’t want the Royal PD barreling in there with sirens screaming and spooking Birkenfeld into doing something really stupid.”
“Ry—” Darin tried one last time but Ryan was already out the door.
The three men exchanged concerned looks, but none of them tried to stop him. If he was right, he might be Carrie’s best shot at getting out of this in one piece. If he was wrong—then they were back at square one and Carrie’s life might not be worth the phony birth certificates Birkenfeld issued for the babies he’d stolen.
“I’ll get ahold of David and Clint and have them standing by,” Alex said, pulling out his cell.
Darin rested a hand on Trav’s shoulder. “Now we wait.”
“Yeah,” Trav echoed, staring bleakly at his cell phone, willing it to ring. “Now we wait.”
Carrie sat huddled on the floor. She was cold. Her butt hurt. So did her knees from when Nathan…rather, Roman Birkenfeld had pushed her down on the rough concrete. Minutes, hours…or it could have been days that had passed since he’d placed the first call to her brother demanding money and then the second call to set up an exchange location.
The part of her that had remained focused knew it had been less than an hour since he’d brought her here. Less than fifteen minutes since he’d hung up from talking to Trav a second time and arranging to make the exchange. The part of her that had always been pragmatic also knew it might be her last hour. Birkenfeld was crazy.
Between calls he’d ranted and raved even more about how Natalie was going to pay for ruining his nice, orderly little business. And how Travis would never see his child again when he was through. He’d even brought Ry into his lunatic ramblings, vowing to kill him for humiliating him.
She had no illusion that she was also on his short list of murder candidates.
And she had to do something…soon. She was still blindfolded, but oddly, her loss of sight had turned into an advantage. Her other senses were keener. Like her sense of smell that had helped her figure out what that odd mixture of antiseptic, leather, cow manure and whitewash was. Now, if only Trav had picked up on her stockyard clues when she’d spoken with him.
She could also hear things now she wouldn’t normally hear. Birkenfeld was rooting about in her purse again, like a squirrel digging for nuts. He evidently found the emergency candy bar she always carried because she heard the tear of paper and the sounds of him chowing down. Creep.
Then she heard something else…just the tiniest inkling of a sound…and immediately started talking to cover what she prayed were stealthy footsteps approaching the door.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” she said in a loud, desperate voice.
“And you think I give a fig?” Birkenfeld actually snorted out a laugh. “In about two minutes it won’t matter what you have to do.”
“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”
“It’s not that difficult, you know. Taking a life.”
Oh, God. Carrie swallowed and forced herself to keep him talking. “You’ve already killed someone?”
“It won’t go as easy for you as it did for Nathan Beldon,” he said, answering her question without actually addressing it. “Sadly, sweet Carrie, I’m fresh out of pharmaceuticals so I can’t just give you a little injection and send you off to never-never land. No, it’s going to be a little messier for you. Unfortunately, that makes it messier for me, too.”
“It…doesn’t have to be this way, you know,” she said, swallowing back her terror. “We have money. Much more than a half a million dollars. My brother is loaded. And I’ve got a trust fund that will make your stolen money look like loose change.”
“I didn’t steal that money,” he shouted, infuriated suddenly. “I earned it…not legally, of course. Certainly not ethically, but finding babies for willing buyers takes a certain amount of finesse and skill.”
“I repeat,” she said, swallowing back bile, “you can get much more in ransom from my brother if you will actually let me go.”
She heard the unmistakable sound of an ammunition clip sliding home.
“I’m really a little sorry about this,” he said, and she heard him walk toward her, his breathing heavy. “But…what must be done, must be—”
A loud crash split the air like a freight train. The unmistakable crack and snap of wood shattering…like a table breaking followed, then the thudding grunt of fist hitting flesh. A shot rang out.
Carrie screamed and pulled herself into a tight little ball, shielding her head with her hands, not knowing what might come flying at her—knowing only that she and Birkenfeld were no longer alone and if there was a God, it was the cavalry who had arrived just in the nick of time.
She didn’t know how much time passed as a struggle raged around her. Something hit her arm, and she curled tighter into herself, her heart beating so loud it drowned out any other sound.
Her world was reduced to a tight knot of fear…when a pair of strong hands cupped her shoulders. She flinched and tried to skitter away.
“Baby…it’s okay. It’s Ry. I’ve got you.”
Gentle hands worked at the knot on the blindfold then pulled it away from her face with tender care.
It was dark, both inside and outside the room that appeared to have once been a storage area of sorts. Her vision was blurry—from the pressure of the cloth, from tears of terror—but she finally put it all together and recognized the voice, recognized the scent and the strength of the man who pulled her carefully to her feet and into his arms.
“Ry.” She threw her arms around his neck.
“I know, baby. I know. It’s over. That son of a bitch is never going to get his hands on you again.”
She clung to him, felt moisture wet her cheeks and Ry’s shirt where she pressed her face into his chest. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Birkenfeld in a crumpled heap by the door.
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