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“What do you want?” She hurled the words, and this time they were piercing, desperate, belonging to a woman who demanded answers. Now if only someone would hear her and respond.
“Well, well, someone finally woke up.”
She turned in the direction of his voice. “Why are you—?” Her throat stuck together, parched from thirst.
He moved closer, and he was alone. She wanted a good look at him, but in the faded light, it wasn’t possible.
“Who are you?”
A bright flash caught her in the eye, and she squinted in response. He chuckled as he fussed with something in his hand. Her mind pieced the limited clues together to mean that he had taken her picture with a phone.
“It seems you’re worth a bit more money than I’d first realized.”
“If this is about money, I’ll pay you whatever you want.” She was trembling.
He smirked. “I have no doubt. What if I told you I know all about your precious Aunt May and the success of her diner?”
Katherine remained quiet, not wanting to reveal how much his words were affecting her. It would only fuel his God complex.
“Guess she owes her success to you.” He held up the screen of his phone, but her eyes were blurry.
She blinked, concentrated.
“Let me help you. You’re famous. Some article hit this morning and gave you your fifteen minutes of fame, Katherine.”
Her name coming from his lips gave her chills.
“This wasn’t the original plan, but I’m nothing if not adaptable. Your Aunt May would do anything to get you back.”
“Leave her out of this!” she screamed.
“Before you so rudely interrupted,” he said calmly, “I was going to say she’s worth a lot of money, and I’m sure she’ll pay whatever I ask. That’s if she wants to get her niece back alive.”
He could shoot her right now if it would save her aunt more stress. Katherine was quite certain she was a dead woman anyhow.
THIRTY-THREE
Amanda stared down Lowell Mooney, willing an answer out of him, but he was gazing back at her with a blank expression on his face. “You don’t have to talk to us, but you’re going to,” she challenged.
“And why would I?”
“Because you’re in this up to your neck. You cooperate with us then we might be able to work something out.”
“I don’t need you. I need street justice,” he spat.
“Like when you killed the mother of your child?” Trent hissed.
“I served my time for that, and that bitch deserved it.”
Trent flinched, but Amanda shook her head. He stayed put but hissed, “No woman deserves that.”
Amanda admired Trent’s restraint. Violence against women was a trigger point for him. His aunt had cut herself off from his family at the prompting of an abusive husband.
“She took my son from me.”
“Because you are a cokehead and a loser,” Trent seethed.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
