A sweet aroma enveloped Savannah’s senses and enticed her out of slumber. She stirred with her eyes still closed. An exotic sound penetrated her stupor—it sounded like a parrot or some other tropical bird.What a lovely dream.
She opened her eyes, blinked, then saw a pitched ceiling overhead with white-painted boards and a fan in the shape of palm leaves. Ignoring her stiff spine, she bolted upright and swung her gaze around her surroundings.
She was on a twin bed with pale blue sheets. The walls were creamy white with tasteful tropical prints. Simon snored softly in the bed next to hers, and Cody curled on the end of his bed. A tropical breeze stirred gauzy curtains at an open window that peeked out at palm trees swaying next to a white-sand beach. The glimpse of turquoise water enticed her to come closer. A parrot squawked from its perch somewhere, and her eyes widened.
This is not Alabama.
She eased her legs over the side of the bed to check on Simon, and Marley, tail wagging, trotted to her to get his ears rubbed. The touch of his soft fur under her fingers anchored her to the present, and her memory flooded back tothe men who’d leaped from the SUV. She probed her neck where she’d felt the prick of a needle but couldn’t feel a mark.
She stood and took a step toward the other bed and discovered the weight of a monitor on her left ankle. She frowned and moved to Simon’s side to press her fingers against his carotid artery. His pulse was nice and steady, and so was his breathing. He was just asleep, but he wore an ankle monitor too. Cody turned his snaggletooth her way before tucking his muzzle into his tail again.
The scent of fresh coffee turned her attention to a carafe with mugs, tropical fruits, and pastries on a table in the corner. She poured herself a mug of coffee and took a gulp that tasted like Guatemalan, her favorite. Whoever the men were, they didn’t stint on quality coffee. Carrying her mug, she went to the door and tried the knob. Unlocked. “Stay with Simon,” she told Marley before stepping outside into a beautiful tropical day. Where was this place?
Two fit and muscular men holding scary-looking guns rose from chairs under a palm tree. They both wore sunglasses that masked their expressions. “Do you need anything, ma’am?” the taller one asked.
She tried to place his accent. Serbian, Bulgarian, somewhere in southeast Europe maybe? “Where are we?”
His grin showed very white teeth. “In paradise, ma’am.”
She didn’t care for his flippant answer. “I need to leave. Right now.”
The two men glanced at each other, and the other one laughed. “Good luck, lady. We’re on an island ten miles from any other land mass. The strong currents will yank you farther out to sea, and the sharks are very hungry around here.”
The guy with the accent gestured with his gun. “The boss wants to have a chat.”
“I don’t want to leave my nephew alone. He might be afraid when he wakes up.”
The other man chuckled. “That little man ain’t afraid of nothing. And he’ll be sleeping off his meds for at least another hour. This way.” His tone left no doubt he intended her to go if he had to drag her.
She stiffened and took another swallow of coffee for courage before she set it down on the porch railing. Was “the boss” Hornbrook? If so, they were in a lot of trouble.
The men led her along a path of crushed shells toward a low-slung building with a large porch that overlooked the water and the pier behind it. Colorful tropical flowers filled the planter beds and spilled their scent into the air. The large house stretched out into three wings and appeared welcoming, but she knew better than to think she would find any help inside.
Shoulders squared, she mounted the wide steps and entered the house. The guards followed her inside, where Mozart’s Serenade No. 13 played from speakers around the room. The rousing melody elevated her pulse even more.
A silver-haired sixtyish man rose from a chair with a cautious smile and extended his hand. “Ms. Webster, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Welcome to my island. I’m James Hornbrook.”
Hornbrook. She masked her dismay and ignored his hand. “It’s hardly appropriate to welcome me when your goons kidnapped me and my nephew. I demand you let us go immediately.”
“Hey.” The guy with the accent shoved her. “We’re no goons.”
“Keep your hands to yourself, Anton,” Hornbrook barked. His attention returned to Savannah. “You’re in no position to make demands, Ms. Webster. Not if you value your life and your nephew’s. If you don’t do as I request immediately, I’ll see that young Simon is taken out to sea and fed to the sharks.” His blue eyes grew colder with every word. He picked up a newspaper and a phone. “I’d like you to read the article here about the PGA tournament. When you’re done with the first paragraph, say the wordstwenty-four hours.”
She wanted to tear the newspaper to shreds and scatter it on the beautiful mahogany floor, but she had Simon and the dogs to consider. Anton. Hadn’t Hez mentioned someone named Anton Todorov who worked for Hornbrook? And he was dangerous.
When Hornbrook held out the paper, she took it. He lifted his phone and she began to read in a clear voice. Though her legs trembled, she wasn’t about to let him know how terrified she was. She finished with the phrase “twenty-four hours.”
None of them were hiding their faces, which told her they didn’t plan to let her and Simon describe them to law enforcement. They didn’t intend to let them leave this tropical paradise. And Hez had only twenty-four hours to find them.
“Twenty-four hours.”
The recorded message ended and the Justice Chamber fell silent. Hez clicked off his phone and dropped it in his pocket. “I got that via text at seven. Thank you all for getting hereso fast.” How was his voice so calm when he was dying inside? Every nerve in his body hummed with tension. What was Savannah going through? And Simon? He’d already experienced so much trauma in his young life. Hez cleared his throat and looked around the room at the group gathered there.
The cold, unnatural light from the fluorescent bulbs overhead gave everyone a sickly color that matched their expressions after hearing the message from Hornbrook. Dominga gripped Ed’s hand as they hunched over the little table, which was dominated by an old speakerphone Hez had found in a closet. Arms folded and face grim, Toni sat beside them. Hope, who was there at Hez’s invitation, occupied the final seat at the table and seemed deep in thought.
Michael, who had basically invited himself, paced the small room, muttering. He knew about the Justice Chamber from his grandchildren and had demanded to be involved in any efforts to rescue Simon. Hez hadn’t objected. Maybe Michael could help.
Hope’s phone chimed and she glanced at it. “That was the FBI. They’re already analyzing the audio and the text Hez received. They also gave me an update on the black SUV the police found on the beach last night. It was reported stolen two days ago, and they discovered a fingerprint from Simon and three strands of auburn hair in the back seat.”
