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“My TV’s broken. And I’m not much of a news watcher.” Sidney’s robotic answers were that of a man in shock. “I can’t believe this is happening—again. A nightmare, repeating itself. Hope must be a wreck. And Vera…that poor woman has been through hell. First, our daughter. Now our granddaughter. She had a nervous breakdown before. How is she going to survive this?”
“Not well,” Patrick replied flatly. “She’s heavily sedated. And your daughter is sick to death.” A pause as Patrick took in the entirety of Sidney’s reaction. “You really didn’t know a thing about this until now.” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Why is the Bureau interested in talking to you? What’s your connection to Organized Crime?”
Silence.
“Look, Akerman, we can do this any way you want. But I’m thirty-two years and hundreds of sleepless nights invested in this case. I’m not going away. Not until you tell me every goddamned thing you know. Because I happen to think these two kidnappings are connected.” A purposeful pause—and a glint of fear and guilt in Sidney’s eyes. “I can see you think so, too. So we’re going to talk. About then. About now. About everything.”
Patrick pulled out his copy of Krissy’s photo, shoved it in Sidney’s face. “Have you seen a picture of your granddaughter lately? She’s a beautiful, exuberant child. Or she was, until yesterday. God only knows what’s happened to her since then.”
Slowly, Sidney reached out and took the photo. “She has Hope’s eyes,” he managed, tears gliding down his cheeks. “And her smile. The way she’s wrinkling her nose—it’s like seeing Felicity again. Oh Lord, what have I done?”
“What have you done?” Patrick was all over that like white on rice. “Why? Did you have something to do with Krissy’s abduction? Did you do something to precipitate it? Does that tie into why the Bureau’s Organized Crime Squad is grilling you?”
Sidney dragged his arm across his face,
wiping away his tears. Then, he shoved the photo of Krissy aside and threw his hands up in the air. “I can’t take this anymore. I’m done. I played Russian roulette last time, and I lost. I’m not risking it again. Do whatever the hell you want to me. Send me to prison and let me rot there. Just find Krissy.” He turned to Patrick. “Ask me what you need to.”
“This Organized Crime investigation—it’s related to the kidnapping. Just Felicity’s, or Krissy’s, too?”
“Both.” A ragged sigh. “Here it is, short and sweet. When you and I first met, I was the accounting and business manager for a construction company.”
“I remember.”
“The owner of the company, Henry Kenyon, was an old college buddy of mine—I told you that, as well. What I didn’t tell you was that Henry had a major gambling problem. He was in the hole for hundreds of thousands of dollars. He paid off his debts and became partners with the wrong people.”
“The mob?”
“Yup. A handful of them invested in Henry’s company. Their involvement was a closely kept secret, known by only a few members of their ‘family.’ They kept it that way so they could fly under the FBI’s radar. It worked, because it never came up in your investigation.”
“So we’re talking money laundering,” Patrick surmised.
“Exactly.” Sidney’s voice quavered. “I didn’t want any part of it. But Henry was close to the edge. I couldn’t turn my back on him. So I did what I had to. I kept my mouth shut for as long as I could stand it. Then I told Henry I was out. He passed that along. A few days later, Felicity was kidnapped. I lost my mind. I was up your ass while you were investigating. I prayed I was wrong. Then, I got a phone call from those bastards. They said they’d killed my kid, and that I had no one but myself to blame. They threatened me, said that if I opened my mouth, Hope would be next, followed by Vera.”
Patrick let out a low whistle. “So that’s why you dived into a bottle and fell off the map.”
“You bet. It was the only way I could think of to keep my family safe.” A bitter laugh. “For all the good that did me. Here it is, over thirty years later, and the FBI just got some mob guy to flip and give them damning info from the seventies—including the lowdown on Henry’s company. Henry’s been dead for fifteen years, so the FBI agent came to me for confirmation. I denied everything, told them I didn’t know what they were talking about, and that if Henry did anything illegal, I didn’t know a thing about it.”
“Saving your family, or your own ass?”
“At this point? Both.” Sidney’s forehead was drenched with sweat. “The mob must have thought I gave the Feds something. So they pulled a repeat performance, this time with my granddaughter.” He grabbed the front of Patrick’s shirt. “You’ve got to stop them before they hurt her. Please. Do something.”
“I plan to.” Patrick whipped out his cell phone. “I’m calling the task force working on Krissy’s case and filling them in. I need the name of the agent who came to see you and any immediate details on the mob guys you dealt with—names, descriptions—anything. After I pass all that along, I’m getting back into my own car, following you to your apartment, and waiting while you throw a few things in a bag. You’re coming back to Armonk with me.”
The news about her father reached Hope via the task force right before she packed up Krissy’s duffel bag and prepared the drop for the kidnappers.
Her shock and rage at this unexpected development and the part her father had played in it were secondary now, eclipsed by the white terror of what was happening to Krissy. The realization that the mob might be involved in Krissy’s abduction only strengthened Hope’s resolve to follow through with her plan. Time was of the essence. Action was of the essence.
She couldn’t think about her father’s betrayal. She couldn’t allow herself to think about the fact that, if history was repeating itself, her baby could be dead. All she could think about—blindly, frantically—was that she had to do everything in her power to bring Krissy home, alive and safe.
So when the agreed-upon time drew near, when the whole task force was caught up in tracking down known organized crime members, getting sketch artists, and contacting other Bureau members for further information while awaiting Sidney Akerman’s arrival, Hope hauled the cash-filled duffel bag into the garage, heaved it into the trunk of her SUV and drove off.
No one noticed.
No one but Casey.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Casey had done her ongoing review of Ryan’s documentation at Hope’s house all afternoon. She didn’t want to leave because she was still bugged by her suspicions that something was up. Once Hope had finally emerged from her mother’s bedroom, only to be given the news about her father, Casey had watched her carefully, paying close attention to her actions and reactions.
