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If Rafe’s acting, he’s better than I am, Dirk thought. And that decided him. He glanced at Mei-li, who shrugged as if to say it was his call.
“Better get another cup of coffee,” he told the two men, pouring one for himself then passing the coffeepot down. “This could take a while.”
Dirk revealed what the kidnapper had told him—that Terrell Blackwood sent his regards—then went on to explain why Blackwood had reason to want revenge. He only gave them the bare bones of the story, but enough so they understood.
Afterward, Rafe and Mike went down to learn what, if anything, the hotel’s staff might have observed the day before with regard to the kidnapping. It was admittedly a long shot, and Mei-li pointed out that neither man was a trained interrogator. “We don’t want word to get out that the girls are missing. Any publicity would be a huge problem—the last thing we need is a media circus.”
But Mike said, “Rafe was in the Marine Corps before he retired—military police. And I was a cop for nine years before I went private. I think we know how to ask questions without raising suspicions.”
The two men had no sooner left the suite when Dirk’s smartphone rang, and his heart began pounding. One part of him desperately wanted it to be the kidnappers, but another part dreaded that it was. Just as it had yesterday, the touchpad showed Unknown Caller when he looked at it. But he knew. “Yes?”
“Mr. DeWinter?” The silky-smooth American voice on the other end was immediately recognizable.
“Yes.” He had to bite his lip to stop himself from demanding...begging...pleading.
“You didn’t call the police. Very good,” the voice said.
It could have been pure speculation, but Dirk didn’t think so. Somehow the kidnappers knew he hadn’t called the police. Whether someone on the inside had relayed that information, or whether the kidnappers had a contact in the police department, Dirk didn’t know. But he was very, very glad he hadn’t called.
“You told me not to call them,” Dirk said now.
“And do you always do what you’re told, Mr. DeWinter?”
“I do when my daughters’ lives are at stake.” His free hand formed a fist. “I don’t care about the money,” he said, which was the truth. “I don’t even care if you’re never caught,” he added, which was a lie. “All I care about is getting my daughters back...alive.” Mei-li dashed off something on a piece of paper, and thrust it in front of Dirk’s eyes. Ask for proof they’re still alive, he read. He drew a deep breath and held it for a couple of seconds, then said, “But before we go any further, I want proof they’re alive.”
“What kind of proof?”
“I want to talk to them,” Dirk said, but Mei-li shook her head vigorously and scrawled one word on the paper. Photos, he read. “And I want photos of them emailed to me,” he added quickly.
“That will take time, Mr. DeWinter. Time I’m afraid you don’t—”
“You promised me I’d have time to get the money together,” Dirk said on a rush. “I’m already working on it. But before I deliver the ransom, I need to know my daughters are alive.”
Seconds ticked away, and Dirk couldn’t breathe. In the sudden silence he heard an odd sound at the other end, vaguely familiar but maddeningly just out of reach of his memory. He knew he should recognize it, but...he didn’t. He tried to concentrate, to retrieve the memory, but then the voice said, “Very well. You arrange for the money. I’ll arrange for proof of life.” And the memory was gone.
“How much?”
“What are they worth to you, Mr. DeWinter?”
Dirk gritted his teeth, biting back the urge to roar like a wounded lion at the man who held his life in his hands. “Name your price,” he insisted when he could finally speak in a semblance of a normal voice.
“What’s your salary on the movie you’re filming now?” the voice taunted. “Twenty million? Thirty?”
Dirk really couldn’t answer the question, because he’d taken a cut in salary for a piece of the film’s gross. Until the movie was finished, released and had completed its run, he wouldn’t know exactly how much he’d earned. But the kidnapper took his silence as refusal to answer.
“Ah, well, it doesn’t really matter,” the voice said. “We want twenty million dollars, US—ten for each child.”
“Done,” he said promptly. He knew from the sudden frown on Mei-li’s face and the way she shook her head that she didn’t want him to commit to the price, that she wanted a chance to negotiate the ransom down. But this wasn’t a Hong Kong kidnapper...and he wasn’t risking negotiation. He could easily pay the ransom demanded. And even if he couldn’t, he had friends with even deeper pockets he could call on. He would have given every penny he had, every penny he could beg, borrow or steal, to have Linden and Laurel returned to him alive and unharmed.
