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Dirk let out his breath in a whoosh. “What kind of good-faith act?”
“We want the first million of the ransom in cash.”
Dirk’s eyes met Mei-li’s, and she nodded. “Not a problem,” he said.
“And we want you to deliver it in person.”
Mei-li nodded again. “Done,” Dirk said.
“In four installments.”
Dirk answered before she could signal him this could be a problem. “Whatever it takes,” he rasped. “All I want is my daughters back. Whatever I have to do, I’ll do.”
The cold voice didn’t change, didn’t acknowledge the repressed emotion in Dirk’s tone. “Good. Get the money first thing in the morning—US, not Hong Kong dollars. Prepare four separate packages. Plain brown paper, tied with string. Place each parcel in a cloth shopping bag to disguise it—the kind of bag all Hong Kong women carry. Then wait for instructions.”
“When?” Dirk demanded. “Where? Where do I deliv—”
The voice dripped ice. “Just wait to hear from us. Don’t leave your hotel—instructions will be delivered to you there.”
In that instant Mei-li knew the kidnappers were aware Dirk had left the hotel today. Probably knew where he’d gone. So either Dirk was under observation by one or more of the kidnappers—and she didn’t buy that theory because she was positive no one had followed them—or they’d hit a raw spot when they’d questioned the pilots of the planes this afternoon. Mei-li was betting on the latter. Only she, Dirk and Rafe knew where they’d been. None of the others did, so they couldn’t have passed that info along. And while it was certainly possible Rafe was working hand in glove with the kidnappers, he would have taken a huge risk disclosing their actions this afternoon, because that would point the finger of suspicion directly at him.
Her brain assembled and assimilated these facts and conjectures in mere seconds, and she concluded they’d struck a nerve. That meant one of the pilots they’d questioned this afternoon had contacted the kidnappers. And since all five planes had originally intended to take off yesterday—the same day the girls were kidnapped—that meant it was highly likely one of those planes had been the intended mode of transport to spirit the twins out of Hong Kong. And that meant the kidnappers had no intention of releasing Dirk’s daughters, no matter how much ransom he paid—but it also meant they probably weren’t planning to kill them, either.
Immense relief washed through her. She wanted to share this heartening news with Dirk, but she couldn’t—not with everyone listening in. Instead she mouthed the word, “Agree,” to Dirk.
“Agreed,” he told the man on the other end of the phone. “I’ll have to go to the bank in person tomorrow to withdraw the money, but otherwise I’ll wait here. But I want a picture of my daughters now. And before the money goes anywhere tomorrow, I’ll want a picture of them taken right before I leave.” He drew a deep breath, and an ache speared through Mei-li—she knew what Dirk was thinking. She knew. “One last thing. Before I leave the money anywhere, I have to talk with my daughters...to know they’re still alive.”
A long silence at the other end was finally broken. “Agreed.” Then the voice added, “The first picture is on its way,” right before the call was abruptly disconnected.
Two minutes later a musical tone sounded, the smartphone’s notification that an incoming email had been received. Mei-li watched as Dirk fumbled to open it, then quickly clicked on the attachment.
His absolute stillness frightened her, and she touched his arm. “Dirk?”
His face contracted, and she saw the control he exerted on himself—every muscle clenching against a terrifyingly savage reaction. He thrust the phone into her hand with a muttered imprecation, then strode from the room without saying another word. The study doors closed behind him, not with the resounding thud she expected, but with a control that was even more terrifying.
She glanced down at the picture Dirk had received, and a pang went through her. Small as it was, every detail was clearly visible. And as surely as if he’d told her, she knew he’d taken the tear stains on Linden’s and Laurel’s faces as an indictment of himself. Of how he’d failed to keep them safe.
She let out a tiny sigh, knowing she needed to discuss this with Dirk, despite his obvious desire to be alone. But before she did, she had one other thing to do. Her fingers flew over the touch screen, forwarding the email—and its poignant picture—to her own account. Then she pulled out her own phone and sent a text message. When the email from Dirk’s account popped into her mailbox, she forwarded that on, too.
