Lost With Me (Stark Trilogy 5)

I roll over to face him, my breath coming hard, my heart beating fast.

My body starts to cool, my sanity returning.

And as it does, so does reality. These few minutes of forgetfulness swept away as my mind fills again with Anne.

I’m stronger now, but still my mind drifts to everything we have. And to everything I can’t bear to lose.

“Damien,” I whisper.

“I know,” he says. “We’ll get—”

He rolls over, diving to the ground as I sit bolt upright, yanked back to full reality by the ringing of his phone.

Damien rips the phone out of the back pocket of his crumpled jeans as someone pounds on our closed door. “Take the call!” Ryan yells as I scramble back into my clothes. “We’re set!”

And then, with one sharp look at me, Damien presses the button and puts the caller on speaker.

At first there’s nothing. Then the staticky, voice-altered words ring out:

“Do you want your daughter back?”

23

“What do you want?” Damien’s voice is ice cold, his words a demand, not a question.

He’s in his element now, taking charge. Commanding. If the kidnapper were standing in the room, I have no doubt he’d bend to the force of Damien’s will.

But we’re not in the same room. And all we have to go on is an altered voice. And whatever information the team can pull from this phone call.

“Two million dollars,” the mechanical voice says. “Small bills. Delivered tonight. Seven o’clock.”

“It’s already almost five,” Damien says. “I can’t pull that much together that quickly.”

“Bullshit. That’s chump change for you. I’d bet my own mother’s life you’ve had at least that much pulled and ready to go since this whole party began. Don’t play games with me, Mr. Stark. It won’t be you or me who loses. It’ll be your little girl.”

I’m holding Damien’s arm, and now my hand tightens. The kidnapper is right about the money. Damien arranged for five million in small bills to be delivered within an hour after we learned what happened. It’s been sitting in the utility room ever since.

Damien looks at Dallas, who nods.

“I’ll get it,” Damien says. “But I want to talk to Anne. I need to know she’s unharmed.”

“I’ll call you back.”

And click, the line goes dead.

“He’s afraid we can trace the call,” Quincy says.

“Can we?” I ask.

“Theoretically.” Quincy shrugs. “But this isn’t theory. So no.”

I look to Ryan, wanting an explanation.

“He’s undoubtedly calling from a burner phone,” Ryan explains. “And he’ll call back from another one. If we had the time, we could triangulate the location of the phone, but he’s not going to stay on line long enough for us to do that. So—”

“It’s doable, but not doable,” I say. “I get it.”

“Keep the endgame in mind,” Dallas says. “This is about getting your daughter back. An exchange of money for the child. There’s a difference between information we want and information we need. Right now, we need to talk to Anne. We need to know how the drop’s going to go down.”

I nod. “And you think he’ll really make the exchange? What if he just takes the ransom and disappears. What if—” But I can’t finish the thought.

Dallas moves closer, so that he’s right in front of me. “This isn’t an action movie. And in the real world, there are very few kidnappings for ransom. And most are resolved favorably.”

“Meaning?”

“The child is returned.”

Warm relief floods me.

“And the kidnapper?”

“Sometimes apprehended, sometimes not. But we’re focused on Anne.” He points to his eyes, then mine. “That’s all we’re looking at right now. That little girl.”

“Yes,” I say, sniffling to hold back the tears that are starting up again. I meet Damien’s eyes. “Yes, that’s all I want.”

The phone rings, and I jump. Ryan holds up a finger, then signals to Damien once the team is set to record and monitor the call. He answers on speaker.

“Mommy?”

My legs fall away, and Jamie rushes to my side.

“Anne, baby. I’m right here. So’s Daddy.”

“No more Nemo.” Her voice sounds drowsy. “Want kitties next time.”

I search Damien’s face, seeing my own confusion registered there.

Then I remember. “Aristocats? Is that what you want?”

“Risto,” she says, still sounding loopy. “Please, Mommy.”

“Whatever you want, baby.” I can barely talk through the tears. “Mommy and Daddy love you.”

“Love—”

And the phone goes dead.

“He’ll call back,” Quincy says. And five seconds later, the phone rings again.

“What did you do to my daughter?” Damien demands without preamble.

“Just making it easier on her. A little Versed to keep her calm. And lots of cartoons. She’s fine. You should thank me. She probably won’t remember this whole ordeal.”

Damien’s face goes tight with worry. “You’re drugging my daughter? You son-of-a-bitch.”

“Hey! I’m being nice. The kid’s totally chill, and she’s going to barely remember any of this. You’ll have her back soon enough, no harm, no foul. So long as you cooperate.”

I see the control i

t takes for him not to reach through the phone and strangle the guy. I feel the same. He could give her too much of the drug. She could have a reaction. Anything could go wrong and—

“It’ll be okay.” Jamie stops my pacing, her hands on my arms. I didn’t even realize I was moving. “It’ll be okay,” she repeats, which is ridiculous, because she doesn’t know that. But she has to believe it. And so do I.

I concentrate on breathing as Damien comes to me. He draws me close, and I stand with him, our bodies tense, as Anne’s tormentor gives the instructions.

“Two million. Two rolling suitcases. Black. No hidden GPS systems. No tracking devices. You take the cases at midnight, and you leave them in the laundry room at the Carousel Inn on Lankershim in North Hollywood. Use a bike lock and lock them to the plumbing pipe. Lock the cases, too. Combination 123. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Then you leave.”

“And then?”

“Five minutes. Your final call. Gee, this is exciting, isn’t it?”

Once again, the line goes dead.

“No,” Quincy says, his eyes hard on Damien before they cut to me. “We’re not surveilling. It’s too damn risky.”

For a moment, I think Damien’s going to argue, but he nods, and I exhale in relief.

I pace as we wait for the next call, and when I see Evelyn climb the stairs, I hurry to her side, letting her pull me into the kind of maternal hug I so desperately crave. “How are you holding up, Texas?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “Right now it feels like I’m learning to walk. We’re taking a step, then another, then another.”

She gestures to the cluster of men and Jamie. “Bring me up to speed,” she’s says, then listens as I do. “Quincy’s right. Do as the bastard says. This is a payday for him. He wants the money, not Anne.”

“I know.” I’ve been telling myself the same thing since this nightmare began.

The phone rings.

Damien waits, gets the signal from the team, and answers on speaker.

“The southwest corner of Ventura and Laurel Canyon. Your wife stands there. She comes alone.”