“What does he want with you?” she asks, concern evident in her voice.
“I don’t know exactly. I have some ideas but don’t worry. I am going to get us out of here.” Or die trying. I sit with Arabella in the corner. She is leaning up against me, sleeping again. I am worried about that, but given the circumstances, I’d rather her be sleeping, to be honest. I can’t believe we’ve been here for two days, the sun is rising again, and we are running out of time.
Chapter 21
Brendan
When Brynn didn’t come home from work at the usual time, I called her several times. Without an answer, I start to panic, especially since I can’t reach Joel or Javier either. I know she usually leaves school at five, five-thirty at the latest. I just know something is wrong. I can feel it deep down in my gut. Pacing isn’t working. Finally, around seven, my phone rings, and it’s Brynn. The sinking feeling that I have tells me it’s not going to be her when I answer the line.
“Hello?” I ask, praying that it’s her on the other end, but I am disappointed.
“Hello, Irishman,” a deep voice that has been distorted by a voice changer says.
“Who is this? Where is my wife?” I shout.
“She’s mine now,” the voice says.
“Tell me where she is right now,” I demand.
“No, I don’t think I will. Not yet, anyway.”
“What do you want?” I ask, thinking this is some kind of ransom request or an elaborate shakedown. I’ll give him whatever he wants as long as he returns my love to me, safe and sound.
“I have what I want now, but you must be punished further for soiling my perfect virgin.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’ll see.”
“Don’t touch her, you sick fuck. I will bury you.”
“Ah-ah-ah! Not so fast, Irishman. You’ll have to find me first. We will be in touch very soon. Don’t bother tracing the call. You won’t be able to. Here’s a hint though, we aren’t in Nepal.” The line goes dead.
Frowning, I wonder what the hell that means. Immediately, I call Bart to get his ass here now. The intercom buzzes as soon as I hang up.
“Yes?” I ask, pushing the button.
“Sorry to disturb you, sir.”
“No worries, Thomas. What’s up?” I say, trying to keep my calm. It’s not working.
“Sir, there are two detectives here to see you,” he replies.
“Send them up,” I respond, tersely.
A few minutes later, I let them inside.
“How can I help you, detectives?”
“Mr. O’Neal. I am Detective Russo, and this is Detective Rossini. We are from the 34th Precinct on Broadway. I am sorry to inform you that your wife and one of her students have been taken from school grounds. Video surveillance from the school confirmed that one of the bodyguards you hired for your wife was found at Ballet Prep at five-fifteen pm with two gunshot wounds. One in the shoulder and one grazed his head. Joel Fowler. Your wife and the student, Arabella Mettle, are missing from the scene.” I keep the phone call close to the vest for now, at least until I know if I can trust these guys. Marrying into the mafia has made me a paranoid motherfucker.
“Oh, God. What about the other bodyguard?” I ask. I can’t believe that prick kidnapped a student too.
“He got into the passenger seat of the van of his own accord,” Detective Russo advises me. He snaps his notebook shut and puts it back into his pocket.
“Son of a bitch,” I say as Bart opens the front door.
“Randy, John, that was quick,” Bart says, closing the door.
“You know these guys?” I ask.
“Of course. They are with us,” he says, shaking each of their hands.
“Thank God. What the fuck are we going to do? It looks like Javier is either the guy or works for him too. I just received a distorted phone call from the asshole, taunting me.”
“It can’t be Javier. We don’t know him, and more importantly, he doesn’t know Brynn from fifteen years ago. He works for the security firm you hired. I’ll try to trace the call and see what we come up with.”
“Well, fuck. That doesn’t help, Bart. Do you have anything that will help?”
“Of course. We got the plates from the video at the school. Just found out it’s registered to Aaron Bianchi. What kind of idiot uses his own plates for a kidnapping? You’d think we taught him nothing over the years,” Bart says.
“The fucking errand boy?” I ask incredulously.
“One and the same. Piece of shit is a dead man. I informed my father and uncle of his betrayal already. As soon as we find him, he’s done for. I followed the van on traffic cams until they ditched it at a gas station near the FDR. Lost them after that,” Bart says, looking down at his tablet.