Chapter 8
Six days.
Acid flooded Joanne’s stomach as her anxiety reared to life. She only had six more days to find the money and return it to Bannon.
It had been her first thought when she opened her eyes this morning, the words repeating like a mantra while she brushed her teeth and showered.
Six days.
Six days.
You only have six more days.
She grabbed Fiona’s booster seat from the Porsche and strapped the girl tightly into the back of Sloan’s Bronco while he cleaned off the windshield. She couldn’t breathe, her lungs seemingly stilted by the overwhelming panic in her breast. She needed a plan, and she needed it now.
She slid across the smooth leather passenger seat and waited for Sloan as Fiona softly sang “Let it Go,” an appropriate soundtrack as Joanne took in the white and gray scene, desperate to distract herself from her anxiety and calm herself down.
The vehicle was quintessential Sloan, and memories of his old pickup truck and the things they’d done on its narrow bench seat came swiftly to her mind.
The night she’d lost her virginity, her heart had been bursting with love so profound she thought it could never die.
That felt like a lifetime ago, her own naiveté casting her in a light that was unrecognizable to her now.
Sloan climbed in and started the car. Aerosmith blared, startling her, and he turned it down. “Sorry.” The corded muscles of his good arm stood out against his honeyed skin as he backed out of the driveway.
She furrowed her brow. “Where did you get a tan in December?”
“Colombia. I was down there for two weeks hunting down a kidnapped CEO from one of the biggest banks in the world.”
She cocked her head. “What did you say you do?”
“I didn’t.” He smiled, stopping at a red light. “I work for HERO Force, the Hands-on Engagement and Reconnaissance Operations team. A lot of former SEALs working in the private sector.”
“So you made it. You became a SEAL.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And now you solve kidnappings.” The roads were worse than she would have thought, the tires slipping as the light turned green.
“Not so much solving as ending. More often than not, we pay the ransom for the families and get the person home. You’d be surprised how often it happens, but nobody wants it publicized, especially when it’s a key player in a corporation. Tends to scare shareholders.”
“I bet it would. Do you just do kidnappings?”
“Nah, we also do private security, personal protection, that kind of thing. Or, as the name says, reconnaissance. Anything, really.”
God, she could use someone like that. “Like Navy SEALs for hire.”
“Pretty much.”
“So, when you help a family pay a ransom, are the police involved?”
“No. Most kidnappers tend to frown on police involvement. The cases I’ve been on, the family has made a choice. They could have gone to the authorities, but they decided to meet the kidnappers’ demands and work outside the system.”
The similarities to her own situation were strong, and the first light of hope broke through the clouds. “And what do you think of that? Is that a smart thing to do?”
“Me? I think it makes sense a lot of the time. If you want to see your loved one again, sometimes you’ve got to play by their rules. The stakes are just too high.”
Could Sloan’s company help her? Give her a way to find the money Bannon was looking for, deal with this problem, and protect her family in the meantime? Who was she kidding? She couldn’t afford to pay them. She was borrowing money for rent, for God’s sake.
He glanced at her. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.”
He’d been driving down a residential street, but now he swerved to the side of the road and put the SUV in park. “Does that curiosity have anything to do with the reason you can’t go home?”
She shot a look at Fiona, who seemed not to notice they’d stopped, arms stretched out like she was freezing the forest. “What makes you think I can’t go home?”
“Lucas said so.”
She rolled her eyes. “He was being dramatic.”
“They told me David died. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you.”
“Jo, if you did something—anything—you can count on me to help you find your way.”
“Did something? Like what?”
Now he peeked at Fiona. “Can she hear us?”
“Definitely not.”
He paused for a beat. “Did you kill him?”
“What?”
“I wouldn’t judge you. Not if he hurt you.”
“I told you, he didn’t. And I sure as hell didn’t kill him, but thanks for your never-ending faith in me.”
“I’m just saying, I would help you. You know that old saying, friends help you move; good friends help you move bodies.”
“So, you don’t even believe me.” She huffed. “Can we go, please? I need to get on the road.”
He sighed and pulled back onto the road. “I had to ask.”
“No, you didn’t. But you did it anyway.”
“I want to help, damn it. I need information to do that, and you’re not giving it to me. You didn’t even tell me David had died, for God’s sake. What happened?”
“Hunting accident.”
He turned onto Main Street, and they drove in silence until he pulled into the bank parking lot. “This would be a lot easier if you’d tell me the truth.”
“What makes you think I’m not?”
“I know you, Buckley. You never could lie worth a damn.” He got out and slammed his door.
Prick.
The car had finally warmed up and the heat was blasting. She turned it down with an irritated flick and stared out her window. The older she got, the more she hated winter, and her mind turned to possible places to start over—preferably far south of here.
A car pulled into the spot beside her. Georgia sounded nice, though she’d never actually been there, and she realized she was basing her assessment purely on a mental image of peach trees stretched as far as the eye could see.
Florida didn’t sound appealing. Maybe Louisiana, or Mississippi.
Someplace warm where she and the kids could disappear under the cover of Spanish moss and humidity.
A man got out of the car next to her and she averted her eyes, not wanting to engage. But he tapped on her window, drawing her head up. Richard Bannon stood on the other side of the glass, staring at her.
Icy fear coursed through her veins. How had he found her? He’d followed her here, all the way from Chicago, but that wasn’t possible. She’d had her eye on the mirror the whole time and would have known if they’d had a tail, wouldn’t she?
He gestured for her to roll down the window and, when it was open a crack, asked, “Are you making progress, Mrs. Regan?”
“How did you get here?”
“You didn’t think I was just going to trust you to get back to me in a few days, did you? I wouldn’t want you deciding to disappear with my money. I need to protect what’s mine.”
“Did you follow me?”
“I have my ways.” He looked at Fiona in the backseat. “Cute kid. I’d hate for anything bad to happen to her. You’ve got six days left, Mrs. Regan.” He moved to walk away, then bent back to the window. “And I wouldn’t go leaving the other two alone like that if I was you.”