Chapter 18
A sweet aroma enveloped Savannah’s senses and enticed her out of slumber. She stirred with her eyes still closed. An exotic
sound penetrated her stupor—it sounded like a parrot or some other tropical bird. What a lovely dream.
She opened her eyes, blinked, then saw a pitched ceiling overhead with white-painted boards and a fan in the shape of palm
leaves. Ignoring her stiff spine, she bolted upright and swung her gaze around her surroundings.
She was on a twin bed with pale blue sheets. The walls were creamy white with tasteful tropical prints. Simon snored softly
in the bed next to hers, and Cody curled on the end of his bed. A tropical breeze stirred gauzy curtains at an open window
that peeked out at palm trees swaying next to a white-sand beach. The glimpse of turquoise water enticed her to come closer.
A parrot squawked from its perch somewhere, and her eyes widened.
This is not Alabama.
She eased her legs over the side of the bed to check on Simon, and Marley, tail wagging, trotted to her to get his ears rubbed.
The touch of his soft fur under her fingers anchored her to the present, and her memory flooded back to the men who’d leaped from the SUV.
She probed her neck where she’d felt the prick of a needle but couldn’t feel a mark.
She stood and took a step toward the other bed and discovered the weight of a monitor on her left ankle. She frowned and moved
to Simon’s side to press her fingers against his carotid artery. His pulse was nice and steady, and so was his breathing.
He was just asleep, but he wore an ankle monitor too. Cody turned his snaggletooth her way before tucking his muzzle into
his tail again.
The scent of fresh coffee turned her attention to a carafe with mugs, tropical fruits, and pastries on a table in the corner.
She poured herself a mug of coffee and took a gulp that tasted like Guatemalan, her favorite. Whoever the men were, they didn’t
stint on quality coffee. Carrying her mug, she went to the door and tried the knob. Unlocked. “Stay with Simon,” she told
Marley before stepping outside into a beautiful tropical day. Where was this place?
Two fit and muscular men holding scary-looking guns rose from chairs under a palm tree. They both wore sunglasses that masked
their expressions. “Do you need anything, ma’am?” the taller one asked.
She tried to place his accent. Serbian, Bulgarian, somewhere in southeast Europe maybe? “Where are we?”
His grin showed very white teeth. “In paradise, ma’am.”
She didn’t care for his flippant answer. “I need to leave. Right now.”
The two men glanced at each other, and the other one laughed. “Good luck, lady. We’re on an island ten miles from any other
land mass. The strong currents will yank you farther out to sea, and the sharks are very hungry around here.”
The guy with the accent gestured with his gun. “The boss wants to have a chat.”
“I don’t want to leave my nephew alone. He might be afraid when he wakes up.”
The other man chuckled. “That little man ain’t afraid of nothing. And he’ll be sleeping off his meds for at least another
hour. This way.” His tone left no doubt he intended her to go if he had to drag her.
She stiffened and took another swallow of coffee for courage before she set it down on the porch railing. Was “the boss” Hornbrook?
If so, they were in a lot of trouble.
The men led her along a path of crushed shells toward a low-slung building with a large porch that overlooked the water and
the pier behind it. Colorful tropical flowers filled the planter beds and spilled their scent into the air. The large house
stretched out into three wings and appeared welcoming, but she knew better than to think she would find any help inside.
Shoulders squared, she mounted the wide steps and entered the house. The guards followed her inside, where Mozart’s Serenade
No. 13 played from speakers around the room. The rousing melody elevated her pulse even more.
A silver-haired sixtyish man rose from a chair with a cautious smile and extended his hand. “Ms. Webster, it’s a pleasure
to meet you. Welcome to my island. I’m James Hornbrook.”
Hornbrook. She masked her dismay and ignored his hand. “It’s hardly appropriate to welcome me when your goons kidnapped me
and my nephew. I demand you let us go immediately.”
“Hey.” The guy with the accent shoved her. “We’re no goons.”
“Keep your hands to yourself, Anton,” Hornbrook barked. His attention returned to Savannah. “You’re in no position to make
demands, Ms. Webster. Not if you value your life and your nephew’s. If you don’t do as I request immediately, I’ll see that
young Simon is taken out to sea and fed to the sharks.” His blue eyes grew colder with every word. He picked up a newspaper
and a phone. “I’d like you to read the article here about the PGA tournament. When you’re done with the first paragraph, say
the words twenty-four hours.”
She wanted to tear the newspaper to shreds and scatter it on the beautiful mahogany floor, but she had Simon and the dogs
to consider. Anton. Hadn’t Hez mentioned someone named Anton Todorov who worked for Hornbrook? And he was dangerous.
When Hornbrook held out the paper, she took it. He lifted his phone and she began to read in a clear voice. Though her legs
trembled, she wasn’t about to let him know how terrified she was. She finished with the phrase “twenty-four hours.”
None of them were hiding their faces, which told her they didn’t plan to let her and Simon describe them to law enforcement.
They didn’t intend to let them leave this tropical paradise. And Hez had only twenty-four hours to find them.
“Twenty-four hours.”
The recorded message ended and the Justice Chamber fell silent.
Hez clicked off his phone and dropped it in his pocket.
“I got that via text at seven. Thank you all for getting here so fast.” How was his voice so calm when he was dying inside?
Every nerve in his body hummed with tension.
What was Savannah going through? And Simon?
He’d already experienced so much trauma in his young life.
Hez cleared his throat and looked around the room at the group gathered there.
The cold, unnatural light from the fluorescent bulbs overhead gave everyone a sickly color that matched their expressions
after hearing the message from Hornbrook. Dominga gripped Ed’s hand as they hunched over the little table, which was dominated
by an old speakerphone Hez had found in a closet. Arms folded and face grim, Toni sat beside them. Hope, who was there at
Hez’s invitation, occupied the final seat at the table and seemed deep in thought.
Michael, who had basically invited himself, paced the small room, muttering. He knew about the Justice Chamber from his grandchildren
and had demanded to be involved in any efforts to rescue Simon. Hez hadn’t objected. Maybe Michael could help.
Hope’s phone chimed and she glanced at it. “That was the FBI. They’re already analyzing the audio and the text Hez received.
They also gave me an update on the black SUV the police found on the beach last night. It was reported stolen two days ago,
and they discovered a fingerprint from Simon and three strands of auburn hair in the back seat.”
Michael scoffed. “That’s all you’ve got after thirteen hours? We’ll never find Simon in time. Do better!”
Hope grimaced. “We’re doing everything we can, Mr. Willard.”
Hez released the edge of his desk. He’d been unconsciously holding it in a death grip and his fingers ached. “What about Hornbrook’s claim that someone was blackmailing him?”
Hope nodded. “That appears to be true. The Cyber Division has confirmed that an extortion demand was delivered to Hornbrook
Finance.”
Michael stopped pacing. “So Hornbrook was telling the truth? Who’s the blackmailer? What do they want?”
Hope drummed her fingers, her nails clicking on the weathered wood tabletop. “All I know is that someone contacted his company
and demanded five million dollars. If they don’t get it, they’ll release a database of damaging videos.” She glanced at Hez.
“I assume it’s the same one.”
Michael glared at her for a moment, then turned to Hez. “What’s this database? Everyone seems to know about it except me.”
Hez wouldn’t trust Michael with more information than necessary. “All you need to know is that we’re aware of what he wants
and we’re working on finding it.”
Michael’s eyes flashed and he took a step toward Hez. “What I need to know is whether we can give Hornbrook what he wants.
Can we?”
Hez tensed further at Michael’s demanding tone. “If we give him what he wants, he has no reason to keep them alive any longer.”
Michael nodded. “Yeah, but if we can offer him what he wants, that gives us leverage.”
Hez gave a grim half smile. “Exactly what I was thinking.” He leaned over the speakerphone. “Bruno, how are you doing?”
“Better ’n the bureau.” Static from the speaker distorted Bruno’s voice.
“I took down all copies of the database we put online and did some hunting to make sure I didn’t miss any.
I still have a copy of the database on a hard drive in a secure location, of course. Unfortunately, someone else does too.”
Hez’s phone buzzed. His heart rate jumped as he pulled it from his pocket—but the screen only showed an incoming call from
someone named Tim Kramer. Probably a wrong number. Hez sent it to voicemail and turned back to the speakerphone. “The blackmailer?”
“Excellent guess. They’re close to y’all—that’s what you say down there, right? Maybe a mile from where you are right now.
Two miles tops. And they’re running Google Chrome on a 2023 MacBook.”
“This is a university,” Michael growled. “Lotta people have MacBooks.”
“I’m sure.” Bruno seemed unruffled. “This particular MacBook has two external monitors and an external five-terabyte Seagate
hard drive. And that hard drive has a copy of the Hornbrook database. Oh, and your blackmailer is an amateur. They may know
computers, but they don’t know hacking or cybersecurity. They didn’t even use a VPN.”
“Uh, thanks. Can you get us a name or street address or phone number—something specific like that?”
A burst of static came from the speaker as Bruno blew out a long breath. “Maybe. I’d need to get into the blackmailer’s machine,
which could take time. Right now I don’t have much more than the device fingerprint.”
Hez looked at his watch. “We’ve got twenty-two hours and forty-three minutes. Can you find the blackmailer before then?”
The line was silent for a long moment. “I dunno, man.”