voice was way different. ‘Who’s the other guy?’
‘Don’t know.’
He pressed the axe blade harder against the man’s flesh until a line of blood appeared. ‘You don’t want to push me, buddy. Who’s the other guy?’
The man hesitated, then his shoulders sagged as if he’d given up, which Ford didn’t buy for a second. ‘Archie Leach.’
That name sounded really familiar. ‘Why did he kidnap me?’
‘Money. Both your parents are richer than God.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Marion Morrison,’ he drawled.
That name Ford knew. Fury bubbled up. Asshole . Morrison was John Wayne’s real name. Who knew who ‘Archie Leach’ really was? ‘Where is Archie now?’
‘Went to the city to collect the ransom.’
‘Which he’ll share with you?’ Ford let the sarcasm ooze in.
‘Marion’ had gone still. Sincerely still this time. He said nothing.
Ford laughed bitterly. ‘You already know that somebody unloaded your gun. Did your Smithsonian phone over there actually work before?’
The surprised jerk of the old man’s shoulders said that it had.
‘Well, it doesn’t now,’ Ford said flatly. ‘So your partner left you alone, with no way to defend yourself and no way to call for help. He collects the ransom and leaves you high and dry. And even if you take this gun from me, it doesn’t matter because he’s taken your ammo. Yeah,’ he added when the old man exhaled sharply. ‘All the boxes in the drawer? Empty. You think you’re a fucking John Wayne? You’re just the fall guy.’
‘If you’re gonna use that axe, boy, do it now. I’m gettin’ tired of listening to you.’
Ford frowned, not sure what to do next. He probably couldn’t kill the old bastard, not on purpose anyway. And I don’t have any ammo either . Which the old guy now knows . Way to go, Elkhart .
The subtle tightening of the old man’s back was the only warning Ford had before he twisted out of his grip, rolling away from the axe blade and grabbing onto the handle with both hands. But although his captor was strong for sixty-five, Ford was twenty years old and pissed off. With a hard yank, Ford took the axe back and, holding it like a bat, walloped John Wayne’s head like he was going for a home run.
The old man was out cold – but still breathing. It was probably a good idea to keep him that way. He might know who had Kim. He definitely knew the other kidnapper.
I need to get help before the other guy comes back .
Hold on, Kim . Just a little longer .
Baltimore, Maryland, Tuesday, December 3, 11.10 A.M.
Mitch climbed back up the ladder, secured the door, and pushed the shelves back into place. Wearily he let himself into the kitchen and stopped short, stifling a curse.
His middle brother, Mutt, was sitting at the table eating cereal. The TV was on and his brother frowned as he watched. What the hell is he doing here? Mitch closed the door hard enough to startle him. Mutt wheeled, sending a splash of milk onto the floor.
‘Where have you been?’ Mutt demanded. Mutt’s given name was Matthew, but Mitch always thought of him as Mutt, since his middle brother was the only legitimate son. Mitch and Cole were bastards, or so his stepfather said. Takes one to know one .
‘I had a delivery. It was on the schedule,’ Mitch replied. Appropriating his stepfather’s goods was an important part of his plan. Being a delivery driver gave him access and opportunity.
As the logistics manager and accountant, Mutt was only too happy to have Mitch’s help, especially when the delivery was a dangerous one – it meant Mutt didn’t have to call in any favors from the drivers he kept on the actual books.
It also meant Mutt could pay his brother half of what he paid everyone else and pocket the difference. Mutt didn’t know Mitch knew about that. It pissed Mitch off to high heaven, but he’d bitten his tongue. It had also eliminated any lingering affection he felt for his brother. Things were about to get real bad
‘Don’t know.’
He pressed the axe blade harder against the man’s flesh until a line of blood appeared. ‘You don’t want to push me, buddy. Who’s the other guy?’
The man hesitated, then his shoulders sagged as if he’d given up, which Ford didn’t buy for a second. ‘Archie Leach.’
That name sounded really familiar. ‘Why did he kidnap me?’
‘Money. Both your parents are richer than God.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Marion Morrison,’ he drawled.
That name Ford knew. Fury bubbled up. Asshole . Morrison was John Wayne’s real name. Who knew who ‘Archie Leach’ really was? ‘Where is Archie now?’
‘Went to the city to collect the ransom.’
‘Which he’ll share with you?’ Ford let the sarcasm ooze in.
‘Marion’ had gone still. Sincerely still this time. He said nothing.
Ford laughed bitterly. ‘You already know that somebody unloaded your gun. Did your Smithsonian phone over there actually work before?’
The surprised jerk of the old man’s shoulders said that it had.
‘Well, it doesn’t now,’ Ford said flatly. ‘So your partner left you alone, with no way to defend yourself and no way to call for help. He collects the ransom and leaves you high and dry. And even if you take this gun from me, it doesn’t matter because he’s taken your ammo. Yeah,’ he added when the old man exhaled sharply. ‘All the boxes in the drawer? Empty. You think you’re a fucking John Wayne? You’re just the fall guy.’
‘If you’re gonna use that axe, boy, do it now. I’m gettin’ tired of listening to you.’
Ford frowned, not sure what to do next. He probably couldn’t kill the old bastard, not on purpose anyway. And I don’t have any ammo either . Which the old guy now knows . Way to go, Elkhart .
The subtle tightening of the old man’s back was the only warning Ford had before he twisted out of his grip, rolling away from the axe blade and grabbing onto the handle with both hands. But although his captor was strong for sixty-five, Ford was twenty years old and pissed off. With a hard yank, Ford took the axe back and, holding it like a bat, walloped John Wayne’s head like he was going for a home run.
The old man was out cold – but still breathing. It was probably a good idea to keep him that way. He might know who had Kim. He definitely knew the other kidnapper.
I need to get help before the other guy comes back .
Hold on, Kim . Just a little longer .
Baltimore, Maryland, Tuesday, December 3, 11.10 A.M.
Mitch climbed back up the ladder, secured the door, and pushed the shelves back into place. Wearily he let himself into the kitchen and stopped short, stifling a curse.
His middle brother, Mutt, was sitting at the table eating cereal. The TV was on and his brother frowned as he watched. What the hell is he doing here? Mitch closed the door hard enough to startle him. Mutt wheeled, sending a splash of milk onto the floor.
‘Where have you been?’ Mutt demanded. Mutt’s given name was Matthew, but Mitch always thought of him as Mutt, since his middle brother was the only legitimate son. Mitch and Cole were bastards, or so his stepfather said. Takes one to know one .
‘I had a delivery. It was on the schedule,’ Mitch replied. Appropriating his stepfather’s goods was an important part of his plan. Being a delivery driver gave him access and opportunity.
As the logistics manager and accountant, Mutt was only too happy to have Mitch’s help, especially when the delivery was a dangerous one – it meant Mutt didn’t have to call in any favors from the drivers he kept on the actual books.
It also meant Mutt could pay his brother half of what he paid everyone else and pocket the difference. Mutt didn’t know Mitch knew about that. It pissed Mitch off to high heaven, but he’d bitten his tongue. It had also eliminated any lingering affection he felt for his brother. Things were about to get real bad
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