Eleven Hours by Paullina Simons Page B

relief flooded out, replaced by weights that dragged him deeper into despair.
    He realized that finding out that Didi was alive in a car with a man who was hitting her with an object was not great news, but she was alive. And so long as she was alive, there was hope.
    Rich saw Scott watching him intently. He wondered if he passed muster.
    Scott put his hand out to comfort Rich. “I know everything you’re feeling. Everything,” he said earnestly. “We hate this most of all. We hope that he’ll contact us, with a ransom note, or a call, with some indication of his intentions, and then we can usually pursue him. We have to hope he’ll slip up somewhere. We’ll do what we can, everything we can. But right now, we don’t even know if we have the right car, much less the right man. You must hang tight, and let us do our job, okay? I promise you one thing—we will catch the bastard.”
    Rich pulled away from Scott’s hand. “You’ve had many of these kidnapping cases then?”
    â€œYes,” Scott said. “This is what I do.”
    â€œHow often do you get the kidnapper?”
    â€œNine out of ten times,” Scott said proudly.
    Rich nodded weakly. “Maybe we could get on the phone and talk to the lady who saw Didi?”
    Scott stopped chewing gum for a moment. “I wasn’t bragging. I was telling you, you’re in good hands. And I already did talk to the lady. It’s the first thing I did when I heard the woman’s message. I asked her to turn around and come back to Dallas. She’s at the station right now. If you have a picture of your wife, I’d like to show it to her.”
    Rich didn’t allow himself to be even a little bit impressed as he fumbled in his wallet. He took out the wedding picture of Didi, glowing, smiling, in white. Her shiny hair, twinkling eyes, and fresh smile were exactly the same seven years later as the day they married. Rich handed the picture to Scott, who glanced at the photo and said, “She’s pretty.”
    Rich felt light-headed. Yes, she is, he thought. I just want my pretty wife back.
    â€œCome with me,” Scott said, as he led Rich down the hallway and opened the door to a room with a table and some chairs. “Have a seat and sit tight. I’ll be right back.”
    Scott left. Rich realized that Juan and Chief Murphy were no longer involved. Rich sat for a few minutes behind the table, but he couldn’t stand to be with his thoughts in an empty room. He walked outside and sat on the wooden bench, where he waited.
    Wishing he could keep moving, Rich tapped his heels on the tile floor. The worst was sitting there counting off the seconds for something to happen, for some news.
    When Scott returned, Rich jumped up. Putting a calm hand on Rich’s arm, Scott said, “Take it easy, man.”
    â€œYeah, I’ll just do that,” Rich said bitterly. “Thanks for the advice.” Then, after a moment’s pause, he said, “Well, anything?”
    Scott, impeccable and proper, said, “Yeah, something.” Nodding, Scott said, as if answering his own question, not Rich’s, “It’s her. The lady recognized her. It’s your wife.”
    Dumbly, Rich nodded himself. “I just knew it. What kind of car were they driving?”
    â€œThe lady couldn’t really remember,” Scott replied. “The man sped off, swerving in and out of lanes, going ninety or more, the lady said. He obviously didn’t want her to follow him. She said his car looked like an older-model Ford station wagon. Beige. She didn’t have a chance to get the whole license plate. She got the first three letters, though. JZ five.”
    â€œOh,” Rich said, disappointed. “Is that helpful?”
    â€œIt’s better than nothing,” Scott replied, as he opened another piece of gum and stuffed it into his mouth. “There are hundreds of plates