Now they were talking the kidnappers’ type. “Pull up everything you can on the Malones, got me? Everything.” Luke didn’t know how Sam had found out about this guy. Usually the SSD found out too late. With the two survivors, they’d only discovered the kidnappings after the young men were back home.
But for this case, if he was right, if she was right, and they were on this thing from the start—
We could take the kidnappers down.
Max’s hands were sweating when he lifted the receiver. “Hello.” Max didn’t identify himself this time. Maybe he was wrong; maybe it wasn’t—
“You moved fast, Ridgeway,” the same low whisper rasped in his ear. “You moved fast, but you can’t get the bastard to wake up, can you?”
“How the hell—”
“This is my game,” the man grated. “My show. I’ve known everything about your family for weeks now. Weeks.”
Max’s gaze lifted. Donnelley had Frank sitting up on the bed, and his stepfather blinked owlishly as he struggled through the drugs and layers of sleep.
“If you knew,” Max snapped back, his rage bubbling over, “then why send me here? Why—”
“Because I had to see if you could follow instructions. You’re the one who’s gonna make the drop, Ridgeway. You’re the one that’s gonna save your brother, and I had to be sure I could trust you.”
A test.
“Didn’t want you goin’ to the cops. Didn’t want you making any phone calls you shouldn’t have made.”
Max’s shoulders were so tight that they hurt. “I followed your rules.”
Samantha pressed close. “Ask to talk to Quinlan.” He glanced up at her. She barely mouthed the words as she said, “Make him put your brother on the line.” Dark shadows lurked beneath her eyes.
“How much do you think your brother is worth?” The voice rasped over the line.
Samantha’s eyes bored into his. Max took a deep breath, and instead of answering, he ordered, “Put my brother on the phone.”
That damn twisted laughter broke across the line. “Quinlan isn’t quite up to talking right now.”
“Fuck—is he alive?” How long had Briar been held before the bastard had started cutting him?
“Quinlan is alive. And if you want him to stay that way, you’re gonna get five million dollars ready by ten a.m.”
“What? I can’t get that much cash ready by—”
“I know you can’t, but when the old man finally rolls those fat eyelids open, he can.”
Five million dollars. “We pay, you give us back Quinlan? Is that how this works?”
“You pay…” No more laughter now, just that dark rasp. “You don’t try to trick me, and yeah, you’ll get him back… mostly all in one piece.”
“I want proof!” Max ordered as his heart slammed into his chest. “Before I do anything, I want proof. I want—”
Click.
“Proof,” he whispered and tossed the cell phone into the closest garbage dump. They always wanted proof. He hurried back to his car, air puffing out in front of him. As he reached for the door, his gaze shot to the black gloves covering his fingers.
Proof.
He smiled.
He knew just what piece he’d send to the big brother ass**le. Just the proof the guy wanted.
“Call return,” Samantha said, and Max blinked at her. “Do star sixty-nine now,” she ordered. “You can get his number.”
He glanced over at the caller ID. “Unidentified number, there’s no way for me to—”
Sam spun away from him. “He could have blocked before he called, but I bet he’s probably calling from a disposable cell.”
Max frowned. His temples throbbed as he stared at her. Her shoulders were back, her strides tight and quick, and the way she was talking—
“Only on the phone for forty-two seconds.” Her gaze was on her watch. “He’s timing this thing, working it so that—”
“Wh-where’s… Quin?” Groggy, slurred. Frank was awake.
Max loomed over his stepfather. “Not here. Look, he’s been—”
But Frank’s eyes weren’t on him. They were on Samantha. “K-Katie? I-is… that—”
Max’s hands curled into fists. “It’s not her!”
“He always asks for her when he wakes,” Donnelley said, shrugging his rounded shoulders. “Give him some time, let him adjust, and then you can tell him—”
That his only son was gone and might soon be dead.
Max shook his head. Five million dollars. “Beth, come with me. We need to get downstairs, and we need to call the bank.” As his father’s assistant, she’d have access to Frank’s accounts.
“We need to call the cops!” Beth fired at him, backing up fast. “Are you kidding me? We can’t handle this! We need the police. They can find Quin! They can—”
Get him killed. “We’re telling no one.” Max let his stare drift around the room, touching on each face, even locking with Frank’s bleary eyes. “Not a soul, do you understand me?”
Beth would be the weak link. She was standing there shuddering, as fear raked her body. He’d need to watch her carefully. “This story isn’t winding up on the news because if it does, we won’t see Quinlan alive again.”
“You believe… them.” Donnelley’s hesitant voice. “You’re sure it’s not a trick?” His green eyes were steady but the lines on his face looked deeper, harder.
“They have to give you proof,” Samantha’s hands were on her hips. “If they can’t prove that he’s—”
“They were at The Core. They saw us, and they took Quinlan.” This wasn’t some bullshit scam. He knew it.
Samantha shook her head. “You don’t know what happened after they left the club.” She paused, then said, “Your brother could have tried to get away. They could have used too much force to subdue him….”
No, Jesus, no.
“Quin… lan?” Frank pushed up against the covers. “Wh-what’s h-hap… pening?”
Samantha never looked away from Max. “Before you give them the money, you have to get proof that Quinlan is still alive.”
Because she thought his brother was dead.
And he was afraid she might be right.