Wrong Place, Wrong Time Part 37

"And this is what I'm looking for," he muttered.

The miniature transmitter was attached to the inside of the box with double-sided tape. Monty's forefinger traced the wires from the transmitter to the alligator clips that were clamped to the connectors on the main phone line. "That explains how your tail knew so much."

Devon was staring. "He tapped my phone?"

"Yup. He's probably parked nearby, with a pocket receiver and a tape recorder, listening in to all your calls." Monty shut the gray box and retightened the screw. "Let's leave that in place for now, in case we need to manipulate your wiretapper with false information."

Turning, Monty studied his daughter. "What strangers have been in the house? Deliverymen? Repair people? Utility guys to read the meters?"

"Cable." Devon's head came up. "The night of my first date with James, Merry said something about a cable guy being here to fix my reception. I remember being surprised because I'd never noticed a problem."

"That's because there wasn't one." Monty rubbed his face. "Your date with James was a week ago last night. That means we have to mentally retrace your phone calls over the past eight days. Who you spoke to. What you said. Fortunately, I doubt the cable guy had enough time or opportunity to plant bugs around the town house. With Merry home, he probably just went straight for the phone, then got out. But I'll have Sherman sweep the place, just to be sure."

Monty paused, deeply troubled. "We have to figure out how much they know. Especially where it comes to anything you and I discussed."

Devon's gaze met his, and she felt her stomach knot. Her mother. What details had she and Monty discussed on her home line? Did the kidnapper know that Monty had hidden his ex-wife away in a safe place? Williamstown had never been mentioned. That much Devon was certain of. But more than that, she wasn't sure. And if, by some fluke, there were other bugs in the house, then even the calls they'd made on the Bat Phone weren't secure.

With a sick feeling, Devon lowered her gaze and began racking her brain. She could sense that Monty was doing the same.

Blake's stare shifted from Devon to Monty and back. "While you two think, I'll call the police."

"No." Monty shot down that idea in a hurry. "There'd be too much explaining and too much red tape. If necessary, I'll call my own people."

Blake gave him a measured look. "There's something you don't want the cops to know."

"If that's true, be d.a.m.ned glad of it," Monty retorted. "Because there's a h.e.l.luva lot more you don't want them to know."

A muscle worked in Blake's jaw. "I'm not about to protect a murderer and a kidnapper. So if that's what you're implying - "

"I'm not. I'm saying this thing has s...o...b..lled out of control. If we turn it over to the cops now, it'll destroy your family and your company. If we go with my approach, we'll minimize the damage and direct the brunt of the fallout to the guilty parties."

"You're being surprisingly fair and levelheaded under the circ.u.mstances," Blake commented.

"No, he's not," Devon said quietly. "He wants to handle this himself."

"Yeah," her father confirmed. "I do." His own jaw was working. "That's my baby they grabbed. You don't get more personal than that. I'm driving straight up to Edward's farm and having a long talk with him."

"Go easy, Detective," Blake felt compelled to request. "He's almost eighty. And his heart's not in great shape."

"I'll do my best. No promises. I'm not leaving there without answers."

"What can I do?" Devon asked. "Besides recalling the content of our phone conversations?"

"Go to Beautiful Bouquets on Main Street. Larry Aymes is the name of the delivery guy who was scheduled to deliver your roses. He'll be in the shop until two. I'm willing to bet someone paid him off to take the delivery off his hands - to add a more personal touch. Talk to Aymes. Find out everything you can about that someone - physical description, mannerisms, anything that could help us catch the sc.u.m. Remind Aymes that, as of now, he's an accessory to kidnapping. That should loosen his lips."

Monty turned to Blake. "Can you come up with a plausible reason to call that horse farm in Uruguay? We've got to find out what their connection is to Vista and why they're receiving payments from that offsh.o.r.e account."

"The thought of doing that occurred to me last night." Blake frowned. "The problem isn't coming up with an excuse to call. The problem is communicating. They don't speak a word of English. We rarely deal with them by phone. My grandmother handles all our communications, and it's almost always by fax. She's the only one who's familiar enough with Spanish to get by."

"Devon used to be pretty fluent." Monty's glance flickered back to his daughter. "Can you pull it off?"

"I'm a little rusty but, yes, I think so." Her brows drew together as she speculated where her father was heading. "You want me to pretend I'm Anne Pierson?"

"Yeah. Think about it. She's the only Pierson they've dealt with. And almost never by phone, so her voice is unfamiliar. She's female. She's American. The telephone lines in the rural areas of South America suck. So do cell phones. Let's use that to our advantage. Make your voice a little lower and throatier, and you'll have it. If you're off a little bit, it won't matter. They'll blame the c.r.a.ppy phone connection. So, go for it."

"Done."

"Good. Before I leave, I need to talk to you alone."

With a tight nod, Devon followed Monty a short distance away. She knew exactly what this was about. "What did you decide?" she asked without preamble.

"The Bat Phone's with me," he replied in a low voice. "I have to give her a heads-up. For her own safety. Just in case we're forgetting something we let slip."

"Or in case John Sherman finds other bugs," Devon agreed. "And, Monty, you also have to tell her about Merry."

"I know." Monty looked grim. "You know what that means."

"She'll come home. We can't help that. It might be best anyway, since we now know my calls have been monitored and Mom's safety has been compromised."

"Yeah." Monty headed for the staircase. "I'm leaving the Pierson file on your coffee table. Use whatever material you need to. And keep me posted."

IT WAS COLD.

That awareness drifted through Merry's consciousness as she slowly came to.

She shivered, wondering where her coat was. Her head was pounding. There was a sickening odor in her nostrils, one that seemed vaguely familiar. Her stomach lurched as it rebelled against the smell.

With another shiver, she gathered her strength and tried to stand up. A low cry emerged from her throat as she met with painful resistance. Her arms were secured behind her, and her legs were locked together, bound at the ankles. The ropes cut into her skin, preventing her from moving, and the surface supporting her was rock hard.

A wooden chair. She was sitting on it, and she was somewhere outside. But where? And why?

Instinctively, she began to struggle, trying to blink away the grogginess and the nausea. Neither diminished, but she cracked her eyes open anyway, intent on getting her bearings.

She wasn't outside after all. She was in a woodshed, a maintenance shed, judging by the equipment. Two ma.s.sive s...o...b..owers, stacks of fifty-pound bags of rock salt, and a row of heavy-duty snow shovels filled the place.

How had she gotten here? What was going on?

It had to be tied to Monty's investigation.

She inhaled sharply, smelled that sickening odor again, and remembered. She'd been kidnapped. That flower deliveryman had knocked her out and taken her, evidently bringing her to wherever this shed was.

She tried to scream. She couldn't. There was a handkerchief stuffed in her mouth. Panic exploded inside her, and she began to battle frantically to free herself. The ropes cut into her skin, but she kept fighting, praying that somehow they'd give.

They didn't.

Weak with exertion, she sagged in the chair, tears filling her eyes. She ordered herself not to cry. She had to keep her nostrils clear. They were her only means of breathing. If she stuffed them up, she'd suffocate.

She tried to calm down. The cold lashed at her, and she began to shake. How long had she been here? There was a sliver of sunlight trickling in from underneath the door. That told her it was still daylight. When it faded, she'd freeze to death.

Her father would find her. He had to.

She was struggling with the ropes again when she heard crunching sounds outside. They were rhythmic, growing closer.

Footsteps.

A key turned on the other side of the door. Merry stared in that direction, not sure whether to be relieved or terrified.

The door swung open, and a man in a parka and boots trudged in. The hooded parka hid most of him from view, but Merry could make out that he was of average height, with a solid build and a dark complexion that suggested he was of Hispanic descent. He was carrying a bottle of spring-water, and there were two blankets tucked under his arm.

Without speaking, he tromped over to where she sat and pulled the gag out of her mouth.

Merry began to cough. Her mouth was dry and cottony, and she could barely feel her tongue.

"Agua," he muttered, twisting off the bottle cap and holding the bottle to her lips.

Fleetingly, Merry remembered the accented voice at Devon's door. The same voice. It was the flower delivery guy.

She didn't ask questions. She just drank, forcing herself to swallow small quant.i.ties at a time, all the while afraid he'd decide she'd had enough and yank away the bottle.

He didn't. He let her drink her fill, then recapped the bottle and stuck it in his pocket. Next, he shook out the blankets and draped them across Merry's lap and around her shoulders, shoving them into place.

"Eso es mejor." With a grunt of satisfaction, he rose, glancing briefly at her as he wadded up the handkerchief, preparing to stick it back in her mouth.

"No. Please, don't," she whispered, shaking her head. "I can't breathe. Please. I promise not to scream."

He paused, scrutinizing her face with obvious noncomprehension.

"Por favor." She wracked her brain, trying to remember her high school and college Spanish. "No puedo respirar. Prometo no gritar. Por favor."

A flash of perception, and a definite hesitation.

He looked around, a.s.sessing the danger of complying with her wishes. In the end, he must have decided that no one would hear her if she broke her word, because he gave a hard nod.

Cramming the handkerchief in his other pocket, he walked off.

"Espera," Merry called out hoa.r.s.ely. "Dnde estoy?"

He didn't reply. He just turned, staring at her with a brooding expression. Then he walked out.

Merry pressed her lips together, trying to ignore the stinging pain in her wrists. She had to be strong. She couldn't let fear win out over reason. She was an adult, not a child.

Maybe. But all she wanted was her parents.

THE MINUTE SALLY heard that Pete was on the phone, she knew something was wrong.

He never checked in during the day. They talked alone each night, and with the kids some evenings. Those calls had been her emotional lifeline through this endless week and a half.

Now she hurried into the white clapboard house in Williamstown, thanking Molly for interrupting her walk to summon her to the phone.

She took the call in the den, which was empty and quiet.

"Pete?"

"Hey, Sal. You okay?"

"I am. But you're not. I can hear it in your voice. Your gut was right. What's happened?"

He blew out his breath. "Nothing good. Look, I'm driving up to the Pierson farm. I found a telephone bug in Devon's bas.e.m.e.nt. Someone's been monitoring her calls. It's possible that they got enough to figure out your whereabouts."

Sally processed that. "But if they knew where I was, wouldn't they have come after me already?"

"If they knew where you were, yeah. Hopefully, they don't. Devon and I never mentioned a location. They're probably searching everywhere they can think of and, at the same time, hoping one of us will lead them to you. Still, I don't like it." He paused, and Sally knew there was something else - something bad.

It was even worse than she thought.

"They've got Merry," Pete said flatly.

Sally's insides froze. "Oh G.o.d. No." She sank down in a chair, her entire body trembling. "How?"

As calmly as possible, he relayed the details.

"Pete, what are they going to do to her?"

"The first thing they'll do is figure out she's not Devon. Which means they have a huge problem on their hands."

"And how are they going to solve that problem? They killed Frederick. From what you've said, they killed Philip Rhodes. What if they decide to - "

"That's not their agenda. Not for Merry. Not even for Devon. Trust me, Sal. I know what I'm talking about."

"I do trust you. But I'm coming home. Right away. It's not up for debate. So don't bother arguing with me."

"I didn't plan to." Pete sounded wearily amused. "I know what a mother bear you are where our kids are concerned. So I beat you to the punch. Anytime now, Molly should be poking her head in to give you a timetable. She's finding Rod. He'll drive you down to your house. I'll meet you there. I'd drive up to Williamstown and get you myself, but I've got a date with Edward Pierson."

"Wait for me," Sally commanded. "I'm going with you."

"No way. It's too big a risk."

"That's my choice. Not yours." Sally was finished being protected. "I'm not asking for your permission. I'm telling you. I'll be leaving here in ten minutes. If Rod can't break away now, I'll rent a car. I'll be at the Piersons' farm within a few minutes of you."

Silence.

"I'm her mother, Pete," Sally added quietly. "I need to be there."

"I know you do." Pete sounded resigned. "Fine. You win. But I'll meet you at your place, not the Piersons'. That'll give us the element of surprise. I'm flooring the gas. So tell Rod to step on it."

"I will." Sally fought for self-control. "Do you honestly believe Edward's behind this?"

"He's involved. How much, I don't know. But I'm about to. Game over. No more bulls.h.i.t. All the players are there. Edward. James. And that slimy veterinarian Edward hired. They're all up to their necks in this. And I'll wring every one of those necks if I have to. I'm finding our daughter."