The Kidnap Victim
The Kidnap Victim
The Travelers: Book 5
Michael P. King
Blurred Lines Press
Contents
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1. On Their Own
2. Closing the Deal
3. The Safe-Deposit Box
4. Molly’s Plan
5. Running
6. The New Job
7. Counterfeit
8. The Kidnapping
9. The Wild Cards
10. The Gunfighter
11. Rainy Street
12. Gangbangers
13. The Travel Ace
14. Tidying Up
Finally . . .
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The Double Cross
The Double Cross is a novella-length dark crime thriller that tells the story of how the Travelers met. If you like fast moving action, unpredictable plot twists, and criminal chicanery, you’ll love this prequel to my Travelers series.
Get a free copy of The Double Cross when you sign up to join my Travelers Readers Group mailing list. Click here to get started: Free Book
“For this latest Travelers outing, King . . . once again offers a lean, dialogue-driven blast of shifting alliances and action. . .. With minimal exposition, the author keeps his characters’ temperaments and decisions in the forefront of the story. . .. As always, King leaves his creations in intriguing new positions by the end, ensuring anticipation for the next high-stakes volume. This Travelers tale delivers another exceptional slice of gamesmanship, slippery morals, and emotional fallout.”—Kirkus Reviews
When the hard men come with their guns. . . and bundle you into the trunk of a car. . . who do you wish had your back?
The Traveling Man and a new partner have their eyes on a safe deposit box full of drug money when the new partner’s husband unexpectedly shows up, muddling up the score.
Meanwhile, the Traveling Man’s wife, who’s busy charming the daughter of her new boyfriend, is spotted by an old mark they previously swindled, a mark who’s looking for payback.
The Kidnap Victim is a gritty crime thriller with twist and turns galore. If you like fast-paced action, devious plot twists, and criminal mischief, you’ll love the fifth novel in the Travelers series.
The Travelers
The Double Cross: A Travelers Prequel
The Traveling Man: Book One
The Computer Heist: Book Two
The Blackmail Photos: Book Three
The Freeport Robbery: Book Four
The Kidnap Victim: Book Five
The Murder Run: Book Six
Blurred Lines Press
The Kidnap Victim
Michael P. King
ISBN 978-0-9993648-1-9
Copyright © 2018 by Michael P. King
All rights reserved
Cover design by Paramita Bhattacharjee at creativeparamita.com
The Kidnap Victim is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons or places is entirely coincidental.
For Sarah, my everything
1
On Their Own
The con man who called himself the Traveling Man, currently going by the name John Ferguson, scooted up the mattress and leaned back against the honey-oak headboard of the bed in his studio apartment in Springville. Light leaked into the room through the gaps in the drapes. It was early on a Saturday afternoon, and he could hear children’s voices carrying over from the playground across the parking lot. Once upon a time, this would be the moment to light a cigarette. Instead, he rubbed his gray-streaked beard and glanced down at his new associate, Molly Wright, who smiled up at him before she rolled off the bed and padded across the carpet to the bathroom. She was twenty-five years old, tall and curvy, with long, dark hair that hung down to the middle of her back. She had more confidence than ability, but with his wife, still going by the name Nicole Carter, off playing house with James Denison, he had to make do. If Nicole’s relationship with Denison stayed on track, she’d be retiring soon, and he’d need Molly to take her place. He waited for Molly to climb back into bed and arrange the wrinkled sheet around herself before he spoke. “So, did you fuck Robertson or not?”
“I didn’t have to.”
“You didn’t have to? So you teased him, or you promised him, or you led him to believe…What makes you think he’s sold?”
“You wanted him thinking with his dick. He’s thinking with his dick.”
John continued in a casual tone of voice. “No, that’s not what I wanted. This is different from the kind of jobs you’ve pulled before. I want him thinking he’s got you. That you’re with him. That maybe, even, you might someday love him. In other words, I want him to believe he can trust you. See the difference? You’ve only been working for him a month. You got to give him a taste. It’s a trust thing. It’s always about trust. And until you win his trust, he’s not going to make you his personal assistant and put you on the safe-deposit-box list. You don’t have six months to convince him. You’ve been flirting him up, haven’t you? Giving him the soft sale? Showing him the goods?”
“Yes.”
“He put his hands on you.”
She nodded.
“In the right places?”
“Yeah.”
“And you stopped things how?”
“I did the giggle-shy thing. Told him I couldn’t do it in a public place.”
“You’re very convincing. I’ll give you that.” John bit his lip. “But can you close the deal?”
She nodded.
“Say it.”
“I can do it. No problem.”
“Great. The next time you meet, you’re going to lock the office door and get the job done. Do you understand?”
“And what are you going to be doing while I’m ‘closing the deal’?”
“Everything else. It’s never about getting the money; it’s always about getting away.” He squeezed her hand. “You are coming with me, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He studied her face carefully. “Now who’s that guy I saw you with in the Caffeination Coffee Shop on Thursday? Don’t try that clueless look; you can’t sell it to me.”
She looked him in the eye. “He’s an old boyfriend. He’s not going to be any trouble. He’s only going to be around for a few weeks.”
“What’s he know?”
“Nothing.”
“Really?”
“He just knows I’m working—that he has to stay out of the way.”
“Do you believe he can do that, or do I need to talk with him?”
She put her hand on his leg. “Johnny, everything is going to be all right.”
“Don’t call me Johnny.” He moved her hand away. “We’re almost there. It’s time to get paid. But if Robertson gets spooked, we’re all done. We can’t have any missteps.”
“There won’t be any.”
“That’s all I wanted to hear.” He leaned over and kissed her. “Just to be clear. When we leave here, it’s just you and me. Your boy is not coming with us. So if he’s still in love with you, you need to do whatever you got to do to keep him quiet.”
“John—”
“I’m not judging. We’ve all been there. I’m just saying you’ve got to take care of it.”
Meanwhile, Nicole was at James Denison’s beach house in Cricket Bay, Florida. She and Denison were sitting side by side in matching chaise lounges on the deck of his oval swimming pool, drinking martinis and watching the waves roll up the beach. She was wearing a lime-green bikini and a broad-brimmed hat with a bright, multicolored band. She’d been staying here
with Denison for over a month. It had been a little over two months since his wife had died of cancer in Nohamay City, and he’d been caught up in the theft of the Cellini casket. That’s where Nicole had met him, first as someone to manipulate, later as an ally. When Denison had asked her to visit, John had told her to go. Now she and Denison were…Was lovers too strong a word? Relationships were always so complicated.
“She’s not going to like me.”
Denison shifted his skinny, sun-browned body toward her. Without the expensive sunglasses on his bearded face and the wedding ring he still wore, he could have passed for a beach bum. “Bell? She’s going to love you.”
“Jimmy, it’s only six weeks since Stacey’s funeral. She’s going to hate me just as much as she loves her mother.”
“That’s a little harsh. There’s going to be a few bumps until she gets to know you, but trust me, by the time she goes back home, she’s going to love you as much as I do.”
“Maybe I should leave before she gets here.”
“If you want to leave, you can leave, but I want you to stay.”
“You’ve got to think very carefully about how being with me might change your life.”
“How’s that?”
“You know what I do for a living. You going to tell your kids?”
He sipped from his glass. “Okay. I get it. We’ve put off talking through the details.”
“But now your daughter’s on her way, and reality intrudes.”
“Can I ask you something personal?”
“Ask away.”
“Ron, your business partner…”
“He goes by John, now.”
“Okay, John. How close is your relationship?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you sleep with him?”
She laughed. “You really do want to get personal. I always have. Why? Does that bother you?”
“I don’t know. How does he feel about you being here?”
“He told me I should come.”
“So he doesn’t care that you’re sleeping with me?”
She shook her head.
“Do you love him?”
“We have a long history together. I know I can count on him no matter what. This may sound kind of weird, but he makes me stronger. Not like I’m depending on him, but…”
“I know exactly what you mean. Stacey made me stronger. And better.” Denison’s voice cracked. A broken smile crept across his face. “So if he’s your center, why are you here with me?”
Nicole set her glass on the deck. “Are you having a good time? I’m having a good time. I checked my cares and worries at your front door, and I hope I’m helping you to do the same.” She rolled off her chaise lounge and onto Denison. His martini sloshed out of his glass. She kissed him hard. “Am I driving you crazy in a good way? ’Cause that’s my nefarious plan.”
“I just want—”
“Shush.” She put her finger on his lips. “No more talking. I care about you, James. I want to be with you. That’s why I’m here. But tomorrow your daughter comes, and I move to the guest bedroom. So let’s make the best of today.”
Back in Springville, Molly stood at the tan Formica countertop that separated the kitchen from the living room in her one-bedroom apartment, a half lime on the cutting board in front of her and a vodka tonic in her hand. Her husband, Chad, sat in the living room on the gray rent-to-own sofa, drinking a beer from the bottle.
“I’m not going to tell you about that,” she said.
“Why not?” Chad stood up. He was over six feet, with a crooked nose and muddy-brown hair cropped short around the sides. He was dressed in khaki pants, moccasins, and a red golf shirt. He looked like a happy-go-lucky fraternity brother.
“We’ve been over this.”
“Because John will find out? How’s that going to happen?”
“You’ll start nosing around, and he’ll see you.”
“Please.”
“He saw us together at the Caffeination.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Old boyfriend who was just in town for a few weeks.”
“Good. That gives me a little room to work.”
“You’re not working.”
“Whatever you got going must have something to do with that lawyer you work for. We could squeeze him tomorrow and be on our way.”
“That’s a no-money play compared to what John and I have been building. We’ve never seen a score this big.”
“But there’s no guarantee that it’s going to happen.”
“Be patient and stay out of the way. John knows what he’s doing.”
“We don’t have that much time.”
“I’m not the one who got those detectives after us. I’ve been here working for almost a month, okay? Stay out of sight and give me a few more days.”
Chad walked over to the countertop. “You seem a little confused about your loyalties. It’s me and you against the world.”
“I know.”
“You think John won’t try to cheat you out of your end when the time is right? I’m the guy who’s watching your back.”
She grasped his free hand and leaned over the counter to bring her face close to his. “Chad, I’m your girl. I’m leaving here with you. Just give me a little more time to finish this up.”
“Okay, then.”
“Okay.” She closed her eyes and kissed him. “Lighten up. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
The next day Nicole stood on the deck of the swimming pool behind Denison’s beach house. She was wearing a translucent, hip-length beach cover-up over her bikini. The sun was hot. From where she stood, she had an excellent view of the surf rolling up the beach. She heard the car door slam. James was back from the airport with his daughter, Bell, a thirty-year-old art history professor. Nicole took a deep breath. She had to play this just right. She’d chosen this particular bikini because it cut across her hips in a way that made her flesh sag ever so slightly, and even though she usually passed for late thirties, she’d applied her makeup to make herself look closer to her actual age of forty-five. There was even a touch of gray in her shoulder-length, auburn hair. James wouldn’t notice, of course, but Bell would focus on every detail. She was expecting a young beauty with her claws into her vulnerable, infatuated old dad. What Nicole wanted her to begin to see was a middle-aged woman who could be good company for him. From her very first words, she needed to capture just the right level of intimacy: the friend of the father, but not the replacement mother; the familiar guest, not the mistress of the house.
Bell and James came through the swimming pool gate together. He’d put on a blue blazer over his golf clothes for the trip to the airport. Bell was a tall woman of about five ten, with long, wavy, red hair. She wore a white linen pantsuit with a floral-pattern shirt. Nicole thought she looked much like her mother—pretty in a practical way. Bell smiled a plastic smile and stuck out her hand. “So you’re Nicki?”
“Nicole.” They exchanged a job interview handshake. “How was your flight?”
“Uneventful.” She glanced at the drinks tray sitting on the circular white table in the shade of the red-striped umbrella. She turned to her father. “Dad, are we sitting out here by the pool?”
“I thought we might.”
“I’d rather stay out of the sun. Is that okay with you, Nicole?”
“Sure.”
“How about in the den by the windows?”
Denison nodded. Bell slipped her arm through his and steered him toward the patio door. “I’d forgotten how much I missed this place, Dad.”
“It’s great to have you here, honey.”
“Next time maybe Bobby will be able to come.”
“It’s a shame he couldn’t get away.”
Nicole watched them enter the house and then picked up the drinks tray and followed them. Bell hadn’t wasted any time elbowing out her place in the pecking order. So far, so good.
The den was situated at th
e end of the house, its east wall filled by a row of large, double-hung windows. Bell sat down next to her father on the sofa facing the windows. Nicole set the drinks tray on the glass-topped coffee table and sat in a chair diagonal to them, so they shared the same view of the ocean. She sat back in the chair, her arms beside her, as if she were the clueless guest waiting for someone else to take charge, not the woman who had been running the house for the last month.
Denison scooted forward. “I’m so glad you two are getting the chance to meet. Would you like a drink, Bell?”
“Day drinking, Dad? Are you okay?”
Denison smiled awkwardly and glanced toward Nicole, but she didn’t say a word. “Just celebrating your arrival, honey.”
“Well, if it’s a celebration, let’s have champagne.”
Denison stood up. “That’s a great idea. I think there’s a bottle in the fridge. Nicole, could you help me with the glasses?”
“Where are they?”
He pointed to a built-in cabinet on the wall to their right. “I think they’re somewhere in there.” He turned to Bell. “Do you remember where?”
Bell shrugged.
Nicole made a show of searching through the cabinet while Denison retrieved the bottle. “Did you find them?” he asked.
“Finally,” she said. She brought three champagne flutes back to the coffee table.
Denison worked the cork out of the bottle with a satisfying pop, poured, and passed around the glasses. “What shall we toast?”
Bell held her glass up. “To Mom. May she always be in our hearts.”