Jack glanced into the van through the open passenger side window. “Look,” he said, starting to reach inside. “Little Jack’s Dartmouth sweatshirt.”
Troy caught Jack’s arm before his fingers broke the boundary the glass would have made if it were raised.
“What’s the problem?” Jack demanded.
“I don’t want you setting off the alarm,” Troy answered as he gazed at the small, dark-green sweatshirt lying on the passenger seat. “Someone might have left it on as an early warning.” Troy had graduated from Dartmouth before joining Red Cell Seven. He’d given his son the sweatshirt as a first birthday present. “L.J. loved that sweatshirt.”
“He still does,” Jack said firmly. Troy couldn’t be thinking the worst right now. He had to stay positive. “We’re getting him back, Troy. Let’s go.”
“I know,” Troy agreed softly, starting for the ladder leading to the upper level of the barn. “We’ll check upstairs then head to the house if it’s all clear above,” he called over his shoulder as he jogged.
They headed to the crude wooden ladder, and Troy went first. It was fascinating, Jack thought to himself as Troy began climbing. There hadn’t been any discussion of who would lead. They’d both simply assumed Troy would. He always took the lead in situations like this. He had, ever since they were kids exploring the vast Jensen property.
The upper floor was littered with old machine and car parts, tools, and there was a tall stack of hay bales in one corner. Just as Jack climbed the last few rungs and struggled to his feet, a motor started up outside.
“Come on!” Troy yelled, racing for the door.
By the time Jack burst through the doorway, Troy was ten yards ahead, sprinting toward the red pickup, which was turning around in front of the farmhouse as fast as the driver could make it go. The truck’s tires spun wildly on the gravel as it backed up, spewing stones everywhere. Then it skidded to a quick stop, and the driver slammed the transmission into drive and punched the accelerator.
As the vehicle snaked forward, the driver pointed a pistol out the window at Troy — who was closing in — and opened fire.
The gunshots peppered the afternoon as Jack raced forward in horror. Troy was so close to the pickup at this point. The kid behind the wheel must have hit him with at least one of those bullets.
The pickup swerved off the gravel and onto the grass, away from Troy, and then back at him, almost knocking him down as Jack sprinted after the truck. Troy jumped onto the running board beneath the driver’s door as the kid veered the truck all the way back across the driveway and then hurtled toward two big trees. Troy reached inside desperately, grabbing for the kid’s gun, but at the last second, just before the pickup sped past the trees, he jumped away. The first tree tore the truck’s side mirror off just before the pickup plunged into a steep gully and crashed to a stop.
Jack raced along the passenger side, threw open the passenger door, and climbed up into the truck. The kid was bleeding profusely from the forehead — and pointing his pistol straight at Jack.
“You okay?” Jennie asked as she and Karen walked at a snail’s pace along Fifty-Seventh Street in Midtown Manhattan.
“I’m fine.” Karen was using a cane with one hand and holding on to Jennie with the other. “You’re nice to put up with me. I’m sorry I’m slowing you down.”
“Stop it,” Jennie said firmly. “You’re my hero. You aren’t slowing me down at all. I’m the one who’s sorry your honeymoon got messed up. But I’m glad we could see each other.”
After getting off the plane at JFK, Jack had helped Karen into a taxi, and then she’d headed into Manhattan to Jennie’s apartment. Karen hadn’t told Jack that Jennie was the friend she was visiting, because he was still angry at Jennie for breaking up with Troy. But she and Jack had spoken on the phone during her ride into the city, and she’d told him then. She could tell he was irritated, but he hadn’t said anything.
Jack had been about to climb into the cab with her at JFK. But she’d told him to go back to Connecticut immediately, and she’d told him that in no uncertain terms. He’d tried to object, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She wanted him to get to Troy as soon as possible. She knew the statistics. The longer the kidnapping went on, the lower the odds were of rescue. Every second was crucial.
She’d cried for L.J. during the ride into Manhattan, but she’d pulled herself together before seeing Jennie. She couldn’t tell Jennie what had happened to the little boy. Jack had sworn her to secrecy before he’d kissed her good-bye at the taxi stand.
“It’s amazing how far you’ve come since you were shot,” Jennie said. She lived a few blocks away, and they’d decided to get some fresh air. “As close as you came to getting killed, I admire how hard you’ve fought back.”
She liked that Jennie never tiptoed around her injury. They’d become good friends since last December. Jennie had visited her several times a week in the hospital, even gone to some of her rehab sessions, and Karen appreciated the young woman’s directness.
Jack never mentioned the shooting. He simply called what had happened to her “the incident.” She translated that to mean he still hadn’t come to grips with her condition, and she’d almost postponed the wedding because of it. She loved him, but she’d worried that he’d wake up one day and regret marrying her. She still did. It was terrible. It ate at her every day.
“I’m sorry about you and Troy,” Karen said as they moved along the sidewalk. “I’m sure it was hard, with him gone so much.”
“It was hard,” Jennie answered. “But it wasn’t just the time apart.”
“What do you mean?”
“Troy cheated on me.”
Karen glanced over at Jennie, shocked. “But you never—”
“I’ve never told anyone. You’re the first. I didn’t even tell Troy I knew when I told him it was over. It broke my heart. I could never look at him the same way after I knew.”
“How did you find out?”
“It wasn’t hard, believe me.”
Karen shook her head. “I never thought—”
“So what happened?” Jennie asked. “What derailed the trip to Paris?”
Jennie didn’t want to talk anymore about the breakup, it seemed. She seemed okay, at least on the surface, but she clearly wasn’t. Her lower lip had quivered just then.
“Cheryl had a heart attack this morning.”
“Oh, God.”
“It was a mild one. She’s okay.”
It was the cover story Troy worked out with Cheryl. Jack had told Karen on the call they’d had during her ride into Manhattan. It was the first time in a long time he hadn’t ended a call with an “I love you.” He was just so distracted by what had happened to Little Jack.
“They’ve already run Cheryl through a bunch of tests,” Karen explained. “They said she was okay. She just needs rest. But we couldn’t go to Paris after that, not right away.”
“Of course not,” Jennie agreed.
“It’s okay. We should be on our way in a few days.”
“Good.” Jennie pointed at a deli just up the street. “Let’s get something to drink. I’m thirsty.”
“Sure.”
When they entered the store, they headed for the back and the big glass coolers full of cold drinks.
“What do you want?” Jennie asked, letting Karen go when she was sure Karen was stable on her cane.
“I’ll take a—”
A strong arm came from behind Karen and clamped a wet rag over her nose and mouth so she couldn’t scream. Another powerful arm came from the other side and clasped her tightly across her chest, then pulled her roughly backward against a big, strong body.
She dropped her cane and struggled, but in her condition she was no match for the man. And whatever the rag was doused with overcame her quickly. Her head felt as if it would explode, and then her eyes fluttered shut.