Ransom

The next day was his last day of surveillance. Carlton Waters, Malcolm Stark, and Jim Free were going to stay with him that night. He still had a few things to get for them in the morning, which got him to Fernanda's late. Ashley had already left for Tahoe with her friends, and the shift had changed. By sheer luck, he never saw the cops of the previous shift leave at noon, nor the new ones come in, all through the back door again. And when he left for the last time that night, regretfully, at ten o'clock, he had no idea that there was anyone in the house with her. He wasn't there to see them leave at midnight, and others arrive. In fact, he didn't see Fernanda at all that day, nor her children. He wondered if she was tired from entertaining the day before, or just busy. And as the kids were out of school for the summer, they didn't have to go anywhere, and he suspected they were enjoying their vacation and being lazy. He saw her at the windows in the day, and he had noticed that she had drawn her shades at night. He always felt lonely when he couldn't see her, and as he drove away for the last time, he knew just how much he was going to miss her. He already did. He hoped he'd see her again one day. He couldn't imagine what his life would be like now without her. It saddened him, almost as much as what they were about to do to her. He still felt sick at the thought of it. And worrying about it distracted him from any sense that she and the children were being protected. He didn't repeat it to Addison because he was completely unaware of it. Surveillance was unfamiliar to him.

Caring about her as he did, he finally forced himself to stop thinking about what it was going to do to her when his associates kidnapped one or all of her children. He couldn't allow himself to continue thinking of it, and forced his mind toward more agreeable subjects, as he drove away that night, and went back to the hotel, thinking of her. When he got there, Stark, Waters, and Free were already waiting for him and wanted to know where he'd been. They were hungry and wanted to go to dinner. He didn't want to admit to them how hard it had been for him to leave her, even if leaving her meant only driving away from a parking space on the street where she lived. He had never admitted to any of them how much he had come to respect and like her, nor how fond he had become of the children.

As soon as Peter got to the hotel, the four of them went out to dinner. They went to a taco place Peter knew and liked in the Mission. All four of them had been to their parole agents the day before, and as they were on two-week check-in status now, no one would realize they were gone until they were out of the country. Just as Addison had assured him, Peter in turn had assured them that Fernanda would pay the ransom quickly for her children. Presumably within a few days. The three men who would be executing the plan had no reason to disbelieve him. All they wanted out of this was their money. They didn't care about her or her kids, one way or the other. It made no difference to them who they took, or why, as long as they got the money. They had already been paid a hundred thousand each in cash. The balance was to be paid to all four of them out of the ransom. Peter had detailed instructions from Addison as to where she was to transfer the money. It was to be wired into five accounts that could not be traced, in the Cayman Islands, and from those accounts into two in Switzerland for Addison and Peter and three in Costa Rica for the others. The children were to be held until the money was wired and Waters was to warn her at the outset that if she called the police, they'd kill the children, although Peter did not intend to let that happen. Waters was to make the ransom demand, according to the instructions Peter had already given him.

There was no need for an honor system among the men. The three others still did not know Phillip Addison's identity, and if any of them squealed on the others, they would not only lose their share but be killed, and each of them knew it. The plan appeared to be failsafe. Peter was to leave his hotel the next morning, while the others took whatever kids they got to the house they had rented in Tahoe. He had already booked a motel room on Lombard under another name. The only contact between Peter and the other three men was to be when they had dinner the night before the kidnap, and slept in his hotel room. They had brought sleeping bags and put them on the floor, and Peter got up, dressed, and left when they did, separately, early the next morning. The van was gassed up and ready for them. They picked it up at the garage. They were not yet sure at exactly what time they would make their move. They were going to watch for a short while, and pick their moment while things were still quiet in the house. There was no set time schedule, and no hurry. Peter arrived at his motel on Lombard by the time they got to the garage to pick up the van. He still kept his other room so as not to arouse suspicion. Everything was set up. They had moved the golf bags with the machine guns out of the car into the van. There was rope and plenty of duct tape, and a startling amount of ammo. They shopped for groceries on the way to the garage, and had enough to keep them going for several days. They didn't expect it to last long. They weren't worried about feeding the children. Hopefully, from their point of view, they wouldn't have them long enough to worry much about it. They had bought peanut butter, jelly, and bread for the kids, and some milk. The rest of what they bought was for themselves, which included rum, tequila, a lot of beer, and canned and frozen food, since none of them liked to cook. They had never had to cook for themselves in prison.

It was the third day of cops and FBI agents in the house, when Fernanda called Jack Waterman early that morning and said that she and Sam had the flu and couldn't go to Napa for the day. She still wanted to talk to him about what was happening, but things were too crazy, and it still seemed too unreal. How could she explain the men camping out in her living room, sitting around the table with holsters in her kitchen? It almost made her feel foolish. Particularly if it turned out to be unnecessary. She was hoping that she'd never have to tell him about it. Jack said he was sorry they both had the flu, and offered to come by on his way to Napa, but she said they still felt too lousy, and she didn't want him to catch it.

After that, she tucked Sam into bed with her, and put on a movie. She had fed the four men breakfast by then, and she and Sam were cuddling, with his head on her shoulder, when she heard an unfamiliar sound downstairs. The alarm wasn't on, and didn't need to be with two policemen and two FBI agents protecting her. With all that trained protection and armed firepower at hand, the alarm seemed redundant, so she hadn't put it on the night before, or in fact since they'd been there. Ted had told her they could set it off accidentally with the movements of the men going in and out of the back door from time to time to check on things. It sounded as though something had fallen in the kitchen, a chair or something comparable. She didn't worry about it with four men downstairs, and lay there with Sam dozing on her shoulder. Neither of them was sleeping well at night, and sometimes it was easier dozing in the daytime, as Sam did now, in his mother's arms.

She heard muffled voices then, and footsteps on the stairs. She was just beginning to wonder what was going on and assumed they were coming upstairs to check on them, but didn't want to get up and disturb Sam, when three men in ski masks exploded through her bedroom door and stood at the foot of her bed, pointing M16 machine guns with silencers at them. As Sam saw them, his eyes flew open wide, and he stiffened in his mother's arms, as one of the men came toward them. Sam's eyes were huge with terror, as were Fernanda's, who was praying the men wouldn't shoot them. Even to her untrained eye, she knew they were carrying machine guns.

“It's okay, Sam… it's okay…” she said softly in a shaking voice, not even knowing what she'd said. She had no idea where the men protecting her were, but there was no evidence of them, and no sound from downstairs. She clutched Sam to her and backed up in the bed, as though it would save her and Sam from the men, as one of them wrenched Sam out of her hands without a sound, and she screamed as he took him from her. “Don't take him,” she pleaded pitifully. The moment they had feared had come, and all she could do was beg him. She was sobbing uncontrollably, as one man held a machine gun on her, and another tied Sam's hands with rope, and put a piece of tape over his mouth, as her son looked wild-eyed at her in helpless terror. “Oh my God!” she screamed as two of them forced Sam into a canvas bag, with hands and feet tied, like so much laundry. There were terrified grunts from Sam, and screams from her, as the man closest to her yanked her hair back so hard with one hand, it felt like he had torn it from her scalp.

“If you make another sound, we'll kill him, and you don't want that, do you?” She could tell that he was powerfully built, in a rough jacket and jeans and work-men's boots. There was a wisp of blond hair peeking from the ski mask. One of the other men was stockier, but powerful as he slung the canvas bag over his shoulder. Fernanda didn't dare move for fear that they would kill Sam.

“Take me with him,” she said in a shaking voice, and the two men said nothing. They were following orders and had been told clearly not to. She had to stay back to pay the ransom. There was no one else who could do it. “Please… please… don't hurt him,” she begged them, falling to her knees, as all three ran out of the room and down the stairs carrying him, and then she got up and ran down the stairs after them, and on the stairs she suddenly saw footprints in blood everywhere.

“If you tell the cops or anyone about this, we'll kill him.” She nodded her understanding to the man who had spoken in a voice muffled by the mask.

“Where's the door to the garage?” one of the men asked her, and she saw blood splashed on his pants leg and his hands. She hadn't heard a single shot ring out. All she could think about was Sam, as she pointed to the door to the garage. One of the men was pointing his machine gun at her, and another tossed Sam to the third one. He slung the bag with Sam in it over his shoulder, and there was no sound and no movement, but she knew that nothing they had done to him so far could have killed him. The heavy-set man spoke to her again then. They had been in Will's and Ashley's bedrooms before they got to her, and hadn't found them.

“Where are the others?”

“Away,” she said, and they nodded and ran down the back stairs, while she wondered where the cops were.

The kidnappers had backed up their van to the garage, and no one had seen them do it. They had looked innocuous when they arrived, looking like workmen, went around to the back, broke a window using a towel, unlocked it, and climbed in. They had disabled the alarm and cut the wires before they broke the window pane. It was a skill they had developed over the years and knew well. No one had seen anything. And no one did now, as they opened the garage door to access their van, and she watched them open the back door to throw Sam in. If she had had a gun, she would have shot them, but as things were, there was nothing she could do to stop them, and she knew it. She was afraid to even scream for her protectors, for fear that the kidnappers would kill Sam.

The man carrying the bag with Sam in it climbed in and dragged him in, bumping Sam across the back bumper. The others threw their weapons in, ran around to the front, as the back door slammed. And seconds later they drove away, as Fernanda stood sobbing on the sidewalk. And much to her horror, no one heard or saw her. The windows of the van had been heavily tinted, and by the time the men took their ski masks off, they had turned the corner, and she saw nothing. She hadn't even seen their license plate and only thought of it afterward. All she could do was watch them drive her son away and pray that they wouldn't kill him.

She ran back inside, still sobbing then, flew up the back stairs and into the kitchen, across the bloodstained hall carpet, to find the policemen. And what she found there was a scene of total carnage. One with his head bashed in, another with the back of his head blown off by an M16. His brains were splattered all over her kitchen wall. She had never seen anything so horrible, and was too terrified to even cry. They could have done this to her or Sam, and still could. The two FBI agents had been shot in the chest and heart, one of them was sprawled across the table with a hole in his back the size of a dinner plate, the other was lying on his back on the kitchen floor. The two FBI men were holding their Sig Sauer .40 calibers, and the two policemen held semiautomatic .40-caliber Glocks, but none of them had had time to fire off a round before the kidnappers shot them. They had been distracted for just a moment, talking and drinking coffee, and had been taken completely unaware. All of them were dead. And she ran out of the room to use the phone and call someone. She found the card with Ted's phone number, and dialed his cell phone. She was so panicked she didn't think to call 911, and she remembered the kidnappers' warning “not to tell anyone.” That seemed impossible now with four officers dead at their hands.

Ted answered on the first ring, and was at home, doing some paperwork and cleaning his .40-caliber Glock, which he'd been meaning to do all week. All he heard were strange guttural moaning sounds, like some wild wounded beast. She could not find the words to tell him, and sobbed pathetically into the phone.

“Who is this?” he said sharply. But he was afraid to know. Something deep in his soul told him instantly it was Fernanda. “Speak to me,” he said, sounding powerful, as she clamped her teeth shut and fought for air, sucking the air through them. “Talk to me. Where are you?”

“They… toooookkkkk…himmmm …” she finally managed to say, shaking violently from head to foot, barely able to breathe or speak.

“Fernanda …” He knew it. Even in extremis, he knew her voice. “Where are the others?” She knew he meant his men, and couldn't tell him.

She sobbed uncontrollably again then. All she wanted now was her son back. And this was only the beginning. “Dead… all dead,” she managed to say. He didn't dare ask her if Sam was too, but he couldn't be. It would do them no good if they had killed him in front of his mother. “They said they'd kill him if I told …” Ted and she both believed them. “I'll be right there.” He cut her off without asking more questions, called central dispatch, and gave them her address and a warning to keep it off the radio to keep the press out of it. They did the dispatch in code. His next call was to Rick, and he told him rapidly to get their media rep to Fernanda's house. They had to control what was said, if anything, so as not to risk Sam. Rick sounded as upset as Ted was, and was running out the door with his cell phone as they talked, and both hung up within seconds.

Ted ran out his front door, having just reassembled his gun, and shoved it in the holster. He didn't even bother to turn his lights off. He put a red light on top of his car, turned it on, and drove as fast as he could to where she was. But long before he got there, her street was filled with police cars, flashing lights, and sirens. They had sent three ambulances. And there were nine police cars up and down her street, and another blocking the entrance to her block when he got there, only minutes after they did. Two more ambulances arrived as he got out, and Rick was just behind him.

“What the hell happened?” Rick ran alongside him as they reached the front steps. There were police already in the house, and Ted could see no sign of Fernanda, the agents, or policemen who had been protecting her and Sam.

“I don't know yet… they have Sam… that's all I know… she said ‘all dead,’ and then I cut her off, called dispatch, and you.” As they rushed into the house, Ted saw the blood on the steps and the hall carpet, and as though drawn to it, they walked into the kitchen, and saw all that Fernanda had. And as much horror as they had both seen in their careers, what they saw there hit them hard.

“Oh my God,” Rick said in a whisper, as Ted stared in silence. All four of their men were dead, and their deaths had been brutal and ugly. Animals had done it. That was what these men were. Ted felt rage overcome him as he turned to look for her, and ran back into the hallway. There were twenty policemen in the house by then, all shouting and running, and checking for suspects. Ted had to fight his way past them as the FBI media rep was giving orders to keep the press out. Ted was about to run up the stairs, when he saw Fernanda on her knees in the living room, just lying there and sobbing, with her head on the carpet. She was hysterical when he knelt beside her and took her in his arms, stroked her hair, and knelt there with her and held her. Ted just held her and rocked her and said nothing. Her eyes were wild and terrified as she looked at him and then leaned against him.

“They took my baby …oh my God…they took my baby …” She had never fully believed they would do it. Nor had he. It was too bold and too outrageous and too crazy. But now they'd done it. And killed four men when they took him.

“We'll get him back. I promise.” He had no idea if he could live up to it, but he would have told her anything to calm her. Two paramedics walked in then, and looked at him. He didn't think she was injured but she was in bad shape, and one of them knelt beside her and talked to her. She was suffering from extreme trauma.

Ted helped them lay her down on the couch, and took off her shoes before he did it. There was blood on them, and she had tracked it all over the room. There was no point getting it on the couch too. There were police photographers everywhere by then, taking photographs and videos of the crime scene. It was beyond gruesome. Policemen were crowding in everywhere, some were crying, all were talking, as FBI agents began to arrive by the carful. Within half an hour, there were forensic experts everywhere, collecting fibers, glass, fabrics, fingerprints, and DNA evidence for FBI and SFPD crime labs. And there were already two kidnap negotiators standing by the phones, waiting for a call. The general mood was one of outrage.

It was late afternoon before they left, and Fernanda was in her room by then. They had put yellow caution tape on the kitchen doorway, indicating that it was a crime scene and had to be left intact, or “sterile” as they called it. Most of the police cars had left. There were four more men assigned to her. The captain had come to survey the damage, and left again looking shaken and grim. They had explained nothing to the neighbors. And barred all access to the press. The official statement was that an accident had happened. And they took the bodies out the back door, after the press left. The police knew without question that there could be no public statement until they had the boy back. Anything said publicly would jeopardize him further. Nothing more could be said.

“For a while there,” the captain said to Ted before he left, “I thought you were crazy. It turns out they are.” He hadn't seen anything as grisly in years, and he had asked Ted immediately if Fernanda had heard or seen anything that could help them, like the license plate, or their destination. But she hadn't. They had all been wearing ski masks, and said little or nothing. She had been too frantic to even notice details about the van. All they knew was what they'd known before it happened. Who it might be, and who might be behind it. There was nothing new, except that two policemen and two FBI agents had died, and a six-year-old boy had been kidnapped. Detectives had gone to Peter's Tenderloin hotel within minutes of Fernanda's call to Ted, but the desk clerk said he'd gone out that morning and not come back. Peter's guests of the night before had gone out a service entrance and never been seen or linked to him. The police were staking out his room, but there was no sign of him, and Ted knew there wouldn't be. He was gone for good, although what seemed like all his belongings were still in the room. And there were coded all points bulletins out for Peter and Carlton Waters, and Peter's car. Everyone knew they had to act with extreme caution so as not to alert the kidnappers or jeopardize the boy.

Carlton Waters and his two friends had called Peter as soon as they crossed the Bay Bridge and were driving through Berkeley. They used the new number he'd given them, on his brand-new nontraceable cell phone.

“We had a little problem,” Waters said to him. He sounded calm but angry.

“What little problem?” For a terrifying moment, Peter was afraid that they'd killed her, or Sam.

“You forgot to mention she had four cops with her, sitting in her kitchen.” Waters sounded livid. They hadn't expected to have to kill four cops to get to the kid. That was not part of the deal. And Peter hadn't warned them.

“She what? That's ridiculous. I never saw them go in. She had a few friends in the other day, but that was it. There was no one with her.” He sounded certain. But he had also left before ten o'clock the night before, maybe they had gone in after he left. He wondered if that was why he hadn't seen much of her for the past few days. But there was no one to tip her off to what was happening. No way for her to know. Nothing had happened, except Addison getting himself arrested for tax problems. But nothing about that could have warned the police or the FBI, unless he had said something inadvertently. Peter knew he was too smart for that. He couldn't figure out what had happened, or what had gone wrong.

“Well, whoever wasn't with her is no longer a problem. If you get my drift,” Waters said, spitting a wad of chewing tobacco out the van window. Stark was driving. And Free was in the back seat. The boy was in the bag they'd put him in, in the back of the van, with their weapons and the groceries. Free had an M16 at his feet, and an arsenal of handguns, mostly .45-caliber Rugers and Berettas, both were semiautomatic weapons. Carl had brought his favorite, an Uzi MAC-10, a small fully automatic machine gun he'd grown fond of and learned to use before he went to prison.

“You killed them?” Peter asked, sounding stunned. That was going to complicate everything, and he knew Addison wasn't going to like it. Nothing like that was supposed to happen. He'd been watching her for over a month. How the hell did four cops get into the picture? And who had they been watching? Suddenly, Peter felt a chill run down his spine. As Addison had said, there was no such thing as a free lunch. All of a sudden, Peter knew he was about to earn his ten million.

Carlton Waters did not comment on Peter's question. “You'd better warn the cops not to say how those guys died. If they put any of this in the newspapers, we'll kill the kid. I told her that, but maybe you'd better remind them too. We want everything nice and quiet, till we get the money. If they put it on TV, every asshole in the state will be looking for us. We don't need that too.”

“Then you shouldn't have killed four cops. Christ, what am I supposed to do here? You can't expect me to keep them quiet.”

“You better do something fast. We left there half an hour ago. If the cops talk, it's going to be all over the news in the next five minutes.”

Peter knew his phone was untraceable, but he hated testing the limits. He had no choice though. Waters was right. If the kidnapping hit the press along with the murder of four cops, there would be a statewide search on every freeway, on every road, in every corner of the state, and on every border, even more so than just for Sam, which would be bad enough. But killing four cops added a whole new dimension. Sam was still alive, and the police would know he would be. But four men had died now. That was a very different story. It was against his better judgment, but Peter called a central police number, and asked to speak to a sergeant. He knew it didn't matter where he called, whoever he gave the message to would get it into the right hands within seconds. So he passed on what Carl had told him.

“If anything about the dead cops or the kidnapping hits the press, the boy is dead,” he said, and hung up. Ted and his captain got the message in less than two minutes. It presented a problem for them because two officers and two FBI agents had died, but a child's life was hanging in the balance.

The captain called the chief of police, and what they came to was that a statement would be made to the press that four men had been killed in the line of duty. They were going to say that an accident had occurred involving a high-speed chase. Details would be released at the appropriate moment, to give the families time to notify their loved ones. It was all they could do, and the simplest and cleanest explanation for the deaths of four law enforcement officers, from two agencies, both city and federal. It was going to be tough to cover. But they all knew they had to, until the kidnappers were found, or the boy reclaimed. After that, all hell could break loose and the boy's life would no longer be at stake. The captain wrote the press release himself with the FBI media rep, and Carl Waters heard it on the radio two hours later, while they were still on the road to Tahoe. He called Peter and said he had done a good job. But by then, Peter was facing a serious dilemma, as he sat in his motel room on Lombard. Things had not gone entirely according to plan, and he felt he owed it to Addison to tell him. He didn't tell Carl he was thinking of doing that, although he expected Peter to contact his superiors after what had happened. Waters was still angry at Morgan for his sloppy surveillance, which had led to the problem. The murder of four cops was definitely a problem.

Peter had Addison's phone number in the South of France, and called him from his cell phone, while Phillip was sitting in his hotel room. There had never been any plan for Peter to join the others in Tahoe. In fact, he was to stay as far away from them as possible, so there would be no link to him, or Addison. He was going to say that his rented house had been broken into, long after they claimed the ransom.

Addison had arrived in Cannes the day before, and had just begun enjoying his vacation. He knew what was happening, and the schedule they were on. What he wanted to hear about was good results, not problems. He had told them to wait a couple of days before making their ransom request. He wanted to give Fernanda time to panic about it. He knew if they did, she'd pay faster. He assumed she would pay quickly.

“What are you telling me?” he said as Peter beat around the bush for a minute. Peter hated telling him that Waters and the others had killed four cops. It was also going to be difficult to explain why he hadn't known they were in there in the first place. Peter began by telling him they only got Sam, the others were away.

“I'm telling you there was a problem,” Peter said, holding his breath for a minute.

“Did they hurt the boy or his mother?” Addison's voice was icy. If they killed the boy, there would be no ransom. Only headaches. Big ones.

“No,” Peter said, pretending to be calm, “they didn't. Apparently, four cops got into the house last night after I left. There haven't been any till now, I'd swear to it. There's been no one in the house except her and the kids. There isn't even a maid. I don't know how the cops got into it. But Waters said they were there when he and the others got there.”

“And then what happened?” Addison said slowly.

“Apparently, they killed them.”

“Oh, for chrissake …my God…is it all over the news yet?”

“No. Waters called me from the road. I called the police and left a message. I said that if anything about the dead cops or the kidnapping hit the press, we'd kill the boy. They just issued a press release on the radio that four officers were killed in a high-speed chase. There were no other details. And there's no mention of the kidnap. Our guys warned her they'd kill the boy if she or the cops talk.”

“Thank God you did that. They'll be looking for the boy everywhere anyway, but if they warn the public, it'll be that much worse. There would be random ‘sightings’ of the kidnappers from here to New Jersey. All we need are cops combing the state, looking for cop killers. They care a lot more about that than a kidnap. They know you'll keep the boy alive to get the ransom money. But four dead cops are another story.” He was anything but pleased. They both knew that for Sam's safety, the police would keep their mouths shut, so as not to put Sam in even greater jeopardy.

“It sounds like you handled it, but how stupid of the others. I suppose they had no choice. They couldn't take four cops with them.”

Addison sat on the balcony of his suite at the Carlton in Cannes for a long moment, watching the sunset, thinking about what to do. “You'd better go up there.” It was a change of plan, but might make an important difference.

“To Tahoe? That's insanity. The last thing I need is to be identified with them.” Or worse, caught with them, if they did something equally stupid, like rob a 7-Eleven for a sandwich, Peter thought, but didn't mention it to his boss. Addison was upset enough about the four dead cops, and Peter was too.

“The last thing any of us needs is to lose a hundred million dollars. Consider it protecting our investment. I'd say it's worth it.”

“Why in hell do you want me to go up there?” Peter sounded panicked.

“The more I think about it, I don't trust them with the boy. If they hurt him, or kill him accidentally, we're screwed. I'm not sure their baby-sitting skills are quite what they should be. I'm relying on you to protect our principal asset.” They were turning out to be more violent than he thought they would be. All they needed was for one of them to get out of control. It wouldn't take much to kill the boy, and they might be dumb enough to do something like that. And with only one child to bargain with, Addison didn't want to take any chances. “I want you to go up there,” he said firmly.

It was the last thing Peter wanted to do, but he could see Addison's point. And he knew that if he was there, he could keep an eye on Sam. “When?”

“No later than tonight. In fact, why don't you go now? You can keep an eye on them. And the boy. When are you going to make the call to his mother?” He was just checking. They had worked out all the details before he left. Although he certainly didn't expect them to kill four cops. That was not part of the plan.

“In a day or two,” Peter said. It was what they had planned and agreed on.

“Call me from there. Good luck,” he said, and hung up, as Peter sat in his hotel room staring at the wall. Things were not going according to plan. He hadn't wanted to go anywhere near Tahoe while they were there. All he wanted was his ten million dollars and to get out. He wasn't even sure he wanted that. The only reason he was doing this was to save his daughters. And going to Tahoe to be with Waters and the others put him at much greater risk for being caught. But he knew, as he had from the beginning of this mess, there was no way out. He tried not to think of Fernanda and what she must be going through, as he picked up his bag of toiletries and shaving gear, the two clean shirts and underwear he'd brought in a paper bag, and walked out of the motel ten minutes later. But whatever she was feeling now, or how terrified she was, one thing he was sure of, with a hundred million dollars at stake, they'd be sending back her son. So no matter how sick she was over it, it was going to turn out all right in the end. Peter reassured himself with that thought, as he left the motel and hailed a cab. He had it drop him off at Fisherman's Wharf, where he took another cab to a used car lot in Oakland. He had left the car he'd been using for the past month in a back alley in the Marina. He had removed the license plates and dropped them in a dumpster before walking half a dozen blocks to the motel, where he had paid cash for the room.

In Oakland he bought an old Honda, paid cash for it, and an hour after his call to Phillip Addison, he was on the road to Tahoe. It seemed a lot safer to use a different car than he'd been using while following her for the past month, in case someone in the neighborhood had seen him. Now that Waters and the others had murdered four cops, the risk was greater for all of them, and for Peter, going to Tahoe increased the risks further. But he knew he had no choice in the matter. Addison was right. Peter didn't trust them with Sam, and he didn't want anything worse to happen than already had.

Long before he reached Vallejo, photographs of Peter and Carlton Waters had been circulated all over the state on police computers. Peter's now-abandoned license plates and the description of his previous car were circulated with them, along with extreme confidential warnings not to publish any information, as there was a kidnap in progress. Peter didn't stop along the way, and drove within the speed limit, to avoid incident. And by then, Addison was already under surveillance by the FBI in France. And all Fernanda needed now was a phone call from the kidnappers, so the police and FBI could find Sam.

Chapter 15

All the police photographs they needed had been taken by that night. The men's families had been notified, the bodies were at funeral parlors, what was left of them. The wives and families had been told the circumstances, that a child's life was hanging in the balance, and no one could talk, or tell the truth until the boy had been released by his captors. They understood, and all had agreed. They were good people, and as cops' and agents' wives, they knew the difficulties of the situation. They were dealing with their own and their families' grief, with the help of trained psychologists in both departments.

By then profiling experts were at work on Peter Morgan and Carl Waters. Their respective rooms had been searched extensively, friends interviewed, and the manager of the Modesto halfway house had supplied the information that Malcolm Stark and Jim Free, both parolees, had left with Waters, which spawned fresh investigations, and the dispersal of more mug shots, profiles, and APBs over the Internet to law enforcement agencies around the state. The FBI profilers in Quantico were adding their expertise to that of the SFPD. They had spoken to Waters's, Stark's, and Free's parole agents and employers, Peter's parole agent, who said he scarcely knew him, and a man who claimed to be Peter's employer but appeared not to know him at all. Three hours later, the FBI profilers had ferreted out the fact that the company that alleged to employ Peter was actually an indirect subsidiary of a company Phillip Addison owned. Rick Holmquist correctly suspected that Peter's job was a front, which made sense to Ted as well.

Ted had also called the industrial cleaning service they used at homicide scenes, or the one they recommended. They were tearing Fernanda's kitchen apart that night. They even had to pull out the granite and strip the room, thanks to the weapons that had been used and the devastating physical damage they had caused. Ted knew that by morning, the place would be stripped and no longer elegant, but it would be clean, and there would be no visible evidence, in terms of bloodstains at least, of the grim carnage that had taken place there when the officers were killed and the kidnappers got Sam.

Four more officers had been assigned to her, all cops this time. Fernanda was upstairs lying on her bed. Ted had been there all day and evening. He never left. He made whatever calls he had to make from his cell phone, while camping out in her living room. And there was a trained negotiator standing by, waiting for the kidnappers' call. There was no question in anyone's mind that it would come. The only question was when.

It was nearly nine o'clock at night when she came downstairs, looking gray. She hadn't eaten or had anything to drink all day. Ted had asked her a few times, and then finally he had left her alone. She needed some time to herself. He was there for her, if she wanted him. He didn't want to intrude on her. He had called Shirley a few minutes before, and told her what had happened, and that he was going to spend the night with his men. He wanted to keep an eye on things. She said she understood. In the old days, when he was on a stakeout, or working undercover in his youth, sometimes he'd been gone for weeks. She was used to it. Their crazy lives and schedules had essentially kept them apart for years, and it showed. Sometimes she felt she hadn't been married to him in years, not since the kids were small, or even before that. She did what she wanted, had her own friends, her own life. And so did he. It happened a lot to cops and their wives. Sooner or later, the job did them in. They were luckier than most. At least they were still married. A lot of their old friends weren't. Like Rick.

Fernanda wandered into the living room like a ghost. She stood and looked at him for a minute, and then sat down.

“Have they called?” Ted shook his head. He would have told her if they had. She knew that, but had to ask. It was all she could think of now and had all day.

“It's too soon. They want to give you time to think about it and panic.” The negotiator had told her that too. He was upstairs, waiting in Ashley's room, with a special phone plugged into their main line.

“What are they doing in the kitchen?” she asked with no real interest. She never wanted to see the room again, and knew she'd never forget what she'd seen there. Ted knew it too. He was relieved to know she was selling the house. After this, they needed to get out.

“Cleaning it up.” She could hear a machine pulling out the granite. It sounded like they were knocking the building down, and she wished they would. “The buyers may want to put in a kitchen,” he said, trying to distract her, and she smiled in spite of herself.

“They put him in a bag,” she said, staring at Ted. The scene kept running through her mind over and over, even more than the one in the kitchen, which had been unforgettable too. “With tape over his mouth.”

“I know. He'll be okay,” Ted said again, praying it was true. “We should hear from them in a couple of days. They may let you talk to him when they call.” The negotiator had already told her to ask for that when they did, to prove that he was alive. There was no point paying ransom for a dead kid. Ted did not say that to her. He just sat there, looking at her, as she stared at him. She felt dead inside. And looked it outwardly. Her face was somewhere between gray and green, and she looked sick. Several neighbors had asked what had happened earlier. And someone said they'd heard her scream. But when the police canvased the neighborhood, no one had seen anything. The police had given out no details.

“Those poor men's families. This must be so awful for them. They must hate me.” She looked at Ted searchingly, feeling guilty. They had been there to protect her and her kids. Indirectly, it felt like her fault, as much as the kidnappers'.

“This is what we do. Things happen. We take the risk. Most of the time, things turn out okay. And when they don't, we all know that's what we signed on for, and so do our families.”

“How do they live with it?”

“They just do. A lot of marriages don't survive.” She nodded. Hers hadn't either, in a way. Allan had chosen to bail out rather than face his responsibilities, and left her with a mess, rather than trying to clean it up himself. Instead, he had left her to do it. That had been occurring to her more and more recently. It had occurred to Ted too. And now she had to face this. He felt sorry for her. All he could do to help her was do everything he could to get back her son. And he intended to. The captain had agreed to let him stay at the house for the duration. It was going to start getting dicey once they called.

“What am I going to do when they ask me for money?” She'd been thinking about it all day. She had none to give them, and wondered if Jack could drum some up. It was going to take a miracle, she knew, depending on how much they wanted. Probably a lot.

“With any luck at all, we'll be able to trace the call, and move in on them pretty quick.” If they were lucky. If. Ted knew they had to find them fast, and free the boy.

“What if we can't trace their call?” she said almost in a whisper.

“We will.” He sounded sure, to reassure her. But he knew it wasn't going to be as easy as he wanted to make it sound. They just had to wait and see what happened when they got the call. The negotiators were standing by.

She hadn't combed her hair all day, but looked pretty anyway. She always did to him.

“If I get you something to eat, will you try to eat it? You're going to need to keep your strength up, for when they call.” But he knew it was too soon. She was still in shock from everything that she'd seen and survived that day. She just shook her head.

“I'm not hungry.” She knew she couldn't eat. All she could think of was Sam. Where was he? What had they done to him? Was he hurt? Dead? Terrified? A thousand terrors were racing through her head.

Half an hour later, Ted brought her a cup of tea, and she sipped it, sitting on the floor in the living room, hugging her knees. He knew she wouldn't sleep either. It was going to be an interminable wait for her. For all of them. But hardest for her. And she hadn't told the other kids. The police had agreed that she should wait until she heard something. There was no point panicking them, and it would. The local police at both locations had been notified, and they were on standby for both Ashley and Will. But now that they had Sam, Ted felt the other two were safe, and his superiors agreed. They weren't going to try to grab the other two. They had all they needed now with Sam.

She lay on the rug in the living room, and didn't say anything. Ted sat near her, writing reports, and glancing at her occasionally. He went to check on his men, and after a while, she fell asleep. She was lying there asleep on the floor when he got back. He left her there. She needed the sleep. He thought of carrying her to her room, but he didn't want to disturb her. He lay down on the couch himself sometime around midnight, and dozed for a few hours. It was still dark when he woke up and heard her crying, lying on the floor, too grief-stricken to move. He didn't say a word to her, he just sat down on the floor next to her and held her, and she lay in his arms and cried for hours. The sun was coming up when she finally stopped, thanked him, and walked upstairs to her room. They had cleaned the blood off the hall carpet. Ted didn't see her again until almost noon. They had still heard nothing from the kidnappers. And Fernanda looked worse by the hour.

Jack Waterman called her that afternoon, the day after the kidnapping. The phone rang, and everyone jumped. They had already told her that she had to answer the phone herself, so the kidnappers didn't get scared off by the cops, although they would suspect they were there, since there had been cops in the house when they came for Sam. She answered and nearly burst into tears when it was Jack. She had been praying it would be them.

“How's your flu?” he asked, sounding casual and relaxed.

“Not so good.”

“You sound awful. I'm sorry to hear it. How's Sam?” She hesitated for an endless moment, and in spite of her best efforts not to, burst into tears. “Fernanda? Are you all right? What happened?” She didn't even know what to say. She just went on crying, while he got increasingly distraught. “Can I come over?” he asked her, and she shook her head, and then finally agreed. In the end, she'd need his help anyway. All hell was going to break loose once they asked her for money.

He was at her door ten minutes later, and he was stunned when he walked into the room. Half a dozen visibly armed plainclothesmen and FBI agents were walking around the house. One of the two negotiators had come downstairs for a change of scene. Ted was talking to a small group in the kitchen, which looked surprisingly clean. And Fernanda stood in the midst of it, looking grim. She burst into tears again when she saw Jack. She didn't know what to say, as Ted led the rest of the cops and agents into the kitchen and closed the door.

“What's going on here?” Jack asked, looking horrified. It was obvious that something terrible had happened. It took her another five minutes to get the words out, as they sat next to each other on the couch.

“They kidnapped Sam.”

“Who kidnapped Sam?”

“We don't know.” She told him the whole agonizing story from start to finish, including Sam's removal in the canvas bag, and the murder of the four policemen in her kitchen.

“Oh my God. Why didn't you call me? Why didn't you tell me the other day?” He realized now that it had been happening then, when she canceled their date in Napa. He had honestly believed they had the flu. What they had was infinitely worse. He could hardly believe the story she told him, it was too terrifying for words.

“What am I going to do when they ask for ransom? I have nothing to give them to get Sam back with.” He knew it better than anyone. It was a tough question. “The police and FBI think that the kidnappers believe I still have all of Allan's money. That's what they think anyway.”

“I don't know,” Jack said, feeling helpless. “Hopefully, they'll catch them, before you have to come up with the money.” It was going to be impossible to find cash for her in large amounts, or even small ones. “Do the police have any leads as to where they are?” For the moment, there were none.

Jack sat with her for two hours, with an arm around her, and he made her promise to call him at any hour, if she heard anything or wanted company. And he made a bleak suggestion before he left. He told her that she should probably sign over a power of attorney to him, so he could make decisions, and move funds for her, if there were any, in case something happened to her. What he said was as depressing as having watched the police cut her children's hair, for a DNA match in case they were found dead. Essentially, Jack was saying the same thing. He told her he would send the papers over for her to sign the next day. And a few minutes later, he left.

She wandered into the kitchen, and saw the men drinking coffee. She had sworn she would never go into the room again, but she just had. It was almost unrecognizable. All the granite had been removed, and they'd had to replace the kitchen table, and had with a plain functional one, the four men's blood had soaked into the wood of the one she had. She didn't even recognize the chairs. The place looked like a bomb had hit it, but at least there was no evidence of the horror she had seen there the day before.

As she walked into the room, the four men guarding her stood up. Ted was leaning against the wall and talking to them, and he smiled at Fernanda as she walked in. She smiled in response, remembering the comfort he had offered the night before. Even in the midst of the agony she was living through, there was something peaceful and reassuring about him.

One of the men handed her a cup of coffee, and offered her a box of doughnuts, and she took one and ate half of it, before she threw it away. It was the first thing she had eaten in two days. She was living on coffee and tea, and on the edge of her nerves. They all knew there was no news. No one asked. They made small talk in the kitchen, and after a while, she went upstairs and lay on her bed. She saw the negotiator walk past her open door to Ashley's room. She never took her clothes off anymore, except to shower. It was like living in an armed encampment, and everywhere around her were men with guns. She was used to it by now. She didn't care about the guns. Only her son. He was all she cared about, all she lived for, all she wanted, all she knew. She lay on her bed, awake all night, from the sugar and the coffee, waiting for news of Sam. And all she could do was pray that he was alive.

Chapter 16

When Fernanda woke up the next morning, the sun was just coming up over the city in a golden haze. She didn't realize it until she went downstairs and saw the paper one of the men had left on the table, it was the Fourth of July. It wasn't a Sunday, but all she knew as she sat and looked at the sunrise was that she wanted to go to church, and knew she couldn't. She couldn't leave the house in case they called. She said something to Ted about it, as they sat in the kitchen a little while later, and he thought about it for a minute and asked her if she'd like to see a priest. It even sounded strange to her. She liked taking the children to church on Sundays, but they had objected to going since Allan died. And she had been so disheartened that she hadn't gone much lately herself. But she knew she wanted to see a priest now. She wanted someone to talk to and to pray with her, and she felt as though she'd forgotten how.

“Is that weird?” she asked Ted, looking embarrassed, and he shook his head. He hadn't left her in days. He just stayed at the house with her. He had brought clothes with him. She knew some of the men were hot bunking in Will's bedroom. They took turns sleeping one at a time, while the others kept watch over the house, the phones, and her. As many as four or five men used the bed in shifts in any twenty-four-hour period.

“Nothing's weird if it gets you through this. Do you want me to see if I can get someone to come out, or is there someone you want me to call?”

“It doesn't matter,” she said, looking shy. It was strange, but after the past few days together, she felt as though they were friends. She could say anything to him. In a situation like this one, there was no pride, no shame, no artifice, there was only honesty and pain.

“I'll make a few calls” was all he said. Two hours later, there was a young man at the door. He seemed to know Ted, and walked in quietly. They spoke for a few minutes, and then he followed Ted upstairs. She was lying on her bed and he knocked on the open door. She sat up and stared at Ted, wondering who the other man was. He was wearing sandals, a sweatshirt, and jeans. She had been lying there, willing the kidnappers to call, when he walked in.

“Hi,” Ted said, standing in her doorway, feeling awkward, as she lay on her bed. “This is a friend of mine, his name is Dick Wallis, he's a priest.” She got off her bed then and stood up, walked over to them, and thanked him for coming. He looked more like a football player than a priest. He looked young, somewhere in his mid-thirties, but as she spoke to him, she saw that his eyes were kind. And as she invited him into her bedroom, Ted went quietly back downstairs.

Fernanda led the young priest to a small sitting room off her bedroom and invited him to sit down. She wasn't sure what to say to him, and asked him if he knew what happened. He said he did. He told her then that he had played pro football for two years after college, and then decided to become a priest. He told Fernanda as she listened raptly to him that he was now thirty-nine, and had been in the priesthood for fifteen years. He said that he had met Ted years before when he was briefly a police chaplain, and one of Ted's close friends got killed. It had put a lot of things in question for him about the meaning of life, and how senseless it all was.

“We all ask ourselves those things at times. You must be asking yourself those same questions right now. Do you believe in God?” he asked her then, and took her by surprise.

“I think so. I always have.” And then she looked at him strangely. “In the last few months, I haven't been so sure. My husband died six months ago. I think he committed suicide.”

“He must have been very frightened to do something like that.” It was an interesting thought, and she nodded. She had never thought of it that way. But Allan was afraid. And had opted out.

“I think he was. I'm frightened now,” she said honestly, and then started to cry. “I'm so afraid they'll kill my son.” She couldn't stop crying now.

“Do you think you can trust God?” he asked her gently, and she looked at him for a long time.

“I'm not sure. How could He let this happen, and let my husband die? What if my son is killed?” she said as she choked on a sob.

“Maybe you can try to trust Him, and trust these people here to help you and bring him back. Wherever your son is right now, he's in God's hands. God knows where he is, Fernanda. That's all you need to know. All you can do. Leave him in God's hands.” And then he said something so strange to her that she had no idea what to say in response. “We're all given terrible trials sometimes, things that we think will break our spirit and kill us, and they make us stronger in the end. They seem like the cruelest blows, but in a funny way they're like compliments from God. I know that must sound crazy to you, but that's what they are. If He didn't love you and believe in you, He wouldn't give you challenges like this. They're opportunities for grace. You'll be stronger from this. I know it. This is God's way of telling you that He loves you and believes in you. It's a compliment from Him to you. Does that make any sense?”

She looked at the young priest with a wistful smile and shook her head. “No.” She didn't want it to make sense. “I don't want compliments like this. Or my hus-band's death. I needed him. I still do.”

“We never want challenges like this, Fernanda. No one does. Look at Christ on the cross. Think of the challenge that must have been for Him. The agony of betrayal by people He had trusted, and death. And afterward came the resurrection. He proved that no challenge, no matter how great, could end His love for us. In fact, He loves us more. And He loves you too.” They sat quietly for a long moment then, and in spite of what seemed to her like the insanity of what he was saying about the kidnapping being a compliment from God, she felt better, and she wasn't even sure why. Somehow the young priest's presence had calmed her. He got up after a while, and she thanked him. He gently touched her head before he left, and said a blessing over her, which comforted her somehow. “I'm going to pray for you and Sam. I'd like to meet him one day.” Father Wallis smiled at her.

“I hope you will.” He nodded, and left her then. He didn't look anything like a priest, and yet in a strange way she liked what he had said. She sat alone in her room for a long time after that, and then went downstairs to find Ted. He was in the living room, on his cell phone, and he ended the call when she walked into the room. He'd been talking to Rick, just to pass the time. There was no news.

“How was it?”

“I'm not sure. He was either terrific, or nuts. I'm not sure which,” she said, and smiled.

“Probably both. But he helped me a lot when a friend of mine died, and I just couldn't make sense of it. The guy had six kids, and his wife was pregnant with another one. He was killed by a homeless man who stabbed him for no reason, and just left him there to die. No act of bravery, no hero's death. Just a lunatic and a knife. The homeless guy was nuts. They had let him out of the state mental hospital the day before. It just didn't make sense. It never does.” The killing of the four men in her kitchen and the kidnapping of her son didn't make sense either. Some things just didn't.

“He said this is a compliment from God,” she shared with Ted.

“I'm not sure I agree with him. That does sound nuts. Maybe I should have called someone else.” Ted looked sheepish.

“No. I liked him. I'd like to see him again. Maybe after this is over. I don't know. I think he helped.”

“That's how I always felt about him. He's a very holy person. He never seems to waver from what he believes. I wish I could say as much for myself,” Ted said quietly, and she smiled. She looked more peaceful. It had done her good talking to the priest, however odd his words.

“I haven't been to church since Allan died. Maybe I was mad at God.”

“You have a right to be,” Ted said.

“Maybe I don't. He said this is an opportunity for grace.”

“I guess all hard things are. I just wish we got fewer opportunities for grace,” Ted said honestly. He had had his share too, though none as bad as this.

“Yes,” she said softly. “So do I.”

They walked to the kitchen then to find the others. The men were playing cards at the kitchen table, and a box of sandwiches had just arrived. Without thinking, she picked one up and ate it, and then drank two glasses of milk. She didn't say a word to Ted while she did. All she could think of was what Father Wallis had said about this being a compliment from God. Somehow it sounded weird, but right, even to her. And for the first time since they'd taken him, she had the overwhelming sense that Sam was still alive.

Peter Morgan got to Lake Tahoe in the Honda only two hours after Carl and his crew arrived with Sam. When he got there, Sam was still in the canvas bag.

That's not very smart,” Peter told Malcolm Stark, who had put the bag in a back bedroom, and dumped it on the bed. “The kid's got tape over his mouth, I assume. What if he can't breathe?” Stark looked blank, and Peter was glad he'd come. Addison was right. They couldn't be trusted with the boy. Peter knew they were monsters. But only monsters would do the job.

Carl had questioned him about why he'd come to Tahoe, and Peter said that after the killing of the cops, their boss wanted him to come up.

“Was he pissed?” Carl looked concerned.

Peter hesitated before he answered. “Surprised. Killing the cops complicates things. They're going to be looking for us a lot harder than if it was just the kid.” Carl agreed. It had been rotten luck.

“I don't know how you missed the cops,” he said to Peter, still looking annoyed.

“Neither do I.” Peter kept wondering if something Addison had said in his FBI interrogation had tipped them off. Nothing else could have. He had been impeccably careful in watching Fernanda. And up until then, Waters, Stark, and Free had made no mistakes that he knew of. Once they ran into the police in Fernanda's kitchen, they had had no choice but to kill them. Even Peter agreed. But it was still shit luck. For all of them. “How's the kid?” he asked again, not wanting to seem too concerned. But Stark still hadn't gone to the back room to get him out.

“I guess someone should check,” Carl said vaguely. Jim Free was bringing the food into the kitchen, and they were all hungry. It had been a long day, and a long drive.

“I'll do it,” Peter volunteered casually, sauntered into the back room, and untied the knot in the rope tying the bag. He opened it gingerly, terrified that Sam had suffocated, and two big brown eyes met his. Peter put a finger to his lips. He wasn't sure whose side he was on anymore, the boy's mother, or theirs. Or maybe just the boy's. He pulled away most of the bag, and gently peeled the duct tape off his mouth, but left his hands and feet tied. “Are you okay?” he whispered, and Sam nodded. His face was dirty and he looked scared. But at least he was alive.

“Who are you?” Sam whispered.

“It doesn't matter,” Peter whispered back.

“Are you a cop?” Peter shook his head. “Oh.” Sam said no more, he just watched, and a few minutes later, Peter left the room and walked into the kitchen where the others were eating, and someone had put a pot of pork and beans on the stove. There was chili too.

“We'd better feed the kid,” Peter said to Waters, and he nodded. They hadn't thought of that either. Nor even water. They had just forgotten. They had bigger things on their minds than food for Sam.

“For chrissake,” Malcolm Stark complained, as Jim Free laughed, “we're not running a daycare center here. Leave him in the bag.”

“If you kill him, they won't pay us,” Peter pointed out practically, and Carl Waters laughed.

“He's got a point. His mother is probably going to want to talk to him when we call. Hell, we can afford to feed him once in a while, he's getting us a hundred million bucks. Give him lunch.” He looked at Peter when he said it, and assigned him to the job. Peter shrugged, put a slice of ham between two pieces of bread and walked it into the back room, and once there, sat down on the bed next to Sam, and held it to his mouth. But Sam shook his head.

“Come on, Sam, you've got to eat,” Peter said matter-of-factly, almost as though he knew him. After watching him for over a month, he felt as though he did. Peter spoke to him as gently as he would have to his own children, trying to get them to do something.

“How do you know my name?” Sam looked puzzled. Peter had heard his mother say it a hundred times by then.

Peter couldn't help wondering how she was doing, and how badly shaken up she was. Having watched how close she was to her children, he knew what it must be doing to her. But the boy was in remarkably good shape, particularly after the trauma he'd been through, and a four-hour ride tied up in a canvas bag. The kid had guts, and Peter admired him for it. He offered him the sandwich again, and this time Sam took a bite. In the end, he ate half of it, and when Peter looked back at him from the doorway, Sam said, “Thanks.” Something else occurred to Peter then, and he turned back to ask him if he had to go to the bathroom, and Sam looked awkward for a minute, and Peter guessed correctly what had happened. He had wet himself long since. Who wouldn't. He got him out of the bag then completely. Sam didn't know where he was, and he was afraid of the men who had kidnapped him, including Peter. He took him to the bathroom, and waited while he went, and carried him back again and left him on the bed. He couldn't do more for him. But he covered him with a blanket before he left, and Sam watched him leave.

Peter came back before he went to bed that night, and took him to the bathroom again. He woke him to do it, so he wouldn't have another accident. And gave him a glass of milk and a cookie. Sam devoured both, and thanked him again. And when Sam saw him appear the next morning, he smiled.

“What's your name?” Sam asked cautiously.

Peter hesitated before telling him, and then decided he had nothing to lose. The child had seen him anyway. “Peter.” Sam nodded. And Peter came back a while later with breakfast. He brought him a fried egg and bacon. He rapidly became the official baby-sitter. The others were happy not to do it. They wanted their money, not baby-sitting for a six-year-old kid. And in an odd way, Peter felt as though he was doing it for Fernanda, and knew he was.

He sat with the boy for a while that afternoon, and came back again that night. Peter sat on the bed next to him, and stroked his hair.

“Are you going to kill me?” Sam asked in a small voice. He looked frightened and sad, but Peter had never seen him cry. He knew how terrifying this must be for him, but he was remarkably brave, and had been since it happened.

“No, I'm not. We're going to send you home to your mom in a few days.” Sam didn't look as though he believed him, but Peter looked as though he meant it. Sam wasn't so sure about the others. He could hear them in the other room, but they had never come in to see him. They were more than happy to let Peter do it. He told them he was protecting their investment, which they thought was funny.

“Are they going to call and ask my mom for money?” Sam asked softly, and Peter nodded. He liked the boy better than he did the others. By a long shot. They were a nasty lot. They'd been talking about the cops they'd killed and how good it felt to do it. Listening to them made Peter feel sick. It was a lot more pleasant talking to Sam.

“Eventually,” Peter said in answer to his question about their asking Fernanda for money. Peter didn't say when they would, and wasn't sure himself. In a couple of days, he thought, which was the plan.

“She doesn't have any,” Sam said quietly, watching Peter, as though trying to figure him out, which he was. He almost liked him, but not quite. He was one of the kidnappers after all. But he'd been nice to him at least.

“Any what?” Peter asked, looking distracted. He was thinking of other things, like their escape. Their plans were set, but he was nervous about it anyway. The other three were heading to Mexico, and from there to South America with false passports. Peter was going to New York, to try to see his daughters. And then he was going to head for Brazil. He had some friends there from his days of dealing drugs.

“My mom doesn't have any money,” Sam said softly, as though it was a secret he was supposed to keep, but was sharing with Peter.

“Sure she does.” Peter smiled.

“No, she doesn't. That's why my dad killed himself. He lost it all.” Peter sat on the bed and stared at him for a long moment, wondering if he knew what he was talking about. He had that painful honesty and sincerity of kids.

“I thought your dad died in an accident, he fell off a boat.”

“He left my mom a letter. She told my dad's lawyer he killed himself.”

“How do you know?”

Sam looked embarrassed for a minute, and then confessed, “I was listening outside her door.”

“Did she talk to him about the money?” Peter looked worried.

“A lot of times. They talk about it almost every day. She said it's all gone. They have a lot of ‘bets’ or something. That's what she always says, there's nothing left but ‘bets.’” Peter understood better than he did. She was obviously talking about debts, not bets. “She's going to sell the house. She hasn't told us yet.” Peter nodded, and then looked at him sternly.

“I don't want you to say this to anyone else. Do you promise?” Sam nodded, looking very somber.

“They'll kill me if she doesn't pay them, won't they?” Sam said with sad eyes. But Peter shook his head.

“I won't let them do that,” he whispered. “I promise,” he said, and then left the room to go back to the others.

“Christ, you spend a lot of time with that kid,” Stark complained, and Waters looked at Stark with disgust.

“Just be glad it's not you. I wouldn't want to do it either.”

“I like kids,” Jim Free volunteered. “I ate one once.” He laughed uproariously at that. He'd been drinking beer all night. He'd never been convicted of hurting a child, and Peter assumed it was bullshit, but he didn't like it anyway. He didn't like anything about them.

Peter didn't say anything to Waters till the next morning, and then he looked at him with concern, as though he'd been worrying about something.

“What if she doesn't pay up?” Peter asked him directly.

“She will. She wants her kid back. She'll pay whatever we ask.” They had actually been talking the night before about asking for more, and taking a bigger cut.

“And if she doesn't?”

“What do you think?” Carl said coldly. “If she doesn't, he's no use to us. We get rid of him, and get the fuck out.” It was what both he and Sam had feared.

But Sam's confession the night before about his mother's finances put a new spin on things for Peter. It had never occurred to him that she was broke. Although he had raised the question once or twice, Peter had never seriously believed that she was. Now he felt differently about it. Something about the way Sam had repeated what he'd overheard told Peter that it was true. It also explained why she never went anywhere, or did anything, and there was no help in the house. He had expected her to lead a far grander life. He thought she just stayed home because she loved her kids, but maybe there was more to it than that. And he had the feeling that the conversations Sam had heard between his mother and her lawyer were all too real. Still, having “no money” was relative to different people. She might still have some left, but not as much as they had once had. The suicide note was interesting though. If that were true, there might really be nothing left of Allan Barnes's fortune. Peter was profoundly worried, thought about it all day, and what it might mean to him, and the others. And worse yet, Sam.

They sat around for two more days, and then finally decided to call her. All four of them agreed that it was time. They used Peter's untraceable cell phone, and he dialed her number. She answered on the first ring herself, and her voice sounded hoarse. It cracked as soon as she heard who it was. Peter spoke quietly, silently aching for her, and identified himself by saying he had news of her son. The negotiator was listening on the phone, and they were already frantically working on tracing the call.

“I have a friend who'd like to speak to you,” Peter said, and walked into the back room while Fernanda held her breath, and gesticulated wildly to Ted. He already knew. The negotiator was listening on the line with her, and they were recording the call.

“Hi, Mommy,” Sam said as tears filled her eyes and she held her breath.

“Are you okay?” She could hardly talk, she was shaking so hard.

“Yeah. I'm fine.” Before he could say more, Peter took the phone away as Waters watched. Peter was afraid that, to reassure her, Sam would say he had been nice to him, and he didn't want the others to hear it. Peter took the phone back, and spoke clearly to her. He sounded well spoken and cool, which surprised her. From what she'd seen in her house four days before, she expected them to be goons. And this one obviously wasn't. He sounded educated, and polite, and oddly gentle in his tone.

“Your son's bus ticket home will cost you exactly a hundred million dollars,” Peter said without batting an eye, as the others listened to him and nodded their approval. They liked his style. He sounded businesslike, polite, and cool. “Start counting your pennies. We'll be calling you shortly to tell you how we want it handled,” he said, and cut the line before she could answer. He turned to the others, and they sent up a cheer. “How long do we give her?” Peter asked. He and Addison had talked about a week or two at the most, to complete the transaction. At the time, they had agreed that longer than that was unnecessary, but after what Sam had said, he wasn't sure that time was the issue or would make a difference. If she didn't have it, there was nowhere she could dig up that kind of money. Even if Barnes had a few lingering investments. Maybe she could cough up a million or two, if that. But from what Sam was saying about her debts, and his father's suicide, Peter even wondered if she had that. And even a couple of million divided five ways was pointless.

The other three got drunk that night, and he sat talking to Sam again for a long time. He was a sweet boy, and he was sad after talking to his mother.

And at her end, Fernanda was sitting in the living room in shock, looking at Ted.

“What am I going to do?” She was in the depths of despair. She had never dreamed they'd ask for that kind of money. A hundred million was insane. And they obviously were.

“We'll find him,” Ted said quietly. It was the only choice they had now. But they hadn't been able to get a trace on the line. He cut it off too fast anyway, although with the device they had, they could have, if he'd been calling from a traceable line. But he was using a cell phone that couldn't be traced. It was one of the few that couldn't. They obviously knew what they were doing. At least she had talked to Sam.

She called Jack Waterman while Ted was talking to the captain. She told him what the ransom was, and he sat in stunned silence at his end. He could have helped her come up with half a million dollars, until she sold the house, but beyond that, she had almost nothing in the bank. She had about fifty thousand currently in her account. Their only hope was finding the boy before the kidnappers killed him. Jack prayed they would. She told him the police and FBI were doing everything they could, but the kidnappers had gone underground. All four of the men they knew about had vanished. And the regular network of reliable informants knew nothing.

Two days later, Will called home, and he knew the minute he heard her voice that something had happened. She denied it. But he knew her better. Finally she broke down and cried, and told him that Sam had been kidnapped, and he begged her to let him come home from camp.

“You don't need to do that. The police are doing everything they can, Will. You're better off in camp.” She thought it would be too depressing and upsetting for him at home.

“Mom,” he said, sobbing into the phone, “I want to be with you.” She called Jack and asked him to go up and get him, and the following afternoon, Will walked into the house, and burst into tears as he threw himself into her arms. They stood holding each other for a long time, and spent hours that night talking in the kitchen. Jack had hung around for a while, and finally left, not wanting to intrude. He chatted with Ted and the other men for a few minutes, and they told him there was nothing new. Investigators were combing the state, but so far, no one had reported seeing anything suspicious, the police were looking for the men in the mug shots, but no one had seen them, and there had been no sign of Sam, or anything he owned or had been wearing. The boy had disappeared without a trace and so had they. They could have been anywhere by then, over a state line somewhere, even in Mexico. Ted knew that they could stay underground for a long time, too long for Sam.

Will slept in his own room that night, and the men slept in Ashley's. They could have slept in Sam's, but it seemed sacrilegious to them somehow. At four in the morning, Fernanda still couldn't sleep, and went downstairs to see if Ted was awake. He was lying on the couch, with his eyes open, thinking. The rest of the men were in the kitchen, talking, with their guns in evidence, as they always were. It was like some strange kind of emergency room, or intensive care unit, where people stayed awake all night, wearing guns and waiting to minister to her. There was no longer any clear definition to day or night. It was all the same. There were always people on cell phones, and wide awake.

She sat down in a chair next to Ted, and looked at him with a despairing glance. She was beginning to lose hope. She didn't have the money, and the police hadn't found her son. They didn't even have a single lead as to where they were hiding. And all of the police and FBI were adamant that they couldn't go public. They said it would just confuse things and make it worse. And if they infuriated the kidnappers, it was almost certain they would kill Sam. No one was willing to take the risk. And neither was she.

Ted had gone home for a few hours that night, and had dinner with Shirley. They had talked about the case, and she said she felt sorry for Fernanda. She could see that Ted did too. She had asked him if he thought they'd find the boy in time, and he said he honestly didn't know.

“When do you think we'll hear from them again?” Fernanda asked him once he was back at her house. The living room was dark, and the only light in the room was from the hall.

“They'll call soon to tell you how they want you to deliver the money,” he reassured her, but she couldn't see what difference that would make. They had agreed that she was going to try to stall them. But sooner or later they would realize that she wasn't going to pay. Ted knew he had to find Sam before then. He had called Father Wallis that afternoon himself. There was nothing for them to do but pray. What they needed desperately was a break. Both the SFPD and the FBI were pumping their informants, but no one had heard a word about the kidnappers or Sam.

As it turned out, the kidnappers called her again the next morning. They let her speak to Sam again, and he sounded nervous. Carl Waters was standing over him as Peter put the phone to his ear, and Fernanda could barely hear more than his voice saying “Hi, Mom,” before they took the phone away again. The voice on the phone told her that if she wanted a conversation with her son, she was going to have to pay the ransom. They gave her five days to come up with it, and told her they'd give her delivery instructions the next time they called, and hung up again. Listening to them this time, she was frantic. There was no way to pay. And once again, the call they had made could not be traced. All the police knew was that none of them had reported to their parole agents that week, which was old news. They knew who had done it. What they didn't know was where they had gone, and what they had done with Sam. And all the while, Phillip Addison had the perfect alibi, and was sitting in the South of France. The FBI had checked his phone records out of the hotel. He had made no long-distance phone calls to cell phones in the States, and they kept no records of incoming calls. And from the time the FBI began monitoring his calls, several hours after the kidnap, there hadn't been a single call from the kidnappers. They'd had their instructions, and were handling it on their own. Peter was doing all he could to protect Sam. Carl and the others were getting ever more anxious for the money. Ted and Rick and the networks, agencies, and informants they were using were coming up with nothing. And Fernanda felt as though she were going insane.

Chapter 17

The last call from the kidnappers came to tell Fernanda she had two days left to deliver the money. And this time they sounded impatient. They didn't let her talk to Sam, and at her end, everyone knew time was running out. Or maybe already had. It was time to make a move, but there was none to make. With no leads whatsoever as to their whereabouts, there was nothing the police could do. They were working every source they had to beat the clock, but without a lead, a tip, a trace, or a sighting they were getting nowhere.

Peter explained the delivery instructions to Fernanda when they gave her the two-day ultimatum. She was to wire the entire hundred million into the account of a Bahamian corporation, rather than the one they'd originally planned to use in the Cayman Islands. The Bahamian bank had already been instructed to deposit it through a series of dummy corporations, and from there ultimately Peter's and Phillip's shares were to be wired to Geneva. The other three shares were being wired to Costa Rica. And once Waters, Stark, and Free reached Colombia or Brazil, they could have it transferred there.

Fernanda knew none of the complicated details. All she knew was the name of the Bahamian bank where she was supposed to wire a hundred million dollars within two days, and she had nothing to send. She was counting on the police and FBI to find Sam before they reached the deadline, and she was ever more panicked that they wouldn't find him in time. Hope was dwindling by the hour.

“It's going to take me longer than that to access the money,” Fernanda said to Peter during the call, trying not to let panic creep into her voice, but it was there anyway. She was fighting for Sam's life. And despite all their efforts and impressive technology and manpower, thus far neither the FBI nor the police had helped. Or at least they had gotten no results.

“Time is running out,” Peter said firmly. “My associates aren't willing to wait,” he said, trying to convey his own desperation. She had to do something. Every day, Waters and the others were talking about killing Sam. It mattered nothing to them. In fact, if they didn't get their money, they thought it a suitable revenge. The boy meant less to them than a bottle of tequila or a pair of shoes.

They didn't even care that Sam had seen them and could identify them. The unholy threesome were planning to disappear into the wilds of South America forever. They had illegal passports waiting for them just north of the Mexican border. All they had to do was get there, pick them up, disappear, and live like kings for the rest of their days. But she had to pay the ransom first. And hour by hour, day by day, Peter came to understand that Sam had told the truth. She had nothing to wire into the Bahamian account. Peter had no idea what she was going to do. Nor did Fernanda. He would have liked to ask her, but he could only assume someone was telling her what to do.

Jack had already told her that the biggest loan he could get for her, against the house, was an additional mortgage for seven hundred thousand dollars, which she couldn't support the payments on anyway. And not knowing the circumstances, or even if they had, the bank told her they couldn't approve it or give her the money for thirty days. Waters and his friends wanted it in two.

She had nothing to work with, nor did Ted, Rick, and an army of FBI agents, who swore they were leaving no stone unturned, but to Fernanda, they seemed no closer to finding Sam than on the day he was taken. And Peter felt that too.

“She's playing games,” Waters said in a fury after the call ended. And at her end, Fernanda was in tears.

“A hundred million dollars isn't easy to come up with,” Peter said, feeling agonized for her. He could only imagine the degree of pressure this was putting on her. “Her husband's estate is in probate, she has to come up with death taxes on his estate, and his executors may not be able to release it to her as fast as we want.”

Peter was trying to buy her time, but he was afraid to tell them he now firmly believed she didn't have it, for fear they would fly into a rage and kill Sam on the spot. For Peter, it was a fine line to walk. And for Fernanda too.

“We're not waiting,” Waters said darkly. “If she doesn't wire it in two days, the kid is dead, and we're out of here. We can't sit here forever, waiting for the cops to show up.” He was in a black mood after the call, said she was dicking them around, and he had a temper tantrum when he discovered they were out of both tequila and beer, and he said he was sick of their food, and the others agreed.

In San Francisco, Fernanda had been sitting in her room all day, every day, crying, terrified that they were going to kill Sam, or already had. And Will was moving around the house like a ghost. He hung out with the men in the kitchen, but wherever you went, and whoever you talked to, the tension was intolerable. And whenever Ashley called, Fernanda kept up the charade that everything was fine. She still didn't know that Sam was gone, and Fernanda didn't want her to. It would just have made things worse to have her hysterical too.

“They're going to kill me, aren't they?” Sam said to Peter with sad eyes, after they had called his mother. He had heard the men talking, and they were angry it was taking so long.

“I promised you I wouldn't let that happen,” Peter whispered when he stopped in the back room to check on him after the call to Fernanda. But even Sam knew it was a promise he couldn't keep. And if he did, they'd kill Peter too.

When Peter walked back into the living room, they were all particularly unhappy about the lack of beer, as well as the delay in her coming up with the ransom. Finally, Peter offered to go into town for them and buy some. He had the kind of looks that never drew attention. He was just a nice guy visiting the lake on a vacation, probably with his kids. They nominated him to make a beer run, and told him to bring back some tequila and Chinese food too. They were sick of their own cooking, and so was he.

Peter drove into town and past it on the fateful beer run. He drove through three more towns, thinking about what he was going to do. There was no question. Sam was right. They were running out of time. And from all he knew now, the ransom was a lost cause. The only decision left was whether to let them kill Sam or not. And just as he had risked his life in this to save his own children, he knew now what he had to do for Sam.

He pulled over in the van, near a campsite, and picked up his cell phone. The one thing he knew was that he wasn't going back to Pelican Bay again. There was a momentary temptation to just keep driving, but if he did, when he didn't go back, they would kill Sam for sure.

He dialed the number and waited, and as she always did, Fernanda picked it up on the first ring. His voice was polite, and he told her Sam was fine, and then he asked to speak to one of the policemen with her. She hesitated for a moment, looked at Ted, and said there were no policemen with her.

“It's all right,” Peter said, sounding tired. It was over for him and he knew it, and he no longer cared. The only thing that mattered to him now was Sam. He realized as he spoke to her that he was doing it for her. “I assume there's someone on the line,” he said calmly. “Mrs. Barnes, let me speak to one of the men.” She looked at Ted with anguished eyes and handed him the phone. She had no idea what this meant.

“This is Detective Lee,” Ted said tersely.

“You have less than forty-eight hours to get him out of there. There are four men, including me,” Peter said, offering them not only information but his alliance. He knew he had to. For his own sake, as much as hers and Sam's. It was all he could do for them.

“Morgan, is that you?” It was the only one it could be. Ted knew he was talking to him. Peter didn't confirm or deny it. He had more important things to do. He gave Ted the address of the house in Tahoe, and described the layout of the house to him.

“Right now, they're keeping the boy in the back room. I'll do what I can to help you, but they may kill me too.”

Ted asked him a question then, and desperately wanted an answer. The call was being recorded, like the others, asking for the ransom. “Is Phillip Addison behind this?”

Peter hesitated and then answered, “Yes, he is.” It was all over for him then. He knew that wherever he went, Addison would find him and kill him. But Waters and the others would probably do it for him long before that.

“I won't forget this,” Ted said, and meant it, as Fernanda watched, not daring to take her eyes off him. She knew something was happening, and she wasn't sure yet what it was, if it was bad or good.

“That's not why I'm doing this,” Peter said sadly. “I'm doing it for Sam … and for her… tell her I'm sorry.” And with that, he hung up, tossed the cell phone onto the seat beside him, and took off for the store, where he bought enough beer and tequila to keep them drunk forever. And when he walked into the house, he was carrying four bags of Chinese food, and he was smiling. He had a sudden feeling of freedom. And for once in his life, he had done the right thing.

“What the fuck took you so long?” Stark asked him, but he mellowed as soon as he saw the food and beer, and three bottles of good tequila.

“They took a goddamn hour to give me the food,” Peter complained, and then went to check on Sam. He was asleep in his room. Peter stood staring at him for a long moment, and then turned and walked out of the room. He had no idea when they'd come. He just hoped it would be soon.

Chapter 18

“What happened?” Fernanda asked Ted, looking panicked, as soon as Peter Morgan ended the call.

Ted looked at her and nearly cried. “They're in Tahoe. Morgan told us where they are.” It was the break they needed. The only hope they had.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “Why did he do that?”

“He said he was doing it for Sam and for you. He said to tell you he was sorry.” She nodded, wondering what had made him change his mind. But whatever it was, she was grateful he had. He had saved her son's life. Or tried to at least.

Everything moved into high gear then. Ted made what seemed like a thousand calls. He called the captain, Rick Holmquist, and the heads of three SWAT teams. He called the police chief and sheriff in Tahoe, and told them not to move in. They agreed to defer to both the FBI and an SFPD SWAT team. Everything had to be executed with the precision of open heart surgery, and Ted told her they would be ready to move to Tahoe by the following afternoon. She thanked him and went to tell Will, who burst into tears.

Ted was back on the phone with a dozen people the next morning when she got up, and Will had just finished his breakfast by the time Ted was ready to leave. Ted told her there were twenty-five men already on their way to Tahoe. The FBI was sending an eight-man commando team, eight more for the command post, and there were another eight on the SWAT team, in addition to Rick and himself. And there would be another twenty or so local law enforcement officers joining the task force once they got there. Rick was taking his best men from the city, marksmen, sharpshooters, and sending a plane with two pilots. Ted had chosen their best SWAT team, and he was sending the hostage negotiator with them. He was still planning to leave four men with her and Will.

“Take me with you,” she said to him, looking desperate. “I want to be there too.” He hesitated, not sure it was the right thing to do. A lot could happen, and a lot could go wrong with that many men involved. It was going to be a delicate business getting the boy out of the house, even with Morgan's help. Sam could even be killed by the police when they broke in on the others. The likelihood of not being able to get Sam out alive under these circumstances was great. And if the worst happened, he didn't want the boy's mother there. “Please,” she said with tears rolling down her cheeks. And even though he knew better, Ted was unable to resist.

She didn't tell Will where she was going. She ran upstairs and got a pair of hiking boots and a sweater, and she told Will she was going out with Ted. She didn't say where. She told him to stay inside with the men. Before he could object, she had run out the front door, and a moment later, she sped away with Ted. He had called Rick Holmquist, and he was driving up himself with four additional special agents and the commando team. There were going to be enough men in Tahoe to start their own police force. The captain had told Ted to keep him informed, and Ted had said he would.

Fernanda was silent as they rolled across the Bay Bridge. They had driven another half-hour before Ted finally spoke to her. He still had qualms about having let her come along, but it was too late to change his mind. And as they drove north, she started to relax and so did he. They talked about some of the things Father Wallis had said. She was trying to do what he had suggested, and to believe that Sam was in God's hands. Ted told her that what had turned it around for them was Morgan's call.

“Why do you suppose he did that?” Fernanda asked, looking puzzled. The fact that he had said he was doing it for her made no sense to her, or Ted.

“People do funny things sometimes,” Ted said quietly. “When you least expect them to.” He had seen it before. “Maybe he doesn't care about the money after all. If they catch on, they'll kill him for sure.” And if they didn't, they were going to have to put him in the witness relocation and protection program when he got out. If they sent him to prison, he was as good as dead. But he might be anyway if the others caught on.

“You haven't been home all week,” Fernanda commented as they drove past Sacramento.

Ted looked at her and smiled. “You sound like my wife.”

“This must be hard on her,” Fernanda said sympathetically, and he didn't comment for a long time. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry. I was just thinking, it must be hard on a marriage.”

He nodded. “It is. Or it was a long time ago. We're used to it now. We've been married since we were kids. I've known Shirley since we were fourteen.”

“That's a long time,” Fernanda said with a smile. “I was twenty-two when I married Allan. We were married for seventeen years.”

He nodded. Talking about their lives and respective spouses helped to pass the time. They almost felt like old friends now as they drove along. They had spent a lot of time together, in tough circumstances, in the past week. It had been incredibly hard on her.

“It must have been rough on you when… when your husband died,” Ted said sympathetically.

“It was. It's been hard on the kids, especially Will. I think he feels his father let us down.” It was going to be yet another blow when she sold the house.

“Boys that age need a man around.” As Ted said it, he was thinking of his own. He hadn't been around a lot either when his sons were Will's age. It was one of his biggest regrets about his life. “I was never home when my kids were young. It's the price you pay for this kind of work. One of them.”

“They had their mom,” she said gently, trying to make him feel better about it, but she could see it weighed on him.

“That's not enough,” he said sternly, and then looked apologetically at her. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean that the way it sounds.”

“Yes, you did. Maybe you're right. I'm doing the best I can, but most of the time I feel like it's not enough. Allan didn't give me much choice in the matter. He made his mind up on his own.”

It was easy talking to her. Easier than he wanted it to be, as they sped north toward her younger son. “Shirley and I almost split up when the kids were small. We talked about it for a while, and decided it was a bad idea.” He found it strangely easy to confide in her.

“It probably was. It's nice that you stayed together.” She admired him for it, and his wife.

“Maybe so. We're good friends.”

“I hope so after twenty-eight years.” He had told her that several days before. He was forty-seven years old, and had been married to his wife since he was nineteen. Fernanda was impressed by that. It seemed like a long time to her, and a powerful bond.

And then he volunteered something she hadn't expected to hear from him. “We outgrew each other a long time ago. I didn't really see it till a few years ago. I just woke up one day, and realized that whatever it used to be was over. I guess what we have instead is all right. We're friends.”

“Is that enough?” she asked him with a strange expression. These were like deathbed confidences, she just hoped that the deathbed wouldn't be her son's. She couldn't bear thinking of it, where they were going, or why. It was easier talking about him than talking about Sam at this point.

“Sometimes,” he said honestly, thinking about Shirley again, and what they did and didn't share, and never had. “Sometimes it's nice coming home to a friend. Sometimes it's not enough. We don't talk much anymore. She has her own life. So do I.”

“Then why do you stay together, Ted?” Rick Holmquist had been asking him the same thing for years.

“Lazy, tired, lonely. Too scared to move on. Too old.”

“That you're not. What about loyal? And decent? And maybe more in love with her than you think. You don't give yourself much credit for why you stayed. Or why she wants you to. She probably loves you more than you think too,” Fernanda said generously.

“I don't think so,” he said, shaking his head, as he thought about what she'd said.

“I think we've stayed because everyone expected us to. Her parents, mine. Our kids. I'm not even sure our kids would care anymore. They're all grown up and gone. In a funny way, she's like my family now. I feel like I'm living with my sister sometimes. It's comfortable, I guess.” Fernanda nodded. It didn't sound so bad to her. She couldn't even imagine going out and finding someone else now. After seventeen years, she was so used to Allan, she couldn't imagine sleeping with another man. Although she knew that one day she might. But no time soon. “What about you? What are you going to do now?” The conversation was on dangerous ground, but she knew it wouldn't go anywhere it shouldn't. He wasn't that kind of man. In all the days he had been in her house, he had been nothing but respectful and kind.

“I don't know. I feel like I'm going to be married to Allan forever, whether he's here or not.”

“Last time I looked,” Ted said gently, “it was ‘not.’”

“Yeah, I know. That's what my daughter says. She reminds me regularly that I should be going out. It's the last thing on my mind. I've been too busy, worrying about paying Allan's debts. That's going to take a long time. Unless I get a terrific price for the house. Our lawyer is going to declare bankruptcy to clean up his business debts. When I first realized what he'd done, I nearly died.”

“It's a shame he couldn't have hung on to some of it,” Ted said, and she nodded, but she seemed remarkably philosophical about it.

“I was never really comfortable with the money he made.” She smiled at what she said then. “It sounds crazy, but I always thought it was too much. It didn't seem right.” And then she shrugged. “It was fun for a while.” She told him about the two Impressionist paintings she had bought, and he was suitably impressed.

“It must be amazing to own something like that.”

“It was. For a couple of years. They were bought by a museum in Belgium. Maybe I'll visit them one day.” She didn't seem unhappy to have given them up, which seemed noble of her, to him. All she seemed to care about with real passion were her kids. More than anything, he was impressed by what a good mother she was. And she had probably been a good wife to Allan too, more than he deserved, as far as Ted was concerned. But he didn't say that to her. He didn't think it was appropriate for him to do so.

They rode in silence again for a while, and when they passed Ikeda's restaurant and grocery store, he asked her if she wanted to stop and get something to eat, but she said she didn't. She'd hardly eaten all week.

“Where are you going to move when you sell the house?” He wondered if, after something like this, she would leave town. He wouldn't have blamed her if she did.

“Maybe Marin. I'm not going far. The kids won't want to leave their friends.” He felt foolish, but hearing her say it, he was relieved.

“I'm glad,” he said, glancing at her, and she seemed surprised.

“You'll have to come and have dinner with me and the kids sometime.” She was grateful to him for all he'd done. But as far as he was concerned, he hadn't done it yet. And he knew that if things went badly in Tahoe, and Sam was killed, more than likely she'd never want to see him again. He would be part of the memory of a nightmarish time. And perhaps already was. But he knew that if he never saw her again, he'd be sad. He liked talking to her, and the gentle, easy way she handled things, the kindness she showed his men. Even in the midst of the kidnapping, she'd been thoughtful and considerate to all of them. Whatever money her husband had made had never gone to her head, even if it had to his. And Ted had the distinct feeling she was anxious to leave their house. It was time.

They passed Auburn a little while later, and for the rest of the ride, she didn't say much to him. All she could think of was Sam.

“It's going to be all right,” he said softly as they drove over the Donner Pass, and she turned to him looking worried.

“How can you be sure?” The truth was, he couldn't, and they both knew it.

“I can't. But I'm going to do my damnedest to see to it,” he promised her. But she knew that anyway. He had been committed to protecting them since it all began.

At the house in Tahoe, the men were getting restless. They had been arguing with each other all day. Stark wanted to call Fernanda back that afternoon and threaten her. Waters said they should wait till that night. And Peter cautiously suggested that they give her one last day to get the money together, and call tomorrow. Jim Free didn't seem to care, all he wanted to do was get his money and get the hell out. It was a hot day, and they all drank a lot of beer, except Peter, who was trying to keep a clear head, and slipped away regularly to check on Sam.

Peter had no way of checking without the others knowing, but he was wondering when Ted's men were going to make their move. He knew that when it happened it would be fast and furious, and all he could do was his best to save Sam.

The others were all drunk by late that afternoon. Even Waters. And by six o'clock they were all asleep in the living room. Peter sat watching them, and then went to the back of the house to Sam's room. He said nothing to the boy, lay on the bed next to him, and fell asleep with his arms around him, dreaming of his daughters.

Chapter 19

When Ted and Fernanda got to Tahoe, the local police had taken over a small motel for the entire task force. It was run-down and ramshackle, and had been empty for the most part, even during the summer season. The few guests staying there had been content to leave with a small stipend paid to get them out. And two of the cops were bringing food in from a nearby fast-food place by the vanload. Everything was set up. The FBI had sent eight commandos trained in hostage release and kidnappings, and a SWAT team that had come up from the city was similarly trained. The local cops were swarming, but had not yet been advised of exactly what was happening. There were more than fifty men waiting when Ted got out of the car and looked around. They were going to have to handpick who went in and how they did it. A local captain was handling equipment, road blocks, and local officers. And Rick was in charge of the entire operation, and had set up shop in a room next to the motel office, which he had left for the local captain. There was an entire fleet of communication trucks, and Ted saw Rick come out of one of them, as Fernanda followed him from the car. The organized chaos around them was both terrifying and reassuring at the same time.

“How's it going?” Ted asked Rick, and both men looked tired. Ted hadn't had more than two hours' sleep consecutively in days, and Rick had been up since the night before. Sam was becoming a sacred cause to those who knew about him, which was a comfort to his mother. And Ted had asked one of the officers to set up a room for her.

“We're almost there,” Rick said, glancing at her, and she nodded with a tired smile. She looked like she was holding up, but barely. This was beyond stressful for her, although talking to Ted about other things on the drive up had helped for a brief time.

Ted went to get her settled. There were a psychologist from the SWAT team and a female officer waiting in the room for her. And when he had left her with them, Ted came back to Rick in the room he was using as the command post. They had a mountain of sandwiches and boxed salads on a table along the wall, and a diagram of the house and a map of the area taped to the wall above it. The food provided was unusually wholesome, as neither the FBI commandos nor the SWAT team ate fatty foods, sugar, or caffeine, as it slowed them down after the initial high, and they were meticulous about what they ate. The local police captain was sitting in with them, and the head of the SWAT team had just walked out of the room to see his men. It looked like the invasion of Normandy to Ted as he grabbed a sandwich and sat down in a chair, while Rick stood next to him. It looked like they were planning a war. It was a major rescue mission, and the combined brain- and manpower was impressive. The house they were setting their sights on was less than two miles down the road. They were putting out nothing over the radios, in case the kidnappers had any kind of monitoring devices, and so the press wouldn't pick it up and blow it for them. They were taking every precaution they could to keep the operation sterile, but in spite of that, Rick looked worried as he glanced at the diagram with Ted. They had gone to the local surveyor's office to get the map of the house, and had blown it up to an enormous size.

“Your informant says the kid is at the back of the house,” Rick said, pointing to a room at the back, not far from the property line. “We can get him out, but there's a cliff right behind them, it's straight up from there. I can get four guys down the rock face, but I can't get them back up fast enough, and if they've got the kid with them, they'll be too exposed.” He pointed to the front of the house then. “And we've got a driveway the length of a football field on the way out. I can't get in with a chopper or they'll hear us. And if we blow up the house, we're liable to kill the boy.”

The head of the SWAT team and the FBI commandos had been conferring for the past two hours, and they hadn't solved the problem yet. But Ted knew they would. They had no way of contacting Peter Morgan to set up a plan with him. They were going to have to make all their decisions on their own, for better or worse. Ted was relieved that Fernanda wasn't in the room with them to listen to the dangers they were outlining. It would have driven her over the edge. They were brainstorming out loud, and so far everything they'd come up with had a high likelihood of killing the boy.

Ted wasn't convinced that wouldn't have happened anyway. With no ransom forthcoming, it was almost certain that they were planning to kill Sam. Even with the ransom successfully delivered, there had been that risk. Sam was old enough to identify them, which made it risky to let him go, even if they got their money. Addison had been aware of that as well, which was why he had sent Peter to Tahoe to keep an eye on the others. In the end, it would have been easier for them to kill him than to return him alive. And with no ransom paid, they had every reason to kill him and dispose of him when they left. Rick and the others in the room with him were verbalizing their many fears. And after another hour of doing so, Rick turned to Ted.

“You realize what the chances are of our getting him out of there alive, don't you? Slim to none. With the emphasis on none.” He was being honest with his friend. There was a high probability that Sam was going to die, if he wasn't already dead.

“Then get more guys up here,” Ted said tersely, looking angrily at Rick. They hadn't come this far in order to lose the kid. Although they all knew they could. But Ted was on a mission to save him, as was Rick and everyone in the room, and outside. Sam was their mission.

“We have a small army here,” Rick bellowed at him. “For chrissake, did you look at how many are outside? We don't need more guys, we need a fucking miracle,” Rick said between clenched teeth. Sometimes when they got angry at each other, they did their best work.

“Then get one, make it happen. Get smarter guys in here. You can't just throw up your hands and let them kill this kid,” Ted said, looking anguished.

“Does that look like what's happening to you, you asshole?” Rick shouted at him, and there were so many other people talking in the room, you couldn't even hear him yell, or Ted yell back. They were going at it like two angry army sergeants, when the head of the SWAT team came up with another plan, but they all agreed it wouldn't work. It would leave the rescuers vulnerable to open fire from the house. Peter had picked the perfect place. It was damn near impossible to get the boy out of the house and off the property, and one thing Rick already knew, and Ted was coming to understand, a lot of men were liable to die that night, rescuing one boy. But that was what they had to do. The others knew it too.

“I can't just walk my guys into a slaughter,” the head of the SWAT team said unhappily to Ted. “We've got to give them a halfway decent chance to get the kid, and get out again.”

“I know,” Ted said, looking miserable. It wasn't going well, and he was glad Fernanda wasn't in the room to hear it. At nine o'clock that night, he and Rick walked outside. They still didn't have a plan that worked, and he was beginning to fear they never would, or not in time. They had all agreed hours earlier they had to get Sam out by dawn. Once the kidnappers were awake on the following morning, the risk would be too great, and from everything they knew, they didn't have another day. They were planning to call Fernanda sometime the next day for the final word. This was it. Dawn was in nine hours, and time was running out. “Shit, I hate this,” Ted said, looking at Rick, as he leaned against a tree. No one had come up with anything that worked. They were sending the plane up for reconnaissance in another hour, using infrared and heat-seeking devices, neither of which would work inside the house. One of the communications trucks was devoted entirely to them.

“I hate this too,” Rick said quietly. They were both running out of fire and steam. It was going to be a long night.

“What the hell am I going to tell her?” Ted said, looking agonized. “That the best SWAT team we've got, and yours, can't save her kid?” He couldn't even imagine telling her the boy was dead. And he might already be. Things were not looking good, to say the least.

“You're falling in love with her, aren't you?” Rick said out of the blue, and Ted stared up at him as though he were insane. It wasn't the kind of thing men said to each other, but once in a while they did. And Rick just had.

“Are you nuts? I'm a cop, for chrissake. She's a victim, so is her son.” He looked outraged at the thought, and angry at Rick again for suggesting it. But his friend wasn't fooled, even if Ted was fooling himself, which Rick was sure he was.

“She's also a woman, and you're a man. She's beautiful and vulnerable. You've been staying at her house for a week. You didn't have to do that, and you did. You're also a guy who hasn't slept with his wife for about five years, if my memory is correct on that, since the last time we talked about it. You're human, for God's sake. Just don't let it interfere with your job. A lot of guys are putting their lives on the line here. Don't send a lot of guys in to get slaughtered, if we can't get them or the kid out again.” Ted hung his head, and looked up at Rick again a minute later. There were tears in his eyes and he hadn't admitted or denied what Rick had said about Fernanda. He wasn't sure himself if he was right. But it had occurred to him that night. He was as worried about her as he was about her son.

“There has to be a way to get him out alive” was all Ted said.

“Some of that's going to depend on the kid, and the guy you've got inside. We can't control it all.” Not to mention luck, and fate, and the other kidnappers, and the skill of the men who went in. There were so many unpredictable elements, none of which could be controlled. Sometimes you had everything running against you and you came up lucky. Other times, everything was lined up perfectly, and it all went wrong. It was the luck of the draw.

“What about her?” Rick asked quietly again. “How does she feel?” Rick meant about Ted, not her son. It was a shorthand they both understand, born of many years together.

“I don't know.” Ted looked miserable. “I'm a married man.”

“You and Shirley should have gotten divorced years ago,” Rick said honestly. “You both deserve better than you've got.”

“She's my best friend.”

“You're not in love with her. I'm not sure you ever were. You grew up together, you were like brother and sister when I met you. It was like one of those arranged marriages they used to do a hundred years ago. Everyone expected you to get married, and it worked for them. So you did.” Ted knew he wasn't wrong. Shirley's father had been his father's boss for most of his adult life, and they were so proud of him when he got engaged to her. He'd never gone out with other girls. Never thought of it. Until way too late. And then, out of sheer decency, he'd been faithful to her, and still was, which was rare for a cop. Their stressful lives and crazy schedules, rarely seeing their wives and families, or being on the same time clock with them, got them into a lot of trouble, and nearly had Ted a couple of times. Rick had always admired him for his iron will, iron pants he used to call it, when they worked together. He couldn't say as much for himself. But his own divorce had been a relief in the end. And now he had found a woman he really loved. He wanted the same for Ted. And if Fernanda was who he wanted, or was falling in love with, it was fine by him. He just hoped they didn't lose her kid. For her sake, as well as Ted's. It would be a tragedy she would never get over, nor forget, nor would he. And more than likely Ted would blame himself, if the mission wasn't a success. But Rick's commitment to get the kid out, and Ted's, had nothing to do with love. It was their job. The rest was gravy.

“She comes from a different world,” Ted said, looking worried, not even sure yet himself what he felt for her, but afraid there was something to what Rick was saying, enough to think about. And he had more than once, although he had said nothing of it to her. “She's led a different life. Her husband made half a billion dollars, for chrissake. He was a smart guy,” Ted said humbly, looking at his friend in the dark outside the motel. The others milling around were out of earshot.

“You're a smart guy too. And how smart was he? He lost it as fast as he made it, and killed himself, leaving his wife dead broke with three kids.” There was truth in that. Ted had a lot more money in the bank than she did at the moment. His future was secure, and so were his kids. He had worked hard for that for nearly thirty years.

“She went to Stanford. I went to high school. I'm a cop.”

“You're a good guy. She should be so lucky.” They both knew Ted was a rarity in today's world. He was a good and decent man. Rick knew, and often admitted out of love for his old partner, that Ted was a better man than he. Ted never saw it that way, and had always defended Rick to the death. And sometimes had to. Rick had pissed a lot of people off before he left the department. That was just the way he was, and he had done it at the FBI too. He had a big mouth, and never hesitated to say what he thought. He was doing it now too, whether or not Ted wanted to hear it. Rick thought he should. Even if it upset him or made him angry. “I want you to be lucky too,” Rick said kindly. “You deserve it.” He didn't want to see his friend die a lonely man one day. And they both knew that's where he was headed, and had been for years.

“I can't just walk out on Shirley,” Ted said unhappily. He felt guilty already, but also incredibly attracted to Fernanda.

“Don't go there yet. See what happens after this mess is over. One day Shirley may walk out on you. She's smarter than you are. And if she meets the right guy one day, I've always thought she'd be the first one out the door. I'm surprised she hasn't done it.” Ted nodded, he had thought of that too. In some ways, she was less attached to the idea of their marriage than he was. She was just lazy, and she said it herself, although she loved him too. But she had said several times recently that she wouldn't have minded living alone, might have preferred it, and felt as though she did anyway, as little as they saw each other. And he felt that way too. It was a lonely life with her. They no longer liked any of the same things or people. The only thing that had held them together for twenty-eight years was their kids. And they were gone, and had been for several years. “You don't need to figure it out tonight. Have you said anything to Fernanda?” Rick was curious about it, and had been since they met her. There was an easy intimacy between her and Ted that had an innocence to it, and assumed a bond neither knew they had. It was a kind of natural closeness that had hit Rick right away. She seemed like the perfect woman for him, to Rick as well as Ted. Ted had felt it, but had never said anything about it to her. He wouldn't have dared, or even wanted to, in the circumstances in which they'd met. And he had no idea if she felt anything for him, except for the job he was doing for her, in trying to protect her and her kids. And with Sam having gotten kidnapped anyway, it was certainly no victory for him, in his eyes at least.

“I haven't said anything,” Ted confirmed. “This is hardly the time.” They both agreed on that. And he didn't even know if he'd have the guts to when it was over. Somehow, it didn't seem right to him. It was taking unfair advantage of her.

“I think she likes you,” Rick suggested, and Ted grinned. They sounded like two kids in high school, or younger. Two boys shooting marbles on the playground at recess, talking about a girl in sixth grade. But it was a relief talking about Ted's feelings for Fernanda, instead of Sam's life-and-death situation for a few minutes. Rick and Ted needed the relief.

“I like her too,” Ted said softly, thinking of the way she looked when they talked for hours in the dark, or she fell asleep on the floor next to him, waiting for news of Sam. His heart had melted then.

“Then go for it,” Rick whispered. “Life is short.” They both knew that, had had ample proof of it over the years, and would again.

“That's for sure,” Ted said with a sigh, and moved away from the tree he'd been leaning on while they talked. It had been an interesting conversation, but they had more important things to do. It had been a good break for both of them. Ted particularly. He liked hearing what Rick thought, about all of it. He had unlimited respect for him.

Rick followed him back inside, thinking about what Ted had admitted to him, and as soon as they walked in the door of the command post, they both got swept up in the discussions and arguments again. It was midnight finally when they all agreed on a plan. It wasn't foolproof by any means, but it was the best they could do. The head of the SWAT team said they would start moving toward the house just before dawn, and he suggested to everyone that they try to get some sleep in the meantime. Ted left the office at one o'clock and headed toward Fernanda's room, to see how she was doing.

She was alone in the room when he walked past. The door was closed, but he could see through the window that the lights were on, and she was lying on the bed, her eyes were open, and she was staring into space. And he waved at her. She got up instantly, and opened the door to him, afraid the kidnappers might have called. Her phone lines were being forwarded to a communications truck outside.

“What's happening?” she asked anxiously, and he was quick to reassure her. The hours since they'd gotten there had seemed interminable to her, and to all of them. The teams were itching to get going, and tackle what they had come here to do. Many of them were wandering around outside in body armor, and assault suits, and camouflage.

“We're moving soon.”

“When?” Her eyes searched his.

“Right before dawn.”

“Have you heard anything from the house?” she asked anxiously. There were still policemen there with Will, manning her phones, but Ted knew that as recently as an hour before, no further calls had come in from Peter, nor his colleagues. Ted was sure there was no way he could call them. He had done all he could do. And if they managed to save Sam at all, it would be in great part thanks to him. Without his lead, the boy would be dead for sure. Now it was up to them to take the ball he'd handed them and run like hell. And they would. Soon.

“He hasn't called again,” Ted answered her, and she nodded. News of Sam at this point was too much to hope for. “Everything is quiet.” They had a PG&E truck stationed near the driveway to the house, with communications and surveillance equipment in it, and there had been no movement there either. In fact, one of their commandos sitting on top of a hill with infrared telescopic binoculars said that the house had been dark for hours. Ted hoped they'd all still be sleeping when they got there. The element of surprise was essential, even if it meant no help from Peter. That would have been too much to ask for. “Are you all right?” Ted asked her quietly, trying not to think of his conversation with Rick earlier that night. He didn't want to say or do anything foolish, now that he had admitted it to him, which made his feelings for Fernanda seem that much more real. She nodded, and seemed to hesitate as he watched her.

“I want this to be over,” she said, looking frightened, “but I'm afraid for it to be.” Right now they could still assume that Sam was alive, or at least they hoped so. Earlier that night, she had put in a call to Father Wallis, and found quiet comfort in his reassurance.

“It'll be over soon,” Ted promised her, but he didn't want to assure her that everything would be fine. They were empty words at this point, and she knew it. For better or worse, they would be moving soon.

“Are you going with them?” Her eyes searched his, and he nodded.

“Only as far as the base of the driveway.” The rest was up to the SWAT team and FBI commandos. One of the prep teams had already set up a nest for them in the bushes. It was shrouded in foliage, but at least they'd be near when the shit hit the fan, and it would for sure.

“Can I come with you?” He shook his head firmly, although her eyes pleaded with him. There was no way he could allow her to. It was far too dangerous, he couldn't let her do it. If things went wrong, she could get caught in crossfire, or hit with rifle or machine-gun fire if the kidnappers tried to escape, and hit the nest with a blaze of fire on their way out. It was impossible to predict. “Why don't you try to get some sleep?” he suggested, although he suspected it would be futile for her.

“Will you tell me when you leave?” She wanted to know what was happening and when, which was understandable. It was her son they were risking their lives for. And she wanted to be psychically linked to him when they went, willing him to live. Ted nodded, and promised to advise her when the teams moved out, and then she looked panicked. She had come to rely on him. He was her guide through the unfamiliar jungles of fear. “Where will you be till then?”

He pointed. “My room is two doors down.” He was sharing it with three other men from the city. And Rick was right next door.

Fernanda looked at Ted strangely for a minute, as though she wanted him to step into her room. And they just stood there for a long moment, looking at each other, as Ted felt as though he could read her mind. “Do you want me to come in for a few minutes?” She nodded. There was nothing surreptitious or clandestine about it. The curtains were wide open, the lights were on, and anyone could see into the room.

Ted followed Fernanda into the room, and sat down in the only chair in the room, while Fernanda sat on the bed and looked nervously at him. It was going to be a long night for both of them, and there was no way that she was going to sleep. Her child's life was on the line, and if the worst happened, she wanted to at least spend the night thinking of him. She couldn't even imagine what she was going to tell the other children, if something happened. Ashley didn't even know that Sam had been kidnapped. And after losing their father six months before, she couldn't begin to imagine the blow it would be to them if Sam was killed. She had talked to Will a few hours before. He was trying to be strong, but by the end of the conversation, they were both in tears. In spite of all that, Ted thought she was holding up remarkably. He didn't think he could have kept himself together as staunchly as she had, if it had been one of his kids.

“I don't suppose there's any chance you'll get some sleep?” Ted smiled at her. He was every bit as exhausted as she was, but it was different for him. It was his job.

“I don't think so,” she said honestly. It was only a matter of hours now before the SWAT team and FBI commandos began their raid on the house. “I wish we'd heard from them again.”

“So do I.” Ted was being equally honest with her. “But maybe it's a good sign that we didn't. I think they were probably planning to call you tomorrow and see if you had the funds for them.” A hundred million dollars. It still seemed incredible to him. Even more so that a few years before, her husband could have paid it with ease. It seemed miraculous now that something like this had never happened to him. And in that case, Ted was fairly sure that Fernanda would have been the victim, and not the kids. “Did you eat anything?” There had been cartons of sandwiches circulating for hours, stacks of pizzas, and enough doughnuts to kill all of them. Coffee had been the mainstay that evening for everyone but the SWAT teams, and gallons of Coca-Cola. They all needed the caffeine as they formulated their plans. And now probably most of them were finding it impossible to sleep. Everyone was living on adrenaline. Fernanda was just functioning on anxiety and terror, as she sat wide-eyed on the bed looking at him, wondering if life would ever be normal again.

“Do you mind sitting here with me?” she asked sadly, looking like a kid herself. In a few weeks it was going to be her birthday, and she just hoped Sam would be alive to celebrate it with her.

“No, I like it.” He smiled at her. “You're good company.”

“Not lately,” she said, sighing deeply, without even being aware of it. “I feel like I haven't been good company in years. Months anyway.” It had been so long since she'd had an adult conversation, or a quiet evening out to dinner with her husband, laughing and talking about ordinary things. Ted was the closest she'd come to that in a long time. And there was nothing normal about these days either. She seemed to be constantly engulfed by trauma and tragedy. First Allan, and everything he had left in his wake. And now Sam. “You've been through some tough stuff this year,” Ted said with admiration. “I think I'd be on a respirator by now in your shoes.” Even if things turned out all right with Sam, and he hoped they would, Ted knew she still had a lot of big changes ahead. And after everything Rick had said earlier that night, Ted was wondering if he did too. What Rick had said about Ted's marriage to Shirley hadn't fallen on deaf ears. Particularly that she might leave him one day. Although he never would have, the thought had occurred to Ted too. She was a lot less bound by tradition than he was, and especially in recent years, danced to her own tune.

“Sometimes I think my life will never be normal again.” But then again, when had it been? Allan's rocketlike rise to financial stardom hadn't been normal either. The past several years had been insane for all of them. And now this. “I was going to start looking for a house in Marin this summer.” But now, if Sam were gone, God forbid, she didn't know what she'd do. Maybe move somewhere else, to escape the memories.

“That's going to be a big change for you and the kids,” he said about their moving to a smaller house. “How do you think they'll feel about it?”

“Scared. Angry. Unhappy. Excited. All the things most kids feel when they move. It'll be weird for all of us. But maybe it'll be good.” As long as she still had three children, and not two. It was all she could think of now. And eventually they fell into an easy silence. He tiptoed out of the room around three o'clock when she had finally drifted off to sleep. He managed to get a couple of hours of sleep himself after that, lying on the floor of his room. There were two other men on the room's two beds, and he didn't care where he slept by then. He could have slept standing up, Rick always said about him. And once in a while he damn near did.

The head of the SWAT team came to wake him at five o'clock in the morning. He woke with a start and was instantly alert. The other two men were up and halfway out the door, as Ted got to his feet. He washed his face and brushed his teeth, and quickly ran his hands through his hair, as the SWAT team captain asked him if he wanted to ride with them, and Ted said he'd follow them so he didn't get in their way.

Ted passed Fernanda's room on the way out, and saw that she had woken up and was wandering around the room. She came to the door the moment she saw him and stood looking at him. Her eyes were begging him to take her along, and he squeezed her shoulder gently with one hand as their eyes met and held. He knew almost everything she was feeling, or thought he did, and wanted to reassure her. But there were no promises he could make. They were going to do their best for her and Sam. He hated to leave her, but knew he had to. It would be light soon.

“Good luck.” She couldn't tear her eyes off his, and she was desperate to go with him. She wanted to be as close as she could be to Sam.

“It'll be okay, Fernanda. I'll radio you the minute we've got him.”

She couldn't even speak, as she nodded, and watched him disappear into a car and drive away down the road toward her son.

And at that exact moment, three of his commandos were lowering themselves slowly down the rock face behind the house, on ropes, dressed all in black like cat burglars, with their faces blacked out, and their weapons strapped to them.

Ted stopped the car a quarter of a mile before the driveway, and concealed it in a cluster of trees. He walked silently in the darkness past the scouts in the bushes to the nest the SWAT team had cleared for them. Ted glanced at the men all around him carrying Heckler & Koch MP5s. They were 223mm fully automatic machine guns, used by both the SWAT team and the FBI commandos. There were five other men in the nest with him, as he put on a bulletproof vest, and put on a set of headphones so he could listen to the communications truck, and as he listened to them talking and looked into the darkness, there was a sudden stirring behind him and one of the scouts slipped into the nest, wearing body armor and camouflage. He turned to see if it was one of his men or one of Rick's agents, and he noticed that it was a woman. He didn't recognize her at first, and then realized who it was. It was Fernanda wearing the gear of one of the scouts. She had actually gotten herself there and had conned someone into believing she was a member of the local police, and they had handed her the gear. She'd put it on at lightning speed. She was right there with him, where she shouldn't be, in danger, in the front lines, or way too close to them. He was about to give her hell and send her back. But it was too late, the operation was under way, and he knew how badly she wanted to be there when they got Sam out, if they did. He gave her a fierce look of disapproval, shook his head, and then relented without a word, unable to blame her. He held her hand tightly in his own, as she crouched down beside him, and they silently waited for his men to bring Sam home to his mom.

Chapter 20

Peter lay sleeping next to Sam until five o'clock that morning, and then as though some deep primal instinct told him to wake up, he opened his eyes and slowly stirred. Sam was still asleep beside him, with his head on Peter's shoulder. And the same inexplicable intuition told him to untie Sam's hands and feet. They kept him that way all the time so he couldn't escape. Sam had gotten used to it and come to accept it in the last week. He had learned that he could trust Peter more than the others. And as Peter untied the knots, Sam rolled over and whispered one word, “Mom.”

Peter smiled at him, and got up, and stood looking out the window. It was still dark outside, but the sky was more charcoal now than inky. And he knew that soon the sun would be coming up over the hill. Another day. Endless hours of waiting. He knew that they were going to call Fernanda, and kill the boy if she didn't have the money for them. They still thought she was holding out on them and playing games. Killing the boy meant nothing to them. And by the same token, if they had any idea what he'd done, nor would killing him. He no longer cared. He had traded his life for Sam's. If he was able to escape with him, it would be a mercy, but he didn't expect that to happen. Trying to flee with the boy might slow them down and put Sam at greater risk.

He was still standing at the window, when he heard a sound that sounded like the first stirring of a bird, and then a single pebble flew toward him and landed with a soft thud in the dirt. He looked up and almost beyond his vision, he saw a stirring, and as he looked again, three dark forms were sliding down the rocks above them on black ropes. There was nothing to signal their arrival, and yet he knew they were there and felt his heart pound. He opened the window soundlessly and squinted into darkness, watching them lower themselves down until they disappeared. He put a hand over Sam's mouth so he didn't cry out, and gently moved him, until the child's eyes opened and Peter saw that he was awake. As soon as Sam looked at him, he put a finger to his lips. He pointed to the window as Sam watched him. He didn't know what was happening, but he knew that whatever it was, Peter was going to help him. He lay totally still on the bed, and realized that Peter had untied him, and he could move his hands and feet freely for the first time in days. Neither of them moved, and then Peter went back to the window. He saw nothing at first, and then he saw them, crouching in the darkness, ten feet behind the house. A single black-gloved hand beckoned, and he turned back and scooped Sam off the bed into his arms. He was afraid to open the window any wider than he had, and squeezed him through it. It was a short drop, and he knew the boy's arms and legs would be stiff. He was still holding him when he looked at him for the last time. Their eyes met and held for an endless moment, and it was the single greatest act of love Peter had ever committed as he dropped him, and then pointed, as Sam crawled like a baby into the bushes on all fours. He vanished from Peter's sight then, and then a black hand went up and beckoned him again. He stood staring at it, and heard a sound in the house behind him. He shook his head, closed the window, and lay back down on the bed. He didn't want to do anything to risk Sam.

As Sam crawled across the dirt and into the bushes, he had no idea where he was going. He just went in the direction that Peter had pointed, and as two hands reached out and grabbed him, he was pulled into the brush with such speed and force, it took his breath away. He looked up at his new captors, and whispered to the man who held him with blackened face and black nylon skullcap, “Are you bad guys or good guys?” The man who was holding him tightly to his chest nearly cried, he was so relieved to see him. It had gone like clockwork so far, but they still had a long way to go.

“Good guys,” he whispered back. Sam nodded and wondered where his mom was, as the men around him signaled to each other, and flattened Sam down on the ground. He got a faceful of dirt, as long pink and yellow fingers began to streak across the sky. The sun hadn't come up yet, but the men knew it wouldn't be long.

They had already ruled out the possibility of pulling Sam back up the rock face on ropes, it would leave him too exposed to gunfire if his absence were discovered. He was a risk to all his captors now, save Peter, as he was old enough to identify them and tell the police what he heard and saw.

The SWAT team's only hope was getting him out down the driveway, but that left them all exposed as well. They were going to have to make their way out through the thick brush alongside it, and some of it was so dense that there was no way for them to pass. One of them had Sam firmly in his grasp, in powerful arms as they crouched, then ran, then shimmied their way along on their bellies on the ground. And all the while, they said nothing to each other or to Sam. They moved in a precise dance, and made their way as fast as they could, as the sun peeked over the hill, and began to crawl into the sky.

The sound Peter had heard was one of the men going to the bathroom. He heard the toilet flush, and then a swear word as whoever it was stubbed his toe on his way back to bed. And a few minutes later, he heard one of the others. Peter lay very still on the empty bed, and then decided to get up himself. He didn't want one of them coming into the room and discovering that Sam was gone.

He walked on bare feet into the living room, looked out the window cautiously, saw nothing, and sat down.

“You're up early,” a voice said behind him. Peter gave a start and turned. It was Carlton Waters. He looked bleary-eyed after their excesses of the night before. “How's the kid?”

“He's fine,” Peter said without much apparent interest. He had seen enough of these men to last a lifetime. Waters was bare chested, wearing only the jeans he had slept in, as he opened the refrigerator, foraging for something to eat, and emerged again with a beer.

“I'm going to call his mother when the others get up,” Waters said, as he sat down on the couch across from Peter. “She'd better have the money ready for us, or we're done,” he said matter-of-factly. “I'm not going to sit here forever, like a sitting duck, waiting for the fucking cops to show up. She'd better get that into her head, if she's jerking us around.”

“Maybe she doesn't have it,” Peter said, and shrugged. “If not, we've wasted a lot of time.” Peter knew the score but Waters didn't.

“Your guy wouldn't be going to all this trouble if she didn't,” Waters said, and then got up to look out the window. The sky was pink and gold by then, and there was a clear view of the first turn in the driveway, and as he looked at it, he stiffened, and ran out on the porch. He had seen something move and disappear. “Fuck!” he said, running back in for his shotgun, and shouted for the others.

“What's wrong?” Peter asked, getting up out of his chair and looking concerned.

“I'm not sure.” The other two had emerged sleepily by then, and each of them grabbed one of the machine guns as Peter's heart sank. There was no way to warn the men who were making their way down the driveway on their bellies with Sam. They hadn't gone far enough yet, Peter knew, to be safe.

Waters signaled to Stark and Free to get outside, and then like ghosts they saw them. Peter could see past Waters and the others to a man in black crouching and running, and he had something in his arms. The something he was carrying was Sam. Without warning, Waters fired at them, as Stark let off a machine-gun round.

Fernanda and Ted heard the sounds where they were sitting. They had no radio contact with the commandos. Fernanda squeezed her eyes shut and grabbed Ted's hand. There was no way for them to know what had happened, all they could do was wait. They had lookouts watching for them, but they had seen nothing yet. But from the rattle of the machine gun, he knew they were on their way with Sam. He didn't know if Peter would be with them. It would be riskier for the boy if he was.

“Oh God…oh God…” Fernanda whispered as they heard the guns go off again, “please…God…” Ted couldn't look at her. All he could do was stare into the dawning light, and hold her hand tightly in his own.

Rick Holmquist had taken a step out of the nest and was standing, as Ted turned to him. “Any sign of them yet?” Rick shook his head and the guns went off again. They both knew there were a dozen more commandos lining the driveway, in addition to the three who had gone in from the top. And beyond them were an army of men waiting to go in once Sam was out.

The gunfire stopped then and they heard nothing. Waters had turned to Peter and looked at him. “Where's the kid?” Something had aroused his suspicions, and Peter had no idea what it was.

“In the back room. Tied up.”

“Is he?” Peter nodded. “Then why the fuck do I think I just saw a guy running across the driveway with him… tell me that… will you …” He slammed Peter backward against the wall of the house, with his shotgun just under Peter's neck, choking him, and both Stark and Free stared. Waters turned to Jim Free then and told him to go in the back room and check, and he came back running seconds later.

“He's gone!” Stark looked panicked.

“I knew it… you sonofabitch …” Waters looked Peter dead in the eye as he slowly strangled him, and Malcolm Stark pointed the machine gun at him. “You called them, didn't you … you fucking pussy… what happened? Did you get scared? Felt sorry for the kid? You'd better start feeling sorry for me. You fucked us out of fifteen million dollars and yourself out of ten.” Waters was blind with rage and fear. He knew that whatever happened, he wasn't going back to prison. They were going to have to kill him first.

“If she had the money, she'd have come up with it by now. Maybe Addison was wrong,” Peter said hoarsely. It was the first time the others had heard his name.

“What the fuck do you know?” Waters turned back to look down the driveway as far as he could, and took a few steps away from the house as Stark ran after him, but there was nothing to see. The men who had Sam with them were halfway down by then. Rick had just caught a glimpse of them running, and he turned to signal Ted. And then at almost the same moment he saw Carlton Waters and Malcolm Stark appear, and they started shooting at his men. Sam flew out of one man's arms, and was grabbed by another. They passed him along like a baton in a relay race, as Stark and Waters just went on shooting at whatever they could see.

Fernanda's eyes were open by then, and she and Ted were staring down the driveway. She looked just in time to see one of Rick's FBI men take careful aim at Waters and bring him down like a felled tree. He lay facedown on the ground as Stark ran back to the house with bullets flying all around him. Peter and Jim Free had gone back into the house, and Stark was screaming when he ran in.

“They got Carl!” he shouted, and then turned on Peter, still holding the machine gun. “You bastard, you killed him!” Stark said as he fired a round at Peter. Peter had time to look at him for only a fraction of an instant before the bullets sawed his body in half, and he fell at Jim Free's feet.

“What are we going to do?” Jim Free asked Stark.

“Get the fuck out of here, if we can.” They already knew the brush was too thick on either side, and there was rock face behind them. They had no equipment to climb it, and the only way out was through the front and down the driveway, which was littered with bodies now, not only Carl's but the men that he and Stark had shot, before they got him. There were three bodies lying on the ground between the front of the house and the road, and Sam saw them as the man carrying him ran. He was like a running back heading for the end zone. He just ran harder and suddenly he was within two feet of Ted and Fernanda. They could see Sam now, as the sun streaked across the road. She was sobbing as she watched him, and then suddenly Sam was in her arms and everyone was crying. His eyes were wide and he looked shell-shocked and filthy dirty, but he was screaming for his mom, and she couldn't make a sound.

“Mommy!… Mommy!… Mommy!!” She was crying so hard, she couldn't say anything to him, she just clutched him to her, as they both fell to the ground, and she lay there, holding her baby, loving him, as she had every second he was gone. They lay there together on the ground for a long time, and then Ted gently picked them both up, and signaled to some of the men behind them to take them away. He and Rick had been watching them, with tears running down their cheeks, as were the other officers. A paramedic came to help them then. He carried Sam to a waiting ambulance, with Fernanda running along beside him and holding Sam's hand. They were taking him to a local hospital to check him out.

“Who've we got left in there?” Ted asked Rick, wiping the tears from his face with the back of his hand.

“Three guys, I guess. Waters is down. That leaves Morgan and two others. I don't suppose Morgan is still alive by now… that leaves two …” Inevitably they would have killed him, when they discovered Sam was gone, and particularly after Waters's death. They had seen Stark run back in, but they also knew that there was nowhere for them to go. They had orders to shoot to kill all of them save Morgan, if he was still alive.

The marksmen and sharpshooters came in then, and a man from the SWAT team with a bullhorn. He told them to come out with their hands up, that they were coming in. There was no response, and no one walked down the driveway and into the clearing. And within two minutes, forty men headed up, with tear gas bombs, high-powered rifles, machine guns, and flash bangs, which when thrown, blinded you with light, disoriented you with an explosion and a burst of pellets that flew everywhere and stung like bee stings. The sound of the ammunition being emptied into the house was deafening, as Fernanda drove away in the ambulance with Sam. She saw Ted standing with Rick in the road as they left, wearing a bulletproof vest and talking to someone on the radio. He didn't see her go.

Fernanda heard from one of the FBI men at the motel that the siege at the house had lasted less than half an hour. Stark came out first, choking on tear gas, with bullets in one arm and one leg, and Jim Free came out right behind him. One of the agents told her later he'd been shaking from head to foot, squealing like a little pig. They were taken into custody on the spot, and would be sent back to prison for parole violations, pending trial. They would be tried for Sam's kidnap sometime within the next year, as well as the murder of two police officers and the FBI agent they'd brought down during the siege, and four more men when they'd kidnapped Sam from his house.

They found Peter Morgan's body when they went in. Rick and Ted watched them remove it. They saw the room Sam had been held captive in, and the window Peter had shoved him through for the escape. Everything they needed was there. The van, the guns, the ammunition. The house had been rented in Peter's name. And Ted knew all three convicts by name. The death of Carlton Waters was no loss to anyone. He had been on the street for just over two months. As had Peter. Two wasted lives, almost since the beginning, and ever since then.

Ted and Rick had lost three good men that day, as had the SWAT team, and along with the four they'd killed in San Francisco when they took Sam. Free and Stark would never see the light of day again, for kidnapping Sam, Ted hoped they would be put to death. It was all over for them. The trial was only going to be a formality, if there even was one. If they pled guilty, it would be simpler for everyone, although Ted knew they weren't likely to do that. They would drag it out as long as they could, and file endless appeals, just to live one more day in prison, for whatever that was worth to them.

Rick and Ted stayed on the crime scene until early that afternoon. Ambulances had come and gone, the dead commandos and agent were removed, photographs were taken, the injured seen to, it looked like a war zone. Frightened neighbors who'd been awakened by machine-gun fire at dawn clogged the road, straining to see what had happened, and asking for explanations. The police tried to reassure everyone, and attempted to keep traffic moving. Ted looked exhausted when he got back to the motel, and went to see Sam in Fernanda's room. They had just gotten back from the hospital, and remarkably, he was fine. There were still a lot of questions they wanted to ask him, but Ted wanted to see what kind of shape he was in first. He was lying in his mother's arms and clinging to her when Ted saw him. He was smiling up at her, had a humongous hamburger on a plate next to him, and was watching TV. And literally every cop and agent in the place had come in to see him and talk to him, or just ruffle his hair and leave again. They had laid their lives on the line for him, and lost friends to him. He was worth it. Men had died for him that day. But if they hadn't, Sam would have died instead. And the man who had made the difference ultimately, and helped save him, was dead too.

Fernanda couldn't take her hands off him, and she beamed at Ted as he walked in. He was filthy and tired, and had beard stubble all over his cheeks and chin. Rick had assured him he looked like a bum, when he left him to get something to eat. He said he had to make some calls to Europe.

“So, young man”—Ted grinned at him, as his eyes brushed Fernanda's—”it's good to see you again. I'd say you've been a real hero. You're a mighty fine deputy.” He didn't want to question him just yet. He wanted to give the kid a little time and room to breathe, but there was a lot they wanted to ask him. He was going to be seeing a lot of the police. “I know your mom is very happy to see you.” And then as his voice went gruff again, he said softly, “Me too.” Like almost everyone else who had been working night and day to find him, he had cried often that day. And Sam rolled over and smiled up at him, but he didn't move an inch away from his mother.

“He said he was sorry,” Sam said as his eyes grew serious, and Ted nodded. He knew he meant Peter Morgan. “I know. He said that to me too.”

“How did you find me?” Sam looked up at Ted with interest, as Ted lowered himself into a chair next to him, and ran a gentle hand over his head. He had never been as relieved to see anyone, except his own son once when he had gotten lost and they had thought he drowned in a lake. Fortunately, he hadn't.

“He called us.”

“He was nice to me. The others were scary.”

“I'll bet they were. They're very scary people. They're never going to come out of prison again, Sam.” He didn't tell him that they might even get the death penalty for committing kidnap. Ted thought that was more information than he needed. “One of them was killed by the police, Carlton Waters.” Sam nodded, and glanced at his mother.

“I never thought I'd see you again,” he said softly.

“I thought I would,” she said bravely, although there were times when she didn't. They had called Will when they got to the motel, and he had sobbed when he talked to Sam, and when his mother told him. And she had called Father Wallis. Ashley didn't even know Sam had been kidnapped. She was only a few miles away, and Fernanda was going to leave her with her friends for a few days till things calmed down. She had never even known Sam was gone. Fernanda had decided not to upset her, until after it was over. She was going to tell her what happened when she got home. It had been better this way. And she couldn't help thinking about what Father Wallis had said when he met her, that Sam's kidnapping had been a compliment from God. She didn't want any more like this one. He had reminded her of it when she spoke to him that morning.

“What do you say I take you home in a little while?” Ted looked at them both, and Sam nodded. Ted wondered if Sam would be afraid of the house he had been kidnapped in. But he also knew they wouldn't be there for much longer.

“They wanted a lot of money, huh, Mom?” Sam asked, looking up at her, and she nodded. “I told him we didn't have any. I said Daddy lost it. But he didn't tell the others. Or maybe he did, and they didn't believe him.” It was a succinct summary of the situation.

“How do you know that?” Fernanda frowned at him. He knew more than she had suspected. “About the money, I mean.” Sam looked faintly embarrassed and grinned up at her sheepishly.

“I heard you talking on the phone,” he confessed, and she looked at Ted with a rueful smile.

“When I was a little girl, my father used to say that little pitchers have big ears.”

“What does that mean?” Sam looked confused as Ted laughed at the old saying. He knew it too.

“It means you shouldn't be eavesdropping on your mother,” she scolded, but without fervor. She didn't care what he did now. He had carte blanche for a hell of a long time. She was just glad to have him home.

Ted asked him a few questions after that, and Rick came in a short while later with some of his own. None of Sam's answers surprised them. They had pieced it together surprisingly accurately on their own.

All of the police had vacated the motel by six o'clock, as Fernanda and Sam got in Ted's car. Rick caught a ride with some of his agents, and he winked at Ted as he left, as Ted swung playfully at him in answer.

“Don't give me that,” he said under his breath to Rick. And Rick smiled at him. He was glad it had all turned out right. It could easily have been worse. You never knew till it was over. They had lost brave people that day, who had given their lives for Sam.

“It's tough work, but someone has to do it,” Rick teased him in a whisper, referring to Fernanda. She was truly a nice woman, and he liked her. But Ted had no intention of doing something foolish. Now that the heat of the moment was over, he was still loyal to Shirley. And Fernanda had her own life and problems to deal with.

It was an easy, uneventful drive home. The paramedics and the doctors at the hospital had found Sam to be in surprisingly good shape, considering the ordeal he'd been through. He'd lost some weight, and he was starving all the way home. Ted stopped at Ikeda and got him a cheeseburger, french fries, a milkshake, and four boxes of cookies. And by the time they pulled up in front of her house, Sam was sound asleep. Fernanda was sitting in the front seat with Ted, and she was almost too tired to get out.

“Don't wake him. I'll carry him in,” Ted said easily, as he turned off the ignition. It was a very different trip than the ride up had been, which had been fraught with tension and fears that they might lose him. The past weeks had been filled with terror.

“What do I say to thank you?” Fernanda said, looking at him. They had become friends in the past weeks, and she would never forget it.

“You don't have to. This is what they pay me to do,” he said, looking at her, but they both knew it had been more than that. Much more than that. He had lived every moment of the nightmare with her, and would have sacrificed his life for Sam at any moment. It was who he was, and had been all his life. Fernanda leaned toward him then, and kissed his cheek. The moment hung in midair between them. “I'm going to need to spend some time with him, to ask him some questions for the investigation. I'll call you before I come over.” He knew Rick would want to question him too. Fernanda nodded.

“Come anytime you want,” she said softly, and with that he got out of the car, opened the back door, scooped the sleeping child up in his arms, and she followed him to the front door. It was opened by two policemen with guns in shoulder holsters, and Will was standing just behind them, and looked suddenly panicked.

“Oh my God, is he hurt?” His eyes darted from Ted to his mother. “You didn't tell me.”

“It's okay, sweetheart.” She put her arms around him gently. He was still a child too, even at sixteen. “He's sleeping.” They both cried as they held each other then. It was going to be a long time before they stopped worrying. Disaster had become a way of life all too quickly. Nothing had been normal for so long that they had forgotten what it felt like.

Ted carried Sam up to his room, and laid him gently on the bed, as Fernanda took off his sneakers. He made a gentle snuffling sound, and turned over on his side, without waking, as Ted and Fernanda stood looking down at him. He was a lovely sight, in his bed at home, with his head on the pillow.

“I'll call you in the morning,” Ted said to her downstairs, as he stood in the doorway. The two policemen had just left, after Fernanda thanked them.

“We're not going anywhere,” she promised him. She wasn't even sure she felt safe leaving the house yet. It was going to be very odd being on their own again, wondering if there were people out there somewhere, plotting against them. Hopefully, nothing like it would ever happen again. She had called Jack Waterman from Tahoe too. And they both agreed, some public announcement had to be made about the disappearance of Allan's fortune. Otherwise, she and the children would remain targets forever. She had learned that lesson.

“Get some rest,” Ted admonished her, and she nodded. It was silly of her, she knew, but she hated to see him go. She had gotten used to talking to him late at night, knowing she would find him there at any hour, and sleeping on the floor next to him, when she could sleep nowhere else. She always felt safe near him. She realized that now. “I'll call you,” he promised again, as she closed the door, wondering how she would ever thank him.

The house seemed empty when she walked upstairs. There were no sounds, no men, no guns, no cell phones ringing in every corner of the house, no negotiator listening on her lines. Thank God. Will was waiting for her in her room, and he looked as though he had grown up overnight.

“You okay, Mom?”

“Yeah,” she said cautiously. “I am.” She felt as though she had been dropped off a building, and was feeling her soul for bruises. There were many, but they would all heal now. Sam was back. “How about you?”

“I don't know. It was scary. It's hard not to think about it now.” She nodded at him. He was right. They would all think about it, and remember it, for a long, long time.

As Fernanda got into the shower, and Will went to bed, Ted drove home to his house in the Sunset. There was no one home when he got in. There never was anymore. Shirley was never home. She was either at work, or out with her friends, most of whom he didn't know. There was a deafening silence in the house, and for the first time in a long time, he felt agonizingly lonely. He missed seeing Ashley and Will, Fernanda coming to talk to him, the familiar ease of being surrounded by his men, on a stakeout. It had reminded him of his youth in the department. But he didn't just miss the men, he missed Fernanda.

He sat down on a chair and stared into space, thinking about calling her. He wanted to. He had heard everything Rick had said. But that was Rick, and this was him. And he just couldn't do it.

Chapter 21

Ted talked to Rick the next day, and asked him what he had done about Addison. The state was going to bring charges against him too, and serve him with a warrant for conspiracy to commit kidnap, as soon as he got back to the city. Ted assumed he would. The judge had assured Rick, over his federal charges, that Phillip Addison was not a flight risk. And Ted hoped he was right.

“He's winging his way home as we speak,” Rick told Ted over the phone, grinning.

“That was quick. I thought he was supposed to be gone all month.”

“He was. I called Interpol yesterday, and the FBI office in Paris. They sent his surveillance guys in to pick him up. We booked him on conspiracy to commit kidnap. And one of my favorite informants called me today. Apparently, our little friend is scientifically oriented, so to speak, and he's been running a hefty business in crystal meth for quite a while. We're going to have fun with this one, Ted.”

“He must have had a shit fit when they showed up.” Ted laughed at the thought of it, although there was nothing laughable about what he'd done. But he was so pretentious about being “social,” from all Ted had heard, that it served him right to be cut down to size.

“His wife damn near had a heart attack apparently. She slapped him and the agent.”

“That must have been fun.” Ted smiled. He was still tired.

“I doubt it.”

“You were right about the car bombing too, by the way. Jim Free told us Waters did it. They weren't in on it, but he admitted it to them in Tahoe one night when he got drunk. I thought you'd like to know.”

“At least the captain will know I'm not nuts.”

Ted told him then that they had recovered most of the money Addison had paid Stark, Free, and Waters in advance, in suitcases in lockers in the Modesto bus station. It was going to be damning evidence against him. Free had told them where it was.

And then Rick changed the subject radically, as he often did, and got right to the point. “So did you say anything to her when you dropped her off?” They both knew he meant Fernanda.

“About what?” Ted played dumb.

“Don't give me that, you moron. You know what I mean.”

Ted sighed. “No, I didn't. I thought about calling her last night, but there's no point, Rick. I can't do that to Shirley.”

“She would. And you're doing it to yourself. And to Fernanda. She needs you, Ted.”

“Maybe I need her too. But I already have one.”

“The one you've got is a lemon,” he said bluntly, which wasn't fair either, and Ted knew it. Shirley was a good woman, she was just the wrong one for him, and had been for years. She knew it too. She was just as disappointed in Ted. “I hope you get smart one of these days, before it's too late,” Rick said with fervor. “Which reminds me, there's something I want to talk to you about. Let's have dinner next week.”

“What about?” Ted was intrigued, and wondered if it was about his upcoming marriage, not that he was any authority on the subject. On the contrary. But they were best friends, and always would be.

“Believe it or not, I want your advice.”

“Happy to give it. When are you going out to see Sam, by the way?”

“I'll let you do it first. You know him better. I don't want to scare him, and you may get everything I need.”

“I'll let you know.”

They agreed to talk again in a few days. And the following day, Ted went to visit Sam. Fernanda was there with Jack Waterman. They looked like they'd been talking business, and Jack left shortly after Ted arrived. He spent all of his time with Sam. Fernanda looked distracted and busy, and Ted couldn't help wondering if something was up with her and Jack. It seemed reasonable to him, and would have been the right fit. He could tell Jack thought so too.

The following day there was a grim article in the newspapers about the financially disastrous end of Allan Barnes's career. The only thing they left out was Allan's presumed suicide. But Ted had the feeling, reading it, that Fernanda had had a hand in it. And he wondered if that was what she had been doing with Jack, and why she looked somewhat upset. He didn't blame her, but it was better to get the word out. So far they had managed to keep everything about the kidnap out of the press. Ted assumed that it would come out eventually, during the trial. But no date had been set, and wouldn't be for a while. Both Stark and Free were already back in prison, after their parole was revoked when they were apprehended.

Sam was remarkably cooperative with Ted. It was amazing what he remembered, in spite of the traumatic circumstances, and what he had observed. He was going to make an excellent witness, despite his age.

After that, things moved quickly for Fernanda and her children. She turned forty shortly after, and the kids took her to International House of Pancakes on her birthday. It wasn't the birthday she would have anticipated a year before, but it was all she wanted this year. To be with her children. Shortly after that, she told them they had to sell the house. Ashley and Will were shocked, and Sam wasn't. He already knew, as he had confessed to her, from eavesdropping on her conversations. Their life had a transitional quality to it, once she made the announcement to them. Ash said it was humiliating for her now at school, once everyone knew her father had lost all his money, and there were girls who no longer wanted to be friends with her, which Will said was disgusting. He was a senior that year. And none of them had shared that they had been targets of a kidnapping attempt that summer. The story was so horrifying that it didn't qualify for school assignments that covered “What I Did on My Summer Vacation.” They only talked about it among themselves. The police had warned them to keep quiet to avoid “copycats” and the press. And one of the potential buyers who visited the house gasped when she saw the kitchen.

“My Lord, why didn't you ever finish it? A house like this ought to have a fabulous kitchen!” She looked down her nose at the realtor and Fernanda, and Fernanda had an overwhelming desire to slap her, but didn't.

“It used to,” she said simply. “We had an accident here last summer.”

“What kind of accident?” the woman asked nervously, and for a moment, Fernanda was tempted to tell her that two FBI agents and two San Francisco policemen were gunned down in her kitchen. But she resisted the urge and said nothing.

“Nothing serious. But I decided to take out the granite.” Because it was bloodstained beyond repair, she thought to herself in silence.

The kidnapping still had a quality of unreality to it, for all of them. Sam told his best friend in school, and the boy didn't believe him. The teacher gave him a serious lecture about lying after that, and inventing things, and Sam came home crying.

“She didn't believe me!” he complained to his mother. Who would? She didn't believe it herself sometimes. It was so horrifying she still couldn't absorb it, and when she thought about it, it still frightened her so much, and made her so anxious, that she had to force herself to think about something else.

She had taken the children to a psychiatrist who specialized in trauma after it happened, and the woman was impressed with how well they'd come through it, although now and then, Sam still had nightmares, as did his mother.

Ted continued to visit Sam well into September, to gather evidence and testimony, and by October he had finished. He didn't call them after that, and Fernanda thought of him often, and meant to call him. She was showing the house, trying to find a smaller one, and looking for a job. She was nearly out of money, and trying not to panic. But late at night, she often did, and Will saw it. He offered to get a job after school, to try and help her. She was worrying about college for him. Fortunately, he had good grades and qualified for the University of California system, although she knew she'd still have to scare up enough to pay for the dorm. It was hard to believe sometimes that Allan had had hundreds of millions of dollars, although not for very long. She had never been as broke as she was at that moment. And it scared her.

Jack took her to lunch one day, and tried to talk to her about it. He said he hadn't wanted to approach her too soon, or offend her right after Allan died, and then there was the kidnapping, and all of them had been so upset, understandably. But he said he had been thinking about it for months, and had made a decision. He paused, as though expecting a drumroll, and Fernanda never saw it coming.

“What kind of decision?” she said blindly.

“I think we ought to get married.” She stared at him across the lunch table, and for a minute she thought he was kidding, but saw he wasn't.

“You just decided that? Without asking me, or talking to me about it? What about what I think?”

“Fernanda, you're broke. You can't keep your kids in private schools. Will is going to college in the fall. And you have no marketable job skills,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Are you offering to hire me, or marry me?” she asked, suddenly angry. He wanted to dispose of her life, without having consulted her. And most important, he had never mentioned love. What he said sounded like a job offer, not a proposal of marriage, which offended Fernanda. There was something very condescending about the way he'd asked.

“Don't be ridiculous. Marry you, of course. And besides, the children know me,” Jack said irritably. It all made perfect sense to him and love was not important. He liked her. To him, that seemed enough.

“Yes”—she decided that his bluntness deserved her own—”but I don't love you.” In truth, his offer didn't flatter her, it hurt her feelings. She felt like a car he was buying, not like a woman he loved.

“We could learn to love each other,” he said stubbornly. She had always liked him, and she knew he was responsible and reliable, and a good person, but there was no magic between them. She knew that if she ever married again, she wanted magic, or at least love.

“I think it would be a sensible move for both of us. I've been widowed for a number of years, and Allan left you in a hell of a mess. Fernanda, I want to take care of you, and your children.” For a moment, he almost touched her heart, but not enough.

She sighed deeply as she looked at him, and he waited for the answer. He saw no reason to give her time to think about it. He had made a good offer, and he expected her to accept it, like a job, or a house.

“I'm sorry, Jack,” she said as gently as she could. “I can't do it.” She was beginning to understand why he had never remarried. If he made proposals like that, or saw marriage that pragmatically, he was better off with a dog.

“Why not?” He looked confused.

“I may be crazy, but if I ever get married again, I want to fall in love.”

“You're not a child anymore, and you have responsibilities to think of.” He was asking her to sell herself into slavery, so she could send Will to Harvard. She would rather have sent him to City College. She wasn't willing to sell her soul to a man she didn't love, even for her kids. “I think you should reconsider.”

“I think you're wonderful, and I don't deserve you,” she said, standing up, as she realized that years of friendship and his handling their affairs had just been flushed down the toilet.

“That may be true,” he said, yanking on the chain as hard as he could, as she heard a flushing sound in her head. “But I still want to marry you.”

“I don't,” she said, looking at him. She had never realized it before, but he was more insensitive and domineering than she'd realized over the years, and cared far more about what he felt than what she did, which was probably why he wasn't married. Having made his decision, he thought she should do as she was told, which was not how she wanted to spend the rest of her life. Doing as she was told by a man she didn't love. The way he had proposed seemed more of an insult than a compliment, and showed a lack of respect. “And by the way,” she said, looking over her shoulder at him, as she dropped her napkin on the chair, “you're fired, Jack.” And with that, she turned around and walked out.

Chapter 22

The house sold in December, finally. Just before Christmas, of course. So they had one more Christmas in the living room, with their tree beneath the magical Viennese chandelier. It seemed fitting somehow, and was the end of a tough year for all of them. And she still didn't have a job, but she was looking. She was trying to get a job as a secretary that would be part time enough to let her leave to pick Ashley and Sam up at school. As long as they were still at home, she wanted to be there for them too. Although she knew other mothers managed with sitters and day care and latchkey kids, if she could help it, she didn't want to. She still wanted to be with her kids, as much as she could.

She had a lot of decisions to make once the house sold. A couple bought it who were moving out from New York, and the realtor explained surreptitiously that he had made an enormous fortune. Fernanda nodded, and said that was nice. For as long as it lasted, she thought to herself. In the last year, she had had constant lessons about what was important. After Sam's kidnapping, she no longer had any question. Her kids mattered. The rest didn't. And money, to whatever degree, was unimportant to her, except to feed her children.

She had been planning to strip the house, and sell whatever she could at auction. But as it turned out, the buyers loved everything she had and paid a huge premium for it, over and above the price of the house. The wife thought she had terrific taste. So it worked out well for all involved.

She and the children moved out in January. Ashley cried. Sam looked sad. And as always these days, Will was an enormous help to his mother. He carried boxes, loaded things, and he was with her the day she found the new house. She actually had enough left over to buy something small, and put a hefty mortgage on it, after the sale of the house. The house she found in Marin was exactly what she wanted. It was in Sausalito, high up on a hill, with a view of sailboats, the bay, Angel Island, and Belvedere. It was peaceful and cozy and unpretentious and pretty. And the children loved it when they saw it. She decided to put Ashley and Sam in public school in Marin, and Will was going to commute for the remaining months of school until he graduated. Two weeks after they moved into the house, she found a job, as curator of a gallery five minutes from her house. They had no problem with her leaving at three every day. The salary was small, but at least the money was consistent. And by then she had a new lawyer, a woman. Jack was still deeply offended by her refusing his proposal. And sometimes, when she thought of it, she thought it was both sad and funny. He had seemed so incredibly pompous when he asked her. She had never seen that side of him before.

What didn't seem funny to her, and never would, was the memory of the kidnapping the previous summer. She still had nightmares about it. It seemed surreal to her, and it was one of the many things she didn't mind about leaving their old house. She could never sleep in it again without an overwhelming feeling of panic that something terrible was about to happen. She slept better in Sausalito. And she hadn't heard from Ted since the previous September. It had been four months. He called her finally in March. The trial of Malcolm Stark and Jim Free had been set for April. It had already been postponed twice, and Ted said it wouldn't be again.

“We're going to need Sam to testify,” he said awkwardly after asking her how she had been. He had thought of her often, but never called, in spite of Rick Holmquist urging him to do so.

“I worry about it being traumatic for him,” Ted said quietly.

“So do I,” Fernanda agreed. It was strange thinking of him now. He had been woven into that hideous experience, almost a part of it, yet not. Her feeling that way was what he had been afraid of, and part of why he had never called. He was sure he would remind them all of the kidnapping. Rick Holmquist told him he was nuts. “He'll get through it,” she said, talking about Sam again.

“How is he?”

“Terrific. It's like it never happened. He's going to a new school, and so is Ash. I think that was good for them. Kind of a fresh start.”

“I see you have a new address.”

“I love my new house,” she confessed with a grin, which he could hear in her voice. “I'm working in a gallery five minutes from home. You should come and see us sometime.”

“I will,” he promised, but she didn't hear from him again until three days before the trial. He called to tell her where to bring him, and when she told Sam, he cried.

“I don't want to do it. I don't want to see them again.” Neither did she. But it had been worse for him. She called the trauma therapist, and she and Sam went in. They talked about his being unable to testify, or it being unwise for him. But in the end, he said he would, and the therapist thought it might give him closure. Fernanda was far more afraid it would give him nightmares. He already had closure. Two of the men were dead, including the one who had helped him escape. And two were in prison. It was enough closure for her, and she thought for Sam too. But she showed up at the Hall of Justice with Sam on the appointed day, with a feeling of trepidation. Sam had had a stomachache after breakfast that day, and so did she.

Ted was waiting for her outside the building. He looked just the same as the last time she'd seen him. Calm, and nicely dressed, well groomed, intelligent, and concerned about how Sam was feeling.

“How's it going, Deputy?” He smiled down at Sam, who was visibly unhappy.

“I feel like throwing up.”

“That's not so good. Let's talk about it for a minute. How come?”

“I'm scared they'll hurt me,” he said bluntly. It made sense. They had before.

“I'm not going to let that happen.” He unbuttoned his jacket, flashed it open for a second, and Sam saw his gun. “There's that, and besides they'll be in court in leg irons and shackles. They're all tied up.”

“They tied me up too,” Sam said miserably, and started to cry. At least he was talking about it. But Fernanda felt sick and looked at Ted, and he looked as unhappy as she did, and then he had an idea. He told them to go across the street for something to drink, and he'd be back as soon as he could.

It took him twenty minutes. He had met with the judge, the public defender, and the prosecutor, and all had agreed. Sam and his mother were going to be interrogated in the judge's chambers, with the jury present, but not the defendants. He never had to see either of the two men again. He could identify them from pictures. Ted had insisted that it was too traumatic for the boy to testify in the courtroom and see his kidnappers again. And when he told Sam, he beamed, and Fernanda heaved a sigh of relief.

“I think you're really going to like the judge. She's a woman, and she's really nice,” he said to Sam. The judge looked grandmotherly and warm when Sam walked in, and during a brief recess she offered him milk and cookies and showed him pictures of her grandkids. Her heart went out to him and his mother for all they'd been through.

His questioning by the prosecution took all morning, and when they were finished, Ted took them out to lunch. The defense was going to question Sam in the afternoon, and reserved the right to bring him back at any time. So far, he had handled it very well. Ted wasn't surprised.

They went to a small Italian restaurant some distance from the Hall of Justice. They didn't have time to go too far, but Ted could tell they both needed to get away, and Sam and his mother were quiet over their pasta. It had been a difficult morning, which brought back a lot of painful memories for Sam, and Fernanda worried about the impact on him. But he seemed to be all right, just quiet.

“I'm sorry you both have to go through this,” Ted said as he paid the check. She offered to pay half, and he smiled and declined. She had worn a red dress, and high-heeled shoes. And he saw that she was wearing makeup. He wondered if she was dating Jack. But he didn't want to ask. Maybe it was someone else. He could see that she was in much better shape emotionally than she had been in the previous June and July. The move and the new job had done her good. He was contemplating some changes himself. He told them he was leaving the department after thirty years.

“Wow, why?” She was stunned. He was a cop through and through, and she knew he loved his job.

“My old partner Rick Holmquist wants to start a private security business. Personal investigation, celebrity protection, it's a little fancy for me, but he runs a tight shop. So do I. And he's right. After thirty years, maybe it's time for a change.” She knew too that after thirty years, he could leave with a pension that would still give him full pay. It was a good deal. And Holmquist's idea sounded like a money-maker, even to her.

The defense counsel tried to make mincemeat of Sam's testimony that afternoon, but couldn't. Sam was unflappable, unshakable, and his memory appeared to be infallible. He stuck by the same story again and again. And identified both defendants from the photographs the prosecution had shown him. Fernanda couldn't identify the men who'd taken her son, while wearing ski masks, but her testimony about the actual kidnapping was deeply moving and her description of the four men murdered in her kitchen was horrifying. At the end of the day, the judge thanked them and sent them home.

“You were a star!” Ted said, beaming at Sam, as they left the Hall of Justice together. “How's your stomach?”

“Good,” Sam said, looking pleased. Even the judge had told him he had done a good job. He had just turned seven, and Ted told him it would have been just as hard even for an adult to testify.

“Let's go for ice cream,” Ted suggested. He followed Sam and Fernanda in his car, and proposed Ghirardelli Square for their outing, which was fun for Sam. And even for her. There was a festive feeling to it, as Sam ordered a hot fudge sundae, and Ted got root beer floats for both of the adults.

“I feel like a kid at a birthday party,” Fernanda giggled.

She was enormously relieved that Sam's part in the trial was over. Ted said that it was more than unlikely they'd want him back to testify again. Everything he had said had been brutally damning for the defense. There was no question in Ted's mind that the two men were going to be convicted, and he felt certain that however grandmotherly the judge looked, she was going to give them the death penalty at the sentencing. It was a sobering thought. Ted had told her that Phillip Addison was being tried separately in a federal court, for conspiracy to commit kidnap, and all his federal charges, including tax evasion, money laundering, and drug smuggling. He would be going away for a long time, and it was unlikely that Sam would have to testify again in his case. He was going to suggest to Rick that they use the transcript of Sam's testimony from the state's case, in order to spare the boy further grief. He wasn't sure that was possible, but he was going to do everything he could to get Sam off the hook on that one. And although Rick was leaving the FBI, Ted knew he would put the Addison case in the right hands, and would be testifying himself. Rick wanted Addison put away for good, or if possible put to death. It had been a serious matter, and as Ted did, he wanted to see justice served. Fernanda was relieved. It was good to have the whole ugly business behind them. With the trial no longer hanging over them, the nightmare was finally over.

The last of it happened at the sentencing a month later. It was almost exactly a year to the day since it all began, and Ted rang her doorbell over the car bombing up the street. Ted called her the same day she saw the article about the sentencing in the paper. Malcolm Stark and James Free had been given the death sentence as punishment for their crimes. She had no idea when they would be executed, or even if, given what they might do with appeals, but there was every reason to think they would be. Phillip Addison hadn't even gone to trial yet, but he was in custody, and his lawyers were doing all they could to stall his trial. But sooner or later, Fernanda knew, he would be convicted too. And in the case of the other two, justice had been served. And most important of all, Sam was fine.

“Did you see the sentencing results in the papers?” Ted asked when he called her. He sounded as though he was in a good mood, and he said he was busy. He had left the department, in a flurry of retirement parties for him, the week before.

“Yes, I did,” Fernanda confirmed. “I've never believed in the death penalty.” It had always seemed wrong to her, and she was sufficiently religious to believe that no one had the right to take someone else's life. But nine men had been killed, and a child had been kidnapped. And since it involved her son, for the first time in her life, she thought it was right. “But I do this time,” she admitted to Ted. “It's different, I guess, if it happens to you.” But she also knew that if they had killed her son, even putting the defendants to death wouldn't have brought him back or made it up to her for her loss. She and Sam had just been very, very lucky. And Ted knew that too. It could have been otherwise, and he was grateful it wasn't.

And then she thought of something they'd been talking about for a long time. “When are you coming to dinner?” She owed him so much for all his kindness to them, and dinner was the least she could do. She had missed seeing him in recent months, although it was a sign that all was well in both their lives. She hoped never to need his services again, nor anyone like him, but after all she'd been through with him, she considered him a friend.

“Actually, that's why I called you. I was going to ask if I could drop by. I have a present for Sam.”

“He'll be happy to see you.” She smiled and looked at her watch, she had to get to work. “How about tomorrow?”

“I'd love it.” He smiled, as he jotted down her new address again. “What time?”

“How about seven?”

He agreed, hung up, and sat in his new office, looking out the window and thinking for a long time. It was hard to believe it had all happened a year ago. He had thought of it again when he saw Judge McIntyre's obituary recently. He was lucky too that the car bombing hadn't killed him a year before that. He had died of natural causes.

“What are you daydreaming about? Don't you have work to do?” Rick barked at him as he stopped in the doorway of Ted's office. Their new business was already up and running, and they were doing well. There was a sizable market for their services, and Ted had told his last police partner, Jeff Stone, the week before, that he had never had so much fun, far more than he'd expected. And he loved working with Rick again. The security business they were just starting up had been a great idea.

“Don't give me any crap about daydreaming, Special Agent. You took a three-hour lunch yesterday. I'm going to start docking your pay if you do it again.” Rick guffawed. He'd been out with Peg. They were getting married in a few weeks. Everything was coming up roses for them. And Ted was going to be best man. “And don't think you're taking a paid vacation while you're on your honeymoon. We run a serious business here. If you want to get married and go running off to Italy, do it on your own time.”

Rick wandered into his office with a grin, and sat down. He hadn't been this happy in years. He'd been sick and tired of his work with the FBI, he much preferred running their own business. “So what's on your mind?” Rick looked at him. He could see there was something eating at Ted.

“I'm having dinner with the Barneses tomorrow night. In Sausalito. They moved.”

“That's nice. Am I allowed to ask rude questions, like what your intentions are, Detective Lee?” Rick's eyes were more serious than his words. He knew what Ted's feelings were, or he thought he did. What he didn't know was what he intended to do about them, if anything. But neither did Ted.

“I just wanted to see the kids.”

“That's too bad.” Rick looked disappointed. He was so happy with Peg, he wanted everyone else to be happy too. “Sounds like a waste of a good woman to me.”

“Yes, she is,” Ted agreed. But there were a lot of issues he couldn't make his peace with, and probably never would. “I think she's probably seeing someone. She looked great at the trial.”

“Maybe she was looking great for you,” Rick suggested, and Ted laughed.

“That's a dumb idea.”

“So are you. You drive me nuts sometimes. In fact, most of the time.” Rick stood up and strolled out of Ted's office again. He knew his old friend was too stubborn to convince.

Both men were busy for the rest of the afternoon. And Ted worked late that night, as he always did.

He was out of the office for most of the following day, and Rick only caught a glimpse of him the next evening when he was about to leave for Sausalito, straight from the office, with a small gift-wrapped package in one hand.

“What's that?” Rick inquired.

“None of your business,” Ted said cheerfully.

“That's nice.” Rick grinned at him, as Ted walked right past him on his way out. “Good luck!” Rick called after him, as Ted just laughed, and the door closed behind him. Rick stood looking at it for a long moment, after Ted was gone, hoping that things went well for him that night. It was time something good happened to him too. It was long overdue.

Chapter 23

Fernanda was in the kitchen with an apron on when the doorbell rang, and she asked Ashley to get it. She had grown about three inches in the past year, and Ted looked startled when he saw her. At thirteen, she suddenly looked not like a child, but like a woman. She was wearing a short denim skirt, a pair of her mother's sandals, and a T-shirt, and she was a very pretty girl, and looked nearly like Fernanda's twin. They had the same features, same smile, same dimensions, although she was taller than her mother now, and same long, straight blond hair.

“How've you been, Ashley?” Ted asked easily as he walked in. He had always liked Fernanda's children. They were polite, well behaved, warm, friendly, bright, and funny. And you could see easily how much love and time she had put into them.

As he walked in, Fernanda stuck her head out of the kitchen, and offered him a glass of wine, which he declined. He didn't drink much, even when he was off duty, which he was all the time now. And as Fernanda disappeared into the kitchen again, Will strolled in, and was obviously happy to see Ted as they shook hands. He was beaming, and they sat and chatted about Ted's new business for a few minutes, until Sam bounded into the room. He had the personality to go with his bright red hair, and he smiled from ear to ear when he saw Ted.

“Mom said you have a present for me, what did you bring me?” He chortled, as his mother arrived from the kitchen and scolded him.

“Sam, that's rude!”

“You said he did …” he argued with her.

“I know. But what if he changed his mind, or forgot it? You'd make him feel bad.”

“Oh.” Sam looked mollified by the correction, just as Ted handed him the package he had brought from work. It was small and square and looked mysterious to Sam, as he took it from him with an impish grin. “Can I open it now?”

“Yes, you can.” He felt badly not to have brought something for the others, but this was something he had been saving for Sam since the trial. It meant a lot to him, and he hoped it would to Sam too.

When Sam opened the box, there was a small leather pouch inside. It was the original one Ted had had for thirty years. And as Sam opened the pouch, he looked at it and then stared at Ted. It was the star he had carried for thirty years, with his number on it. It had a lot of meaning for him, and Fernanda looked nearly as stunned as her son.

“Is that your real one?” Sam looked at it and then him with awe. He could see that it was. It was well worn, and Ted had shined it for him. It lay gleaming in the boy's hands.

“Yes, it is. Now that I retired, I don't need it anymore. But it's very special to me. I want you to keep it. You're not a deputy anymore, Sam. You're a full detective now. That's a big promotion after just one year.” It had been exactly a year since Ted had “deputized” him after the car bombing when they first met.

“Can I put it on?”

“Sure.” Ted pinned it on for him, and Sam went to look at himself in the mirror, as Fernanda glanced at Ted with grateful eyes.

“That was an incredibly nice thing to do,” she said softly.

“He earned it. The hard way.” And they all knew how, as Fernanda nodded, and Ted watched him prancing around the room wearing it on his chest.

“I'm a detective!” he was shouting. And then he looked at Ted with an earnest question. “Can I arrest people?”

“I'd be a little careful who you arrest,” Ted warned him with a grin. “I wouldn't arrest any real big guys who might get mad at you.” Ted suspected correctly that Fernanda was going to put it away for him, with other important things, like his father's watch and cuff links. But he knew Sam would want to take it out from time to time to see it. Any boy would.

“I'm going to arrest all my friends,” Sam said proudly. “Can I take it to school for show and tell, Mom?” He was so excited, he could hardly stand it, and Ted looked genuinely pleased. It had been the right thing to do.

“I'll bring it to school for you,” his mother suggested, “and I'll take it home after show and tell. You don't want it to get lost or hurt at school. That's a very, very special gift.”

“I know,” Sam said, looking awestruck again.

A few minutes later, they all sat down to dinner. She had made a roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, mashed potatoes, vegetables, and chocolate cake and ice cream for dessert. The kids were impressed by the trouble she'd gone to, and so was Ted. It was a terrific meal. They were still sitting at the table, talking afterward, when the kids got up and went to their rooms. They still had a few weeks of school before summer vacation, and Will said finals were next week, and he had studying to do. Sam took his new star to his room, just so he could look at it. And Ashley scampered off to call her friends.