Predator Page 12

  He smiled as he filled a wine glass. “You know how long those chess tournaments can go.”

  She did, but she’d decided she wasn’t interested in someone who would ask her to come all this way for a visit and then disappear for most of it.

  “You don’t like your steak? Is it too rare?”

  “I’m still full from lunch.” As promised, he’d taken her to a fancy hotel restaurant and bought her a big plate of sea scallops.

  They’d spent the next few hours driving around the city in his limo while he’d pointed out historical sites like a tour guide.

  They had been in Beacon Hill, he’d told her, and they drove down Charles Street between the Boston Gardens and Boston Common, the oldest park in the country. The trees were bare, but it was still nice. Then they viewed the Massachusetts State House across the street. The seat of government for the commonwealth, it was a beautiful red brick landmark built in 1798, featuring rows of white columns and a gleaming golden dome. Moving on, they cruised past the Old State House at Washington and State Streets, which had housed the government prior to 1798. They toured the Financial District with its tall glassy skyscrapers, and then went on to the Paul Revere House, the colonial home of the patriot and the oldest house in Boston, built in 1680.

  It was if he knew all the places Ambrose said he wanted to take her, but seeing them from the backseat of a limo wasn’t what she’d envisioned when she’d agreed to come to Boston.

  She thought she’d be with Ambrose.

  Besides, it wasn’t taking her mind off Ella or her own personal problems. She’d planned to confess all of that to Ambrose and see what he had to say. But now she realized he wouldn’t even be interested.

  She glanced at the prepaid phone she’d laid next to her plate. It was almost nine o’clock. Even the most intense chess match didn’t go that long. Her heart sank. This boy had been stringing her along.

  Picking at the steak, she gazed at the white leather furniture and onyx marble fireplace of the open-design living room. This penthouse reminded her a little of Mr. Parker’s, but it was cold and sterile.

  The décor was minimal compared to her own house. A potted house plant with long sharp leaves in a corner, a strange piece of modern artwork on the wall, an oriental figure of some fierce mythological beast on a sparse side table.

  She sighed and put down her fork. “I suppose Ambrose will be spending the night at a friend’s house.”

  The man picked up his glass and sipped it as he studied her intently.

  He had dressed for dinner and was wearing a fine charcoal suit and blue silk tie that matched his eyes. The waves of his iron gray hair were combed back and held in place with gel. He’d worn cologne. She wondered if he was trying to impress her.

  Something in his look made her uneasy. This whole situation made her uneasy.

  He put his glass down and rose.

  In the corner stood a chess table with large teakwood pieces set out for a game. There were two matching wooden stools on either side for the players.

  Slowly he strolled over to it and moved a piece, as if beginning a game. “White pawn to d4,” he said, then moved another piece. “Black responds with pawn to d5.” Again. “White plays knight pawn to c4. Straight to the center. An aggressive attack for control.”

  Watching him, she sat up. She recognized the moves.

  He turned to her, his clear blue eyes glistening. “The queen’s gambit. I taught you about that, remember?”

  Mackenzie’s throat suddenly felt parched. She reached for a drink of water. “Ambrose taught me that.”

  The man chuckled.

  He turned and studied the board again, fondling one of the white pieces. “I learned to play from a friend of mine. A Russian. Such good fortune to learn chess from a Russian, wouldn’t you say?”

  Mackenzie could only stare at the strange man.

  “He was an excellent player. He’s gone now. And so are his children. They were not good players.”

  He moved the black piece again. “Black accepts the gambit and takes the white pawn on c4. You know the strategy. Sacrifice the pawn to open the path for the queen.” He captured the pawn in the center of the board with a click. “But now she’s the vulnerable one.”

  Her insides began to shiver. “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t you see the correlation?” He strolled back to the table and reached for his wine glass again.

  “No, I don’t.”

  This was too weird. She wasn’t going to see Ambrose. She needed to get out of here. She’d call a cab and get a redeye back to Atlanta at the airport.

  “I think I need to go home now.” Rising, she reached for her phone.

  The man beat her to it, snatched the phone away.

  She glared at him. “What are you doing?”

  “You don’t need this now.” He snapped the phone opened, removed the battery, and slipped it into his pocket. He put the phone itself into his other pocket.

  “What did you do that for?” she demanded.

  “For the game, of course.”

  Shivers ran over her skin. She had to get out of here. She’d thumb a ride if she had to.

  She grabbed her backpack off the chair and headed for the door. “I need to leave now. Thank you for the food and the sightseeing, Mr.—”

  Suddenly she realized she didn’t even know Ambrose’s last name.

  “Santana,” the dark voice behind her said. “You can’t leave now, Mackenzie. It’s late. And your room is waiting for you.”

  “No, thank you, Mr. Santana.” Her heart pounding, she hurried toward the door.

  She heard the man clap his hands, and suddenly a huge figure stepped out from a room in a side hallway. Had he been hiding in there the whole time?

  He was the biggest man she’d ever seen. He was dressed in dark jeans and a black turtle neck shirt. Under the tight fabric she could see he had huge muscular arms, plus a thick neck, and a frightening black tattoo that ran up the side of his face. His black brows were raised in an expression that reminded her of some Far-Eastern demon.

  He folded his arms over his massive chest and took a stance in front of the door. “Not so fast, little one.”

  Mackenzie’s heart stopped. What was that accent? Russian? The man who’d taught Mr. Santana chess? No, he said he was gone.

  She turned around and faced the man behind her. “What do you think you’re doing? You can’t keep me here against my will.”

  He raised a brow. “Can’t I?”

  “What would Ambrose think?”

  Now he laughed out loud. “I thought you were more intelligent than that, Mackenzie.”

  Her heart began to bang in her chest. “What are you talking about?”

  “Haven’t you figured it out yet? There is no Ambrose.”

  Her mouth fell open. No Ambrose? “That’s impossible. I’ve been texting him for weeks now. He sent me the ticket to fly here.”

  “I sent you the ticket. Ambrose doesn’t exist. Oh, he does. But not as you know him. At any rate, he doesn’t know you exist. You see, I stole his identity, more or less. Not the financial part. He doesn’t have anything worth taking. Just the communications part.”

  She must be losing her mind. “What?”

  “That’s right, my child. All this while, you’ve been talking to me.”

  No. No, it couldn’t be. Who was this man? Some criminal her mother was chasing? He must be. Her mother.

  She straightened her shoulders. “My mother will come and find me. She’s a private investigator. So is her husband. They’re good. They’re the best.”

  “I know they are.”

  He knew? How? “They’ll come to find me.”

  “Yes, they will.” He took her battery-less phone out of his pocket. “That’s what this is for. It was a brilliant idea getting you to buy this phone with cash so you couldn’t be traced, wasn’t it?”

  Ambrose had told her to get a prepaid phone to keep their meeting secret. Bu
t it wasn’t Ambrose. It was this man, Mr. Santana. Or whatever his real name was.

  No. This was insane. There had to be some mistake.

  “You can keep the phone if you need it. Just let me go. I’ll find my way to the airport.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Mackenzie.”

  Santana moved toward the girl and picked up a strand of her silky dark hair. The fear in her eyes made his blood rush.

  But he had no desire for children. He preferred a mature woman. On the other hand a well-paying client would enjoy this morsel immensely.

  And if he had Miranda Steele here to witness such an act, how delicious would that be? Yes, they would come to find her.

  But that would be only the preliminary pleasure. The prelude before the ultimate punishment.

  “This is Doroshenko. He’ll be taking care of you.” He turned his gaze to his servant. “Take her to her room.”

  “No. No!”

  Mackenzie began to quake with fear as the big man’s huge hands grabbed her arms.

  “No, I said. Don’t touch me.” She kicked out and caught his shin with the heel of her boot.

  “You little bitch.” The big man slapped her across the face.

  “How dare you,” she squealed in pain. “My father’s the head of a top law firm. He’ll sue you. He’ll put you in jail. He’ll take everything you own.”

  The Russian’s eyes grew hard. “You will shut up now.”

  And then he picked her up and carried her down the hall to a room. He opened a door, tossed her in like a rag doll, shut and locked the door.

  She screamed as loudly as she could. She kicked at the door, but it wouldn’t budge. She turned around and saw the room was elegantly decorated. In the center was a neatly made bed. A few pieces of furniture completed the uncluttered look. One wall was all window, like the rest of the rooms she’d seen.

  She ran to it and looked out. Her breath caught. Even if she could open it, it would be fifty or more stories down to the pavement below. No escape there.

  Spotting a door in the corner, she rushed over to it. It opened easily. The bathroom.

  She switched on a light. Gleaming white marble and chrome greeted her. No windows in here. There was another door. She flung it open. A linen closet.

  No way out. She was a prisoner.

  Why had she been so stupid? Why had she thought Ambrose was real? She knew about online predators, people who hid under false identities to lure their prey. She just never thought it would happen to her.

  Her heart breaking, she went back into the bedroom and sank down on the mattress. Unable to be brave, she burst into tears.

  What were they going to do to her? How in the world was she going to get out of here? Was her mother really going to come for her? How would she find her?

  Her chest burning with a fear more intense than she’d ever felt in her life, Mackenzie stared at the walls of her stylish prison and realized—she had no idea.

  Chapter Thirty

  “A noisy little girl,” Doroshenko said.

  Santana smiled. “She’ll settle down after a bit. You are to guard her from now on.”

  “Yes, sir.” He retrieved a stool from the wet bar and took his post.

  This was going very well. They were off to a fine start.

  Pleased, Santana strolled over to the dining table and sat down at Mackenzie’s place. He finished her steak for her, enjoying the juice of the enzymes running over his tongue.

  But not as much as he’d relished the look of terror in the girl’s face a moment ago. He longed to see a similar look on the mother’s face. And on Wade Parker’s.

  All in due time.

  At the restaurant today, he’d requested a window seat and had seen his enemies approaching and entering. His guess at Wade Parker’s choice of accommodations had been spot on. He’d simply picked the place he would have gone himself.

  The two principals had not been with the others on the team, he’d noted. Probably Parker and Steele were still at the airport, chasing their tails there. He chuckled to himself at the image of them frantically running through the concourse. It was such a delicious ruse, using the boy. There was nothing like the power of a good lie.

  But now it was time to move on to the next phase.

  He picked up the wine glass and savored a mouthful as he thought about his old mentor, Lee Bach. The man who had taken him in after his mother died. He had been just sixteen. Too young to fend for himself. His mother had arranged for her sister, Santana’s aunt, to take care of him. She belonged to the commune in southern Kentucky Bach ran.

  He had arrived there full of both sorrow and curiosity about the world and his place in it. All he’d known was that he wanted to become as rich as he possibly could. No matter what that took.

  Rules, virtue, scruples, he’d decided, were unnecessary hindrances to his goal.

  Seeing potential in him, Bach had taken him under his wing. He’d taught him invaluable lessons, strategies he had used in business dealings, both legal and illegal.

  But he’d forgotten something he’d learned from Bach long ago.

  In going after Wade Parker, his wife, and his flunkies, Santana’s problem, hitherto, had been contingencies. He had planned for one single scenario and assumed it would work. He’d been wrong.

  “Always be prepared for the unanticipated,” Bach had said.

  Santana had been missing that tactic. He would not make that mistake again. Now he would work in contingencies, surprises, the unexpected turn of events. Rather like a chess game.

  If his enemy did this, then he would do that. If Parker did that, he would do this. So that no matter what route those people chose, it would always lead, in the end, to the same outcome.

  Their annihilation.

  Of one sort or another. There were many ways to destroy a person. The most satisfying was while they were alive and you were watching it happen.

  He wiped his fingers on the napkin. Then he reached into his pocket and drew out the cell phone battery he’d taken from Mackenzie. How to use it? He couldn’t make it too easy or they would know it was a trap.

  It would be fun to watch them follow the signal like rats in a maze. And then he would draw them in. Every last one of them.

  Chuckling with a heady sense of victory, he reached for his wine glass and drained it dry.

  He would figure out the details tomorrow. Tonight was for celebration.

  He rose and went to the kitchen for a piece of chocolate cake.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Miranda stood at the window of her suite staring into the darkness.

  It was almost ten-thirty at night. Sixteen hours since her daughter left Atlanta. Nine hours since she’d arrived in Boston.

  Mackenzie was out there, somewhere. Someone had been playing her daughter, toying with her tender emotions, seducing her. And she had a pretty good idea who it was, though she knew little about him. As her thoughts raced, confusion and fear were replaced by a raw red anger.

  And an iron determination.

  She would find her daughter. She would find her predator and make him pay for doing this to her. She’d make sure he was locked up for the rest of his life.

  Drawing a hand through her hair, she tried to force her heartbeat to slow.

  To a certain extent, she’d recovered from the shock of what they’d learned tonight. As the hotel elevator had reached their floor, she’d managed to tell the team to change into comfortable clothes, order more sandwiches, and get ready for a long night. She and Parker would meet them back in Holloway and Becker’s suite in half an hour. The first thing she intended to do was to catch them up on the past few weeks.

  They needed to know the truth.

  Turning from the window, she saw Parker in a chair, his head in his hands.

  “We’re supposed to be changing,” she said.

  “This is all my fault, Miranda.” His voice was low and troubled.

  She hurried over to him, touched his ch
eek. “No, it isn’t.”

  He gazed up at her, agony in his eyes. “If we had done what you said, if I had listened to you about going after this Man in Boston. Instead, all I thought of was my own feelings about my father.”

  So Parker was thinking the same thing she was. That it was the Man in Boston who had lured Mackenzie to this town. Into some sort of trap.

  Her heart caught at the idea. He was right. She’d been right. They should have gone after the man right away.

  She wanted to be angry with him. She wanted to say, “I told you so.” She wanted to say, “Why didn’t you listen to me?” But she understood what family agony could do to you.

  And because of that, all she could do was love him.

  She bent down and took his hands. “It doesn’t matter now, Parker. All we can do is deal with the facts and find her.”

  He pressed his lips to her hand. “What a wise woman you’ve become, Miranda.”

  There was a touch of cockiness in his reply. She was glad for it. And when he rose, took her in his arms, and kissed her hard, she relished it. She pressed her lips against his with all the passion in her, drinking in the soothing of his touch, the smell of him.

  Then she pulled away. They had work to do. “We’ll pick this up later.”

  Before he let her go, he took her face in his hands. “Miranda, I promise you I will find your daughter. I did before and I will again. I will do anything to bring her home again.”

  “I know you will.” She gave him another kiss. “Now let’s get ready and get to work.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Fifteen minutes later, they were in Holloway and Becker’s suite, with an array of fresh sandwiches spread out on the counter in the kitchenette.

  Playing host, Becker was pouring coffee and handing out sodas and sandwiches. “There’s barbeque chicken, skirt steak, Dagwood. I wasn’t sure what you wanted, Steele. I got you southwestern chicken.” He handed her a paper plate with the wrapped sandwich and a bag of chips on it.