I checked my phone for the millionth time as LC and I headed to the meeting with Sal Dash. No calls, no texts—nothing about Mariah had come from the assault team. I’d told London to call me as soon as they had news. I still couldn’t believe she’d gone out with Junior acting all urban commando, but then again, there were a lot of things I couldn’t believe about her lately.
My phone vibrated with a text alert, and I opened it, expecting to see a message about Mariah’s rescue. Instead, I saw this on my screen: IS HE DEAD? I deleted the text, which had come from an unknown number.
“Any news?” LC asked.
I whipped my head in his direction. His eyes were focused straight ahead now, but what if he’d looked at my phone and saw the text before I erased it? I had no way of knowing what he knew. My heart was pounding as I lied, “No. Just a robo-text from Verizon telling me I’m over my monthly limit.”
Mercifully, LC took me at my word and dropped it. He was probably too distracted to give it much thought as we approached the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge heading into Staten Island.
The closer we got to the meeting with Sal Dash, the more I thought about his orders: kill LC and I could have Mariah back, no questions asked. If it got to that point, would I even be able to do it? I prayed we could get my daughter back before I was faced with making that decision. I’d reloaded the gun back at the house, though, just in case. It sat in my jacket pocket now, its presence giving me very little comfort.
LC’s phone rang. He kept his conversation brief.
“Uh-huh. Uh-huh. I see. I see. Very good. Thank you,” he said, his stone-faced expression not giving away any emotions.
“Any news?” I asked, barely giving my father-in-law time to hang up the phone.
“Nope.” He was cool, calm, and collected.
I, on the other hand, was nervous enough for both of us. LC had no idea that if we didn’t hear something soon, I was going to have to put a bullet in his head to get my daughter back.
I glanced at the two bodyguards seated in the front and realized that if I was going to hit LC, I sure as hell wasn’t going to get a better chance than this. There were only three of them in the car with me, and I had six bullets. I wasn’t an experienced shooter, but at this range, maybe I could do the job. Just shoot LC and the two men up front when they parked the car, then call Dash to clean up the mess. At least then I’d have my daughter back.
I took a deep breath. Okay, Harris, get it together. You’re not going to have to shoot anyone. They’re going to call. They’re going to call, I repeated like a sort of prayer. I looked down at my phone, willing it to ring. Nothing.
We drove past the entrance to the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, continuing down the Belt Parkway, going who knows where. No one else in the car seemed concerned about the detour we’d just taken. Apparently I was the only one in the dark.
“Uh ... why did we just pass the bridge? Staten Island is that way.”
“There’s been a slight change in plans,” LC said, tapping the driver’s shoulder. “I decided against meeting in Staten Island, but we’re still meeting with Dash. Anyway, before we get there, anything you want to share?”
“Uh ... no,” I answered. “Why?”
“Think carefully about your answer,” my father-in-law said, sitting calmly next to me with his hands folded together in his lap.
He advised me to think carefully, but I could barely think straight. How the hell was I going to get myself out of this? I couldn’t come up with a lie, so the next best thing was to play dumb.