''Name the place and I'll meet you," Randall said, starkly aware of the desperation in his voice. "I've got money for you."
He heard the disconnect like a death knell. He felt defeated. Beaten. Lost. Slowly, he lowered the phone to its cradle and sagged into the chair.
"Jesus Christ, what now?" The pain in his ribs was wearing him down. Emotion cluttered his brain. Every time he thought of Addison, he felt his sanity slip a little more.
"Where are you?" he whispered into the cold silence. "Where in the hell are you?"
Suddenly furious, with fate, with himself, Randall shoved the decanter of whiskey off the credenza. The glass shattered, the smell of whiskey rising to taunt him. Shaken, not knowing what to do next, he snatched up the receiver and dialed the hospital from memory. His voice was hoarse when he asked for his brother's condition.
"Mr. Talbot," the nurse began. "I've got good news. Jack's been taken off the respirator. The tube was removed this afternoon. Blood gases look good and he's doing fine. He's been asking for you."
Randall closed his eyes. "I need to speak with him."
"We're not supposed to—"
"It's an emergency, goddammit."
A moment later, Jack's weak voice filled the line. "Hey, little brother. What's going on? Where the hell are you?"
Randall swallowed the emotion welling inside him at the sound of his brother's voice. Four days ago, he hadn't thought he'd ever hear that voice again. "I'm in D.C., Jack. I'm in trouble. I need your help."
"You sound bad, Randy." Concern laced his brother's voice. "What the hell's going on?"
"Tate's got Addison."
"Jesus. How?"
"Clint. They bought and paid for him, Jack. Then they fucking killed him."
"What can I do?"
"I don't know where they're holding her. I know Tate's behind this, but I can't get to him." Randall's voice cracked on the last word. He took a moment, struggled for calm.
Dammit, he needed to get inside Tate's head. He needed an angle. "When you were hacking, did you see anything about Tate owning any property? Someplace private where he may have taken her?"
"Not that I can remember. Damn drugs turned my brain to cornmeal." Jack coughed. "Christ, I wish I could get my hands on a computer."
"What about friends or bodyguards? Anyone he stays with regularly?"
"Wait a minute. I remember seeing something about a boat. His wife owns a boat. A big mother. Expensive as hell."
"Where does he keep it?" The telephone line hissed, reminding Randall of the miles between them.”
"I think it was registered to the state of Maryland. He kept it in Boston ... no, Baltimore."
"Get your laptop. I need help. Jack, I'm desperate. Call Van-Dyne. Ask him to contact the locals in D.C. and Baltimore. Tell him everything you know about the case. I'm going after Addison."
"How do you know she's there, Randy?"
"I don't."
Chapter 25
The door was locked. For ten minutes Addison shoved, pulled, and beat, with her fists, her feet, her shoulders, all to no avail. Perspiring, she swung around and noticed the glimmer of light beyond the satin drapes above the bed.
Stepping up on the bed, she tore the satin aside. Disappointment plowed through her when she realized the windows were too small to accommodate her body. Furious, she snatched one of the brass candlestick lamps from the nightstand and yanked the cord from the wall. Aiming for the window, she swung the lamp like a baseball bat. Plexiglas exploded outward, sending shards clattering onto the deck beyond. Frigid air blasted through the opening.
Addison dropped the lamp, put her face to the window, and screamed as loud as she could. "Help me! Somebody help me! Please!"
The door behind her burst open.
She spun, dizzy with adrenaline, sick with fear. A man dressed in a black turtleneck and dark slacks came through the door like an enraged bull. "Bitch, you just bought yourself a whole lotta trouble."
She turned to the window. "Help me, please!" Terror resonated in her voice. "Help me!"
Strong hands bit into her shoulders and yanked her back. "Shut the hell up!"
A scream erupted in her throat as he pulled her away from the window. A viselike arm went around her waist. Fisting a section of her hair, he jerked her backward with brutal force. When she tried to scream again, he let go of her hair and slapped his hand over her nose and mouth, cutting off her oxygen.
Addison struggled as she had never struggled in her life. Forgetting about the window and her cries for help, she clawed at the hand until panic had her writhing and twisting, striking out with her legs, wanting only to take a breath.
Suddenly, they were falling. She felt his body tighten. He released her to break his fall. They tumbled off the bed in a tangle of arms and legs.