They want a ransom. Oh God! That was good news. Chris would pay anything for her release.
“My mom’s name is Jasmine DeGray,” she volunteered and then hesitated for a second when it came time to name her father. Maybe the kidnappers would back off if she mentioned her real dad. A quick Google search would tell them he was a federal agent who had almost shot a reporter in the head. Would that be enough to scare them? Probably not, since Hector’s friends had killed Sophia’s driver and bodyguard. If she was right and the kidnappers wanted money, she was better off telling them her father was Chris Moon. Everyone knew who he was.
“And your father’s name?”
“Chris Moon,” she said. Then she added, “The football player, you know?”
“Miami Dolphins, right?”
“Yes, yes, that’s right,” she said enthusiastically. “He has a lot of money. He’s gonna pay you.”
Hector closed the door behind him. The situation had just gotten more complicated. He had kept an eye on the news channels, but none had mentioned the kidnapping of Sophia and Leila. He was stunned at the lack of coverage. In a way, it was good for them. However, it also worried him. Why wasn’t the media covering the public kidnapping of two young, pretty, rich teenagers? And one of them Chris Moon’s daughter? Heck, the kidnapping should be the only thing the media was talking about.
Was he missing something? A press conference is the best way to ask for the public’s help. So why weren’t the police doing that?
He sat down at the computer in the office and pulled up Google. In 2009, the Miami Dolphins had drafted Chris Moon in the first round. Since then, they had won the Super Bowl, and Moon had become a record-setting quarterback. The man could perform miracles, if Hector was to believe the local newspapers. Last season, Moon had thrown a staggering fifty-four touchdown passes.
Hector couldn’t care less about Moon’s exploits on the field. What he was interested in was his personal life. Unfortunately, Chris Moon zealously guarded his personal life. Hector ran a search for Jasmine Moon but didn’t have much success. A few pictures here and there, but that was it. He was about to close the browser when one of the photos grabbed his attention. The picture had been taken a year ago at the film festival in Cannes. In the photo, Moon had one arm around Jasmine, who was, in turn, affectionately holding Leila in front of her. The trio was smiling. White teeth all around.
The following line accompanied the picture:
Miami Dolphins quarterback Chris Moon with his wife, Jasmine, and her daughter, Leila.
Hector kicked himself for missing the obvious. She had said her name was Leila DeGray, not Leila Moon.
And her daughter, Leila . . . not their daughter, but her daughter. He didn’t know why, instinct maybe, or just a distrust born of all these years living on the edge, but Hector knew this was something significant. Moon wasn’t Leila’s father. The girl had lied to him. It was possible she didn’t know who her biological father was, but he quickly dismissed the idea. She had hesitated before giving him the name.
Why?
He was about to find out.
The door to her room flew open, and Hector barged in. He didn’t shout or scream, but the kindness he’d shown her previously was gone. Something had changed. Leila noticed for the first time the destructive look in his eyes. Had he hurt Sophia? A long shiver wound down her spine as she thought of her friend.
“Chris Moon isn’t your father, is he?”
Fear fluttered through her. She shook her head.
The slap to her face came as a complete surprise. She gasped at the sting, and her hand shot to her cheek. The tears she had been fighting came rolling down.
“Answer me, child,” Hector hissed, his hand half-raised and ready to strike again.
Her whole body was shaking, and her legs were trembling so uncontrollably that it was as if they belonged to someone else.
“No, he isn’t,” she said, terrified he was going to hit her again.
“Why did you lie?”
“I live with him and Mom now,” she explained, her eyes pleading with Hector to believe her. “My real father has no money. He couldn’t pay you. The ransom, I mean.”
Hector nodded.
“What’s your father’s name?”
“Pierce Hunt.”
“And where does he live?”
“Right here in Florida.”
“What does he do?”
“He works with the DEA.”
A ransom. Hector believed her. He didn’t think she had lied to hide her real father’s identity. She thought her survival depended on someone paying a ransom. Chris Moon was wealthy; Pierce Hunt wasn’t. It was as simple as that.