where to pick up the dogs.
Once more, she choked. Her babies! All she had to do was pay a ransom. Ten thousand dollars ... nearly all her savings. It sounded too easy and illogical to kidnap and ransom two mixed-breed dogs for $10,000. Even so, if the dognapper knew how much she was willing to pay for the safe return of Tucker and Goober, they would have asked for a lot more. Relieved to at least know what was happening and how she could get them back, she started jogging to the house for the car keys to go to the bank. Glancing at her watch, she kicked into a sprint. She had less than four hours.
Roberta surveyed the park through the drizzle-spouting overcast skies. She would have loved to sit and watch the fountain or the children sailing boats in the surrounding pool on a better day. Few people were out today. There were no young children sailing small toy boats in the basin enclosing the fountain jets, which continued to spurt water despite the inclement weather. The flat area around the entire point area was surrounded by marble stairs that arched halfway around the fountain and basin. A swath of concrete edged up to the confluence point of the Allegheny and Monongahela Rivers. Roberta’s insides vibrated with the sound and the energy produced by the power of the two rivers mixing and churning just beyond the tip of the concrete.
Besides a jogger, there was no one else in the area except for a lone hot dog cart vendor.Probably because today’s a holiday, and most businesses are closed. She stared at the note for the thousandth time. No mention of what exactly to look for or if she should drop the packet of money someplace. Did this mean the dognapper would actually approach her? The short hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she glanced around, her eyes searching for who and what she didn’t quite know.
Her cell phone began ringing Taylor’s theme, jerking her out of her ruminations. “Hey,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant, not wanting to explain where she was or what she was doing. She just wanted to dump the cash and have her babies back. No cops, no trackers—nothing to interfere.
“Walk over to the hot dog cart,” a gravelly voice said in her ear.
Her heart hammered into overdrive. Roberta turned toward the hot dog cart and stared. The call was coming in on Taylor’s phone. “Where’s Taylor?” she sputtered. Was he kidnapped, too, along with her dogs? But his note—
“I said, walk over to the hot dog cart,” the voice insisted sharply.
She stepped down off the marble stairs and headed for the cart stationed on the left side of the fountain basin. “Ah—okay. I’m walking over to the hot dog cart.” She walked slowly, picturing herself in the crosshairs of a gun.
“Got the money?”
“Y-yes, in a manila envelope.” She stopped in front of the hot dog cart. The hot dog vendor looked her over. “What’ll it be?” he asked. He waited for her reply. When she didn’t answer him, he shrugged a shoulder and turned away. Roberta was silent, her knees knocking.
“Give it to the guy. Tell him it’s for Guido.” The voice broke in all directions, the person struggling to maintain the false tenor.
“Okay.” She glanced around the park area before looking up at the guy in the white apron. “Here,” she said, waiting for him to turn back toward her. “This is for Guido.” She held out the envelope.
The man went still. He glanced over his left shoulder before reaching out. “Guido? Oh—oh yeah. Okay,” he said, taking it from her and slipping it into the front pocket of his apron.
The voice in her ear said, “Walk away. Go to 3452 West Mechanics Street.”
A wash of relief started to flood through her. Her babies were at West Mechanics Street. Was Taylor with them? “Okay, I’m on my way,” she replied as she started jogging, splashing through puddles, but the line had already disconnected.
West Mechanics Street ran through the deserted industrial zone formerly populated by steel-related companies. Under overcast skies, number 3452 looked as derelict as the rest of the buildings around it. A dumpster and several steel drums blocked the alley, leaving her to park in a tow zone on the street. Jogging in anticipation of seeing her pups, Roberta pushed open the front door and walked in, ignoring the dim light coming through dirty, broken windows and the nagging throb in her solar plexus advising caution.
The meagerly lit warehouse room was cavernous yet scattered with discarded furniture, outdated equipment, and unrecognizable metal objects. A dusty-oily odor overwhelmed her nostrils, tingling them into a tantalizing sneeze.
As she gingerly walked deeper into the area, the view of the far wall became distinct, revealing several closed wooden doors. A pile of broken furniture was stacked beside one of the doors.
“Goober? Tucker?” she called, hopeful their replying whines or barks would lead her straight to them.
Scratching and muffled whines came from the direction of the doors. Her heart leaped in her chest at the sound, and she raced toward it. Rounding the pile of furniture to reach the doorknob, pain exploded through her skull, and darkness fell.
?
He was cursed. No car was waiting for Taylor at the LA airport. And as he had discovered on the airplane, when he went to shut off his phone, he actually didn’t have his phone with him. He searched all his clothes and his carry-on bag. It was missing.
After the plane landed, he tried calling his agent on a courtesy phone, but no one there had any idea what he was talking about. His blood pressure skyrocketed further when no one knew anything about the screen test he was supposed to be attending for a major US television series.
Jaw tight, he looked around him, eyes shifting around the nondescript, pale yellow room behind the scenes at the airport where fans and the public could not reach him. He pondered his options. He couldn’t call Laurel Lynn for help without his cell phone, and he didn’t dare request the courtesy phone again. There was no other option than to book the next return flight to Pittsburgh.