Hostage

Martin had cleared the line of police vehicles and was out of the line of fire from the house. She straightened and came toward him. He held up his hand to warn her off, but she frowned and kept coming.

Martin said, 'I want to talk to you.'

'In a minute.'

'It's important.'

Talley moved away from her, annoyed.

'When I'm off the phone.'

His tone stopped her. Martin's eyes hardened angrily, but she kept her distance.

Thomas said, 'Here it is.'

'You found the name?'

'Yeah, there's a place called Compensation to Officers, but there's only one guy listed.'

'Who?'

'Charles G. Benza.'

Talley stared at the ground. The cool night air suddenly felt close. Talley looked at the house, then glanced at Martin. Talley had been wrong. Walter Smith wasn't a mobster with something valuable in his house. The boy's father kept Sonny Benza's books. That's what it had to be: Smith was Benza's accountant, and he had Benza's financial records. It was all right there in Smith's house, enough to put Benza away and his organization out of business. Right here in Bristo Camino.

Talley sighed deeply, the breath venting from his core in a way that seemed to carry his strength with it. This was why people were willing to kidnap and murder. Smith could put them out of business. Smith knew their secrets and could put them away. The mob. The men in the car were the mob. The head of the largest crime family on the West Coast had Jane and Amanda.

Thomas's voice suddenly came fast and thin.

'Someone's coming. I gotta go.'

The line went dead.

Martin put her hands on her hips.

'Are you going to talk to me now?'

'No.'

Talley ran for his car. If the disks could put Benza away, so could Walter Smith. He radioed Metzger at the hospital as he ran.

THOMAS

Thomas heard the nail being pried from his door. He jerked the computer's plug from the wall, then vaulted onto his bed, shoving the cell phone under the covers as the door opened. Kevin stepped inside, carrying a paper plate with two slices of pizza and a Diet Coke.

'I brought you something to eat.'

Thomas pushed his hands between his crossed legs, trying to hide the fact that he wasn't tied, but the tape he'd stripped from his wrists was in plain sight on the floor. Kevin stopped when he saw it, then glared.

'You little shit. I oughta kick your ass.'

'It hurt my wrists.'

'Fuck it, I don't guess it matters anyway.'

Thomas was relieved that he didn't seem too upset. Kevin handed over the pizza and soda, then checked the nails that held the windows closed. Thomas worried that he would notice that the computer was in a different spot, but Kevin seemed inside himself.

Kevin made sure that the windows were secure, then leaned against the wall as if he needed the support to keep his feet. His eyes seemed to find everything in the room, every toy and book, every piece of furniture, the clothes strewn in the corner, the posters on the walls, the smashed phone thrown on the floor, the TV, the CD player, even the computer against the wall, all with an expression that seemed empty.

Kevin's gaze finally settled on Thomas.

'You're fucking lucky.'

Kevin pushed off the wall and went to the door.

Thomas said, 'When are you leaving my house?'

'Never.'

Kevin left without looking back and pulled the door closed.

Thomas waited.

The nail was hammered back into the doorjamb. The floor squeaked as Kevin moved away.

Thomas tried to count to one hundred, but stopped at fifty and once more made his way to the closet. He wanted to know what they were planning. He also wanted the gun.

CHAPTER 21

Saturday, 12:02 A.M.

Canyon Country, California

MARION CLEWES

The Canyon Country Hospital sat between two mountain ridges in a pool of blue light. It was modern and low, not more than three stories at its tallest, and sprawled across the parking lot. Marion thought it looked like one of those overnight dot-com think tanks you see in the middle of nowhere, sprung up overnight at a freeway off-ramp, all earth-colored stone and mirrored glass.

Marion cruised around the hospital, finding the emergency room entrance at the rear. Friday night, a little after midnight, and the place was virtually deserted. Marion knew hospitals that saw so much action on Friday nights they ran double ER staffs and you could hear screams from a block away. The Santa Clarita Valley must be a very nice place to live, he thought. He was liking everything he found about it.

The small parking area outside the ER showed only three cars and a couple of ambulances, but four news vehicles were parked off to the side. Marion expected this, so he wasn't put off. He parked close to the entrance with the nose of his car facing the drive, then went into the hospital.