Ransom

“Take those off,” she scolded her, as Sam wandered off, and Will walked in, to ask her if she'd packed his cleats, because he needed them for practice.

“If either of you touch the bags I've packed again, I'm warning you both, I'm going to kill you.” Ashley looked at her as though she was weird, and Will rushed back upstairs to find his own shoes.

Their mother had been testy all morning. In fact, she was sad to see them both going. She counted on them now, more than she ever had, for company and distraction, and it was going to be lonely with only Sam home. She suspected that he was feeling it too, which was why he had balked at camp. She reminded him then of the Fourth of July picnic they were going to in Napa. She thought it would be fun for him, and he even looked unenthusiastic about that. He was going to miss his sister and brother. Will was leaving for three weeks, and Ashley for two. It seemed like an eternity to both Sam and Fernanda.

“They'll be back before you know it,” Fernanda reassured him. But she said it as much to comfort herself, as him. And outside, Peter was doing some mourning of his own. In six days they were going to make their move, and his part in her life would be over. Maybe they would meet somewhere one day, and with luck, she would never know the part he had played in the horror that was about to strike her. He had fantasies about running into her, or following her again, just so he could see her. He had been following her for over a month now. And she had never for a single second sensed it. Nor had the children. He had been careful and wise, as had Carl Waters on the weekends. Waters was far less enchanted with her than he was. He thought her life incredibly mundane and boring, and wondered how she stood it. She hardly went anywhere, and wherever she did go, she took her children. It was precisely that that Peter loved about her.

“She ought to thank us for taking those kids off her hands for a week or two,” Waters had commented to Peter one Saturday. “Christ, the woman never goes anywhere without them.”

“You have to admire her for that,” Peter said quietly. He did certainly, but Carl Waters didn't.

“No wonder her husband died. The poor bastard must have died of boredom,” Carl muttered. He thought tailing her had been the dullest part of the assignment, unlike Peter, who loved it.

“Maybe she went out more before she was widowed,” Peter commented, and Waters shrugged, as he turned the car over to Peter, and headed for the bus station to go back to Modesto. He was glad the surveillance was almost over and they could get on with it. He was anxious to get his hands on the money. Addison had proved to be true to his word. He, Stark, and Free had each received their one hundred thousand dollars. It was locked in suitcases, in lockers at the bus terminal in Modesto, where they'd put it for safekeeping. They were going to take it with them when they left for Tahoe. Everything was ready. And the clock was ticking.

All had gone on schedule so far, and Peter had assured Addison it would continue to do so. He anticipated no glitches, on their end at least. The first problem they encountered unexpectedly emanated not from them, but from Addison. He was sitting at his desk, dictating to his secretary, when two men walked in, holding their badges up to him, and informed him that he was under arrest. The secretary ran out of the room, crying, and no one stopped her, as Phillip looked at them and didn't so much as blink.

“That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard,” he said calmly, with a wry look on his face. He thought the visit had something to do with his crystal meth laboratories; if so, it was the first time his underworld life had crossed over into his serious business. The men still holding out their badges were wearing plaid shirts and blue jeans. One was Hispanic, and the other was African American, and he had no idea what they wanted. As far as he knew, his drug business was running smoothly. Nothing was traceable to him, and the people running it were totally efficient.

“You're under arrest, Addison,” the Hispanic man repeated, and Phillip Addison started laughing.

“You must be joking. What in God's name for?” He looked anything but worried.

“Apparently, there's been a little funny business with transfers of monies. You've been running cash across state lines in large amounts. It looks like you've been laundering money,” the agent explained, feeling slightly ridiculous himself. The two agents had been doing some undercover work on another case that morning, and hadn't had time to change before they were sent to Addison's office. Given his casual reception of them, they felt a little foolish, and as though they should have looked more official, in order to intimidate him, or at least impress him. Addison just sat there and smiled at them, as though they were badly behaved children.

“I'm sure my attorneys can handle this, without your having to arrest me. Would either of you like some coffee?”