same damn thing with different graphics.'
'You shouldn't watch that,' Will told him.
'Why haven't you put us on TV?' he demanded. 'That's what they always do on the cop shows. They show the parents so the kidnapper knows that she has a family.'
Will was more concerned with getting Emma back than worrying about what cop shows dictated as standard procedure. Besides, the press was there to ravage the Campanos, not to help them. Will was under enough stress from the media without setting up the parents for an on-camera meltdown. The last time Will had seen Abigail Campano, she had been sedated into a fog and could barely open her mouth without sobbing. Paul was a ticking time bomb, waiting for the smallest provocation to set him off. Putting either of them on television would be a disaster, and would invariably cause the press, absent any real information, to start pointing the finger right back at the parents.
Will told him, 'We're not talking to the press right now. Anytime you want information, you should come to us.'
He snorted a laugh, throwing the remote onto the coffee table. 'Yeah, y'all have been real forthcoming.'
'What do you think you haven't been told?'
Paul barked a laugh. 'Where the fuck my daughter is. Why nobody noticed they had the wrong fucking body. How the fuck you wasted a whole fucking hour sitting with your thumbs up your asses while my fucking baby was being…' He lost his steam, his eyes filling with tears. His jaw clenched as he stared at the television set.
'I just came from Emma's school,' Will said, wishing he had more information. 'We've been talking to her teachers, her friends. We spent most of the day yesterday at Georgia Tech, tracking down Adam Humphrey.'
'And what did you find out? Jack shit.'
'I know you've hired your own people to work on this, Paul.'
'That's none of your fucking business.'
'It is, because they could get in my way.'
'Your way? You think I give a shit about getting in your way?' He pointed to the newspapers on the coffee table. 'You know what they're saying? Of course you don't fucking know what they're saying-do you?' He stood up. 'They're saying you're incompetent. Your own people are saying that you fucked up the crime scene, that any evidence was lost because you didn't know what the fuck you were doing.'
Will couldn't think of a way to explain to him the difference between the Atlanta Police Department and the Georgia Bureau of Investigation without sounding like a condescending twat. He settled on saying, 'Paul, I'm in charge of this investigation now. You should know-'
'Know what?' In seconds, he closed the space between the two of them. 'You think I'm gonna trust you to find my little girl? I
Will had flinched when he'd charged, like he was ten years old again, like he wasn't six inches taller and ten times stronger than the asshole in front of him.
Paul shook his head, a look of open disgust on his face. 'Just get the fuck out of here and let the grown-ups do their job.'
'You don't know a damn thing about me.'
Paul pushed the newspaper off the coffee table, finding a sheet of notebook paper. 'What does this say, Retard?' He shoved the papers in Will's face. 'Can you read this? You asked for a list of Emma's friends. Can you even fucking read it?'
Will tilted up his chin, staring down at Paul. 'I need a DNA sample from you to compare with the specimens we took from Kayla Alexander's vagina and the sheets in your daughter's bedroom.'
'Motherfucker!' Paul swung wildly, and even though Will had been expecting it, he still lost his balance. Both of them fell back onto the floor. Paul had the superior position, but he was older and slower. Will deflected his strikes, relishing the feel of his fist in Paul's soft gut. He punched him in the kidney, then gave him another jab to the stomach.
The door flew open, popping against the wall. 'Will!' Hamish yelled. 'Jesus Christ!'
Will literally felt himself come back to his senses. His hearing was first-Hamish's panicked voice, a woman screaming. Pain came next, spreading across the bridge of his nose. He tasted blood in his mouth, smelled Paul's sour breath as the man rolled off Will and onto the floor.
Both men lay on their backs, panting. Will tried to move, feeling something crunch in his back pocket.
No one seemed to notice the phone was ringing until Abigail Campano cried, 'It's Kayla! It's Kayla's cell phone calling!'
The woman was holding the telephone in her hand, eyes glued to the caller ID.
Both Will and Paul scrambled to stand. Hamish ran to his computer. He held up a finger, telling Abigail to wait while he pressed the keys. Will slipped on the extra set of headphones as Hamish donned his own pair. He nodded, and Abigail answered the phone, holding the receiver so that Paul could listen in.
'Hello?'
There was static, then a garbled voice that was electronically altered to a menacing monotone. 'Is this the mother?'
Abigail's mouth opened, but she wasn't speaking. She stared at Hamish for a cue. He nodded, writing something on a dry erase board in front of him.
'Y-yes,' she stuttered. 'This is Emma's mother. Is Emma all right? Can I talk to Emma?'
Hamish must have coached her to use her daughter's name as much as she could. It was harder to kill somebody who had a name.
The voice said, 'I have your daughter.'
Hamish wrote something down, and Abigail nodded as she said, 'What do you want? Tell me how to get Emma back.'
There was more static. The voice had no inflection, no accent. 'I want one million dollars.'
'Okay,' she agreed. Hamish started furiously writing on the board. 'When? Where?' She begged, 'Just tell me what you want.'
'I will call you tomorrow at ten-thirty a.m. with details.'
'No-wait,' she cried. 'How do I know she's alive? How do I know Emma's alive?'
Will pressed his fingers into the earphones, his ears straining to hear past the static. He heard clicking, but didn't know if that was from Hamish pressing keys on his computer or something else. They all startled in unison as the sound jumped up several levels. 'Daddy…' a girl's voice said. Tired, terrified. 'Daddy…please help me…'
'Baby!' Paul screamed. 'Baby, it's me!'
There was another click, then the line went dead.
'Emma?' Abigail yelled. 'Hello?'
Hamish tapped the keys on his computer, working furiously to keep the line engaged. He shook his head at Will. Nothing.
'What do we do now?' Abigail begged, fear pitching her voice up almost as high as her daughter's. 'What do we do?'
'We pay the bastard.' Paul glared at Will. 'I want you out of my house. Take him with you.'
Hamish looked startled, but Will shook his head, indicating that the man should stay put. He told Paul, 'You can't negotiate with the kidnapper on your own.'
'What the fuck do I need you for? You can't even trace the fucking call.'
'Paul-' Abigail tried, but he cut her off.
'Get out of my fucking house. Now.' When Will did not move, Paul stepped forward, crowding the space. 'Don't think I won't beat your ass again.'
'Why do you want me to leave?' Will asked. 'So you can call your private security firm and they can tell you what to do?' You didn't have to be able to read to see the answer in Paul's eyes. 'The more people you get involved in this, the more people who try to control it, the more likely it's going to be that something bad happens to Emma.'
'You think I'm going to trust my daughter's life to you?'
'I think you need to stop for just a minute and realize that I am the only person you've got who knows how to keep her safe right now.'
