"Lissa, we had no idea." Weldon and Thomas had left the grounds of Winkler's mansion. I'd asked Tony to give Weldon and Thomas a call, telling them to go elsewhere before contacting me. Winkler was in the security business after all, and I wouldn't put it past him to have the place bugged or something.
"What about the guy who was paid to steal the van?"
"I got the location for the money drop-off and Tony's sending somebody to apprehend him," I replied. "Where is the challenge going to take place? And will there be a problem if I show up at the last minute?"
"There won't be," Weldon growled.
"Weldon, you and Thomas are going to have to turn in the acting job of your careers, I think. You need to act as if I'm still missing or dead. Tony knows that you'll be in contact with him from time to time. He may call you. At least there's only one more day that we have to wait."
"Where are you now?" Weldon asked.
"Someplace safe," I said.
"The challenge is at the Wilburn Ranch, just north of Denton," Weldon said. "Have you seen those big iron gates with the name spelled out in wrought iron?"
"Yeah. They raise race horses there, don't they?" I'd seen it on my trips between Oklahoma City and Dallas.
"That's the place. The challenge spot is half a mile behind the house, straight east, almost. There are trees there with a little clearing in the middle."
"I'll be there as long as there aren't any other surprises," I said.
"We're counting on it," Weldon grumbled and hung up.
I blew out a sigh and looked around me. The safe house that Gavin and I had spent Christmas in was still the same. The fridge was stocked with blood—Merrill had made a call or two and arranged that for me. Some nameless, faceless local vampire had done the legwork. That reminded me that I hadn't checked my email messages. I had one from Paul and another from Bryan Riley, the vampire I'd met in London who worked as an assistant to a night news producer. Intrigued, I opened it first. I got my first look at the news footage that had more than likely spilled over all the networks while I'd been hauled off to New Mexico in a stolen van. I'd been driven back to Dallas by an FBI agent at Tony's direction.
"Two local constables, with assistance from a vacationing policeman from Wales managed to track the child killer," the news anchor announced with a beautiful British accent. "The suspect is currently undergoing psychological testing and appears to be mentally incompetent. At times he confesses to every murder, at others he proclaims his innocence. Authorities are quite baffled over the entire affair." The footage skipped to a crowd waiting outside a building as the blond man was led to a waiting transport. The crowd was shouting and hurling insults at the man. I shook my head and closed the video portion of the email.
Thought you might want to see that, Bryan had written. I tapped out a thank you, before opening what Paul sent.
Lissa, you were right about all of it, he said. The other has been apprehended and I have no doubt that the situation will be rectified. Feel free to contact me any time if you need something—Paul.
Next on my list was a call to Gavin, and if there'd been any way to avoid that, I would have. Merrill still didn't know the whole story; I'd told him the van had been stolen and that I'd wakened on a deserted road and managed to get myself back to civilization. Gavin picked up on the first ring.
"Hi, honey," I said.
"Lissa, what is this I hear about your being kidnapped and driven to a neighboring state?" Gavin was demanding answers. No greetings or pleasantries with him. Nuh-uh. No way.
"Honey, I was asleep before they ever took me off the plane and apparently they stopped somewhere for a meal and the van was stolen. When I woke, the van was parked on a dirt road about a zillion miles from nowhere."
"Have they apprehended the thief?" He was angry I could tell—his temper was barely in check.
"Not yet, honey, but they're looking."
"Lissa, when you come home to me, I will be most reluctant to allow you out of the country again." That might suck—what was I supposed to do, stay home and do needlepoint or something?
"Honey, does that mean you won't let me out of the house?"
"Lissa, I want to tell you not tax my patience, but I know that would make you crazy. Therefore, unless you find your way into more trouble, I will not confine you. I have no idea what Merrill plans to do over the entire situation. We will discuss this with him when you return." I was scheduled to go back in three weeks. I sighed wearily. "Lissa, I can almost see the pout on your pretty mouth," Gavin declared.
"Gavin, what if I told you that you couldn't leave the country? Or the house. Or whatever," my anger was rising a little. "You'd just stand there with that unreadable expression on your face, acting like I was insane or something. I didn't volunteer for this, Mr. I'm older so I get to tell you what to do Montegue. Wlodek loaned me out, I assume with Merrill's blessings. It was like they couldn't get me out of the country fast enough. Now explain that to me and then yell at me some more about leaving the country!" Yeah, I was shouting there at the end. Gavin most likely was holding the phone as far from his ear as he possibly could. I realized I was crying too, and reached up to wipe the tears away.
"Lissa, cara, I did not intend to upset you this much," Gavin's voice had gone softer. "Clearly you are more troubled over this theft and kidnapping than I imagined."
"I'll get over it," I sniffled.
"Lissa, do you love me?"
"Honey, you couldn't make me cry if I didn't."
There was silence on the other end so long I thought the call had dropped for a moment. "Cara, if I were there, I would be kissing your tears away."
"Honey, if you were here, I'd be sticking to you like a barnacle." I would, too. I wanted to weep in his arms for some reason and he wasn't here.
"Ma petite ange." I sobbed aloud at that. "Lissa, do not cry, love, you will be home soon. I am waiting for you."
"Okay, honey," I ended the call and attempted to get myself under control.
* * *
"Here are the photos, Director." A file was dropped onto Tony's desk.
"You're sure these are the ones?" Tony glanced up at his spy.
"Yes. Obviously the one on the left is Rahim Alif, the other is the one who calls himself Xenides."
Tony examined the photograph. Rahim Alif was using the first letter of the Arabic alphabet as his last name. Xenides had allied himself with a known terrorist. Both were linked to bombings in Tel Aviv, Madrid and Milan, and now the U.S. The attempts on the President and the Secretary of State were linked to these two. If Lissa hadn't been available to help, the country might now be in crisis. Frazier's experiment with six special ops agents had also gone very well. Tony witnessed the injections and subsequent disappearances himself and Frazier was now desperate to get his hands on more blood and tissue. Tony sighed. If he could just get one of the six operatives anywhere near these two while Frazier still had the supply of Lissa's blood—he stared at the photograph of Rahim Alif and Xenides again.