NYPD Red 6 - James Patterson Page 0,39

smile at her captor. Keep your dignity. It’s harder to kill or harm someone who can remain human in his eyes.

“I’ve got coffee and croissants,” Dodd said, setting down a tray. “And a bunch of newspapers, which, of course, are all about us.”

There is no us, you maniac. “Thanks. I’ll start with the coffee.” Establish rapport. Don’t antagonize. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, and he handed her a Styrofoam cup. She popped the lid and took a sip.

“You like it?” he said.

Lukewarm, god-awful swill. “Perfect,” she said.

“I’ve got a confession to make,” he said, spreading grape jelly on a croissant with a plastic knife.

She shrugged. “I’m listening.” I’m a captive audience.

“Last night was the best night of my life,” he said, inhaling half the croissant in a single bite.

She cringed.

“I know you’ve slept with a lot of guys,” he said. “How’d I do?”

You fucking raped me, you animal. “You were very gentle. I appreciate it.”

“It’ll be even better next time,” he said, shoveling in the rest of the croissant.

Above all, comply. You may have to do things that you don’t want to—including sex. Just do it, because sometimes that’s the only way to stay alive. “Just remember,” she said, “you don’t have to force me.”

“No, no, never. It’s got to be natural,” Dodd said. “You know I have to tell Jamie that I’m going to kill you if he doesn’t pay, but I never would do anything to hurt you. Or our baby. It’s going to be so great once we get the money. Just the three of us.”

And don’t try to convince him that his delusions are unfounded. “Do you mind if I take a shower now?” she asked.

“No, no. Go ahead.”

She got out of bed and walked through the open doorway to the bathroom. She knew what would be next.

Dodd waited until he heard the water running.

Then he peeled off his clothes, and, fully aroused, he followed her into the shower.

Erin was waiting for him.

Give in. But never give up.

CHAPTER 35

ABOUT AN HOUR after Erin announced her pregnancy to the world, Kylie and I drove to the mobile incident command post outside Jamie Gibbs’s residence to wait for Bobby Dodd’s next move.

Cops have a dark sense of humor, and it wasn’t long before someone pulled together an impromptu What Time Will the Kidnapper Call? pool, ten bucks for a half-hour box. I, of course, didn’t buy in. It doesn’t look good when a detective being cross-examined by the defense has to admit he had money riding on how the case would play out. But I had a theory—he’d call in the middle of the night, when Jamie might be at his most vulnerable.

I was wrong. Kylie and I caught a few hours’ sleep in shifts, and when I woke up at eight a.m., Dodd still hadn’t called. I rang upstairs and asked how Jamie was handling the wait.

“He’s crawling the walls, Zach,” Detective Koprowski said. “The proof-of-life video is on YouTube, and he keeps going back to the site to see how many people have watched it so far.”

“How many?”

“Nineteen million views last time I looked. The number would be a lot lower if they didn’t count how many times Gibbs watched it.”

Two million YouTube views later, Jamie’s home phone rang.

“Incoming on his landline,” the tech in the command center said.

I called upstairs to Koprowski. “Does Jamie recognize the number?”

“No.”

“Tell him to pick it up.”

Jamie took the call. “Hello.”

“Jamie …” It was Erin. “Sweetheart, I’m scared.”

“Are you okay?”

“Jamie, I’m locked up. He has a knife in his hand. How can I be okay?”

“I mean, has he hurt you? Has he touched you?”

A whimper. But no response.

“Shit,” Kylie said. “Bad sign.”

“Erin?” Jamie said. “Are you there? Has he touched you?”

“I’m here. He’s treated me okay, but I want to come ho—”

Silence.

“Erin? Erin?” The fear and desperation in Gibbs’s voice was palpable. “Please … Erin?”

I looked at the tech to see if we’d been disconnected. He shook his head. The abrupt silence on the other end was all part of the psychological warfare. Ten seconds passed before Dodd broke it.

“Time is running out, Jamie. You got your video. You got your phone call. Are you going to pay or do I have to start sending you body parts?”

“I’ll pay. I swear.”

“Twenty-five million. I’ve got a bank routing number. You do this right, and she’ll be home in time for dinner.”

“It’s not that easy,” Gibbs said. “I just don’t have that kind of money.”

“Get it.”

“I will.