NYPD Red 6 - James Patterson Page 0,44
kill her—and I’m not going to pay him just to prove I was right.”
“You’re heartless.”
“I’m a businesswoman, and in case you’ve forgotten, you still work for me. The Young Designers Fashion Show is at the Brooklyn Army Terminal tomorrow. I will be in the front row, and I expect you to be sitting next to me.” She stood up and left the room.
Jamie lowered himself into a chair. His mouth was dry. His head was pounding. Of course that maniac is going to kill Erin, he thought. His mother was right. She was always right. He rested his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands. He sat there for almost a minute before his phone vibrated in his pocket.
He didn’t recognize the number. The kidnapper? So soon? His hands were trembling as he answered. “Hello.”
“Don’t say a word,” the man on the other end said. “I know they’ve tapped your phone.”
Jamie knew the caller’s voice. “Don’t worry,” he said. “They can’t listen in on the conversation. They can just monitor that I got an incoming—”
“Which part of ‘Don’t say a word’ did you not understand? Forget what the cops tell you. Don’t trust them for a minute. They’re not on your side. They’re just like your mother. They don’t want you to pay the ransom. It’s the only way you can possibly save Erin, and nobody wants you to do it.
“Nobody except me,” the voice said. “I can get you the money. I want you to meet me in the same place where we cracked open that seven-hundred-dollar bottle of Jack Daniel’s Monogram. And don’t let the cops follow you.”
The line went dead.
Jamie stood up and took a deep breath. A hint of a smile formed on his lips. There was hope.
CHAPTER 40
JAMIE TOOK THE elevator to the basement and left through the service entrance on Ninety-Second Street. The plan was to get back in an hour or two, reenter through the side door, and exit through the lobby. With any luck, Koprowski would still be waiting for him in front of the building.
NYPD had been babysitting him since Sunday night, and it felt good to be able to make his own decisions without a bunch of helicopter cops telling him what to do and how to do it. He didn’t care how much experience they had. They were on a mission to catch a criminal. His only goal was to bring Erin and the baby home safely.
He walked to Madison and flagged a cab. Harris and Anna Brockway lived in Connecticut, but they had a pied-à-terre on West Forty-Eighth. That’s where Brock had introduced him to that ridiculously expensive 94-proof bottle of Jack.
The Brockways were not to be trusted. He knew that. Erin knew that. They took good care of her, but only because there was something in it for them.
“I can get you the money,” Harris had said.
Maybe you can, Jamie thought. But what’s in it for you?
The answer became clear as soon as he entered the Brockways’ apartment. “Erin’s ratings were through the roof last night,” Brock said.
“She’s a megahit,” Anna added. “Mega, mega, mega. And the pregnancy bomb was the capper.”
“We want to do more shows,” Brock said. “We want you on camera. This thing can be the biggest hit that ZTV ever had.”
“This thing?” Jamie said. “The pregnancy bomb? A madman is deciding whether my wife lives or dies, I don’t have any idea how to save her, and all you can talk about is how well this insanity is playing with your television audience?”
“Hey, hey, calm down,” Brock said. “We both love Erin.”
“She’s like a daughter to us,” Anna said.
“We called you over here because you’re trying to pull together the ransom money, and we have a solution.”
“A deal,” Anna corrected. “ZTV is willing to pay for more Erin videos.”
“You want more hostage videos?” Jamie yelled. “One wasn’t enough? You think people haven’t gotten their fill of watching her suffer?”
“That’s the point,” Brock said. “The whole goddamn world is emotionally invested in what happens to her next. Do you understand what kind of a magnet that is? Sponsors will pay through the nose to be part of this.”
“Now you’ve gotten to the heart of it!” Jamie said, pounding a fist into the palm of his hand. “It’s all about money, isn’t it?”
“You’re damn straight it’s about money!” Brock yelled. “And instead of shitting all over the idea, you should be thanking us, because you sure as hell aren’t going to