15

Savannah entered Stern Grove from the northeast corner, after she’d gotten off the bus two blocks earlier. Her briefcase was starting to feel heavy, and her toes were hurting in her high heels. But she’d had to look professional for her visit to the bank, and there had been no opportunity to change into more comfortable clothes. In hindsight, she should have gone to the nearest clothing store and bought jeans and comfortable shoes. But that was just it: hindsight. It didn’t matter now. She was almost there. It was just three more city blocks to the Trocadero Clubhouse. She’d never been there before, though she knew that the clubhouse was near the area where they held free concerts on weekends in the summer.

The path she was on led into a wooded area. The shade of the large trees together with the dense fog made the area darker. Once the sun went down, which would happen very soon, it would be pitch black here. Involuntarily, she shivered, whether from the cold that was seeping into her clothes or the fear that was growing now, she didn’t know. Probably both.

She’d always been scared of the dark and the silence. And it was quiet here. The sound of the cars traveling on 19th Avenue which bordered the park on the East, and Sloat Boulevard on the South, seemed muffled. She couldn’t hear any animals, but maybe that was good. After all, coyotes roamed freely in some of the parks in the city, though they were only a danger to dogs, cats, and small children. They stayed away from larger creatures. Nevertheless, nervousness crawled up her spine like a slithering snake, making her shudder.

It took her another ten minutes to reach the clubhouse. The old yellow Victorian structure with the wrap-around porch and the ornate white trim was dark. No light illuminated its surroundings or its interior. It was closed. The kidnapper probably knew that. He wouldn’t want any witnesses to the exchange.

Savannah glanced around. She couldn’t see any cars in the parking lot, though the dense fog prevented her gaze from penetrating all the way to its far end. Somebody could be parked there and she wouldn’t even know it. She looked at her watch. It was two minutes before the appointed time.

In the distance she heard the engine of a car. She listened intently. Was it approaching, or were her ears playing tricks on her? She peered into the dark. The fog moved, creating eerie, shadowy figures in between the trees. As if the forest was alive with strange creatures. Her hands were trembling now. She wouldn’t do well in the wilderness, that much was certain. She was a city person through and through. But she forced the fear down, knowing she had to get through this.

A beam of light suddenly pierced her dark surroundings. At first she couldn’t tell where it was coming from, but then she heard a car and spun around. Two headlights were coming straight toward her. When the lights hit her, the car slowed. She squinted, trying to make out the make and model of the car, as well as its license plates. But the headlights blinded her. All she could tell was that it was a van or a large SUV.

It pulled to a stop opposite the stairs of the clubhouse, where she was standing, about eight to ten yards away from her. Now she could see it was a small white truck such as one a flower shop or a plumber might use. There was no writing on the side, nothing to identify it.

The passenger side door opened, and a man jumped out. Not only was he dressed in dark clothes, he also wore a ski mask. The driver remained in the truck, the engine idling. The masked man reached for the handle of the sliding door and slid it open halfway. Savannah tried to peer inside, but he was blocking her view.

Nervously, she watched him look to his left and right, perhaps checking whether somebody was lurking in the shadows. But she knew there was nobody there, nobody to back her up.

“Where is my daughter?”

“Where’s the money?” he asked, ignoring her question.

She lifted the briefcase. “It’s all here. Where is she? Where’s Buffy?” Her voice shook, and she knew it put her in a weak position. Hell, she was in a weak position!

The man motioned to the open sliding door. “In there.”

Mustering all her courage, she demanded, “I want to see her.”

“The money first.” He motioned her to approach.

Slowly, she took a few steps. Then she stopped again, fear gripping her heart. “Buffy?” she called out. “Buffy, are you alright?”

There was no reply.

“She won’t reply. She’s gagged.” Then he motioned to the briefcase again. “Give me the money.”

She walked closer, until she was only a yard away from the kidnapper. He reached for the briefcase containing the money, and she let him take it. She pointed to the open van behind him. “My daughter. Give me my daughter.”

“Of course.” He turned around and placed the briefcase inside the van. “You’ll see her shortly.”

He swung around all of a sudden and grabbed her with both hands, lifting her off her feet and yanking her forward, so the upper part of her body landed in the van. She slammed onto the bare floor, and in the last second managed to turn her head to the side to spare her face any injuries. At the same time she got a view of the interior of the van. It was empty. Buffy wasn’t inside.

“Nooooo!” she screamed. Adrenaline shot through her veins, and she kicked back with her legs, managing to slam her spikey high heels into the kidnapper’s stomach.

“Ugh!”

She rolled over and kicked again, but this time the bastard managed to grip her ankles, preventing her from doing any damage.

“Fucking bitch! You’ll pay for that,” he threatened.

She didn’t waste her energy screaming for help, because she knew nobody would come. Instead she pulled herself up, rocked forward and threw a punch at his face. He dove to the side and twisted her legs, attempting to turn her back on her stomach again.

“Get the fucking bitch in the van!” the driver yelled from the cab.

For a second, her aggressor seemed distracted, and she used the moment to jerk her legs up. This time she was able to free one leg from his grip and swung it in the direction of his head. But before it could connect, the asshole twisted her other leg, causing her to cry out in pain. She felt him shove her deeper into the van, but she managed to grip the side of the door with one hand and held on for dear life.

“Jump in, you idiot,” the driver yelled. “We’ve gotta get outta here!”

Her attacker jumped into the van and would have landed on her, had something not jerked him sideways at the last second. What, she couldn’t see immediately, but she could hear it: a ferocious growl accompanied the thud and a painful howl sounded as the kidnapper slammed against the rough metal interior of the van.

“Fuck!” the driver screamed.

The van jerked forward, as a dark figure reached for her.

“Savannah!”

She recognized the voice instantly and let go of her grip on the door frame. John yanked her out of the van, which was already in motion. With his arms securely around her, they tumbled, landing on the hard ground, rolling for a few feet, before coming to a stop on the grassy shoulder of the dark road.

The van’s engine revved, and when she whirled her head in its direction, she could only see faint taillights disappearing in the distance. She squinted in an attempt to read the license plate, but couldn’t make out any letters or numbers.

Tears ran down her cheeks.

“Are you hurt?” John’s voice was full of concern.

She shook her head and tried to sit up, but searing pain shot up her side where she’d landed on the hard surface of the van.

“You are hurt!” John helped her sit up.

“Just some bruises.” Then, for the first time she looked at him and met his eyes. “She wasn’t in the van, John. They didn’t bring her. I gave them the money, and they didn’t bring Buffy.” Sobs tore from her chest. “Why?”

John helped her up. “I don’t know, Savannah, I wish I did. But we have to leave. There’s nothing for us to do here. They’re gone.”

“I couldn’t read the license plate.”

“I’m surprised you had the wherewithal to even try to read it.” He put his hand on her elbow. “I got a look at the plate. I’ll have my people run it, but I don’t have much hope. Thugs like that don’t use vehicles registered to them.” He motioned in the direction the van had disappeared. “My car is over there.”

She sniffled, trying to stop her tears and allowed him to lead her to his car. He helped her into the passenger seat, then shut the door and got in on the driver’s side. A moment later, the engine hummed, and the car was in motion. The smooth ride should have soothed her, but it didn’t. She was still shaking, still in shock. She’d done everything the kidnappers had asked for, and they hadn’t given Buffy back to her.

While she went back over the events of the day to try to figure out if she’d done anything that could have warranted the kidnapper’s change of mind about handing over her daughter, John made a phone call, reciting a license plate number and requesting it be checked out immediately.

If he hadn’t gotten there in time, she would now be in the van and would have disappeared too, and then who would save Buffy? But John had found her.

“How?”

He gave her a sideways glance. “What?”

“How did you know? How did you find me?”