Her Winning Ways by J.M. Bronston (24)

 

The blare of the siren reached her before the squad car turned down her street. It appeared with its light bar flashing and screeched to a stop in front of her. He was out the door and around the front of the car before she took a step. And he was looking fierce.

“Are you okay?” He made a quick scan in all directions as though checking for possible danger.

“Of course I’m okay. Why shouldn’t I be?”

“You’ll need to come with me right now.”

He was in full uniform, boots and all. The scruffy, unwashed vagrant hobo look was gone and he was back to his tall, sandy-haired self.

“You sure cleaned up nicely,” she said. She touched his newly shaved cheek—and was surprised that he drew back. His eyes shifted away from her, and she realized that people were glancing at them.

But she also realized that no one stopped, no one stared. Back home, a crowd would have gathered, but here people kept on walking, as though she and Bart and the flashing lights had been quickly sized up and found not interesting enough to break their stride.

“We’ll talk later. At headquarters.” He led her to the car and was holding the rear door open for her.

And she looked questioningly at him.

“Can’t I sit up front with you?”

“Nope. No front-seat passengers in a squad car. I’m afraid it’s not real comfortable back there, but it’s only a short ride.”

He was right. It wasn’t comfortable. Molded plastic seat, covered with a kind of gray flocking to add a little texture to the hard surface, and a screen of metal mesh dividing front from back, a reminder that this backseat was a cagelike form of confinement. No, definitely not comfortable.

She added this ride in an NYPD cop car to all the unexpected twists her trip to New York had taken. One more “who’d have expected. . .” to add to her scrapbook.

And she felt odd, riding through the streets of Manhattan in the back of a squad car, to be seen, perhaps, as a criminal. She was torn between feeling like an impostor—which was kind of fun—and wanting to shout out, “I’m only riding here; I haven’t done anything wrong. Honestly!” Mostly, she wanted to scrunch down in the seat until they pulled up into the headquarters parking lot.

Bart held the door for her.

“Captain Simon wants to talk to you,” he said.

Being sent to the principal’s office must feel like this, she thought, as Bart led her into headquarters.

 

The nameplate on the door read: “Captain Anthony Simon.”

Bart opened the office door for her and they walked into the captain’s cluttered office. The captain looked up from the papers he was studying, put down his pen, and sat back in his chair. He was not smiling.

“Please take a seat, Miss Cornell.”

His voice was quiet because he had learned how to give orders and have them obeyed and he knew that quiet worked best. Captain Simon loved his work, he loved his horses, and he loved his men. In that order. But today, he was not a happy man.

“It seems you’ve been out there, doing a little unauthorized police work on your own.” Before Annie could register any protest or explanation, the captain stopped her with a look. “Miss Cornell, we don’t appreciate civilians adding to our workload.” He waited a couple of beats to let that sink in. She didn’t like the feeling that she was being scolded—which was exactly the feeling Captain Simon was going for. He watched while she straightened her back, got herself a little less comfortable in her chair. He knew, by the set of her chin and the little lift of her head that she was feeling defiant, but not prepared to mouth off at him. She wasn’t the type. He recognized her as a solid citizen and he knew she’d understand and cooperate. Now he softened his approach a little. He let his face show his concern for her.

“Miss Cornell, I’m afraid we’ve received some information that we need to share with you.” He pulled a file from the drawer and put it between them on the desk. “It seems there are some bad guys out there who’ve been trailing you and Sergeant Hardin. We’re not yet sure of their motives, but we’re afraid you may be in some danger.”

He watched her attitude shift while she took that news in. It took her a couple of moments.

“I don’t understand. Why would anyone be trailing us? Why me? Why would I be in any danger? Why would anyone be interested in me?”

This was not the kind of adventure she’d counted on. Here she was, sitting in a police precinct, being advised that she’d been caught up in some kind of serious trouble that involved the police. And now, just because she’d been trying to find Lindy, everyone seemed to be mad at her.

Captain Simon took the warning notes from the file and handed them to her one at a time.

“Here, in the order we received them, are notes that have been anonymously delivered here at headquarters. You’ll see that the most recent one refers to ‘the pretty blond lady with Sergeant Hardin.’ The sergeant assures me that refers to you, Miss Cornell.” He noted that Annie glanced up at Bart, embarrassed. “The notes appear to have been sent by the same group that you encountered on Sunday in front of the UN building. We think they saw the TV coverage and did some checking on Lindy and Bart and decided to take the horse and hold him as a hostage.”

“For what? What do they want?” She glanced over at Bart, who was standing back against a cabinet, his arms folded, being professionally impassive.

“Two things. One, we’re holding their leader and they want us to release him. And two, they want attention for their cause. There’s nothing we can do about their fight for independence. We don’t even care about that. But they hope they’ll get media coverage, and maybe an opportunity to present their case to the public. As far as we’re concerned, they’re criminals, they’ve broken the law, and we’ll bring them to justice.” He took the notes back from Annie and put them into the folder.

He swiveled his chair around and gave a few moments to the contemplation of the view through the window. Nothing much there—just the vehicles parked outside, the chain-link fence, the street traffic beyond. Wet pavement and a misty threat of more rain to come. He swiveled back to his desk, drummed his fingertips on the desk, and gave Annie a bit of time to digest the fact that the kidnappers had targeted her, and that she was actually in danger.

“But why me?” She repeated the question. “Nothing in that TV report on Sunday’s protest identified me. I was just an anonymous person caught up in the crowd.”

The captain pulled some photos out of the file and placed them on the desk in front of Annie.

“After we got the last note, we made some inquiries. Sergeant Hardin told us about your contest and about the opening of the new store. He was there and, of course, so were you. These are from the security cameras at the store’s front. I’d like you to look at these pictures.”

Annie saw several photos of what appeared to be a gathering of spectators at the ribbon-cutting on Tuesday. They included enlargements of a detail from one of the photos, showing a cluster of three men standing at the edge of the small crowd.

“Do you remember seeing these men?”

She thought back. “I think so, yes. Maybe. I was a little overwhelmed that day. It was all so strange, the cameras, the attention—”

“Of course.” He put the photos on top of the file. “But they were paying attention to you.” He took more photos from the file. “And these show both you and the sergeant. I understand that you and Bart had spent some time together the evening before, when you came here to headquarters to pick up your bag.” He noted Annie’s embarrassment and Bart rolling his eyes. “So I understand why these photos show there were smiles and eye contact between the two of you. Perfectly natural, of course. I gather the two of you made a cordial connection the night before. None of my business, of course.”

His finger pointed at the men in the photo.

“However, you’ll notice that the three men in the photo seem to be conferring.” He spread out the pictures, sorting them as he spoke. “And this photo here shows them studying you, Miss Cornell. Here, in this one, the tall one—the bald guy—is writing notes on a pad that appears to be similar to the kind on which the threatening notes were written. The notepad isn’t clear in this picture, but our lab guys will work on a clearer enlargement.”

He put the group of photos aside and took some more from the file.

“After Lindy was taken, we went back and looked at our records from security cameras here at headquarters. And we see”—he put some more pictures in front of her—“that same man, the tall, bald one, among a group of tourists, again taking notes. Obviously planning the kidnapping.”

His face registered irritation and impatience.

“I refuse to call it a horse-napping. I can just see the tabloids: ‘New York Mounted police caught napping.’ Or some other ‘funny’ headline.” He knew the media, typically unhelpful, would have fun at the unit’s expense.

“We’re pretty sure we’ll find those same men in the photos taken on Sunday. So we know who we’re looking for, and we’ll be able to locate other members of the group who may, if we’re lucky, be willing to work with us. Taking Lindy is a serious matter to us here in this unit. But the thing is escalating to more serious danger, now that they’re targeting you, Miss Cornell.

“You’re going to need protection till we get these guys,” he continued. “I want someone with you twenty-four hours a day—at least until you return to Wyoming. I’m pretty sure they’ll lose interest in you if you’re gone—and I’m hoping we’ll have them in custody by then.

“The odd thing is,” he said, studying the photos again, “we had several reports from drivers saying they saw a man on a horse riding out of here—odd enough on Twelfth Avenue—but what’s even odder, no one got a video. Same thing for the many reports of sightings from distant locations—upstate, out on the Island, New Jersey, Connecticut—but no one thought to get a video. Or even a still shot. Must be a first in the history of cell phone cameras.”

Annie sat there silently. She was trying to take it all in. It was all too preposterous. When she’d been practically stampeded at the street protest, she thought the men, with their silly “cause,” were a bunch of clods. But now, they’d become a genuine danger to her, personally.

“I don’t know what to say,” she said. “I’m baffled. I can’t imagine that I actually need protection. The whole thing is so ridiculous.”

“We don’t think it’s ridiculous, Miss Cornell.” The captain was frowning at her. “We take threats seriously and, as I said, we’re going to see that you’re protected for as long as you’re here in the city. Ordinarily, we’d have Sergeant Hardin out there looking for Lindy—but it turns out the man is utterly useless, getting in everyone’s way and driving us all crazy.” Bart made a gesture to object but the captain cut him off. “No, Bart. You know it’s true. You and that horse are too close and you’re too wound up to be much help. No discredit to you, son. Totally understandable.” He paused, and his expression was almost tender as he turned to face Bart. “Don’t forget, I rode with your dad, and I know all the history.”

He paused again, seemed to be thoughtful for a moment. Then he turned back to the file, made some entries, and put it away.

“So, Bart, we can spare you here for the time being. And I’m assigning you to guard Miss Cornell—eight hours on, eight hours off, starting right now. Max will be your relief. I don’t think this will be an unpleasant assignment for you.” His smile was almost conspiratorial. “As long as you don’t forget you are on duty. And keep your eyes open.”

He remained seated as he ended the interview.

“You can leave now, Miss Cornell. I hope the rest of your stay will be uneventful. And if you see any sign of these men or anything else that disturbs you, be sure Bart is made aware, and if you need to, contact us here.” He handed her a card with the headquarters’ number. He turned to Bart. “And your surveillance assignment begins right now, Sergeant. You’re dismissed.”

But Annie remained in her seat.

“Captain Simon, I’ve done some research and I have some information that may be—”

He cut her off instantly. “I thought I made myself very clear.” He was giving her a look that strong men had trouble standing up to. “We’d like you to go back to your hotel with Sergeant Hardin. Or have dinner with him. Or go to a movie. But do not play detective. We have professionals who are trained to do that.”

“But I have information—”

She got no further. Bart had her arm and with unmistakable irritation—and an embarrassed glance at the captain—pulled her up from the seat and steered her to the door.

“Annie, let’s go. The captain is busy and we’re finished here.”

“But—”

“Come on, Annie. We’re out of here. Now!”

“Oh, and Bart,” the captain called after them. “Take the squad car. You’re on duty. And I don’t want you and the lady exposed on that motorcycle of yours.”