“So who cleans?”
“We have a service that comes in once a week.”
Wearing a faint smirk, Anthony nodded.
Savannah, who hated cleaning as much as Megan did and saw nothing wrong with having a service if one could afford it, was faintly piqued. “Is there a purpose to this line of questioning?”
“Sure,” Anthony replied. “Since Will seems to have slept through his wife’s kidnapping, I was hoping to find someone who hadn’t. A maid might have heard voices or cries. She might have looked outside and seen tall figures or short figures, a car or a van. I’m surprised you didn’t ask the same question yourself.”
“I didn’t have to. I already knew there was no maid. Given that fact, the issue of who cleans is irrelevant for present purposes.” Sending a brief look at Paul, who was perched on his desk again, Savannah went on. “Okay, Will. You found the note at eight-thirty this morning. Where was it?”
“On the desk.”
“What did you do then?”
There was a moment’s silence, then, “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Paul echoed.
“I didn’t know what to do.” His features were rigid, but his tone became higher pitched. “I searched the house. Megan wasn’t anywhere. Her car—both cars—were in the garage. Her keys were in the house, her purse, her wallet, her clothes. She’d been kidnapped, and the note said not to call the police, so I stood there for a long time without doing a thing, half hoping the phone would ring and it would be Meggie telling me the whole thing was a joke.”
He was close to tears. Intent on giving him a minute to recompose himself, Savannah turned to talk softly to Paul. “They said they’d call. Shouldn’t he be back at the house waiting?”
Paul nodded.
“But I couldn’t meet with you there,” Will cried. “I was afraid if they saw someone coming to the house, they’d think I called the police, and if they think that, they’ll hurt Megan.”
“Based on precedence,” said Paul, “I’d say they’ll be hesitant to hurt Megan if they want that money. And they won’t expect you to sit in the house all alone. They’ll assume relatives will be around, maybe close friends. Hell, you have to see other people, if for no other reason than to get the money together.”
Anthony stopped his hand midrap. “I take it you do have the money,” he said.
“Not on me at the moment,” Will returned with a glare that Savannah lauded. But the glare fizzled when he turned to her. “I agonized all morning—do I see it through by myself, or do I go for help? The obvious thing is to sit at home, wait for that call, pay the money, and get Megan back. But can I trust that that’s what will happen? Can I be sure that if I pay the money I’ll get her back? And, damn it, whoever’s done this should be caught.” He stopped short, frowned at the rug, shook his head. “Forget catching them. I just want Megan back.” He looked up. “I’m here because I considered you two to be friends,” his eyes jumped from Paul to Savannah, “and because I figured you’d know what to do in a situation like this.” His voice was rising again. “I don’t want to make any mistakes. I want Megan back alive. What in the hell am I supposed to do?”
Sitting back in her chair, Savannah tried to still her nerves, all the while thinking that if Will thought she had a magical solution, he was mistaken. “First,” she said, as much to herself as to him, “you’ll have to calm down. Meggie needs you to stay cool. Second, you’ll have to let us contact the FBI—”
“No!”
Paul rose from his perch on the edge of the desk. “Kidnapping is a federal offense. There’s every legal reason for the FBI to be called in, not to mention the fact that those guys know exactly what to do. They’re trained in this type of thing. They have equipment and resources that we don’t have.”
Will wasn’t being persuaded. “I don’t want the FBI. The note said no police, and that’s the way it has to be.”
“But you’ve already come to us,” Savannah reasoned. “You’ve sought outside help, which is just what the kidnappers didn’t want.”
“They said no police. You aren’t the police.”
“We’re a functional law enforcement agency,” Anthony said, and neither Paul nor Savannah argued.
Will did. “You aren’t the police. I can count on you to be discreet. I don’t trust the police that way.”
“Will,” Savannah pleaded, “we’re talking the FBI. We’re talking a few well-trained, carefully selected men who have had experience with this kind of thing.”
But Will shook his head. “No FBI. I don’t want them anywhere near the house.”
She was about to argue further when something else occurred to her. “Speaking of the house, did you clean things up?”
He hesitated. “Should I have?’
In unison, three voices said, “No!”
