Chapter 2
Blackmail
Hillary Beck
“If you ever want to see Erica alive again,” the voice said hoarsely, “you will retrieve a file for me from Gale’s office. It is not kept in the archives but kept especially in his office. You know which one I am talking about, don’t you?”
“I know,” I whispered, my voice shaking.
“Get the file and drop it in a post box that I will tell you about. You have twenty-four hours. Get the file, and Erica will be free again. Fail, and she will die a gruesome death. Understood?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
The line was cut, and I heard the dial tone going off as I stood there. I collapsed on my knees, tears streaming from my eyes. I didn’t want to betray Gale, despite all he had done, but I had no choice. I had to do it. I had to do it for Erica.
“Erica?” I said, returning to my apartment. The deed had been done. I had stolen the file as he had asked, and I had dropped it off where I had been ordered.
I turned on the lights, my heartbeat racing, hoping that they would have freed Erica. I don’t know what I would do if something happened to her.
I spotted her lying on the floor, her eyes closed and barely conscious. I ran over to her and shook her, shouting her name repeatedly.
“Hillary?” Erica whispered, her eyes opening.
“Erica!” I said, hugging her. “Oh, thank God.”
“Hillary! He got me,” she gasped. “Someone took me. Some horrible man. They said they wanted you too.”
“I know,” I whispered, “it’s okay. Shush.”
“No, you don’t get it,” she whispered. “It was horrible. It was too much.”
“It’s okay,” I said, tears falling down my eyes. “Did you see the man who got you?”
“No, he had his face covered,” she said. “But his voice. His voice seemed so familiar, Hills. It was like some demon from my nightmares had returned.”
“Just rest,” I whispered. “Close your eyes and rest. Everything will be okay. He won’t get to you again, I promise.”
“I am scared, Hillary,” she said. “I am scared of what you have gotten yourself involved in.”
“I am fine,” I assured her. “Don’t worry about me. I am doing great. Why don’t you tell me about the man who attacked you? Tell me what happened? Maybe we can uncover some clue, okay?”
“I was on my way back from work,” she whispered. “I was heading down the road when someone suddenly hit me on the back of my head. When I woke up, I tied up on a chair in a small dark room. A man was there, his face was covered with a hood, and he told me not to move. He said that if you did whatever he said, he would let me go. But that if I tried to get away, he would kill me. His voice was deep and rough. He wore a plain shirt and jeans and these white sneakers. I don’t remember much. He just ignored me through most of it. But I think he was just a hired goon.”
“Why do you think that?” I asked.
“Because he was often on a call with someone else,” she said. “I heard him talking. It seemed as if he was getting orders from him. I heard him shouting on the phone, ‘You promised me you would deliver her to me on a plate. I am not doing this anymore.’ Then the person on the other side said something, and he cursed in reply.”
“Alright,” I said. “Now, why don’t you get some sleep, hon? Or would you like to eat some food first?”
Erica shook her head, lost in her own thoughts, and then said, “There is one more thing. I just remembered. I noticed it, and it instantly stood out to me. There was a tattoo on his ankle.”
“A tattoo?” I asked, my heartbeat picking up. “What kind of tattoo?”
“I don’t know; I can’t remember,” Erica said.
“Erica, please!” I said urgently. “You need to remember. What kind of tattoo? What was it? It’s important.”
“I don’t know,” Erica said, panicking. “I think it was a skull—”
I zoned out, not hearing what she said after that. I knew the skull tattoo on the ankle. I knew who had kidnapped Erica.
It was Joe.
