Emily Locke 01 - Final Approach

few feet away. But the open office door was a problem.
    All I heard were kitchen sounds associated with breakfast. Somebody could be dialing. I stole a glance into the living room, and when I didn’t see anyone, I crawled behind the desk and grabbed the backpack, opening the zipper right away. I fumbled for the phones, unsure in my panic which one they’d call. I found mine first and turned off the ringer. Kurt’s was buried and I ransacked the bag with two hands before finding it deep in a corner. I managed to find his Ringer Off option. My thumb was still on the key when the phone’s LCD screen changed. It was signaling the number of an incoming call.
    “She’s not answering,” I heard from the kitchen. “Should I leave a message?”
    “Forget it. She’s playing tough.”
    The LCD on Kurt’s phone changed to report one missed call.
    “She’s smarter than the two of you together,” Jeannie said. “If I know Emily, this place is already surrounded by cops.”
    I’d have been delighted with one. Where was Richard?
    I peered around the corner of the desk. Jeannie was now on the pristine leather sofa in the living room. The sight of her almost moved me to tears. Her face was swollen.
    She wore yesterday’s clothes, now wrinkled. Her coif was disheveled, her make-up gone, and soon there’d be a shiner. No wonder she was ornery.
    I pushed the pack over my shoulder and crawled back to the closet. Jeannie spotted me. Her eyes widened. I backed into the closet and pulled the door mostly closed.
    “Gotta pee.” Jeanne’s tone was matter-of-fact.
    She was probably already crossing the living room, because the next thing I heard was, “Hey! Sit down!”
    “Relax, mister. I promise not to flush myself out to sea.”
    “Let her go,” the other said. “No windows in the bathroom.”
    Soon, footsteps brushed on the carpet inside the office.
    “Em?” she whispered.
    “Here,” I whispered back, and pressed the closet door open a bit further.
    She stared down at me, crouched on the floor under a series of hanging jackets, and I had the feeling she wasn’t really seeing me.
    “What are you wearing?” she whispered. “You look like a damn sherbet.”
    “Hey, what’s going on back here?” Someone was approaching the hall.
    Jeannie pushed the closet door until it was open only a few inches. She stood in front of it with her back to me. I ducked into shadows.
    “In here,” she said, annoyed. “Seriously. Relax. Swanky beach house. Wanted to look around, that’s all.”
    “Yeah?” he said. “I think you wanted to look for a phone.”
    I heard body weight drop into the desk chair as a huff of air escaped from its suspension. The bulldog was guarding his phone.
    “I hope you’re wrong about your friend,” he said. “For your own sake.”
    “How much money did she take?” Jeannie asked. “You mad a girl got your money?” I could hear the smile in her voice.
    “You talk a lot, lady. And you’re not as funny as you think.”
    Jeannie sighed. “Yeah, well, you talk a lot too. And you’re not as smart as you think.”

Chapter Twenty-nine
    The office door closed emphatically. I guessed the message to Jeannie was Stay Out.
    A TV droned in the front room and I heard snippets of the morning news mixed with the clatter of dishes and forks. A newscaster prattled about an injured FBI agent at Gulf Coast Skydiving. I pictured Jeannie’s kidnappers shoveling eggs as they watched the segment. We had to get out of there. I knew our odds would be better if I could get rid of one of the men first.
    I pulled the closet door fully shut, and flipped open Kurt’s cell phone in the darkness. I pressed the little illuminated buttons and brought up the number for its last missed call. It was the call Jeannie’s kidnappers made moments earlier, and by my bad luck, they’d used the landline from this very house. Had a cell phone been used, I could have texted back. Instead, I’d have to actually speak to them and hope not to be discovered.
    I pressed Talk, and Kosh’s desk phone rang. Even though I expected it, I still jumped at the noise. Someone answered on another extension.
    I used as low a voice as I could. “Your money’s back in town, but it’s not at the motel. There’s no way I’ll go there alone.”
    “Where is it?” I heard his voice through the walls and the phone at the same time.
    I named an intersection I remembered from my earlier super center run. There was a gas station on the