The Target

husband said it hadn't been stolen, he'd sold it, and hadn't told his wife. Who knows? Did he sell it to the kidnappers? That plays for me."

    "Yeah, it does for me too." Ramsey sighed.

    "You might consider coming in now. Any more attempts to get the kid?"

    "Not since we've come to our new location."

    "Come in, Ramsey. It sounds dicey. I agree that this isn't just a simple kidnapping. You got any ideas?"

    "Maybe. Look, Savich, let me keep us hidden awhile longer. I'll check in on Friday unless something happens sooner. Listen, thanks. I owe you."

    "You can bet on it."

    "Is that Sherlock I hear? Give her a kiss for me."

    "Not on your life. You're too much like the kind of man she likes, all hard and tough. Given your macho demonstration a while back in your courtroom, I'd be hard-pressed to keep her away from you, especially if she's having a bad day and not thinking clearly. No, all kisses are from me. Take care of yourself, Ramsey, and call if there's anything I can do."

    "Thanks, Savich." Ramsey slowly hung up the phone. "You heard everything?"

    She nodded.

    "Now, no more procrastinating. It's time. On to Daddy."

    She started shaking her head.

    "Listen, Molly, your father is Mason Lord. It's time we thought about him. I don't think it's possible he could be involved directly in any of this, but it's very possible that from what we've seen, just maybe some of your father's enemies had Emma kidnapped to use as leverage against your father."

    She didn't turn, just ran her fingers over the thick fabric of the light tan drapes. "I think he would have warned me if someone he was dealing with might consider such a thing."

    "Yes, he probably would have, if he'd had warning. Do you agree that perhaps some of his enemies are involved up to their gum lines to get leverage on him, to milk him? You wondered about all the guys who seemed to be involved in this, so far. Well, that could be our answer."

    She still didn't turn around. Slowly, she pulled the drapes shut over the French windows and just stood there, head down, saying nothing.

    He noticed that she was barefoot. Her toes were painted a pale pink and were chipping. "When did you last speak to your father?"

    "Last week."

    "And you told him what was going on?"

    She nodded.

    "Tell me something, Molly. When was the last time you saw your father?"

    "That's none of your business. It has nothing to do with this. Stop pushing me on this."

    "I just want us to stay alive. You're making that difficult by holding out on me. When, Molly? I deserve to know." He rubbed his leg.

    "All right, but it doesn't make any difference. The last time I saw him was three years ago."

    He slammed the recliner forward and stood, staring at her. "Three years ago? What's been going on?"

    She turned then to face him, but she didn't move from her stand by the windows. "The last time I saw him was when Emma had just turned three years old. He flew to Denver for her birthday. But that wasn't the real reason he came. He was angry at my husband. He came to Denver to see him."

    "And did he see your husband?"

    "Yes, he saw him. Louey ended up with two broken ribs, a fractured kidney, and bruises everywhere except on his face, that lasted until the next Christmas."

    "What had Louey done?"

    "I don't want to talk about it. It has nothing to do with this."

    "You have no clue what does or what doesn't have to do with anything at all."

    "Listen, as I told you, Louey is my ex-husband. We've been divorced for two years. I didn't lie to Emma about her father being worried about her. Louey did call once when he heard that she was missing, which was a big surprise to me. He called me before I even considered contacting him. As Emma already told you, he hasn't bothered to see her since he left.

    "It was right after one of his concerts in Berlin. I remember clearly that he asked about Emma, said he'd heard from somebody in Denver that she'd been snatched, and wondered if I had her back yet. When I said no, he acted all sorry and depressed for about a minute. Then he sort of laughed and said that my daddy would pay the moon to get her back, and not to worry. He told me how the tour was going. He said this fraulein reporter-yeah, that's what he called her-from the Berliner Zeitung compared him to Bruce Springsteen. He told me the Europeans had better taste than the Americans-in other words they like him better-said he just-might spend most of the year in Europe. He talked about his conquests