The Target

said to the reporter, turned, and gave a smile to the accompanying photographer, then saw Molly and gave a wave.

    The reporter, a longtime friend of Ramsey's, said cheerfully, "I hear you flew back, breaking concert dates, when you heard your little girl was kidnapped."

    "I couldn't leave immediately," Louey said, nose sharp, on the alert instantly. "I naturally came back as soon as I could."

    "Is it true your little girl is safe and at her grandfather's house? Her grandfather is Mason Lord, isn't that right?"

    "Yeah, he is her grandfather, and yeah I heard she was at his house. It's over now, thank God. Did you hear? My concerts went great, too."

    "I've heard you've had your problems with Mr. Lord. Is that right, Mr. Santera?"

    A man came from behind Louey Santera to plant himself directly in front of the reporter. He was a young guy, stringy, with acne scars. "Mr. Santera just flew in from Germany. He wants to be reunited with his little girl. He's tired. He's said all he's going to say. Good day."

    The reporter said, "Come on, Mr. Santera, what's going on here? Your little girl was kidnapped over two weeks ago. You're coming back a little late, aren't you?"

    "No comment."

    The young guy with Louey actually shoved the reporter. The photographer flashed a photo.

    Louey Santera was white-faced. Ramsey smiled as he stepped up to him. "Mr. Santera? I'm here to greet you. I'm Ramsey Hunt, currently residing with Mr. Mason Lord. Do come this way, out of all this crowd of people. Ah, yes, here's Molly."

    "Get out of his face," the young guy said, and gave Ramsey a shove. The guy might look scrawny and too young, but Ramsey spotted the moves immediately, the watchful eyes, the stance.

    "That isn't polite," Ramsey said, and in a move that was subtle and smooth, he gently clasped the young man's hand and twisted his thumb back. The guy gasped with pain. He didn't move.

    "Now, back off," Ramsey said very quietly. "I'm not a reporter." He applied a bit more pressure on the thumb. "All right?"

    "Leave be, Alenon," Louey Santera said.

    The young guy nodded. There was cold hatred in his dark eyes. It seemed to be awfully easy to make enemies these days. Ramsey released his thumb. "Now, let's get out of here. Molly, say hello to your ex-husband."

    "Hi, Louey. How's tricks? Hey, I don't see your girlfriend. She doesn't have a passport?"

    "How did you find Emma?"

    She batted her eyelashes at him and put her hand on her hip. "I used my considerable sex appeal, naturally."

    Ramsey stared at her. Louey Santera barked out a vicious laugh. "Hey, that's a joke," he said. "You're always telling jokes, never serious. You didn't find Emma at all, did you? It's just all hype."

    "Why do you think that? I don't have enough brainpower? Not enough guts?"

    "Come off it, Molly. You know you didn't have a thing to do with getting Emma back. You wouldn't know where to find square one if it hit you in the nose. What really happened?"

    She leaned close. "Okay, Louey, the game's over." She leaned over to whisper in his ear. "Listen, you selfish jerk, I found my daughter, all by myself. You want to know what happened? The man who took her sexually abused her and beat her. What do you think of that, Louey?"

    "That can't be true. I didn't hear anything like that. No, you're lying, trying to make me look bad."

    "No one could make you look worse than you already look. You call from Europe and start bragging about your success there and all the women you're screwing. You're a toad, Louey, you don't give a damn about Emma."

    "Then why am I here?"

    "Because my father scares you all the way down to your crooked little toes. If he told you to be celibate for a week, I just bet you'd do it."

    "He's a murderer, Molly, shouts to the world that he's a big legitimate businessman, but he's nothing but a big-time crook, and you know it. You're no better. You took me for everything in the divorce, you're nothing but a-"

    Ramsey broke in. "All right, enough of the emotional sentimental reunion. It's time to get out of here before more reporters show up." He turned to the acne-faced young guy who was Louey Santera's bodyguard. "You get Mr. San-tera's luggage. You can drop it off at Mason Lord's place in Oak Park. Then you can go to a motel or something. Don't think you're included on Mr. Lord's houseguest list."

    Louey looked over at the reporter who'd been so rude. He recognized him. His name was something like Marzilac. He was from the