Page 9 of Played

“What brother, Freya? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, don’t play daft with me, Caleb. I know how tight your family is.”

I almost squeal. “Freya, I’m telling you, I don’t know a fucking thing about what you’re talking about.” Then it occurs to me. Something that Ethan said to me recently. About me knowing nothing about him and his troubles. That someone had broken his heart. But I dare not say a word about it, in case I’m wrong, or in case Ethan will gut me for even suggesting it.

She gasps, but it’s almost like a half chuckle, like she’s trying to humor me. “You mean to tell me that he didn’t knock your teeth out?”

That’s elusive. My brothers and I fight all the time, sometimes my sisters, too, cousins, even an uncle, once an aunt. We Harris family are a feisty bunch. “Who, Freya?” I ask, growing very frustrated, and very impatient. This is the worst possible time to be discussing family politics, when a bairn’s life is in the balance. If it weren’t for her superior banking skills, and the fact that we’re down to the wire, literally, I’d tell her to go piss up a rope and forget the whole fucking thing. But in this case, I don’t see how I have a choice.

“Ethan. He found out that you and I fucked around, and he dumped me like a sack of potatoes. Which would have been fine if it hadn’t been that he and I already fucked around for months. He’d already told me he loved me.”

Fool for her for not fessing up then. Of course, that’s what I’m thinking, but I keep my mouth shut. If I want her to help me, it would be in my best interest not to insult her first. “I…I don’t know what to say, Freya. I had no idea that you two were seeing each other.” I think to myself, shit, were they seeing each other when I was seeing Freya? If so, man, we were both played. But again, I don’t say as much. As far as I’m concerned, Freya is old news, and I don’t really care, other than for her banking prowess.

“I’m surprised. I figured Ethan would knock your block off.”

It occurs to me that this explains a lot. Ethan has had acid in his eyes for me for a while, and clearly it wasn’t just my imagination. “Well, maybe he has, he just didn’t tell me why. Look, Freya, I really need your help.”

“I’m sorry, Caleb.” She states, unapologetically, making my lip curl. “I just don’t want to get my ass in hot water over this.”

“Freya, I’m not kidding you, lass. Someone kidnapped my daughter. And I really need your help.” I say with more conviction than I thought I had for her at this point. “Her name is Peg. She’s four years old. I just moved her here from Scotland, where her mama died of a drug overdose. Me and my fiancé are raising her.”

I can almost hear the brow lift. “Fiance? Wow, Caleb.”

“I figured you’d heard. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before the whole world knows about me and Laney.”

“Laney? Is this the infamous Laney McAdams?”

I sigh. “Aye. It is. Are you going to help me? Because every minute that I’m on the phone is another minute ticking away at my daughter’s life, Freya.” That’s when my phone rings. I see that it’s an unknown number again. So it must be Higgins. “Shit, Freya. What’s it going to be? I’ve got the kidnappers calling me on the other line.”

“You know the kidnapper’s number?” She chuckles, not buying this story one bit.

“Freya, I’m serious. I need your help.”

An indignant scoff. “Caleb, I have no interest in getting involved any further with you or with any member of your family, Kindergartener or otherwise. Why don’t you figure this one out on your own for a change.” She says and hangs up on me. I stare at the phone, hands shaking in anger and frustration, as the phone beeps again, and I answer it.

“Caleb Harris.” I say tersely, like it’s one of those goddamn telemarketers.

Higgins’s voice is flat, unimpressed. “Where’s the money, Caleb?”

“I need more time, dammit!” I growl, softly punching myself in the head. “And I’m still waiting to see Peg, asshole!”

“Whoa. I’ll be making the demands here.” He says coldly. “Now, what’s going on with the money?”

“I told you, you son of a bitch, that I’m not giving you a fucking dime until I have proof that Peg is safe!” I seethe, speaking through my teeth, as the police show up, with a tow bed, and begin the process of pulling Ned’s loaner car onto it, while the cops look at me speculatively. I motion to one of them, and he walks over to me, as I place the phone on mute, so Higgins can’t hear me, but I can hear him.

“And I told you, I need to see the money first.” Wesley argues.

I look at the cop and say quickly. “It’s Wesley Higgins on the line.”

The officer nods once, as another cruiser shows up, with a man, carrying a briefcase. He’s dressed in a casual suit, like he’s shown up for a fucking job interview. And all I can think to myself is that he better have some tracing equipment in that goddamn briefcase, or some shit is about to hit the fan.

I turn back to Higgins, touching the mute button first, to disable it. “What’s the point in me sending you twelve million dollars, if for all I know, you’ve already sold her to the fucking black market.”

As I stand there, keeping him on the line, I watch the officer open the briefcase on the hood of my car, so quietly it seems like he’s done this a million times. He quickly pulls some wires and some sort of transmitter out, and effortlessly attaches it to my phone, not interrupting the conversation one bit.

“You really do have an incredible imagination, Caleb.” Higgins says. “But I assure you that Peg is safe.”

“I’m afraid I can’t take your word for that, Higgins.”

---