Page 103 of Prodigal Son

“He should, yes,” the doctor said. “He just needs some rest. We’ll know more about his condition as we wean him off the painkillers.” She gave a professional – though sympathetic – smile, and left them.

~*~

“Sun’s coming up.”

Fox glanced toward the window. Sure enough, the sky beyond was silver with dawn; now that he was listening, he could hear the bustle of morning traffic on the street down below.

Tommy stood at one of the windows that flanked Phil’s desk – they were in his office – and as Fox looked toward him, his vision blurred. He scrubbed a hand down his face, squeezed his eyes shut, and opened them, even blurrier than before. “Shit,” he muttered. It had been a long damn night.

“Here,” Abe’s voice said at his elbow, and a steaming cup was pressed into his hand. He took a sip without looking, and found it was tea, brewed strong, with lots of sugar.

“You should grab a few hours’ sleep,” Abe suggested. “You’re no good if you’re asleep on your feet.”

Fox chugged his tea in two big gulps, not caring that it burned his throat. “We still don’t have a fucking clue where Cass is.” His voice came out ragged, heavy with exhaustion. During his short, violent fight with Clive Mahoney, he’d felt invincible and full of boundless energy. But sitting around, poring over city maps, let the fatigue settle again, and start to take hold.

“They should have made contact by now,” Morgan said. Phillip had relinquished his desk to him, and he was clicking away at a laptop, frowning, nudging his glasses up again and again with frustrated movements. “If you take a hostage, then you call to negotiate terms. That’s just how it works.”

The landline on the desk rang.

They traded startled looks.

Phillip finally stepped forward and pressed the speakerphone button. “Baskerville Hall,” he greeted.

“Who am I speaking with?” a man’s voice asked. Smooth, cool. Abe, Morgan, and Devin all snapped to attention. Morgan nodded. This was Morris, then.

“Phillip Calloway. Where’s my sister?”

A low chuckle. Tight, forced. Someone dialed all the way up but trying to pretend indifference and composure. “She’s all in one piece, I assure you. Tell your father and the other two that we have their friends. If you bring those three to me, you can have your sister back, and all of this stops.”

Phil’s throat jumped as he swallowed. “I want a guarantee. Proof of life.”

A sigh. A rustle. A quick breath. “Phil?” Shaky, and tinny, but Cassandra’s voice, for sure.

Tommy turned away from the window, mouth open.

Fox curled his hands into fists in his lap.

Devin stood up. Expressionless, but his lean body drawn taut as a guy wire.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Something in Phil’s expression broke. He wiped it away with his hand, stony afterward. “You okay?”

She took another shaky breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.” Quieter, “You don’t have to do what they say. I don’t–”

Another rustle, and then Morris on the line again. “As I said: all in one piece. Bring your father and the others to the Pseudonym building at five p.m. Fifteenth floor. Come unarmed.”

The line went dead.

“We have twelve hours,” Phillip said, lifting his head, looking at all of them in turn. “To plan a counterattack, to figure out how to get Cass back, and to stop these assholes, once and for all.”

“No,” Devin said, and for the first time since all of this had started, he looked dead serious. No more grins, or jibes, or indolent shrugs. Hevibratedwith tension. “I’ll go. We’ll go. Let’s just get this over with.”

Fox sighed. “No, you dumbass. We haven’t turned you over yet. Might as well not cave now.”

“But what are we gonna do?” Tommy asked.

A knock sounded at the door, and a prospect poked his head inside. “Boys,” he said, gaze darting around the room, no doubt taking in their somber faces. “We’ve got guests.”

“Jesus, the cops,” Tommy muttered.

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