Page 48 of The Professor
“Tell him you’re not,” Andrew muttered.
“No, I’m fine.”
“Tell him to pay the money.”
“Dad, please, just pay up. I want to come home, please.”
He took his phone out. “Let her walk to me, I’ll transfer the money when she’s halfway between us.”
“Fuck, is he really going to be such a pushover?” Jamie muttered.
“He loves his daughter,” Andrew said, then held up his hand. “Four million, we’ll be watching the account.” He released my arm. “Go.”
“But?” I turned to him. “But what if I don’t want to.”
“You’ve got to.”
“But I want to stay with you. My dad, he…I…”
“You can’t stay with me, now go, get a move on.”
My throat tightened, and my knees felt a little weak. I took several steps toward my father, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other.
“Send it! Now!” Andrew called from behind his mask.
My father’s lips were an angry flat line as he tapped his iPhone.
“It’s there,” Cillian’s voice. “He’s coughed up the dough.”
“Great, let’s get out of here.” Andrew slipped my bag into my hand. “Here, this is yours.”
“No?” I turned to see the three masked men running at speed. “But…?”
“Chelsea, get over here!” My father shouted. “Now, away from those thugs.”
My heart was breaking. How could he just leave me like this? Was I really just a paycheck to him?”
The next thing I was aware of were stamping feet, loud shouting, and a blur of men piling in behind me. Once again I turned. My father was being surround by red-faced policemen and women with stern expressions. They knocked him to the ground, dragged his arms to the small of his back, and snapped on a pair of cuffs.
“Dad!” I rushed toward him.
A uniformed officer stepped in front of me. “Miss Chelsea Taylor?”
“Yes, yes, let go of my father, what are you doing? Let him up. Now. What are you doing to him?”
My father’s chubby face was pressed into the damp grass, and he was grimacing.
“You’ll have to come with us as well, Miss.”
“What?” My mind was a riot of questions. Had the police learned of the kidnap and blackmail? No. If that were the case they’d be chasing after Andrew and his strange gang. If that were the case my father wouldn’t be having his rights read.
The police officer tugged me toward my father.
“What is he charged with? Let him go!” I demanded.
“He is charged with perverting the course of justice, claiming a false alibi, and on suspicion of murdering his wife, Francesca Taylor.”
“Murder! What? No! Dad!”
