Page 139 of Putting Out
“He’ll look for me. He’ll try to find me.”
“He might. He won’t,” Mark said simply.
Reilly leaned back against the side of the door, bone weary in a way she’d never been before. She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t think. She was in the back of a van going somewhere with a delusional psychotic who thought they were going to live happily ever after.
The pictures that lined the interior mocked her. She saw herself smiling, looking strong in front of the camera. Swinging a club.
Where was that strength now?
* * *
“What doyou mean he had a partner? What do you mean Leonard isn’t FBI?”
Luke had come back in the room to let Reilly’s family know what was happening. Kenny stood too quickly and nearly fainted if his ashen face was any indication.
“I want to go back to the course and get Reilly. Now,” Pop said.
“I’m going,” Luke answered. “I wanted to let you know what was happening. If she calls tell her to hold still until we get there. I can’t get her on the cell, but that might not mean anything. She might not have it on her if she’s signing autographs.”
“I’m going with you,” Kenny said. He started to move but Tessa held him back.
“You’re as weak as a kitten,” she told him when he glared at the hand holding him back. “You’ll slow them down.”
Reason prevailing, Kenny nodded. “Go get her. And bring her back.”
Luke didn’t bother to answer. The detective was waiting for him in the hallway and together they started to run toward the elevator.
As soon as they reached the detective’s car, the cop popped a strobe light on the hood of it. He reached for the radio on the dash and called in the situation. Luke listened to his words about a possible threat and couldn’t shake the idea there was nothing possible about it. He dug out his cell and tried her again.
No answer.
It was after dark. The tournament was over. There would be buzzing around the clubhouse for hours afterward he knew, but surely she’d signed all the autographs she could. She should be waiting for him. With her phone in her hand.
An idea struck Luke and he searched his phone for another number. Tom Carter was a fellow tour golfer and friend. He’d been in the paring behind Reilly. Luke hadn’t seen how he finished and he didn’t care. He hoped he might still be at the clubhouse. Luke found his number and dialed, begging for him to pick up.
“Luke?”
“Tom,” Luke sighed, so grateful he could barely think of what to say. “Listen, are you still at the course?”
“I’m just about to head out. What’s up? You forget your caddy jumper?”
Luke ignored the humorous jibe. “Have you seen Reilly? I left her to sign some autographs, but now I can’t get her on the phone.”
“Sure I saw her. She had a real crowd around her but they thinned out. I’m pretty sure I saw her take off with the guy from yesterday. You know, the big FBI dude.”
Luke thanked him out of reflex and dropped the phone in his lap. His whole body felt numb.
“He’s got her.”
The detective was still talking into the radio when he stopped.
“What?”
“A friend of mine saw her leave with him. She had no reason not to trust him. No reason to think he wouldn’t take her where she asked.”
“What kind of car was he driving?”
Luke shook his head. Reilly. He’d just got her and now he was going to…
