The FBI Thrillers Collection Books 1-5 - Catherine Coulter [345]
“Probably four different men, but we’ve managed to get away from them. We’re safely tucked away now.”
“All right. I’ll speak to Buzz Carmen immediately. He’s still in Denver. How exactly did you find out about these other men?”
“I knew they were following so I pulled off at an exit. When they went by, I got the license. I checked with a friend who found out for me that the truck was reportedly stolen from a farmer in Loveland, Colorado. The wife reported it; then the husband said he’d sold it. It sounds like maybe he did sell it—to the kidnappers. I phoned in the license plate to the Denver PD and the FBI. I’d appreciate your checking as well, Dad, then I’d know it got done right.” She gave him the license and the name of the farmer.
“I’ve got it. I don’t suppose you’ll tell me who gave you this information?”
“I can’t.”
He sighed. “Very well. Come home, Molly.”
“I’ll call tomorrow. Emma’s just fine. Don’t worry. Those men won’t find us.”
“About this man who found Emma. Who is he? How can you be sure you can trust him?”
“If we can’t trust him, Dad, then it’s all over. Believe me, he’s the most trustworthy man in the world. Tomorrow, Dad.” She pushed the Off button and laid the phone on the table.
“At least you don’t call him Godfather.”
She smiled at him. It was a charming smile, warm and full. She had a wide mouth and very white teeth. His father was a dentist. Ramsey always noticed a person’s teeth. His old man would really like what he saw.
Ramsey liked that smile, too. It was almost as if she was ready to stop being afraid. She said, “Mason Lord is very good-looking. He’s black Irish: fair skinned, hair like ink, straight and thick, just a dabbling of gray at his temples. His eyes are such a startling blue, women just stare at him. He doesn’t appreciate having a grown daughter, much less a grandchild, but he copes. My mother was the one who told me I should call him by his first name, but I couldn’t get the hang of it. Neither could he. I remember thinking Mason jar every time I used his first name. When I told him that, he threw up his hands, laughed, and said to forget it. He’s been Dad for a very long time, actually since I was eight years old and moved away with my mother.”
“I’ve never thought of Mason Lord as having human qualities, like a sense of humor. You don’t look a thing like him.”
“No, I’m the picture of my grandmother. She was an actress in the fifties. Never got very far with it because she wasn’t beautiful or very photogenic. Boy, but could she act. It turned out not to be enough.”
“You’re far from plain, Molly.”
She just smiled at him, that same gorgeous smile. “You should see my mother. Now she’s what you’d call a looker. She’s fifty-five now and still a head-turning beauty. Both she and Father were appalled, I think, when I turned out the way I did.”
She honestly believed what she was saying. It amazed him. Didn’t she look in a mirror once in a while? “Where’s your mother? What’s her name?”
“Her name is Alicia and she lives near Livorno, Italy. That’s where her family is. She and Dad divorced when I was just a kid. I lived with her in Italy nine months out of the year and the other three months with Dad. I came back to the United States to go to college at Vassar. I’ve only seen her once a year for the past seven or eight years.”
“Does she know about Emma’s kidnapping?”
“I don’t think so, not unless she read about it in an Italian newspaper, and I strongly doubt the story made it there. I saw no reason to worry her.”
“Your father hasn’t remarried.”
“Oh yes he has, nearly three years ago. Her name’s Eve and she’s two years younger than me.”
“You said that Emma’s musical. Does she play the piano or something yet?”
“Don’t want to know about Eve, huh? I don’t blame you. She’d take one gander at you and lick her chops, but not while my dad was looking. One of my mother’s old friends