Page 41 of A Mother’s Love

Halley had been editing her manuscript and starting to make headway with it after she met with Bart, Major Leopold, and Bern Dexter, and it unnerved her that they were all waiting for the other shoe to drop now.

They were waiting for Tomás Maduro to make contact about Halley buying back her bag.

At least he hadn’t disposed of it or sold it, or sent it to a foreign country, unless he was lying and no longer had it.

Anything was possible. And getting her bag back in one piece was the least likely scenario.

He might have already sent it away or sold it, and was just blackmailing her for extra money.

She couldn’t count on seeing her bag again, let alone its contents.

She tried to keep her mind on the editing, despite the distraction of worrying about Maduro’s threats and blackmail. He hadn’t called her again.

Bart called her after dinner with his son to ask if she’d heard anything, and he was relieved she hadn’t. They didn’t have a final plan yet, and he was afraid that whatever the police decided to do would involve risk to Halley. Major Leopold wanted his man.

Bart and Halley talked for about half an hour, and then he said he was going to bed, and she decided to keep editing for a while. She was wide-awake.

The phone rang right on time at five minutes to midnight. The thief had established a pattern and didn’t deviate from it. She saw the blocked number on her caller ID and answered in a calm voice.

“You want to speak to me, don’t you?” he said, taunting her when she answered.

His voice was silky and sensual and he was toying with her.

“You want your bag back. How much is it worth to you? I know what it’s worth now, so don’t try to cheat me.

A girl at Hermès told me it could sell for as much as a hundred thousand euros at a fancy Christie’s auction, or even twice that.

You can bid on it there, or you can pay me. ”

“You can’t put it up at auction,” she said firmly.

“The police would catch you, and you can’t put it in an auction without the receipt.

The house would take twenty-five percent of the sale price as their fee.

And you don’t have a receipt,” she reminded him.

He was silent, trying to figure out how far she would go.

She cut into his thoughts quickly. “I’ll give you fifty thousand euros, that’s all I can do for now,” she said.

She felt foolish even offering him that, but whatever she gave him, the police would get it back when they arrested him.

“I don’t believe you. You have plenty of money, you’re a rich woman, you make a fortune from your books. I read about it,” he said angrily. “You’re trying to cheat me.”

“You stole the bag,” she reminded him, and he was silent again, calculating, trying to feel her out.

She was feeling stronger after talking to Dr. Thacker.

She was not a child, not helpless, not an abuse victim anymore.

The doctor had said just the right things and reminded Halley that she wasn’t alone and that the police would protect her.

They had so far. But meeting Tomás Maduro, if she agreed to, was risky.

And he might destroy the bag if she didn’t pay him, if he hadn’t already.

“How would we meet anyway?” She sounded skeptical.

She didn’t want him coming to the house.

“I’ll meet you at the flea market in St. Ouen,” he said, sounding excited at the prospect.

It was a popular vintage furniture market on the outskirts of Paris.

It was crowded, and in a dicey neighborhood, and easy to get to.

“At the stall with the vintage slot machines,” he added.

There were always lots of people in the stalls.

There was a maze of alleys, which made it easy to escape and get lost. There were young people who wanted to play with the old arcade games, and the owner let them, and the general chaos of the vendors, customers, spectators, and tourists made it an ideal place to go unobserved and disappear quickly.

“When? Tomorrow?” She tried to sound nonchalant, but her heart was pounding. Meeting him at the flea market sounded dangerous to her. What if the thief had a gun and shot her? But she’d be no use to him dead, and guns were rare and hard to get in France.

“No, the flea market is only open on the weekend. I’ll meet you on Saturday.

” It was open on Friday too, but the crowds were biggest on the weekend, and he knew he could get lost in the mass of people cluttering up the alleys crowded with stalls after they made the exchange.

“Fifty thousand euros, in small bills. Be there if you want to see your bag again, and all the crap in it. I already threw some of it away. A lot of useless junk, and your credit cards are dead anyway. But I’m sure you know that.

I’ll meet you at one o’clock on Saturday, at the old arcade game stall.

” It was crowded and noisy and the owner was a friend.

“Put the money in a big envelope. And remember, if you call the police, I will kill you. If you want to keep your life and the bag, be careful who you speak to. I’ll know if you set me up. ”

“Why would I do that? I want my bag back,” she said quietly, trying to sound calmer than she felt. They had a date now.

“You’re a fool to have paid that kind of money for a bag,” he said with contempt, “but it’s lucky for me you did.

Remember, if you tell the police, I slit your throat.

And I will find you to do it.” The way he said it made her shudder.

“I have a hunting knife and I know how to use it. Your bag isn’t worth dying for.

If you don’t interfere, they won’t catch me.

” Something about the way he said it made her think of her mother.

She used to threaten to kill Halley, and she sounded like she meant it, just as Tomás Maduro did.

They were both people to whom human life meant nothing.

Her life hadn’t mattered to her mother, it never had.

And this stranger didn’t care about her either.

The children she loved needed her, and maybe now Bart, and the bag thief was willing to throw her life away.

The concept of it enraged her. She was so insignificant to him.

She was just a way to get money, even if he had to kill her to do it.

She meant nothing more to him than an ant on the ground, to be crushed underfoot.

Halley slept on her bed in her clothes again that night, shaken by the call.

It was too late to contact Bart or Major Leopold.

She could notify them in the morning, But sleep eluded her for most of the night, except for a few minutes when she nodded off, and then woke up again abruptly with a start minutes later.

By morning, she was exhausted. She had a cup of coffee and called the major.

He was pleased by the call. This was what they had been waiting for, an opportunity to catch the thief, and get the man and the bag, if possible.

He reminded Halley that they were close now.

And they would catch Maduro at the flea market.

He would be surrounded by their undercover agents.

“May I come to your home to meet with you and Special Agent Dexter? We can set everything up beforehand. When you get to St. Ouen, you will know exactly what to do and where to walk. We will leave nothing to chance. You will see workmen and carpenters, moving men, painters, telephone repairmen, delivery people, but nearly everyone you see will be our agents, protecting you and ready to catch him. It won’t take long.

You will hand him the money, step away, and from that moment he’ll be ours.

The risk to you is minimal,” he assured her, and she hoped he was right.

She agreed to the meeting at the house where she was staying, and he said he would call Special Agent Dexter.

They would arrive separately, both in street clothes, in case Maduro was watching, but they doubted he was. The meeting for the bag had been set.

With a shaking hand, she called Bart as soon as she hung up with Major Leopold.

She needed to hear his voice. Two weeks before, he had been a stranger, and now he was a friend, someone she trusted.

And this was no longer about her bag. It was about catching a criminal, a man who was threatening to kill her, had stolen from her, and was blackmailing her.

“Is something wrong? You sound upset,” Bart said, as soon as he heard her. He was beginning to be able to read her voice and know when something was wrong.

“No, I’m all right. He called last night.

And the major and the FBI are putting a fail-safe plan in place to catch him on Saturday at the flea market.

Maduro wants to meet me there, and wants fifty thousand for my bag.

All of a sudden, I wonder if my stupid bag is worth it.

What if something goes wrong? It’s just a bag.

I’m supposed to give him fifty thousand euros in small bills, and they arrest him on the spot.

He said again last night that he’ll kill me if I call the police.

But there’s no way for him to know. Do you want to come to the meeting this afternoon?

” she asked him. She hoped he would but didn’t want to press him.

In the end, this wasn’t his problem, it was hers.

“Of course I do. Is it all right with you if I come?”