Page 7

The following evening, Ander sat on a bench in front of the Tennessee State Library and Archives with his beanie pulled low enough to cover the earpiece in his right ear.

Unfortunately, that did nothing to stop the wind from running down the back of his neck or the cold metal seat from sending chills through his jeans.

The kidnappers had picked a bad spot for the handoff.

Two knolls directly ahead blocked Ander and Anja’s view of the rest of the park.

But Hagen and Stella were on the other side of the park, covering another exit, with their eyes on the bench.

And Slade had also liaised with the Metropolitan Nashville Police Department to scatter officers across the area.

Blind spots were closed, and access points were covered.

There was no way anyone was getting into the park without being monitored. Or out with a sack of cash without being tracked.

Behind Ander, the lights in the library building glowed a pale yellow. The library had closed over an hour ago, but the last of the institution’s workers were making their way toward the parking lot.

Beside him on the bench, Anja hunched her shoulders.

She wore a thick scarf under a short peacoat.

Her hair was loose and spread past her collar.

The cut of her dark-blue jeans begged for boots, but she was wearing sneakers, ready for a chase if they needed to make one. She looked like she was freezing too.

She shifted closer to Ander and whispered, “So all these people are undercover? Feels like overkill.”

Ander scanned the area.

A couple jogged past, running at an uncomfortably slow pace. A figure moved on the roof of the Tennessee State Museum. Two people waited in a dark car in the last row of the parking lot. Neither of the occupants was lit by their phone, and neither appeared to be speaking.

“That’s right.” Ander pushed his hands into his jacket pockets. That helped. “And a dozen more we can’t see. And not overkill, not for a kidnapping with a one-million-dollar ransom.”

He checked his watch again. Two minutes ’til the drop.

His phone pinged, and he glanced at the screen. Alessandra. She was still at the Scharfs’ house, taking more samples. She’d let the babysitter know she’d be late. Looked like they’d both be working overtime today.

Anja tucked her scarf deeper into her coat. The wool was too thick to be easily tamed. “Strange way to do it, no?”

“Do what? ”

“Pay a ransom. Cash in a sports bag. Drop in a park, in the open. Not even a dead drop. It’s like something from a movie. The design of the note was old-school too.”

“The note was sent from a burner. They didn’t do that in old movies.”

“Yeah, but even the burner used a font designed to look like newspaper cutouts. Feels like someone’s been watching too much Netflix.”

The speaker in Ander’s ear crackled. “Thirty seconds. Stand by.”

Ander rested his shoulders against the back of the bench.

“We had a few kidnapping cases in San Francisco. Someone would hack a computer and seal off the data, then demand cryptocurrency to release it. The company would cough it up and get a password in return. There was no cash, and the only thing that changed hands was records on a server somewhere. We could never trace them.” Anja adjusted her scarf again.

It looked new. And itchy. “This is like watching a safecracker use a stethoscope.”

The earpiece crackled again. Slade’s voice came through loud and clear and calm. “We’re a go. Foundation is on the move.”

Foundation was the code name they’d assigned to Mannie Scharf, who approached from the right.

He’d been waiting with Slade in an unmarked van near the entrance of the park, but he seemed to appear from nowhere.

Walking quickly, he kept his head down, a sports bag almost the size of Mannie himself brushing the side of his calf.

A million dollars swinging in the wind.

There was enough cash in that bag for Ander and Alessandra to buy themselves a new house, take a monthlong holiday in Bora Bora, and come home knowing that their children’s college tuitions would be taken care of.

But the money was about to be picked up by some crook who’d threatened to kill a man’s daughter by way of explosion. Not pretty.

If Mannie Scharf wasn’t furious, he should’ve been.

The man left the path, climbed the knoll in front of them, and stopped at the foot of a tree. He didn’t move, except to adjust his grip on the handles of the bag. He looked left, then right, and turned around.

Anja whispered, “What are you doing? Just drop the bag and go.”

Ander said nothing. He understood. Mannie Scharf didn’t want to let go of his money. And he wanted to see the man who’d taken his daughter almost as much as he wanted his daughter home safe and sound. He wanted to lock eyes with the kidnapper and hope for half a chance to beat him to death.

Ander would’ve wanted the same if someone had kidnapped Murphy.

“Drop it,” Anja urged. “Drop it now .”

At last, Mannie laid the bag at the foot of the tree. He stared at it for a long moment before turning and walking slowly back the way he’d come.

Ander sat up straighter.

Any minute now, someone would come and collect that bag.

They’d watch him pick up the ransom, and they’d watch him leave.

The agent on the roof would relay his movements.

Every exit point was covered, ensuring whoever picked up the bag would be followed.

No one would make an arrest, not until Tyra Scharf was released and safe.

But the kidnapper, or his accomplice, would be under constant surveillance from the moment he entered the park to the moment he reached his hideout.

They were ready.

Ander watched. The bare branches of the elm tree next to the bag rustled in the breeze. Somewhere in the museum, a light turned out. But no one came.

A thought was growing in Ander. He leaned a little toward Anja. “He must’ve known we’d be watching. Why would he?—”

“Caucasian male approaching from Jefferson.” Slade’s voice was urgent in Ander’s ear. “Five-eleven, one hundred eighty pounds. Wearing a black winter coat and baseball cap.”

Ander turned nonchalantly to the right. A man was drawing near. He walked quickly, his hands buried in the pockets of his coat.

Ander talked quietly into his sleeve. “Eyes on.”

The man continued toward them, moving down the sidewalk next to the grass verge, stepping in and out of the shadows formed by the streetlights.

His baseball cap was actually dark blue and pulled low over his face.

His shoulders were hunched, but Ander could make out a long, flat nose, pale cheeks, and a narrow, weak chin.

The knoll with the sports bag on it lay directly ahead of him but just a hair to the right. The man didn’t look at the bag or at Ander and Anja sitting on the bench as he passed by. He just kept going, ignoring them entirely and continuing on his way without a glance or a change of pace.

Anja swore under her breath.

Ander lifted his sleeve again. “Negative.”

Slade’s voice came a second later. “Copy that. Stand by.”

They sat and waited again. Minutes ticked past, and still no one came. They’d wait there until seven. Meanwhile, the sports bag sat by the tree, undisturbed.

A million dollars in cash, and no one wanted it.