Page 67 of Skin Game
“Just a second.” He turned back and grabbed his phone but didn’t recognize the number.
Gabe was missing. He answered anyway.
“Hello, Casey Lundin.”
“Casey,” said a man’s voice. “Paul Allard. I know it’s early, but I thought you might want to know that there’s been unusual activity up here since you left. A truck or large van barely made it up the road last night. We could hear their engine struggling. We think they may have stopped at Denny’s place. The dogs have been going crazy all night, barking and wanting to get out. We’re going to check on Denny, but Etienne insisted on letting you know first.”
If Gabe hadn’t been missing and Denny’s last name hadn’t been Pritchard, Casey might have disregarded the call. Calvin Perkins could wait. However, this was a red flag Casey wasn’t ignoring, even if he wasn’t sure how Denny Pritchard the hermit might fit into this current situation.
“Thanks, Paul. I’m on my way.” To Elton and Shay, he said, “There’s been activity at or near Denny Pritchard’s place.”
“What are we waiting for?” said Elton.
“Lead the way. We’ll be right behind you.”
Casey decided that arguing with Shay was not worth the losttime, but he sure as hell wasn’t stopping to dig the Navigator out of the mud if they got stuck.
TWENTY-FOUR
GABE – TGI FRIDAY
Gabe was beyond cold.
His ankles ached where the plastic zip ties they’d put back on dug into his skin, and his wrists hurt from the handcuffs. He was also well on his way to a caffeine headache. There wasn’t any heat to be had in this place, which cemented his theory that they were in a garage or storage structure. He was firmly restrained, and no one had offered him any coffee.
The trio—duo, really, because Althea and Randy were obviously in charge—had continued to ask him the same questions for what felt like hours. A couple of times Gabe had convinced them to let him at least use the bathroom, which had been a total shitshow of them leaving his ankles zip-tied and handcuffing his nondominant hand to Randy. Fortunately, he’d broken his arm when he was fifteen and still had the muscle memory to unzip his fly and take care of business one-handed.
Sidekick William had just stood around trying to look tough, but he mostly seemed cold and scared.
Hours in, Gabe had been left to his own devices with just William as his keeper. William had sat in a corner, presumably watching Gabe to make sure he didn’t do anything funny. For hispart, Gabe had dozed and talked and tried to come up with an escape plan that wouldn’t hurt too much. Who knew being strapped to a chair was so effective.
Althea and Randy had finally returned, and Gabe was curious to know what they’d been up to. Had they been napping? Was there an OSHA for criminals that required a lunch break? Was it morning and thus working hours for abductors?
“Can I get a glass of water?”
“Where are the paintings?” Althea demanded, ignoring the request.
“So that’s a no?”
“Where. Are. The. Paintings. I know your mother took them. She must have still had them when she died or there would’ve been whispers. Where are they?”
Gabe repeated what he’d already told her last night, word for word, tossing in a few additional questions of his own to see if he could get a reaction out of her.
Until yesterday, he’d never considered how Althea resembled an aging Cruella Deville. Cruella before Disney had rehabilitated her—or tried to. She’d hidden her real self well, for what seemed to be years, but the mask was off now. She was a hateful conniving bitch.
“Did you know that repeating the same thing but expecting a different outcome is the definition of insanity?” Gabe was improvising, but he remembered the quote being something along those lines.
That comment pissed both Randy and Althea off. Excellent. Althea had a vein across her forehead that throbbed every time Gabe said something snarky, and Randy was a wonky bottle rocket ready to explode. They were both all talk at this point. They thought he knew where the artwork was and didn’t want to jeopardize getting their hands on it. So, while they’d kidnapped him and were slowly freezing him to death, they weren’t going to take it further—yet.
He could handle a few bumps and bruises, a knock in the head. But if this ass-backward gang of two-and-a-half physically hurt Elton or Casey or anyone else he cared for, Gabe was officially going to lose his shit. He chose to continue with what he did best. Keep talking.
“What I don’t get, Althea, is how you managed to fool Elton. He seems to have a well-primed bullshit meter. Yet here you are, a terrible person who’s used him to get some fantasy artwork back.”
Althea eyebrows shot up, and her lips flattened into a thin line. “What are you talking about? I like Elton—Ilovehim. All I want is that fucking art, and we’ll have enough to live like kings for the rest of our days, somewhere it doesn’t fucking rain all the time. Maybe Costa Rica.”
In her psycho dreams.
“Are you so deluded that you believe you can spirit Elton away from here? Wow, further gone than I thought. And, I have to say, I already figured you were over the edge.”