Err on the Side of Violence: Terribly Acronymed Detective Club Series (Book 3)

Chapter Fifty-Eight: Rachel, Monday

Rachel's phone rang as she and Al sat with the kids in the living room, feeling strange that both owners of the house weren't there. She checked it expecting that it might be Lauren calling with an update, but when she saw the screen, she saw the name "Anya." That was the phone answered by McTeague the last time Rachel had called "Anya" looking for Logan, and the number she'd given Detective Pak.

She stood and hurried out of the living room, racing up the stairs before she answered. "Hello?"

"Hello, Foster Mom." It was McTeague again. Rachel recognized her voice from the last time they talked.

"Is Logan okay?" she asked.

"Oh, Logan's just fine," McTeague said, a bit too brightly to be believable. "In fact, I think he had a very nice night. The girls had a little fun with him, and he'll have a smile on his face when he dies, unless you get me what I want."

Rachel's mouth was dry, and she fought to make a little saliva so she could talk. "The police are working on it. I gave the detective your phone number so he can contact you directly. I think they'll want to set up an exchange soon."

"Well, well. And here I thought I'd have to send you his finger to get you going."

"No, of course not!" Rachel blurted, shocked by how glibly the woman had mentioned cutting off the finger of a sixteen-year-old boy. Like Pak said, they didn't even think about the moral implications of what they did. "I told you I'd do what you said. I want Logan back safe and sound."

"Still, I'm going to need to hear from this detective of yours soon, and I mean today, or at midnight I'll call you back and let you listen to him scream."

"No!" Rachel cried. "I'll tell him to call you. He wants to give you the money, okay? Just, please, don't hurt Logan, he hasn't done anything to you, he's just a boy."

"I'm sorry, Foster Mom, but I have to disagree with you there. He's his father's son, after all, and his father was a fucking idiot, taking the photos to our rivals, bringing his own son with him to a massacre, and the son didn't have the good sense to die in said massacre. We had to take Logan, if you want to know the truth, for his own safety as well as ours."

"I don't believe you. Having him with you makes you less safe. Your rivals are looking for him."

"Is that what your detective friend told you?"

"They have the pictures, don't they? They know what your boat looks like."

"Oh, goodness, you've been a sneaky sneak, haven't you. Couldn't resist looking at the pictures yourself?"

"We just wanted to see what was on them. We have no idea who the people are or what most of that stuff means. Anyway, it doesn't matter that we saw them. What matters is the police have them now, and they're still willing to negotiate with you to secure Logan's release."

"I'm sure they're looking for us right now, but that's okay, they won't find us. Nothing in those pictures will give them a clue to where we are."

"I heard they arrested some of your crew. They'll get information from them."

Katherine McTeague laughed in what seemed like genuine mirth. Rachel stood listening to her on the other end of the line, waiting for her to stop. It took longer than she would have thought.

"Oh, dearie, I'm afraid you've been watching too much TV," she said. "The detective calls us before midnight. Make it happen."

"Wait!" Rachel said, sensing she was going to hang up. "Can I talk to him? I need to know he's okay."

"What, you don't believe me?"

"Frankly, no. Please, just let me hear his voice."

She was silent a moment. Then she said, "Hold on."