In Broad Daylight. Marie Ferrarella

expression on the older woman’s face. One hand was working the edge of her apron as she closed the front door. “Mrs. Tyler isn’t here.”

      “But she did call you,” Annie said.

      “Yes.” Tears welled up in the woman’s brown eyes and she looked close to breaking down right before them. She covered her mouth with her hands, holding back a sob until she could regain some measure of control over her voice. “How could such a terrible thing happen? That poor little bit of a thing, she must be so frightened.”

      Brenda slipped her arm around the woman’s shoulders in mute comfort. It was the same thought that kept crossing and recrossing her own mind ever since she realized Annie wasn’t out on the lawn with the rest of the class. Chillingly, she’d known that something was very, very wrong right from the first.

      “The important thing is that we’re going to get her back,” Brenda assured the woman who sobbed into her handkerchief. The doorbell rang and Brenda’s head bobbed up, alert.

      “That’s going to be the tech team,” Dax told the housekeeper. He’d placed a call, giving them the Tylers’ address, while he and Nathan had waited for Brenda.

      Motioning to the housekeeper not to trouble herself, Nathan fell back and opened the front door. Two men and one woman, all carrying large black bags that looked like suitcases, walked in.

      Dax approached the housekeeper. “We’re going to need to place bugs on all your phone lines.”

      “Yes, of course,” Martha whispered, her voice cracking.

      She was still shaking, Brenda noted. Again she slipped her arm around the woman’s thin shoulders and gave her a little squeeze.

      “Why don’t you show them where all the phones are?” she suggested gently.

      Like a marionette whose string had been pulled, Martha nodded, her head bobbing up and down.

      But before she could leave the foyer, Dax moved in front of her. “There hasn’t been a ransom call yet, has there?”

      “No.” She swallowed hard, renewed panic entering her eyes as she looked from one detective to the other, and then at Brenda. “At least, I don’t think so. I was out at the store until just a little while ago, when Mrs. Tyler called me. There are no message on the answering machine,” she tagged on as if to cover her absence.

      Dax didn’t know if the woman was simpleminded or just addled by the situation. “Kidnappers don’t generally leave messages on answering machines.”

      “Oh.” She seemed completely deflated as she looked to Brenda for help.

      “You have caller ID, don’t you?” Brenda asked. It seemed a safe enough assumption. A power couple like Annie’s parents would want the service to help them avoid people they didn’t want to talk to.

      Again, Martha bobbed her head up and down. Brenda saw a phone in the living room and crossed to it. She spun the dial located in the upper right-hand corner. No calls other than the one with a 212 area code had registered in the last three hours. That would have been Annie’s mother, calling from New York with instructions for the housekeeper.

      Brenda looked at Dax and shook her head. He turned toward the team Nathan had just admitted. “Let’s get those taps set up. The kidnappers might be calling any minute now.”

      No sooner were the words out of his mouth than the telephone began to ring.

      Everyone froze.

      Chapter 4

      Martha stared at the pristine white telephone as if it were a giant snake, coiled and poised to spring at her. Her eyes were huge as she turned them on Dax.

      “Oh, my God, it’s ringing.” Fear resonated in her voice. “What do I do?”

      It was too late to set up the wire tap. They had to hope for a second call. Dax looked at the housekeeper. “Answer it,” he ordered

      She began to visibly tremble.

      “I can’t,” the housekeeper choked out the words. “Please don’t make me.” Frantic, Martha looked from one detective to the other. “What if I say the wrong thing? I just couldn’t live with myself if something happens to that child because of me—”

      Dax did a poor job of hiding his exasperation. The seconds were ticking away fast and the phone continued to ring. “Look, lady—”

      Not knowing what else to do, afraid that the moment and the call would slip through their fingers, Brenda snatched up the receiver.

      “Tyler residence,” she enunciated in what she prayed was a fair imitation of Martha’s English accent.

      Surprised, Dax stared at her. In desperation, because the kidnapper might be expecting a woman’s voice on the other end, he was about to tell Brenda to answer the telephone, but she’d anticipated him. The woman had a cool head, he thought.

      Making eye contact, he indicated that she should keep the person on the other end of the line talking. If the kidnapper talked, there was a slim chance that a clue, a noise in the background, might be picked up, one that would help them locate where Annie Tyler was being held.

      Brenda felt as if her stomach was going to revolt and come surging out of her mouth any time now. Her morning communes with the porcelain bowl were a thing of the past only by two weeks. And this felt much worse than morning sickness.

      Concentrating on the kidnapper, she was still vaguely aware that six sets of eyes were trained on her.

      The police technicians and two detectives were gathered in a semicircle around her, obviously straining to hear the other side of the conversation. She held on to the receiver with both hands, tilting the ear piece slightly so that at least some of the dialogue could be made out. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Martha sinking onto the sofa.

      The instant she heard the voice on the other end, Brenda knew she hadn’t a prayer of trying to recognize it. The kidnapper could have been a man or a woman for all she knew. They were using a voice synthesizer. The irritating vibrations sounded like words being blown through a harmonica.

      “We have the little girl. We don’t want to harm her.”

      You bastards. Brenda struggled to keep her feelings from spilling out. “And we do not want her harmed,” she told the caller, plucking words out of nowhere. Her mind felt as if it was completely blank. “What do you want us to do?”

      The voice on the other end of the line paused, as if playing out the moment. Brenda could feel the tension rising with every second that passed. “Tell the Tylers we want two million dollars and then she’ll be returned. That shouldn’t be hard for them to manage.”

      Dax suddenly grabbed Nathan’s jacket and pulled it open. His partner jumped, staring at him accusingly. “Hey.”

      The protest faded as Dax took out his pad and the pen he kept there and began to quickly scribble something down. Done, he held the pad up for her to read as the metallic voice droned in her ear.

      She squinted, trying to make out the words he’d written. The detective had alternated between printing and using script, both of which were almost illegible. Giving him an exasperated look, she filled in the gaps as best as she could.

      “How do we know she’s still alive?” Brenda asked. She kept her eyes on Dax. “We want proof.” Dax nodded as she got his message right. “A photograph of Annie holding today’s newspaper in her hands.”

      This time, there was no pause. There was anger. “We’re the ones with all the cards here, bitch. We make the terms, not you.”

      She suppressed the urge to beg the kidnapper not to hurt Annie, to let her go. That would only empower him or her. Instead, she reiterated more forcefully, “We need proof.”

      When there was no answer, she raised her eyes to Dax for instruction. To her