Free The Night Is Deep (A Liam Dempsey Thriller Book 2) by Joe Hart Page A

shoulder, and before his eyes even opened he had the person’s wrist in his hand and was yanking them forward.
    “Hey, calm down!” Sanders said as Liam twisted the man’s arm. Realization flooded him. He’d fallen asleep sitting up. His surroundings, which had seemed so foreign seconds before, aligned into recognition. He released the detective’s arm and blinked, taking in the raised voices in the dining room.
    “About broke my damn arm,” Sanders griped, rubbing his wrist. “Come on, we just got an e-mail. This is it.”

CHAPTER 6
    The dining room lights had been turned on and it was only then that Liam saw evening had overtaken the afternoon while he slept.
    The command center in the dining room now consisted of a half-moon group of people crowded around a large laptop. Two chairs had been pulled close. In one sat a task force member wearing horn-rimmed glasses, his hair raked back in an uneven wave as if he’d pushed his fingers through it too many times. In the other was Owen, eyes just as bloodshot as they had been hours ago. Owen spotted him as he entered and he gave him a quick nod before Perring began to speak.
    “Okay people, listen up. About three minutes ago an e-mail arrived in Mr. Farrow’s inbox. It was simply titled ‘ransom.’ Now from what Heller says it came from a burn site, which means that once we watch the video attached, the e-mail will be deleted from the inbox and then burnt from the site it was transferred from. We’re ready to record it so there’s no worry about not catching everything on the first go round, but it does present a problem for tracking an IP address. We’ll talk about that more later. I want everyone to watch this and hold thoughts or opinions until after we’ve seen everything.” Perring gave the small crowd a look, then nodded to the man in the glasses. He turned and tapped the laptop’s trackpad twice. A few seconds later an e-mail screen opened. He clicked on the attachment’s icon and immediately muffled sobs emanated from the speakers.
    Liam flinched as the video screen blazed into life. They were looking at a basement, that much was apparent. The light was low and yellowed, illuminating only a portion of the room. The walls were cinderblock and stained partway up with blotches of mold. Cobwebs hung in tangled strands from the open joist above.
    And in the middle of the floor Valerie sat in a wooden chair with a thick, plastic gag in her mouth.
    Her hands were behind her, shoulders pulled back in accord with how tightly her wrists were bound. The video screen ended at her knees but by the way her legs were clamped together Liam assumed her ankles were tied as well. Crusted blood stained the waves of her blond hair above her right temple and ran down into the neck of the T-shirt she wore, coloring the collar a sickly maroon. She sobbed around the gag, white teeth biting into the blue plastic bit that was shoved so far back into her mouth little lines of blood drooled from the corners of her lips.
    “Oh God, no,” Owen breathed. He reached out to touch the screen but Perring stopped his hand and held it in her own.
    The shot remained on Valerie as she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks. After nearly thirty seconds, the camera began to turn, smoothly panning the basement until Valerie slid out of view. It slowed, jiggling a little, then stopped, centering on a seated figure. The person was only visible from the shoulders up, their face completely hidden behind a hooded mask that gave no hint at any features. Liam noted the width of the shoulders, the definite masculinity of their shape.
    “I think this is all the proof you need that I have your wife,” the figure said. The voice was garbled and low, almost mechanical in nature. “Although I can send you one of her fingers if you need further verification. You will give me two million dollars in unmarked bills or she will die.” Valerie’s cries increased and it sounded as if she were trying to