"You are."

We both turned toward the door to find Krystal standing there looking like an aging crack whore. Her face was drawn and pale. Mascara ringed her eyes. Her bleached hair stood up like a fright wig. She wore a short pink robe trimmed with feathery flounces around the neck and cuffs, and matching high-heeled mules.

"You are a liar," she said, glassy eyes fixed on her husband.

"You're drunk," Bruce accused.

"I must be. I know better than to speak to you out of turn."

I watched Seabright. He was furious, trembling with anger. If I had not been there, I don't know what he might have done. But then, if I hadn't been there, Krystal would never have had the nerve to say anything. I turned to her, taking in the dilated pupils and the smudged lipstick.

"Mrs. Seabright, when did you first see the tape of your daughter's kidnapping?"

"I had seen the box. It had my name on it. I didn't know why Bruce hadn't given it to me. I thought it was something I had ordered through the mail."

"Krystal…" Bruce growled.

"What day was that?"

Her mouth trembled. "Wednesday."

Two days.

"I didn't see any point in upsetting you with it," Seabright said. "Look at you. Look what it's done to you."

"I found it today," she said to me. "My daughter's been kidnapped. Bruce didn't think I should know about that."

"I told you, I will handle it, Krystal," he said through his teeth.

Krystal looked at me, tragic, pathetic, terrified. "In our family, we leave the decisions to the person best equipped to make them."

I looked hard at Bruce Seabright. He was perspiring. He knew he could intimidate a woman like Krystal, but he could not intimidate me.

"I'm going to ask you one last time, Mr. Seabright. And before you answer, know that the Sheriff's Office can pull your local usage details from the phone company and verify the information. Have the kidnappers called?"

He put his hands on his hips and looked up at the ceiling, weighing the pros and cons of denial. He wasn't the type to openly defy the cops. If he took my word on the phone records, and thought about what would happen if the Sheriff's Office became involved… his public image could be damaged… I held my breath.

"Last night."

A strange sound of anguish wrenched out of Krystal Seabright and she doubled over the back of a fat leather chair as if she'd been shot.

Seabright puffed himself up like a furious pigeon as he tried to justify his behavior. "First of all, I think the whole thing is a hoax. This is just Erin trying to humiliate me-"

"I'm up to my back teeth with men and their persecution theories today," I said. "I don't want to hear yours. I saw the tape. I know the kind of people Erin has been mixed up with. I wouldn't be willing to bet her life against your fear of embarrassment. Who called? A man? A woman?"

"It sounded like the voice on the tape," he said impatiently. "Distorted."

"What did it say?"

He didn't want to answer. His mouth pulled into that pissy little knot I wanted to slap off his face.

"Why should I tell you any of this?" he said. "I don't know anything about you. I don't know who you're working for. I don't know that you're not one of them."

"For God's sake, tell her!" Krystal cried. She slipped around the side of the leather chair and crawled into it, curling herself into a fetal position.

"And how do I know you're not?" I returned. "How does your wife know you're not?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Seabright snapped.

"Ridiculous isn't the word I'd use to describe it, Mr. Seabright. Erin has been a source of considerable irritation to you. Maybe you saw a way to eliminate the problem."

"Oh my God!" Krystal cried, putting her hands over her mouth.

"That's absurd!" Seabright shouted.

"I don't think the Sheriff's Office will think so," I said. "So you'd better start coming up with the details."

He heaved another sigh, the put-upon patriarch. "The voice said to put the money in a cardboard box and leave it in a specific spot at the Equestrian Estates horse-show grounds out in Loxahatchee somewhere."

I knew the area. Twenty minutes from Wellington, Equestrian Estates was an as-yet-undeveloped development. More or less wide-open spaces with a show grounds used only several times a year.

"When?"

"Today. Five o'clock."

"And did you leave the money?"

"No."

Krystal was sobbing. "You killed her! You killed her!"

"Oh, for God's sake, Krystal, stop it!" he snapped. "If she's really kidnapped, they aren't going to kill her. What would be the point?"

"The only point is to get the money," I said coldly. "They'll try to get it whether she's alive or not. Did they promise you would see Erin at the drop site? Did they say you'd be able to pick her up somewhere else if you came through with the cash?"

"They didn't say."

There was no guarantee Erin wasn't already dead. If the kidnapper was ruthless enough, she might have been killed in short order after the abduction to eliminate her as a possible witness later, and simply to make the kidnapper's life easier. Or that might have been the point all along-to eliminate her-with a dummied-up kidnapping plot thrown over it for camouflage.

"Have they called since?"

"No."

"I find that hard to believe. If I was expecting three hundred thousand at five in the afternoon and it didn't show, I'd want to know why."

He lifted his hands and walked away to a window where half-opened plantation shutters let in the darkness. I watched him and wondered just how cold a man he was. Cold enough to knowingly throw his stepdaughter to a sexual predator? Cold enough to have her killed? Maybe.

The one thing I had difficulty accepting was the idea of Seabright relinquishing control in any kind of collaborative scheme that would leave him vulnerable. But his only other choice would have been to dirty his hands himself, and that I didn't see at all. Conspiracy was the lesser of evils. Conspiracy could always be denied.

My gaze fell on Seabright's desk, immaculate in its organization. Perhaps I would see a file lying there labeled: KIDNAP ERIN. Instead, I stopped at the telephone, a Panasonic cordless with a caller ID window on the handset. The same phone I had in Sean's guest house. I went behind the desk, sat down in the leather executive's chair, and picked up the phone. The caller ID light on the base was blinking red.

"What are you doing?" Bruce demanded, hurrying back across the room.

I pressed the search button on the handset, and a number appeared in the display window. "I'm taking advantage of the miracle of modern technology. If the kidnapper called you on this line from a phone that wasn't blocked, the number will be stored in the memory of this unit and can be checked against a reverse directory. Isn't that terribly clever?"

I jotted the number on his spotless blotter, scrolled to the next stored number, and noted it. He wanted to snatch the phone out of my hand. I could see the muscles working in his jaw.

"My clients and business associates call me here," he said. "I won't have you harassing them."

"How do you know one of them isn't the kidnapper?" I asked.

"That's insane! These are wealthy and respectable people."

"Maybe all but one."

"I don't want people dragged into this mess."

"Do you have any enemies, Mr. Seabright?" I asked.

"Of course not."

"You've never pissed anybody off? A man in land development in south Florida? That would be astonishing."

"I'm a reputable businessman, Ms. Estes."

"And you're about as likable as dysentery," I said. "I can't believe you don't have a list of people who would be pleased to see you suffer. And I'm only thinking of your immediate family."

He hated me. I could see it in his small, mean eyes. I found the notion satisfying, the feeling mutual.