The Forbidden Daughter (39 page)

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Sheila’s fair complexion turned even paler. “Wait. There’s more. He threatens to turn to Priya and my boys if he ever finds out you and Isha have copies of the incriminating information.”

Her hands were shaking as she held up the note. “Shouldn’t this be enough evidence to prove Karnik’s culpability in this affair, that he’s the mastermind?”

“Not necessarily. What if he claims he knows nothing about this, that he has never performed an abortion in his life? He’s clever, so he will have erased all traces of his records by now.

There are ways to completely deprogram a computer’s hard drive.” Harish took off his glasses, wiped them with a handkerchief, and put them back on. “I’m quite sure what we’re holding is the only evidence there’ll ever be about Karnik’s illegal activities.”

Sheila arched her brows at him. “Exactly how many copies do you have?”

He hesitated. “It’s best that I don’t tell you.” He noticed Sheila’s piqued look at being shut out. “I’m sorry, but it’s safer for you that way.”

“I don’t care about what’s safe for
me
. He’s threatening to hurt my children and Priya!”

“All right.” Harish came to a standstill. “I made three copies, but I can’t tell you where they are. Phillip knows and so does Isha . . . in case something happens to me.”

Sheila glared at him for a second, then slumped in the chair, grudgingly accepting defeat.

The nightmare was becoming more terrifying by the second.

Harish’s pacing became more frantic. When was Patil arriving?

Patil was the only one who could shake down Karnik and find out who the evil enforcer was. And all that had to be done immediately.

He checked his phone and found there was no message from Phillip. That meant Phillip was still waiting for Patil to get in. It also meant Harish couldn’t call someone else at the police headquarters and have them provide security to Sheila and Kumar’s home, or his own home and clinic. The spy in the police department could be anyone, and he or she could have any number of 286
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accomplices. Plus, news traveled fast in police circles. Calling the police would do more harm than good—could be lethal, in fact.

No matter which way Harish looked at it, his hands were tied. It was impotence of the worst kind.

Meanwhile, even if Patil could do something tangible, the situation was still treacherous, hopeless, even. First of all, Isha didn’t have the kind of money the kidnapper wanted. But her father-in-law had offered to raise the ransom money. And he could do so easily as soon as the banks opened in the morning. For that matter, both Srikant Tilak and Kumar Sathe were men of such great influence in this town that they could probably wake up a bank manager from his sleep and request a favor.

Money wasn’t so much an issue as the concern that, after grabbing it, the kidnapper could still go ahead and kill the baby, still blow up Harish’s home, even his clinic. The man seemed remorseless.

That was a nightmare Harish didn’t even want to think about. His home, despite his strong sentiments about it, was mainly a place to relax and sleep. But his clinic was his life—

everything he’d worked toward since he was a little boy. Becoming a doctor was more than a lifelong dream. It was a calling. It was a passion. It defined the individual he was. He couldn’t afford to lose it—that vital part of himself.

Sundari, who’d stood in silence so far, was the one who brought their attention to the fact that Isha needed to be told about the note. “We should wake Isha-bayi and tell her, no?”

“I’ll do it,” offered Harish. “She’s likely to be a little disoriented from the medicine.”

He noticed the two women defer to him without hesitation.

Was it because they trusted him enough to leave him alone with Isha? Or was it because he was the sole male amongst them in Kumar’s absence and they automatically let him take the lead?

He would have taken the lead anyway. Consciously or unconsciously he had put himself in the role of protector and male authority figure in Isha’s life and her children’s.

They were his responsibility now.

Gingerly turning the knob, he opened the door to Isha’s bed-THE

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room and stuck his head in. All was quiet except for the steady hum of the ceiling fan. He stepped inside and stood for a second to acclimate his eyes to the room, lit only by the nightlight.

Then he saw the huddled figure on the bed. She lay on her side, with her face to the door and both hands fisted under her chin, asleep in the fetal position. It broke his heart to see her like that—curled up like a frightened little girl reaching inside herself for strength.

Although she seemed to trust him with most things, he sensed a small part of her still remained private, something she didn’t share, not even with Sheila or Sundari. It was almost as if she was afraid of trusting anyone but herself. Fiercely independent Isha—she hadn’t yet recognized the fact that even the strongest of individuals had to let down their guard once in a while and put their trust in others. But she was learning.

“Isha,” he said softly, reluctant to disturb her badly needed rest. The pill was working, because she slept on. So he called her name again and touched her shoulder.

This time she came awake with a start and squinted at him in the dark, her body taut with alarm. He must have scared her, coming into her darkened room unannounced. “It’s only me, Harish,” he said.

Recognizing his voice, she visibly relaxed, then opened her eyes fully. “There’s news?”

“Yes.” He saw her struggling to shed the drug-induced bleari-ness and sit up, so he offered a helping hand. “A note from the kidnapper.” He could see the last traces of sleep vanish from her eyes. She was on full alert now.

“So he didn’t use the phone.”

“Someone left the note outside the door.” When she looked confused, he added, “Whoever delivered it dropped it on the floor and disappeared before I could answer the doorbell.”

She sat still and stared at the floor for a moment, probably trying to absorb the news and make sense out of it.

“I’m sorry, Isha.”

In the next instant she was on her feet. “What does the note say?”

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“You might want to read it yourself. Sheila read it to Sundari and me a minute ago.” Before he could say another word, she was out the door and in the drawing room, snatching the sheet of paper from Sheila’s hand.

A wave of helplessness seized Harish as he watched Isha read the message once, twice, then crumple onto the sofa and shatter to pieces.

Chapter 32

Nearly five hours after reading the note, Isha still felt the shock waves rolling through her. Until the ransom note had arrived she’d managed to convince herself to some degree that it just might work itself out, somehow, and that Diya would be back, sooner or later. She hadn’t been willing to give up that diminutive ray of hope.

But the note staring at her from the coffee table had managed to erode much of her confidence.

She glanced at the clock. She couldn’t help looking at it every few minutes. It was a little after five o’clock. Diya had been missing for slightly more than a day and a half now. It was still dark outside. The rest of the building slept while her flat was a hive of activity. It had been like that all night, ever since the ransom note had arrived.

According to Harish, Patil’s flight was due to arrive soon and Phillip was waiting at the airport. But Isha wasn’t sure what good Patil’s involvement would do at this point. He was clueless about what had been going on in his absence. If no one knew who the kidnapper was or where he was holed up with Diya, then what was the use? Did even Karnik know?

With every passing minute, her sense of hopelessness was rising.

Sheila had phoned Kumar and he had come over immediately, the dark shadow of a beard on his face and his untidy hair an indication that he’d hopped out of bed and rushed there in an in-290
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stant. It was a testimony to how much he cared about Isha and the girls.

At the moment, Sheila and Kumar were whispering in the kitchen, trying to come up with a way to raise at least some of the ransom money in the incredibly brief window of time the kidnapper had given them. No one, not even rich folks like Kumar and Sheila Sathe, had that kind of hard cash on hand.

Sundari sat on the floor near Isha’s feet, wiping away her tears with the edge of her
pallu
. She was still convinced it was all her fault.
Arré Deva, what have I done?

Despite her resolve not to borrow money from anyone, Isha knew it was futile. How could she turn down cash that could possibly bring Diya back? Did she have any choice in the matter?

But then, how was she ever going to repay a debt that size? If she worked her hands to the bone for the rest of her life she still wouldn’t be able do it. All she had in savings was the small amount set aside for a new sewing machine. It was a mere drop in the bucket.

Ten lakhs! Where had the kidnapper come up with that precise figure? Did it have special significance for him?

Just when she’d thought the worst was over, this thing had come to haunt her. What next?

But she couldn’t blame this latest catastrophe on anyone but herself—not even fate. Instead of controlling her tongue, she’d revealed her secret to a dangerous man like Karnik. It had rico-cheted back and then surrounded her like wildfire. It was consuming not only her but everyone around her.

The sound of the doorbell interrupted her thoughts. She stiffened. Another note from the kidnapper?

Harish was at the door in an instant. But this time he was talking to someone in whispers, and Isha could tell it was a man’s voice. Then Harish stepped aside and said, “Please come in.” The man entered.

Isha went still. “Baba!” She stared at him for a second, unable to move or say another word. She couldn’t help but notice he’d lost a bit of weight. His hair was longer than usual and THE

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brushed the collar of his gray bush shirt. He looked old now—

looked his age. His clothes, too, weren’t quite as well fitted as she remembered.

She hadn’t come face-to-face with her father-in-law since that day she’d left his home. Once the shock of seeing him began to recede, the pent-up rage and abhorrence sprang to the surface.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

Srikant Tilak remained silent. Kumar and Sheila, having heard the doorbell, were already in the drawing room.

Sheila stepped forward to greet her father. “Baba, I’m glad you’re here.”

Isha turned accusing eyes on Sheila. “
You
invited him here?”

How could Sheila betray her like this? Why?

Sheila bit her lip. “I . . . uh . . . he offered his help, Isha.”

“I don’t want his help!” Isha was on her feet now, her swollen eyes shooting sparks at him. “You’re here to gloat, aren’t you?”

“No, that is not true,” Tilak murmured.

“Diya is the child you and Ayee wanted aborted.”

“A lot has changed since then, Isha.”

“Oh, it’s changed all right! Diya may even be dead by now.

So go home and rejoice with Ayee.” The bitterness in her voice was hard to quell. She made a dismissive gesture with her hands.

“Go celebrate your success.”

“How can you say such horrible things to Baba, Isha?” Sheila protested.

Isha ignored Sheila’s outrage as something clicked in her mind.

Could it be? She narrowed her eyes at the old man. “Did . . . did you have something to do with this? Are you and Karnik working together to destroy my children and me?”

“No. I would never do something like that.” Tilak looked at Sheila with what bordered on a plea for support.

Sheila instinctively moved closer to her father. “Isha, please, you know Baba wouldn’t do something unconscionable like that.

Please understand he wants to help. He has the
means
to help.”

“I’d rather die than accept his charity.”

“Be reasonable, will you?” begged Sheila.

“You want me to be reasonable with a man who struck his 292
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little granddaughter because she was crying for her dead father and refused to go to school? You want me to be reasonable with a baby-killer?” It gave her immense satisfaction to see her father-in-law flinch.

Harish, who had been a silent observer until then, stepped forward. “Isha, Sheila’s right. Now is not the time to hold grudges. We have very little time to put together a huge sum of money. I think you should accept Mr. Tilak’s help.”

“No, I—”

“You have no choice!” bellowed Kumar, silencing everyone instantly. He was the most pragmatic of them all and a hard-nosed businessman. “Just
forget
the past and think of what you have to do to get Diya back. Your child should be your main concern.” He aimed a forbidding scowl at Isha, reminding her of Mother Regina’s expression when thoroughly irked. “You do want her back in one piece, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Isha plopped back onto the sofa and hugged one of the mutilated pillows. It was humiliating to be scolded like a wayward child—but Kumar was right. This was not the time for airing petty resentments. Only Diya mattered.

“Good! Now let’s sit down and discuss how to get ten lakhs together in the least amount of time.” Kumar lowered his substantial bulk into the nearest chair and barked at Sundari,

“Make some tea for everyone!” A clearly rattled Sundari ran to the kitchen to do his bidding.

The niggling doubt remained in Isha’s mind. All of a sudden, why did her father-in-law want to rescue a child he detested?

The shrill ringing of the phone made everyone go quiet once again. Kumar answered it while every eye on the room fixed itself on him. His brows snapped together. “What!” He listened for a minute. “Pardon me, but exactly
what
do you need to discuss with Isha Tilak?”

Isha sprang to her feet. “Is it . . . is it him?” She was afraid to even say the word
kidnapper
. It reminded her that Diya was at his mercy.