Read A Deadly Web for Free Online Page A

can’t be that. Not . . . not, at least, for money. I’m not worth that much, not worth enough for the trouble. Investments and other assets would have to be liquidated, which takes time. And, anyway, kidnappings for ransom have gone way down. I read about it. Easier ways to make money, even illegally. Because of all the cameras everywhere, on the streets, in stores, at ATMs, never mind nosy people with cell phone cameras, it’s harder to grab someone, harder to get to a cash drop unseen, and electronic money transfers are traceable.
    No one would have seen you being grabbed tonight. Apparently.
    There was that.
    Tasha finally persuaded herself to return to her condo, to unlock the door and reenter warily. She paused right there, touched the small LCD screen/keypad by the door, and called up the lobby security camera, the one camera all residents could access. For peace of mind, the real estate agent had told Tasha when she’d been condo shopping. So she could always be reassured that the security staff were doing their jobs. And so the security staff were aware that anyone could check on them at any time.
    Extra motivation to be alert on the job.
    The security desk was manned—and nobody was asleep.
    She could just barely see the bank of monitors where one guard sat; from all appearances, he was alertly scanning the different feeds of all the cameras on his monitors. Each camera in its own square, what looked like nine perlarge-screen monitor. There were no dark squares, nothing to indicate that any of the cameras had for any reason malfunctioned. Just clear images of doorways and hallways and the parking spaces out behind the building.
    No movement anywhere, as far as Tasha could tell.
    Two other security guards stood talking a couple of feet from the desk, then separated, one going outside to presumably do his perimeter check, while the other headed for the elevators to, presumably, begin the hourly check of each floor.
    Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, every floor was patrolled at least once each hour by a security guard. And they varied their patrols, since burglars liked nothing better than routine.
    As Tasha watched the security monitors in the lobby, the guard who had gone outside appeared on the front door monitor as the other became visible on a different monitor getting into the elevator.
    At the concierge desk, the night clerk was also awake and clearly aware, doing something on his computer that might have been work and could have been solitaire or a role-playing game, or some online social networking site. Or just e-mail.
    How the hell did those men get past everyone? How did they even get
in
? You can see the front and rear entrances from the lobby, see the stairwell doors, see the elevators. Both exterior doors are security doors that require an ID card swiped
and
a code punched in; if you’ve forgotten your card or the code, you can call the desk from the system’s intercom right there at the door. But they never just let you in without checking. Never.A guard comes to meet you, and if you’re a visitor, they call the resident you’re visiting before you can come in.
    Almost all the windows on the ground floor were in front, the lobby. Not many other windows, and those covered by “decorative” security bars. Outside lighting around the doors, plus landscape lighting all around the rest of the building meant no blind spots, no dark places in which to hide. No residents on the ground floor, either, just office services, that small gym, maintenance rooms and closets.
    Those men should have been seen. Why weren’t they?
    More disturbed with every moment and every increasingly baffled inner question, Tasha remained wary as she left her purse and keys on the entry hall table and began a methodical search. Room by room, closet by closet, even checking the kitchen cabinets. And underneath her bed. Making sure all the windows were secure. Turning on lamps and other lights as she