The Will Trent Series 7-Book Bundle

by Karin Slaughter

  “I can only tell you where she was taken.”

  “We understand that, Mr. Jenner. If you refer to this line”—she touched her finger to the appropriate words—“you’ll see that your only requirement in honoring this agreement is to tell the truth about everything you know. If at any time you lie or evade questioning, or any information you give is found to be untrue, this agreement is void and you are subject to full prosecution.” She took a pen out of her jacket pocket and handed it to Jenner.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Jenner said. He took his time reading the documents. His eyes scanned back and forth along each line of each page. Will looked down at his watch. Five minutes passed before Jenner was certain he’d seen every possible loophole or trick in the one-page agreement.

  “Okay,” he said, taking the pen. He signed each page, then handed the sheets back to Anna. She signed and initialed everything.

  Amanda said, “Mr. Jenner, where is the girl?”

  He pursed his lips, clearly enjoying the tension. “She’s being held at the Lakewood Arms Hotel. Room 215.” Less than ten miles away.

  “Go!” Vanessa yelled, tapping the two-way mirror, though Will was certain her team was already heading to the hotel.

  “So.” Jenner took the documents and folded them in two. “I suppose I should get out of your hair.”

  “Did you touch her?” Will asked.

  Jenner’s eyes went to Anna Ward. She told him, “You’re required to tell the truth, Mr. Jenner. That’s the agreement.”

  “No,” he admitted. “Unfortunately.”

  Will’s body tensed. Except for Amanda’s calming hand on his shoulder, he would’ve pounded the guy into the floor again.

  “I think we’re done here.” Jenner tucked the documents into his jacket pocket and stood from the table. “When are you people going to realize you’re not smart enough to play these games?”

  “Thirty thousand dollars,” Will said. “That’s all a child’s life is worth?”

  Jenner looked at Anna Ward again. “The truth, right?”

  She had to clear her throat before she could speak. “Yes.”

  “I think that’s a fair sum when you factor in transportation and accommodations.” He gave a pleased sigh. “I know the Lakewood Arms doesn’t sound like much, but I had such a lovely night planned for our first date.”

  Will’s fists clenched. “You bastard.”

  Jenner had that familiar snarky grin on his face. “I’d hurry out to Lakewood, Officers. Eleanor was expecting me an hour ago. I’m sure she’s halfway to Florida by now.” He headed toward the door. There was something like a spring in his step. “Florida. That sounds like a nice place for a first date, doesn’t it?” He put his hand on the doorknob.

  Amanda asked, “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Home,” he said. “It’s been a long day.”

  “Be that as it may—” Amanda reached past Jenner and opened the door. An imposing man in a sheriff’s uniform blocked the exit—literally; he was as big as a refrigerator.

  Amanda made the introductions. “Mr. Jenner, this is Phil Peterson, the sheriff for Clayton County. You can’t see behind him, but the Fulton sheriff and the FBI would like a word, too.”

  “The—” Jenner pulled the documents out of his pocket. “I have your word that—”

  “Mr. Jenner.” Vanessa Livingston did the honors. “Perhaps as a tax lawyer you’re familiar with the competing interests of various jurisdictions?” She paused, as if she expected an answer. “The airport compound reaches into the unincorporated regions of two counties and three cities.” She paused for effect, pointing at the floor. “You’re currently in the city of Atlanta. As the commander of this zone, I’ve ordered your release. You have my signature on that paperwork. I’ll do nothing to stop you from leaving.”

  Anna Ward added, “Nor will I. The City of Atlanta will honor its agreement. We will not pursue charges against you.”

  Jenner’s tone had a decidedly higher pitch. “I don’t understand.”

  Vanessa explained, “The C concourse is in Hapeville, which is inside Fulton County. Your time in the underground train took you through the unincorporated parts of Clayton County. Your jaunt through the South Terminal breezeway was in College Park, which, again, is within the Fulton County limits. Sheriff Peterson won the coin toss, so he gets first crack at charging you.”

  Amanda picked up from there. “The Georgia Bureau of Investigation would also like to talk to you regarding your transportation of a child across county lines.” She added, “And, of course, since you traveled across state lines—many state lines—that puts you directly in the crosshairs of the FBI.” She mimicked Jenner’s snarky smile to perfection. “I trust you understand what I’m saying, Mr. Jenner. It’s always refreshing to talk to someone with a brain in her head.” She corrected, “His head.”

  Sheriff Phil Peterson took out his handcuffs. He was almost a foot taller than Jenner and twice as wide. His deep baritone rumbled in Will’s eardrums as he told Joe Jenner, “Turn around, little man. I’m gonna let you see what it feels like to be dragged through the airport.”

  seven

  Will paced underneath the gates at the E concourse. There was a small waiting area inside, but he was too anxious to be confined. Even the wide-open space of the great outdoors wasn’t enough.

  He just wanted it over. He wanted Abigail with her mom. He wanted the bad guys in jail. He wanted to go home to his girlfriend and spend the rest of the night listening to the soothing cadence of her heartbeat.

  Will stopped his pacing as a plane touched down. He watched it taxi down the runway, then turn toward one of the other terminals. He resumed pacing, thinking about all the people above him who were oblivious to what had happened today. It amazed him that the world was still spinning on its axis. Wide-body jets were parked nose-in to the gates, lining up like soldiers for international flights. Jetways were locked in. Catering trucks were extended on scissor lifts. Suitcases loaded. Flight attendants got on board. Occasionally, a pilot would walk out, examining every inch of the plane as part of the preflight safety inspection.

  It was as if nothing had happened.

  Will looked at his watch, feeling a moment of panic before he realized he hadn’t bothered to set it back.

  Abigail Brannon was safe. That was all that mattered right now. Faith had called from the hospital to let Will know that the little girl had checked out fine. A few scrapes and bruises were the only physical injuries she’d suffered.

  The same could not be said of Eleanor Fielding, who’d had the bad sense to try to evade arrest. A battalion of cops had chased her through the Lakewood Arms. She’d finally climbed on the balcony and threatened to jump. When no one seemed interested in stopping her, she’d followed through on her promise. Unfortunately, the woman had survived the three-story fall. Her busted pelvis and legs would mend, but she’d spend the rest of her life in prison.

  Just like Joe Jenner.

  Will had to smile every time he thought about the shocked look on the man’s face. It was always the smart ones who ended up tying their own nooses.

  The doors slid open. A ground-crew worker came out. His orange vest hung loose around his waist. He gave Will a nod and headed toward the men waiting for the next landing so they could collect baggage off the plane.

  Will couldn’t pace anymore. He leaned against the wall. His back ached. His head was pounding. He was pretty sure he was getting lung cancer from the constant odor of jet fuel.

  He was punch-drunk from exhaustion. And anxiety. And relief.

  He took Abigail Brannon’s slipper out of his pocket. He’d found some glue to fix the trim. He’d taken the other shoe out of evidence. He’d give them to Faith. He doubted Abigail Brannon would want to see him. She’d seen Will twice—in the bathroom and on the train. Both times she’d looked at him with longing in her eyes, begging to be rescued. Both times, Will had failed her.

  At least s
he’d be in her mother’s arms soon. Will would have to stop calling New Age believers freaks after this. He had visualized Abigail Brannon in her mother’s arms, and that was exactly what was about to happen.

  A wealthy Idaho farmer had donated the use of his private jet so that Rebecca Brannon could fly straight to Atlanta to meet her daughter. The charter pilot had been given special permission to divert to the E concourse so that the press couldn’t bother them.

  Will could only imagine what was going through the woman’s mind right now. The flight was over four hours long. That was a lot of time to think about the fact that Paul Riggins, the man she’d been dating, had sold her daughter to a ring of pedophiles. He would probably spend the next ten years in prison.

  Ten years.

  That seemed light to Will. None of these bastards ever got what they really deserved. It was the one instance where Will was one hundred percent in favor of the death penalty. He’d advocate bringing back a firing squad if it meant he’d be the one to take out Joe Jenner.

  The man was already working the angles. He’d hired one of the top lawyers in the state. He’d probably end up with five years. The rumors about what happened to pedophiles in prison were true, but still that was not enough to satisfy Will’s desire for the man to be punished.

  The doors slid open again. Amanda and Vanessa Livingston were shoulder to shoulder, talking in low voices. They’d worked together longer than Will had been alive. The women shared a bond in the way of soldiers who’ve been bloodied in the same battles.

  Vanessa held a police radio in her hand. It squawked as soon as the doors closed. She put her ear to the speaker, nodding as if the person on the other side could see her. Finally, she told Will, “The plane just landed. Faith’s on her way down with the girl. We’ve had some more enterprising reporters who booked flights so they can get into the terminal.”

  Amanda added, “Rumor has it they’ll be at the T concourse.”

  Vanessa grinned. “I wonder who told them that?” She winked at Will as she walked over to the ground crew.

  Amanda stayed with Will. They watched a small jet plane make the turn toward the gates. There was a large green logo on the side. Will couldn’t make out the words, but he guessed from the yellow stalk of corn in the middle that this was the wealthy Idaho farmer’s plane.

  Amanda said, “And people say the one percent don’t do their share.”

  Will wasn’t in the mood to joke. He wasn’t going to be able to breathe again until Abigail and Rebecca Brannon were together.

  The engine roared as the jet turned toward them, nose pointing at Will’s chest. The plane idled for a second, then inched forward, stopping a few yards away. The engine wound down. One of the ground crew rolled out a blue carpet. The door was twisted open. A set of stairs came out like a tongue.

  The pilot got off first, then an older man, probably a grandparent. He was leaning on a cane. The pilot held out a hand to help him down. Once the old man was on the tarmac, he turned around and held out his hand for the next passenger.

  Will recognized Rebecca Brannon from her news conference. She looked even more frail in person. Her eyes were almost black. Her nose had been broken, as had her ankle. She handed down her crutch. Both men had to help her hop down the stairs.

  Amanda told Will, “It’s a good outcome.”

  “It should’ve never happened in the first place.”

  “Take the win, Will. Cases like this, that doesn’t usually happen.”

  Vanessa had her radio to her ear again. She jogged ahead of the Brannons, handing Will her keycard. She told him, “Run to the top of the stairs to let Faith in. I don’t think the mother can make it up.”

  Will didn’t feel like the right person for the job, but he was too tired to argue. He went back into the building, taking a moment to get his bearings. The labyrinthine underbelly of the airport was more confusing than anything the public ever saw. Will found the metal stairs outside a propped-open fire door. He took them two at a time, his shoes thumping on the steel. At the top, he saw a closed door with a narrow window. Faith was looking down at him. There was a worried expression on her face.

  She stepped back so that Will could open the door.

  He stood on the top stair, unable to move. He’d been hoping that the girl was too exhausted to remember him. He’d been praying she was too focused on seeing her mom to stare at him with those same sad eyes he’d seen so many hours ago.

  But Abigail Brannon was none of those things. Her eyes were trained down at the floor. She was quiet. Too quiet.

  Will looked at Faith.

  She explained, “They gave her something to help calm her down.”

  Will knelt down on the top stair so that he could look at the girl. He told her, “Your mom’s downstairs waiting for you.”

  She didn’t move—didn’t appear to want to see her mother, or anyone else.

  Faith asked, “Sweetheart, don’t you want to see your mom?”

  Abigail’s small shoulder went up in a shrug. Her eyes were glazed over. Her face remained emotionless. She was dressed in a long T-shirt that fell past her knees. Faith had obviously bought it at the hospital gift shop. The creases were still in the material where it had been folded up in the package. A pair of blue hospital sandals were on her feet. The label was still attached. Her toes didn’t even show. They were meant for a small adult, not a little girl.

  Will took Abigail’s shoes out of his pocket. There was a tiny flash of recognition in the girl’s eyes. Wordlessly, she put her hand on Will’s shoulder, kicking off a sandal, lifting her bare foot. He slid on the Hello Kitty shoe. She changed hands, lifted the other foot. He had to use his finger to help her heel slide in. Too much glue had made the back stiff.

  He asked, “Ready?”

  She didn’t answer. Will finally made himself look her in the eye. He braced himself for that same sad expression, the one that cut straight through to his heart. Instead, he saw wonder.

  “I saw you,” she whispered. “I saw you from before.”

  Will felt a lump sticking in his throat. This time, he was the one who couldn’t speak. He could only manage a nod.

  “I saw you in the bathroom and I saw you on the train.”

  Will had to force himself to answer. “Yes,” he agreed. “You did.”

  Her eyes started to water. He thought that she was going to cry, but a smile slowly spread across her face. “I knew you would save me,” she told Will. “I saw you seeing me, and I knew that you would save me.”

  Will breathed out. He didn’t realize until that moment that he’d been holding his breath.

  “I knew it,” Abigail repeated. “I just knew.”

  She threw her arms around Will’s shoulders. He gently returned the hug. He could feel her bony elbows and wrists as he lifted Abigail up and carried her down the steps to her mother.

  And for an extra thrill,

  read on for the short story

  BUSTED

  BUSTED

  1.

  Will Trent let out a long, mournful sigh as he stared at the blinking red light on the frozen Coke machine. There was no telling how long the Coke and ice had to cycle before a delicious frozen beverage came out. Will had an app on his phone that showed the location of every Icee machine in Georgia. This was the twenty-first century. It was bad enough they weren’t flying around in jetpacks. Was it too much to expect a real-time update on a frozen Coke?

  He glanced around the Lil’ Dixie Gas-n-Go, taking in the neon signs that advertised live bait, ammo, and lottery tickets. Will was in Forest Park, less than half an hour’s drive from downtown Atlanta, but the gas station had all the makings of a country store. Day-old biscuits baked under a heat lamp. A gallon jar of pickled pigs’ feet sat next to the cash register. A plexiglass display for smokeless tobacco filled an entire wall. Except for the frozen Coke, Will was hard-pressed to come up with a reason anybody would want to be here.

  He wasn’t just thinking about the stor
e. Forest Park was a dog of a city, sitting on the edge of Clayton County, which was arguably one of the worst counties in the state. The usual suspects had led to its demise—bad real estate deals, corrupt county officials, the shuttering of a major military base—but the final nail in the coffin had been the 1996 Olympics. In the name of progress, Atlanta had razed all of its government housing projects and sent the occupants south so that international guests and athletes wouldn’t have to gaze upon the poor and disenfranchised.

  After the Games were gone, no one was asked to return. For Atlanta, out of sight meant out of mind or, in the case of the thousands who were forcibly relocated, out of luck. Very little monies or resources were spent on helping them settle. Gang members set up shop. Crime rates soared. Neighborhoods were decimated as anyone who could afford to fled to other counties. The pillaging didn’t stop with the usual bad guys. In the intervening years, rampant corruption and mismanagement had touched just about every governing body. The Clayton County school system had lost its national accreditation. The county chief of police was being investigated by the state for theft of grant money. A commissioner had been billed by one local paper as “often investigated, never indicted.” The county’s finance office and archives had been served with enough search warrants to wallpaper the governor’s mansion.

  And none of that accounted for the glaring injustice of the slow-moving wheels in the Lil’ Dixie frozen Coke machine.