“Did he give us a description?”
“Blonde, blue-eyed, about your height and build. Same age, too.”
“Did they put out a BOLO?”
Hill laughed. “Oh yeah they did. SLOPD chief is pretty pissed.”
“And what about the other guy?”
“Six feet, thin, charcoal hair. Wearing a dark sport coat. A few years older than you.”
“So they’ve got nothing.”
Hill’s eyes darted left and right as he scanned her expression. “Pretty much. Found a car matching the description of the one the fake agents were driving. Parked a mile away in a motel lot. No prints other than the owner’s. But only in a few places. None on the steering wheel or gearshift. Like the car had been wiped down.”
“And the owner?”
“Not involved. Lives in Soledad. Not far from where we picked you up. Tran’s on his way there to talk with the guy right now.”
Loren swung her gaze over her left shoulder. Minh’s vehicle was nowhere to be seen. “Hopefully he gives us a better description than blonde and blue-eyed.” Damn. One mistake I made. No, two. My latents could be on the bills I used to pay Gomez. But Gomez might just report the car stolen rather than being accused as an accessory to a crime. More importantly, he would not risk having to turn the money over as evidence.
“Has my husband heard from Amy?”
“You haven’t talked to him?”
“I only called you. I was kind of out of it. Still not thinking clearly.”
“Call him now.”
He would ask what happened, not knowing that Hill was in the car with her. “I’ll just talk with him when I get home. He’ll know something’s wrong by my voice. I’d rather tell him what happened in person, so he can see I’m okay.”
Hill did not reply—but Loren knew that he doubted her story. What did she expect? The real test would be when she faced her squad supervisor. He would not pull any punches. Nor would the Office of Professional Responsibility.
Loren closed her eyes and rested against the door. Those were battles for another day.
82
Loren awoke to a hand shaking her. “We’re here.”
She opened her eyes and squinted against the streetlight. “Where?”
“Home,” Hill said. “Your home.”
“Oh, man.” She sat up and grabbed the dashboard to steady herself. “Fell asleep.”
“I noticed.”
“Sorry I wasn’t better company.”
Hill chuckled. “It’s okay. You had a tough day.” Loren yawned deeply and shook her head, popped open the door. She was surprised she had been able to nod off—but she had been up a good part of the previous night and felt drained from all the stress-induced adrenalin flowing through her bloodstream all day. Despite the nap, she was exhausted.
Hill pulled the keys out of the ignition and took the Ford fob off the ring and handed her the rest. “I’ll take your car home. Maybe Zach can drive you to work tomorrow?”
“Yeah, sure. No worries. Thanks for doing this.”
Hill eyed her. “I admire your commitment to family. Just want you to know that.”
Loren hesitated. She studied his face, then got out.
As Hill drove off, she sat down on the cement steps by the front door and took several deep breaths. Her night was not over—not by a long shot.
She reflected on the plan she had set in motion with Keller before Hill and Minh arrived:
Keller called Christine Ellis’s cell phone.
“Mr. Keller,” she said. “You have news for me?”
“I’ve got your daughter. And I’ve got Amy Robbins here.”
Loren, channeling Amy, cried out—restrained, but frantic. “Please, let me go.”
“Wire the money, Dr. Ellis. Once I have confirmation from Bill Tait that the funds are in our bank account, I’ll pull the trigger.”
Loren gave it all she had: a pained “No!” escaped her throat, right into the phone.
“I’m logging in.” A few seconds later, Christine said, “I’m ready to release the funds.”
“Do it.”
“You do it first.”
“Dr. Ellis,” Keller said firmly, allowing a tinge of anger to color his voice. “If you want your daughter back and Amy Robbins out of your life, hit that button. Now.”
“It’s done.”
“I’ll call you in one minute.”
He dialed Martinez in cyber. “Manuel, I need confirmation that Christine Ellis has released the funds.”
“Released? You completed your mission?”
“Manuel—yes or no. Is the money in the account or not?”
“Yes. Just came through.”
“Great.”
He clicked off and called Christine Ellis back. “I’ll bring Melissa to a neutral location later tonight. I’ll text you the coordinates for the handoff.”
“And Robbins?”
“Thought you’d want to hear it for yourself.” He brought Loren close. “No,” she said, doing her best to plead convincingly. “Please d—”
Keller fired his pistol. It echoed in the quiet distance.
“We’re done for now, Dr. Ellis. Watch for my text. Come alone. Anyone with you, I’ll know and Melissa and I will leave. Don’t be late.”
He hung up, mere minutes before Hill and Minh were due to arrive in Soledad.
LOREN CHECKED HER WATCH. By now Keller had texted Christine Ellis the location for the meet. She entered her code into the wireless garage remote and it rolled open. She got into Zach’s Mercedes and started the engine.
Zach walked out of the house and stared at Loren through the windshield. She blew him a kiss and then backed out. She had to give him credit. He understood the gravity of the situation and did not try to stop her.
Loren parked the car several blocks away in front of a Thai restaurant she frequented and walked to the lake, keeping aware of her surroundings to avoid any nefarious types looking for trouble. She found a bench and sat for an hour in the cold, thinking about the day.
Thinking about Keller and Butch Thurston. And Amy. And Melissa.
It was almost 10:00 PM when she got up and made her way along the trail toward the boathouse. It had closed hours ago. There were no cameras in the vicinity.
Ten minutes later, a woman traversed the path that circled the lake. Loren watched for others—but per Keller’s admonitions, there was no one else with her.
Loren walked out into the dark courtyard and came up alongside Christine Ellis. The woman turned and saw Loren—and surprise registered on her face. “Who are you?”
“Keller couldn’t make it. He sent me instead.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“I’m your friend or your enemy, depending on how our discussion goes.”
Christine squinted confusion. “And what exactly would make you my friend?”
“Back off. Forget about Melissa. Do that and the police will never be told about the arson and theft of Amy and Dan Robbins’s embryos.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just came here to get my daughter back. She was kidna—”
“Kidnapped. Yeah. I know all about it. And I know all about Mickey Keller and Tait Protection and the hit you put out on Amy Robbins. I also know how you like to knock your daughter around. That’s called child abuse.”
Christine’s eyes narrowed further. Her jaw tightened.
“So here’s how this is gonna work. You’re going to get on with your life. You will not see Melissa again. You will not ask about her. You will not pursue Amy Robbins.”
“Who the hell are you to threaten me?”
“Someone who knows an awful lot about you.”
Perhaps Christine’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness, because her brow l
ifted and her chin rose slightly into a subtle nod, as if sudden realization had slapped her in the face. “You’re Amy Robbins’s sister-in-law, the FBI agent. I’ve done my research, Agent Ryder. And Robbins is going to prison. And I will be getting my daughter back.”
“I’ve got evidence of the fifty million you paid for the contract to kill Amy. And I can produce a witness willing to testify to that. In addition to what you did back at Hutchinson’s fertility clinic with the fire, you’re never going to see a dime of your IPO. But you will have a long-term reservation waiting for you at a cozy federal prison. Unless you do what I said.”
Christine studied her face. “You’re bluffing. If you had all that ‘evidence,’ you’d have shown up with a dozen cops and arrested me. Instead, you came to make a deal for your sister-in-law. So I don’t think you’re in the driver’s seat here, Agent Ryder.”
“Think whatever you want. I came to make a deal and give you an easy out.” Loren reached to her belt and removed her handcuffs. “You’d obviously rather go to prison. Fine with me. That works, too.”
Christine pulled out a pistol and held it in front of her. In the dark, it looked like a subcompact Glock, perhaps a G43. She looked comfortable with a firearm in her hand. Too comfortable. Loren surmised she had a concealed weapon permit because of where she lived and worked, which likely included attending nighttime meetings. And such a certification came with significant training.
Even if Loren were able to draw and shoot Christine before Christine got off a shot, Loren would have to report the discharge of her weapon. It would be easy for the Bureau to connect the dots as to why Loren was there.
“What do you think you’re gonna do with that?”
“I’m going to renegotiate our deal. With more favorable terms.”
Loren tilted her head. “I’m listening.”
“Bring my daughter back in the next hour and we won’t press charges against your sister-in-law.”
“So you can continue to abuse Melissa? Not happening. Find another punching bag.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“As a law enforcement officer, as a concerned citizen, as a mother—and a decent human being—it absolutely is my business. You’re not getting your daughter back, no matter how you look at it.”
“So I guess we’ve got nothing to discuss.”
Loren had to agree—but she was not the one holding the pistol. They were standing only three feet apart. Even the worst shot would find it hard to miss. Loren had only one option.
“You’re not really going to kill me,” Loren said.
“A few years ago, I would’ve agreed with you. But money does strange things to people.”
Loren could not argue with that—so she had to act. She swung her gaze over Christine’s left shoulder and shouted into the darkness. “Melissa, no. Stay back!”
Christine spun around to look. It was a deke Loren knew the woman would not be able to resist. Loren rushed her, forcing Christine’s forearms into the air. Christine stepped back and tried to bring the Glock down toward Loren’s face. They were now in a wrestling match—and Loren had no doubt that Christine Ellis was going to pull the trigger.
Loren grunted and groaned, focusing all her energy on her forearms. She abruptly jerked down hard while twisting, torquing Christine’s left wrist. It buckled and Loren forced the Glock toward Christine’s face, pressing the end of the hard barrel against Christine’s pink lips, squeezing the delicate skin against her front teeth.
They were both leaning over at about ninety degrees, refusing to give in. But pain was a powerful motivator. And the lips were one of the most sensitive parts of the body.
Christine’s eyes filled with tears, the agony clearly reaching unbearable levels.
She opened her jaw to scream. Loren shoved the tip of the pistol into her mouth. And fired.
Christine instantly went limp and slumped like a dead weight toward the pavement. Loren staggered sideward and landed on her right hip, covered in blood spatter. Her face, her jacket, her hat.
She shook off the shock of the moment and got to her feet, then retrieved the fallen Glock. Her ears were ringing but her mind was back in control.
Since Loren would have no way of explaining her presence at the lake late at night without going through standard Bureau arrest procedures—if she could even make the case she was there to apprehend Christine Ellis—she had to erase all traces that she had been there.
She used the inside of her jacket to wipe the pistol clean of fingerprints. She then put the weapon back in Christine’s hands, making new latents on the handle and the trigger. The forensics would not make sense, but nothing would implicate her.
That done, Loren glanced around. All was quiet. She made her way to another dark area of the lake, putting distance between herself and Christine Ellis’s body. Using handfuls of filthy water, she washed the red spatter from her skin as best she could.
She removed her socks and used them to dry herself, then shoved them in her pocket. She turned her windbreaker inside out, hiding the blood evidence, and walked home, a twenty-minute journey. When she arrived, she punched her code into the garage door opener and a minute later she was disrobing, inserting the stained clothing into a Hefty bag. She used bleach-soaked rags to wipe down her skin, which was a less than pleasant experience.
As she finished, the door to the house opened and Zach stood there sniffing the air like a hungry canine. “What the hell is going on? I smell bleach. And…why are you naked?”
“I’m not naked.”
“Don’t avoid the question. What’s going on?”
“Nothing you need to know about,” Loren said as she gathered myriad items from the shelves and placed them in a shopping bag. “But if anyone asks, after Hill drove me home, I stayed home. We ate a sandwich and talked. Kids asleep?”
“Of course. And why again are you standing there in the cold garage with no clothes on?”
“Can you run up to the bedroom and get the sweatpants and shirt in the Salvation Army bag in my closet?”
“So you’re not gonna answer me.”
“Nope. Just get me the clothes, please. I have to go back out.”
Moments later, Zach returned with the apparel—along with Coco and her leash. “I know you don’t want me going with you, but there’s no reason why she can’t. It’s late.”
Loren sighed. This was a concession she could make for Zach’s sake. She pulled a baseball cap over her hair, took the dog’s lead, and left.
Fifteen minutes later, after making a stop for Coco to pee, she was standing in one of the less desirable areas of Oakland. Coco seemed to sense the potential danger, as her ears were erect, her gaze darting left and right, her posture weight-forward. Acute readiness.
Loren poked a hole in the Hefty bag and set it inside a rusted, beat-up metal dumpster. She squirted a stream of lighter fluid inside, then lit a match and tossed it onto her bloody clothing. The material caught fire and burned. She wanted to leave but waited to make sure the flames did not spread. When the apparel had completely turned to ash, she pulled out a small bag of potting soil and smothered the simmering powder.
Loren moved another garbage bag atop the detritus and closed the lid, then gave the leash a tug. “C’mon, girl. Let’s go get daddy’s car.”
83
Loren parked in the garage, removed Coco’s harness, and took a deep breath. She walked into the house, where Zach was waiting for her. He embraced her and they stood there in each other’s arms for a long minute.
He leaned back to examine her face. “Wanna tell me what that was all about?”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m home.”
“I’ve been worried about you. And Amy.”
“Amy and Melissa are fine.”
Zach pushed away and held Loren at arm’s length. “Where are they?”
>
She handed him a slip of paper. “Call her, say good-bye.”
“Good-bye?”
Loren peeled off the sweatshirt and tossed it over a kitchen chair.
“Where is she? Where’s Melissa? And what does good-bye mean?”
“I can’t tell you where they are. They’re going dark.”
“Dark. What the hell does that mean?”
“For lack of a better term, unofficial witness protection. A retired US Marshal who used to run the WITSEC program is gonna set them up in a place. We won’t have any contact with them.”
Zach searched her eyes. “No contact? For how long?”
“I don’t know. We’ll have to see how it goes.”
Zach turned away and began pacing the kitchen. “I don’t understand. This isn’t my world, Lor. I buy and sell stocks. I don’t—”
“The Bureau isn’t going to let the case go. The statute of limitations on kidnapping is six years for California. Federally, there’s no statute. I’ll have to find a defense attorney who can be trusted. But everything needs to die down before I try something like that.”
Zach stopped and faced Loren. His eyes were red.
“We’ll probably be under surveillance for a long time. We can’t risk any kind of contact with her. Okay?”
He looked up at the ceiling. “So she’s a fugitive.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Don’t know. A few years. Maybe more.”
“Jesus.”
“It was the only way.” She could not tell him about Christine Ellis. For a lot of reasons—most of which, he would never look at her the same way again. For that matter, she would never be able to look at herself the same way. It was self-defense, yes—but not reporting it, not being honest with Mountain, Hill, and Minh from the beginning…had previously been unthinkable. But she did it for family. That’s what she kept telling herself during the short drive home with Coco, when she finally had a moment to reflect.
Zach sat down heavily on the couch. Coco jumped up and lay down alongside him as Zach unfurled the piece of paper. “This is Amy’s number?”
The Lost Girl (A Mickey Keller Thriller Book 1) Page 28
