by James, Ed
Harwick sat back. “There are strict anonymity clauses in place here.”
“I get that.” Carter exchanged a look with Elisha, winking his left eye. Their code that he was going full-on bad cop. “And while it’s entirely legal what you do here, I’m not sure the public would just accept the fact that one of your surrogate mothers has kidnapped the baby she was contracted to deliver.”
Harwick threw up her hands. “That has nothing to do with our business’s legality.”
“No. But a long, drawn-out FBI investigation might harm your access to this growing market.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“This is nothing.” Carter smiled. “How much post-natal counseling do your surrogate mothers get?”
A sigh seemed to be all Harwick needed to weigh up the decision. “Fine.” She opened her laptop with a slight crack, then started typing and clicking. “Okay, so Kaitlyn Presswood is one of ours.”
“Just need an address, then we’ll be out of your hair.”
“Okay. Her address is the college campus.”
Another dead end.
“That’s it?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“I can be back here inside the hour to tear this place apart.”
“Be my guest. I’m not hiding anything.” Harwick stared at him, weighing it all up. “Look, the system shows Kaitlyn hasn’t cashed the checks.” She licked her lips. “But there’s an emergency contact. One Beverley Stretton, address in Bremerton.”
Fifty
KAITLYN
10:10
An idyllic Washington morning, still lush and green, even though the distant trees are losing their leaves. The smell of ozone after the rain.
Just like so many times over the years, I sit on the steps by the back stoop. The door behind me is open and the radio’s playing Springsteen, one of Duke’s favorites, but it sounds like it’s from another age, let alone forty years back.
Unlike all those times, though, I’m here with Ky. My son.
“There you are.” Mom kisses me on the top of my head, then joins me in a lawn chair. “They’ve changed the design since Duke last saw it.” She passes me the tub of hypo-allergenic formula and a bottle, all warmed up.
“Thanks, Mom.” I give Ky a shot at the bottle and he takes it, seems to love the formula. I hope this isn’t a scam, trying to get me to run dry so I have no choice but to pay big Pharma to feed my son.
Mom smiles. “Little guy loves it.”
“Hope he’s going to feel better now, sleep through the night.”
“It’s great having you back in our life, Kaitlyn. Cole’s a real sweetheart.”
“I’m worried sick about him.”
“Kids are a lot more robust than you expect. You were sick all the time. I thought it was from all the smoking your father did. Probably was. And you turned out okay, my girl.” She fixes me with a hard stare, moisture swelling around her eyes. “How long are you staying?”
Truth is, I don’t know.
I feel safer than I have in months. Years, even.
I can just lie low and live the life I would’ve if I hadn’t left for college. Be one with my baby boy. As if college hadn’t happened. Give myself time to think through what I want to do with my life. Is medicine the answer? Am I doing that to please Duke, just to get him off my case? Do I even need to get a degree?
Of course I do. The teachers at school always said to get a bachelor’s then a master’s. You’ll out-earn everyone. And I need to pay for this hungry critter now. I want the best for him. The happiest life, or the one with the least pain.
“Before I had Cole, I was just drifting. Going to college because my schoolteachers told me I was smart. Running away from here because… I don’t know. I never stopped to think if I was doing the right thing.”
“Stop being so hard on yourself, Kaitlyn. You’ll do great things in your life.”
“Mom, I’m a mess.”
“And that’s all my fault.” She sniffs. “I should’ve left your father a long time before he died.” She’s crying. “I just wanted a better life for you than I had. It’s been tough, but I worry you’re making the same mistakes as me. He needs a father.”
“Mom, there’s no way I’m going back to his jackass father.”
Then, a thunder of hailstones erupts, rattling off the veranda roof, then it’s turned to hard rain. Mom gets up to hide from the heavy rain under the eaves. “Come on, let’s get inside.”
I pick up Ky and carry him inside in my arms. He’s asleep again, but licking his lips. I nudge the door shut with my hip, then walk through the house.
Mom looks at me like I’m still at school and she’s caught me stealing or something. “How did you pay for the birth?”
I don’t answer, and just push past into the kitchen.
But Mom stops me, grabbing me by the arm. Her grip still hurts, even after all this time. “Duke delivered babies his whole career, my girl. Don’t you lie to me. It costs ten grand to get a C-section. Give or take.”
“The baby’s father paid for it.”
It’s not a lie, but it’s pretty untruthful.
Mom seems to accept that lie, and lets me go. “If I had ten minutes alone with that man and a baseball bat, I swear…”
There’s a knock on the front door.
My heart skips a beat.
Duke opens the door to his den, shrouded in the sound of The Boss.
I stand there, waiting and listening hard. This is what it’s going to be like, isn’t it? Every knock on the door is a threat.
Mom walks over to answer it. “Yes?”
A man’s voice, someone I sort of recognize.
Mom opens the door wider. “And who are you?”
Chase smiles at me, then back at Mom. “I’m the baby’s uncle.”
“His father’s your brother?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, I suggest you send your lousy brother here so I can whoop his ass.” She moves to slam the door.
But Chase steps in and catches the frame, blocking it. “I need to speak to Kaitlyn.”
“Son, you need to get outta here.” Mom laughs. “Son… Who am I kidding, you’re about the same age as me.”
“Please, I just need a few minutes with her.”
“How could someone do that to my girl? To any girl? Getting her pregnant and kicking her out?! You tell that son of a bitch to get his sorry ass—”
“Please.” Chase’s bracing himself for violence. “Just five minutes. This is super important.”
Mom stands her ground, fists resting on her hips. “She isn’t here.
“Look, I can see her.”
I walk over and caress her arm. “Mom, it’s okay.”
“This asshole can jump in the lake, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Beverley, how about you—” Duke broke into a coughing fit, sharp and nasty sounding.
Mom steps away from the door to help him.
I step away from them, rounding on Chase. “Chase, you need to leave.”
His jaw is set tight. “The FBI know you took Landon’s baby.”
The words hit me in the face, but I can’t focus on them. I hug Ky tight. “He’s my baby.”
“No, Kaitlyn. Ky is Landon’s and Jennifer’s son. The feds are probably on their way here.”
“The FBI?”
“They’ll send local cops too. It’s over, Kaitlyn.”
Fifty-One
LAYLA
10:16
Logging country, but no active logging going on. The rental sits there, clicking as the engine cools down, surrounded by pine trees, just a narrow lane leading back to civilization and the distant freeway.
Layla takes another deep lungful and lets it out slowly. The crisp morning air tastes fresh, smells even fresher.
Behind her, the old cabin and its woodshed are silent, save for some muffled screams coming from inside.
She hates herself for doing this, but she doesn’t ha
ve another choice here. Things are entirely out of her control now. Whatever she’s become, they made the decisions that led there, not her.
She picks up the ax and runs her finger down the blade. Knife-sharp. She opens the door again and enters.
Lewandowski lies on his stomach, hog-tied with bright-yellow twine binding his wrists and ankles together. It’s almost funny, but Layla can’t find too much humor in this world. Not anymore.
She scrapes the wooden chair across the rough concrete floor and brushes the seat, making paint flake off the decaying wood. Then she sits, trying to keep her breathing under control. She rests the ax on the floor, gripping the handle tight.
Lewandowski says something, but the gray towel is tight around his mouth.
“A couple of nights ago, I flew in to SeaTac from Istanbul in Turkey. You know where I’d been?”
It sounds like he shouts “Please!”
“I’d been to Syria. It’s been all over the news these past few years, so you must’ve heard what it’s like there now. Hard place to get to. I had to walk, had to pay some very nasty men to cross the border with Turkey. The same pilgrimage my husband did.”
Something clicks and he stops struggling. He looks at the ax and it’s like he realizes he’s not getting out of here alive.
“I followed his trail. The people I had to speak to… and that was just to find someone who knew my husband. But I’m a patient woman and I have some skills. I tracked down two of my husband’s cell members and gained their trust. They’d renounced their ways, were trying to live a normal life, even though the country’s still war-torn. One of these men, Syed, he was in the compound when they bombed it. He told me about my husband’s death. Syed lost an arm, but escaped with his life. He watched my husband die, burning to death in front of him.” She swallows down bile.
Despite everything, she still has some feelings after all.
The towel masks his breathing. He’s completely still, resigned to his fate. Then starts squealing again.
“Before I went there, I knew how they found my husband’s location. Some men tortured my son to get his location.”
His squealing gets louder and louder.
“I knew the identity of one of the men but, sadly, I can’t speak to him because he was killed last year. In Seattle, not too far from here. The man who killed him was sentenced yesterday.” She picks up the ax and rests it on her left leg. “It turns out there was another man present, though, someone else who tortured my son.”
He’s shouting something now.
“Mr. Lewandowski, I know you’re ex-CIA. And I know you were there. So don’t lie to me.” Layla reaches over to tear the towel from his mouth.
He’s calm, his training kicking in, letting his words do the work his fists can’t. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“In Syria, I found someone who had a recording of the interrogation. You tortured my son until he gave you my husband’s location.”
“You don’t know the full story.”
Layla hefts the ax. “Enlighten me.”
“Your husband became a poster boy for recruitment. You know he was on one of those beheading videos, right?”
“I know.” She smacks the ax into her palm. “This isn’t about him.”
“It is. Men in this country, in the UK, in Germany, they were all emboldened by your husband, encouraged to sacrifice their lives for the greater good.” He spits on the floor. “That pilgrimage you made from Turkey to Syria? Many hundreds also made that because of your husband’s words. Your husband was a huge draw.” He laughs. “A huge pain in the ass. But we killed him.”
Layla picks up the whetstone and sharpens the ax blade. Sparks shoot off into the space between them. “Why didn’t you announce it?”
“Way above my pay grade.” He just shrugs. “He wasn’t a big-enough scalp, maybe? He was effective, sure, but he was an American citizen. Maybe it—”
“Shut up!” Layla stands up and points the ax at him. “You tortured my son.”
“That’s not on me.”
“I’ve seen the video!”
“You don’t know what you’ve seen. It’s easy to fake stuff these days. Deep fakes or whatever it’s called. Artificial intelligence.”
Layla turns her back on him, fury firing through her veins.
Then a crack from behind and something pushes her against the wall, the rough wood scratching her cheek. Lewandowski presses the ax against her throat and pins her against the wall, his fetid breath crawling over her.
Fifty-Two
CHASE
10:20
“In here.” Kaitlyn took Chase into a room at the side—looked like a man’s den—and she slumped into a saggy couch opposite an old TV, resting her kid on her lap. “What are you talking about?”
Chase collapsed into the easy chair and inspected the huge stereo, ten components with two floor-to-ceiling speakers on either side. A stack of Springsteen LPs rested on the turntable lid. He still couldn’t put his words in the right order. All that time, all that driving, and it was still a jumble. “The FBI are probably on their way here, Kaitlyn. You need to go. Now.”
Kaitlyn wouldn’t look at Chase, kept staring at the baby.
“Look, I know how hard this has been for you, but it’s over. The feds will catch you, and they’ll put you away.” Chase reached out. “You need to give me Ky and get the hell out of here.”
“No!”
“He isn’t your child.”
“Don’t say that!” Kaitlyn shot to her feet and charged off through the house.
Chase wanted to move, wanted to chase after her, but everything felt like too much. He felt like he weighed ten tons and was at the bottom of the ocean. So tempting to just hide out here. Barely an hour from Seattle, but a whole world away. Somehow he hauled himself up to standing and walked back through the house.
You could tell a lot about a family by their kitchen. Warm and full of gorgeous cooking smells, but they clearly struggled for money. The kitchen units needed tearing out and replacing maybe twenty years ago. An old wood-paneled refrigerator, rattling and humming.
Kaitlyn sat in a chair, holding Ky like Chase would steal him out of her arms.
Her dad—or the guy her mom called Duke, anyway—sat at the head of the table, staring at the sleeping baby on his daughter’s lap. He was a sack of bones, and he kept coughing. Chase had no idea what his story was, but it was clearly going to be over soon enough.
Chase stayed by the door. Every second he was here, the FBI were closing in on the home. He wasn’t implicated in this—not directly anyway—but the best way to get implicated was to be still around when they showed up. And yet he couldn’t leave. “Kaitlyn, you need to get out of here. You need to—”
“I’m staying. I can’t bear to let him go again.”
“That’s not the smart move here.” Chase pulled up the opposite chair but didn’t sit down, instead rested against the wooden back. “Ky isn’t yours. Not legally. Not biologically.”
Her mom gave Chase a fierce scowl. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“He’s lying, Mom.”
Chase shook his head. “You need to tell her the truth.”
Kaitlyn’s cheeks were moist with tears, her forehead creased with worry and fear. Even she could tell it was over, that the walls were closing in around her. She reached for her Mom’s hand. “He’s not called Cole. He’s Ky Bartlett. He’s the kid on the news.”
“What?” Beverley let go of her hand. “Kaitlyn, you kidnapped a child!”
“He’s my son!”
“What are you talking about?”
“I gave birth to him!” She pulled up her top to reveal a brutal scar at the bottom of her abdomen, red and raw, the kind Chase had only really seen in one of their treatment centers. “I can’t bear to be apart from him…”
“She’s a surrogate mother.” Chase took the seat and locked eyes with her mother. “She bore my brother’s kid using his
wife’s egg. My brother, Landon, he paid all the bills, gave her a ton of money.”
Tears slicked Kaitlyn’s cheeks. “I didn’t know how hard it’d be to give him up.”
“Oh, Kaitlyn…” Her mom slumped back in her chair. “What have you done?”
“Right now, the FBI are on their way here.”
Duke wrapped a bony arm around his wife’s racking shoulders. Chase had clocked Duke’s knowing silence. This wasn’t news to him. “Beverley, we need to protect our girl. Okay?”
Mom twisted her face up. “How?”
“We say she’s been here all this time.” Duke fixed her with a hard look. “We all stick to the same story, say she’s been depressed since she gave up the baby, and we’ve been looking after her. Nobody’s seen her because she won’t go outside. Doc Robertson owes me a bunch of favors. He can fake a script, say she’s on Zoloft or something, real high dose. Been on it since she came back here.”
“You’re talking about lying to the FBI?” Chase got up and stepped forward. “This is bullshit. You need to return him, Kaitlyn.”
Kaitlyn wouldn’t even look at him. “I can’t.”
“You need to, Kaitlyn.” Chase crouched down next to her. “He isn’t yours. You don’t have a choice here. You’ve committed a federal crime.”
“She doesn’t have to do anything.” Duke shrugged. “Just disappear, Kittycat. I’ll take the heat for this. I’ll lie for you.”
“Duke!” Beverley looked even more torn. “You can’t!”
“I can and will. I don’t have much time left.” Duke pleaded with Kaitlyn, reaching his bony fingers across the table. “This isn’t—” He coughed, sounding like he’d ripped a lung in half. “We’ll cover you.”
“Kaitlyn!” Chase scraped his chair back to stand up. “You need to return Ky to his parents. Otherwise, you’ll be on the run the rest of your life. You can live your life like that, sure, but is a life on the run fair to him?”
