Affliction

by Marilee Brothers

  “So, wise guy, tell me this. If she wanted a baby so bad, why does she have C-4 packed in the diaper bag and a detonator in her hand? She says she’ll set it off and blow herself and the kid to kingdom come if we don’t give her what she wants.”

  Shock waves rocket through my body. I clap a hand over my mouth to keep from crying out.

  Rockwell says, “Honest to God, I didn’t know she had that stuff in the house.”

  The guy in charge says, “What a goddamn, fucking mess.” He points at the guy who screwed up. “Get Mick over here. I’ll work on setting up communication with the Rockwell woman.”

  The guy steps away from the group, speaks into a slim hand-held device, then turns and gives his boss the thumbs up sign. Since we’re in a holding pattern until Mick arrives, I scurry back to where Paco and Aida are standing behind a tree. If they think they’re hidden, they are sadly mistaken. Both of their bellies are clearly visible.

  Paco says, “What’s going on?”

  “I need your cell phone.”

  He hands it over. I punch in a number. After five rings, I hear a sleepy, “’Alo.”

  “Steve, it’s Mel. I need your help.”

  “Where are you?”

  I give him the address. He promises to be there soon.

  Now, all I have to do is convince Mick that my father and I can confront Nina Rockwell, figure out if she’s lying and rescue Destiny without getting all four of us blown to smithereens.

  Yes, I have a plan.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  The sun arrives along with a bevy of law enforcement vehicles and a handful of early-rising, nosy neighbors. A man wearing a jacket with the initials D.H.S. jumps out of his rig, strides to the pine tree and barks, “You three, out.”

  He herds us to the small band of rubbernecking spectators. We watch while yellow crime scene tape is strung across the perimeter. Ethan Rockwell, arms handcuffed behind his back, is marched to the black Suburban and locked inside.

  Someone asks, “What’s D.H.S.?”

  Paco grunts, “Department of Homeland Security.”

  His words are followed by gasps of alarm and multitude of questions.

  “Why is Homeland Security at the Rockwells?”

  “Are we in danger?”

  “Why were you hiding behind the tree?”

  “I played golf with Ethan yesterday. Why are they arresting him?”

  We claim ignorance and move away so we can speak freely. By now, Aida is sobbing and clinging to Paco’s hairy, muscular arm with both hands. But, her remarks are addressed to me. “Mel, baby is in danger. You must get her out of house. Missus doesn’t care about her.”

  I nod and watch as Myron’s Impala screeches to a stop next to the perimeter. The mere sight of the Impala evokes memories of my terror while locked inside its vile, stinky, trunk. My pulse kicks up a notch and I hold my breath. Somehow, my unreasoning lizard brain expects to see Myron pop out of the car, cursing and waving his hunting knife.

  When Mick appears, I resume breathing. He’s totally focused on the Rockwell house and pays no attention to the gathered crowd. He slams the car door and ducks under the yellow tape.

  I rush toward him, calling, “Mick.”

  “Not now,” he snarls and then does the classic double take. The first glance is quick and dismissive. The second one is longer and stops him dead in his tracks. He ducks back under the tape, staring down at me like he’s seeing a ghost.

  I smile up at him. “Surprise.”

  “No way,” he growls.

  “Yep, it’s me. We need to talk. I can help. With the hostage thing, I mean.”

  He flaps a dismissive hand and turns away. “Forget about it. You’re a civilian.”

  “Wait.”

  He pauses, but won’t look at me.

  I choose my next words carefully, knowing if I fail, I’ll lose my only ally. My only hope. My voice is shaky with emotion when I speak. “Why do you think I busted my butt to get out of your apartment? It’s not because I was in danger. It’s because I know something that will save that innocent baby girl inside the Rockwell house. I don’t give a shit about Nina Rockwell, but I made a promise to the baby’s mother and I intend to keep it. Just try to stop me.”

  My last statement leaps from my mouth, surprising me as much as it does Mick.

  Hands on hips, he turns to face me again. I see the ghost of a smile tug at his lips. “Oh, I think I can stop you.”

  I step closer, jut out my chin and mimic his pose by placing the hand of my uninjured arm on my hip. “Stop being an ass and listen.”

  He sighs and lifts his hands, palms up, in defeat. “You have sixty seconds to tell me what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “Remember when I said I can read your soul?”

  He rolls his eyes.

  “Tell me this. Can your hostage negotiator tell if Nina Rockwell is lying about having C-4 in the diaper bag? Can he or she tell for sure?”

  His gaze flicks away from mine and back. “They look for little tics that give the lie away. They’re pretty good at what they do.”

  “But, can they be one-hundred percent certain?”

  He makes a disgusted sound. “Nobody can.”

  “I can. My father too, and he’s on his way.”

  He shakes his head and glances toward the action on the Rockwell’s front lawn. “Do you know how crazy this sounds?”

  Desperate, I pluck at his sleeve. “I know it sounds crazy, but my father and I are soul readers. He taught me how to tell if someone’s lying. Here’s what you need to do. Tell Nina Rockwell my dad is the hostage negotiator you’re sending in, along with someone to help with the baby. That would be me. Tell us what questions to ask.”

  Unconvinced, he remains silent.

  “I’ve looked into Nina’s soul. I know she’s too damn self-centered to kill herself. I know she’s faking. I bet she’s got a big old chunk of Silly Putty in that diaper bag. But, we need to make sure. And, I guarantee you, we’ll know for sure. One hundred percent sure. All you have to do is try to suspend reality as you know it.”

  He stares deeply into my eyes. Once again, I’m amazed at the beauty of his soul. Finally, he says, “Wait here,” and ducks under the tape.

  He trots to the cluster of agents who gather around him, awaiting instructions. He begins talking and I can only imagine the expressions of disbelief registering on their faces. Mick points toward me. Should I smile and wave? Maybe not.

  One of the agents throws up his hands and turns away, his body language indicating he thinks Mick has lost his mind. Several of them shift their weight, obviously uncomfortable.

  Paco and Aida join me. Paco says, “What’s happening?’

  Have I mentioned Paco knows nothing about my soul-reading ability? Neither does he know Steve is my father.

  I place a hand on his arm. “Uncle Paco. There are things you don’t know about me. There’s something I have to do here. Please trust me. I promise I’ll tell you the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth after this is over.”

  Paco gives me a smirk and rotates his index finger next to his temple, the universal sign for cuckoo. “You think I don’t know about that thing you can do? The mind-reading woo-woo thing?”

  My mouth drops open. All I can do is stare at him.

  “Oh, yeah,” he says. “Your mother told me years ago.”

  When I find my voice, I say, “Um, well, that’s good. But, there’s something else. It’s about Steve. He’s…”

  “Your father. I get it. Hey, I’m no rocket scientist, but it’s totally obvious you two were picked from the same tree.”

  I shake my head in disbelief. “And yet, you didn’t beat the crap out of him.”

  He shrugs. “Not my place.”

  Mick is still talking. His stance is now aggressive, one foot forward, his index finger stabbing the air as he makes his case.

  Steve arrives and joins us. Paco nods a greeting, takes Aida’s hand and backs away
to give us privacy.

  Steve looks me over and frowns. “I knew you were in danger and now, you are injured. What can I do to help?”

  I fill him in quickly, ending with, “I kind of volunteered you for the job. If you don’t want to, it’s okay.”

  “Of course I will help you, Melanie. If the officers will allow me to do so.”

  Mick peels away from the group and trots back to the taped-off perimeter. He checks Steve out. “You the father?”

  Steve nods.

  Mick lifts the tape. “Come with me.”

  Steve ducks under. I follow.

  Mick glances over his shoulder. “Not you.”

  “We’re a team,” I protest. “It’s both of us or neither of us. Right, Steve?” I nod vigorously to encourage him.

  Steve’s face is a mask of indecision. He leans close and whispers, “You are injured, mi hija. Maybe I should do this on my own.”

  “No. I have to do this.”

  He turns to face Mick. “She is correct. We’re a team.”

  I cross my fingers, hoping we haven’t screwed ourselves over. Mick is not happy. He glares down at me. A muscle twitches in his jaw.

  “One condition,” he says through gritted teeth. “Steve will be acting as the official hostage negotiator. He will enter the nursery where Nina Rockwell is holed up. He will do all the talking.”

  He pauses and lowers his face until it’s a scant few inches from mine. “You will be in the hall out of sight, until your father indicates it is safe for you to enter and retrieve the child. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” I make sure my face is expressionless, but inside, I’m gloating.

  He leads us to the group assembled on the lawn. A female agent hands an official Department of Homeland Security jacket to Steve along with a badge.

  Mick points at the guy who flushed us from behind the tree, “Dave will brief you. I’ll let Ms. Rockwell know you’re coming in.”

  Dave rakes both of us with a flat, appraising gaze. “So you two are the genius mind-readers here to save the day, huh?”

  I bristle up and draw a deep, preparatory breath. Steve puts a steadying hand on my arm and speaks calmly. “You may call us whatever you like, sir. My daughter and I are here to help. I trust your job is to help us do just that.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” Dave mutters.

  Mick, his ear pressed to a cell phone, pivots and gives Dave his death stare, resulting in an instant attitude adjustment.

  “Okay, folks,” Dave says, clapping a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Let’s get you prepped.”

  Five minutes later, Steve and I walk through the Rockwell’s front door. Instantly, a chill raises goose bumps on my flesh and I shiver. To me, the Rockwell house is steeped in the worst kind of evil. I can’t wait to get Destiny out.

  I point at the staircase and whisper, “The nursery is upstairs.”

  As we climb the stairs, Steve follows the directions given to us at the briefing. He calls, “Mrs. Rockwell? My name is Steve. I’m here to work out the details for your safe release. May I come into the nursery so we can talk face to face?”

  We pause at the landing and wait for a response. I can hear Destiny whimpering and, oh my God, how I long to run to her. I take a step toward the nursery. Steve shakes his head and puts a finger to his lips.

  A minute ticks by before she answers. “Yeah, okay. Just so you know, the detonator is in my hand. If you charge in here with weapons, I’m pressing the button.”

  Her voice is cold, matter of fact. As if killing herself and her child is of no consequence—probably because she has no intention of harming herself. Destiny is just an insurance policy.

  Steve says, “I promise you I am unarmed. May I enter?”

  In the same monotone, she replies, “Yes.”

  We creep down the hall. I press back against the wall as Steve steps into the nursery. His voice is soft. Soothing. “Hello, Nina. My supervisor is conferring with a judge. In a matter of minutes, he will have notarized documents granting you immunity in exchange for your help in identifying the perpetrators.”

  Damn, I think. He’s really good at this.

  During the silence that follows Steve’s statement, I hear a soft footfall on the stairs. Still pressed against the wall, I turn my head slowly and see Mick on the landing. He places a finger against his lips. I roll my eyes as he approaches. Why am I surprised? I should have known it’s physically impossible for him to stay away from the action.

  We listen as Nina says, “Full immunity. Right? No charges against me. I’ll give you names, bank accounts, whatever you need if you let me walk.”

  “Fine, fine,” Steve murmurs. “Just a few questions. Naturally, we need information about the explosive in the diaper bag. I believe you mentioned C-4. Is that right?”

  I so want to peek into the room as Steve gazes into Nina’s evil soul. In fact, I push away from the wall. Mick grabs the back of my shirt and pulls me back.

  “Yes,” Nina replies. “It’s C-4. Enough to blow the house up, not to mention, you, me and the baby.”

  “So,” Steve continues. “You’re not afraid to die.”

  “No.”

  “What about your daughter?”

  There’s a slight hesitation before she says, “We haven’t really bonded yet. It will be fast. She won’t suffer.”

  Steve continues probing, using the questions suggested in the briefing. I edge closer to the door, Mick close on my heels.

  Finally, after a long pause, Steve says, “Do you mind if I pick up the child? She seems unhappy.”

  This is the identifying phrase Steve and I agreed upon when we entered the house. The phrase that says, I know she’s lying. I whirl away from Mick and charge into the nursery. Steve stands next to the crib. Nina Rockwell is seated in the nursery rocking chair, the fake detonator in her hand. When she sees me, her eyes spark with fury.

  “You. You’re supposed to be dead.”

  “Yet, here I am, you lying bitch.”

  Her thumb hovers over the detonator.

  I have to make sure. “Tell us again how you’re going to blow us up.”

  Howling in rage, she wings the detonator at my head and springs from the chair. Granted, I’m not in tiptop shape, but my BJJ training kicks in. She charges at me, arms outstretched. Despite the pain in my arm, I sidestep quickly and use a strong leg sweep to knock her to the floor.

  She’s growling like a feral cat when Mick plants a booted foot in the middle of her back. He grins at me. “Good job.”

  I nod my thanks and use my good arm to lift Destiny from her crib. I cradle her next to my body and rock her back and forth until her pitiful cries cease. Steve wraps his arms around the both of us and pats my back like I’m the infant, not Destiny. At some level, I’m aware Nina Rockwell is taken into custody and led away.

  I feel the sobs building in my chest, but hold it together until we leave the house. I will not have a meltdown in front of Mick and his steely-eyed agents. I tell Steve I need a moment alone and head for a wrought-iron bench next to a dogwood tree in full bloom. I sit; hold the baby close to my body and allow my tears to flow unchecked, a seemingly endless stream.

  Destiny seems to understand, but doesn’t join in. Instead, she grips my shirt with both chubby fists and lifts her blue-eyed gaze to mine. I feel Dani’s gentle presence as the blossoms of the dogwood tree stir and flutter in the early morning breeze. A pale pink petal drifts down and kisses the top of Destiny’s blond head.

  It’s then I remember a poem about the dogwood tree, recited by my stepfather, Abel, in the Godmobile. Slender and twisted it will always be. With cross-shaped blossoms for all to see. The petals shall have bloodstains marked with brown. And, in the center, a thorny crown.

  I take a hitching breath and turn my tear-stained face to the brightening sky. “We did it, Dani. Destiny is safe. Thank God, she’s safe. Rest in peace, my friend.”

  I dry my tears, stand and walk toward to the front of the Rockwell pr
operty. Paco, Aida, Steve—and Billy. Waiting for me.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  It’s party time at Nick’s. Two days have passed since headlines in the local paper screamed, Human Trafficking/Baby Selling Scheme in 3 Peaks. The Rockwells are behind bars. Ditto Jason Breen, Myron, and the judge. Fortunately, Rusty saved local taxpayers a butt load of money. When Mick and crew stormed into his house, he pulled out his department issued Glock and splattered his brains all over the wall.

  A trip to the local emergency room revealed I have a broken olecranon—that’s the official name for the pointy end of the elbow. My right arm is now immobilized in a hospital-provided splint and sling. The sling is remarkably similar to the one Mick fashioned from a dishtowel purchased at the super market.

  Since it’s a private party, Nick’s is closed to the public. Still, the place is crowded with family, friends and well wishers. A huge banner hangs over the bar. It says: MESS WITH MEL AND SHE’LL KICK YOUR ASS!

  I’m seated in a booth with Sandra and Abel. Sandra in 3 Peaks? Of course she is. Where else would she be when her daughter has a broken olecranon? Not to mention said daughter was assaulted by a miscreant who does not deserve to draw another breath. Fortunately for Myron, he is safely behind bars.

  Sandra is wide-eyed as she gazes around the room. “You’ve made this many friends since you arrived in 3 Peaks? Who are all these people?”

  I’m equally surprised to see the size of the crowd. Mick and his Homeland Security pals are whooping it up in the Corral alongside some of Paco’s crew who recently returned to the area. An uneasy alliance has developed between the two factions.

  Helen is busting her buns delivering drinks and food. Thanks to Nick, everything is on the house. Since I’m officially the guest of honor and one-armed, I’m not allowed to help. Connie, Queen of the Motel Maids, has been pressed into service. After her lustful glances at Paco are deflected, she zeros in on Steve who is seated at the bar, chatting with Billy. Should I tell her not to waste her time? Maybe not. Who am I to dash her hopes?