“Welcome back,” Nick joked.
“At least this guy keeps his doors shut when he runs the AC,” Jones said sarcastically.
“I’ve told him what we were looking for and he’s got a working camera system,” Nick said.
Jones rummaged his front pocket, pulling out the money to pay the clerk for the beverage.
“Anything?” Jones asked, dropping the loose change received from the purchase into the cheaply-made donation tub on the counter.
“I remember her. Not too busy on a Sunday morning. She didn’t say much. Just bought a couple things and left,” the clerk replied.
“You said she didn’t say much. Did she say anything?” Nick said, catching the subtle hint that the clerk may have had a conversation with the girl.
“I asked her if she had money to pay for the items. We get a lot of kids that come in and try to steal. She had a backpack on, so I kept a close eye. She pulled some cash out of her pack and said something like, ‘I have money.’”
“English?” Nick asked.
Jones was chugging down the cold soft drink but was intently listening.
“Yes,” the clerk responded.
He was Indian but with very little trace of his native accent. Possibly second generation.
“Did she say anything else?” Jones asked, placing the empty bottle in the recycle bin.
“She seemed nervous. Looking around a lot. When she was at the counter, I asked her if everything was all right. She nodded and told me that her mother was waiting for her in the car. Then she left.”
“Did you see anyone outside waiting? A car maybe?” Nick asked.
The clerk shook his head and frowned.
“Maybe the camera on the outside of the store picked something up?” Jones asked, optimistically.
“Not possible. It’s a fake. Well, not a fake. It just doesn’t work. Some animal chewed the wiring up a while back and I never got it fixed. More of a deterrent than anything else.” The clerk’s head dipped as he said this, embarrassed by the admission.
“But the internal one works, right?” Jones asked.
“Yes. Come with me to the back office and I can pull it up. It’s a pretty good system,” the clerk said, thumbing to the Lotto display behind him.
It took a second for Nick to see the small camera set among the rolls of colorful scratch tickets. An excellent angle to capture the face of any patron or robber.
It took only a few minutes before Nick and Jones were looking at the still frame image of the small girl. The clerk was right: The quality of the system was excellent and in color. A rarity in most investigations.
The girl did look scared. And why wouldn’t she? People were looking for her. Not just police and social workers.
Nick snapped a photo using his cell-phone as Jones handed the clerk his business card, requesting that he forward a digital copy of the footage to his email. The two walked out into the brightness of the day.
“We’ve got to find this girl before someone else does,” Jones said.
Nick nodded. The good thing was that she was alive as of an hour ago. Nick knew she was on borrowed time, especially if the same guys that found the girl in Hope Park located her.
Chapter 17
She had entered the car against her will. It had pulled up as she left the 7-11 and she knew immediately that resistance would be futile. The man in the driver’s seat had a pleasant demeanor when he rolled down the window, but she knew it was an act. He was a man of violence. The scars that crested his thick knuckles told the tale. Mouse had got in the car, not because of the gun, but because of the tone in his voice. He was quiet when he spoke. The heavily-tinted windows had blocked the view of any passerby to the pistol that had been pointed at her. She recalled how he cantered it slightly with the muzzle aimed directly at her chest, using the armrest to balance it. She’d known, without a doubt, that this man would shoot her dead right outside the store. She’d seen the finality in his eyes. His only words were “Get in.” Everything else had been implied.
“Where are you taking me?” Mouse had asked when she’d first entered the backseat. She assumed the man would not tell, but figured it was worth a shot.
His dark eyes glanced at her in the rear-view mirror. He said nothing, then dismissed the diminutive figure behind him, returning his gaze to the roadway in front. The driver pulled out, merging from the frontage road and onto the interstate. Mouse could feel the engine rumble with the acceleration.
With the dark-eyed man’s focus on the traffic, Mouse curled into a fetal position on the bench seat. She pulled the backpack from her shoulders and wrapped her arms tightly around it. The driver took notice of her movements but did not show concern, rolling his eyes slightly. His attention was almost immediately redirected when an eighteen-wheeler crossed into his lane without signaling. The man cursed under his breath in Spanish.
The engine roared loudly as the car accelerated again. This time the effort was most likely out of anger toward the operator of the truck. A little road rage surfaced in the calm demeanor of the driver seated in front of her. Anger always gave way to opportunity. Her father taught her that. Lessons that were initially were lost on her had proven their worth with time and experience.
This drive’s destination would leave her dead. Or worse. Mouse had used the backpack to conceal her right hand’s movements. She had loosened the old man’s belt buckle from around her slight waistline. Securing the buckle in her hand, she retracted her left hand into the concealed space shrouded by the pack and wrapped the loose end. She closed her eyes and took several controlled breaths, waiting for an opportunity.
The vehicle changed lanes again, this time closest to the white concrete of the Jersey barriers that divided the expanse of the I-35 corridor’s north and southbound lanes. The surge of the car told her that they were moving fast but she had no idea of the actual speed. Mouse knew her next move might be her last, but at least she’d be the one in control. Either way, it would be a win. Now or never.
Mouse launched up, and in one move, she threw the belt over the driver’s head. As soon as the leather loop crested his forehead, she yanked back with all of her might, hoping to choke this man in the same manner as she had done earlier to the fat man. Her small legs jammed into the back of the driver’s seat. Mouse arched back, straining the tendons of her locked arms. The car jerked violently to the right.
Her belt had not reached the driver’s throat, as she’d planned. Instead, she caught him across his eyes. The effect was equally catastrophic, rendering him blind while pulling his head to the side. The driver’s hands naturally followed the head’s movement and he turned the steering wheel hard to the right.
The sudden movement of the car threw Mouse in the opposite direction and into the door on the left side. The belt came loose and Mouse slid to the rear floorboards. Fearing the driver’s retaliation, she wedged herself down between the seats in an attempt to become as small a target as possible.
Without warning, the car veered to the left. The driver must have overcorrected. A deafening bang shook the car. Glass showered down on Mouse as she pressed her body tight against the seats.
Then silence. Nothing. No rumble of the road. No screeching tires. It was like she was floating.
The tranquility of this seemingly timeless moment was shattered by the twisting and grinding of metal and fiberglass. Mouse’s gut wrenched as the car rolled. She held tight, pressing herself into the formed floor liner. The turbulence ended as abruptly as it began. Mouse couldn’t move. She was pinned on her side. Panic filled her as the distinct odor of gasoline overwhelmed her nostrils. The driver? Where was he?
She couldn’t see anything but the bottom of the door frame that her face was uncomfortably pressed against. I’m alive. The thought only gave way to new concerns. She couldn’t hear the driver. She didn’t feel him move. There was a pressure on her right side from the driver’s seat. It was collapsed down on her, making it difficult to breathe. A sense of
claustrophobia crept in as she worked hard to create some space.
Mouse wiggled her right foot free. The release gave her hope. She snaked her body toward the tiny gap her foot had found. Like an inchworm, she worked herself to the other side of the car. She took a deep lungful of air after escaping from the tightness of her pinned position.
Getting her bearings, she assessed the situation. She realized why the driver wasn’t moving or making noise. His neck was twisted, and he was partially crammed between the steering wheel and the door. A horrible sight. Mouse scanned for her exit.
Voices filled the air. Shrill panic-stricken motorists surrounded the damaged vehicle. She needed to get out. A strong hand grabbed mouse by her shoulders and pulled. Mouse managed to snag the strap of her backpack as she was hoisted out of the window.
The man who pulled her out stared at her in disbelief, as if seeing a ghost.
“My God! Are you okay? We already called the police,” the man said loudly, yelling over the noise.
He wore a brightly-colored Hawaiian shirt that stood out against the mangled remnants of what had been Mouse’s prison only moments before.
“Let’s get you away from here.”
“Wait!” Mouse yelled.
She dove back in through the opened window of the front passenger area. The man in the Hawaiian shirt and other do-gooders gave a simultaneous gasp of shock. Mouse popped back out a moment later, stuffing something into her backpack.
“I’m sorry about your father,” the man said, probably assuming that Mouse had jumped back in to help him.
“Yeah,” Mouse said, quietly.
No need to draw suspicion. Look sad and walk away.
“Follow me. The ambulance will be here soon,” the man said.
Mouse trailed behind the red and yellow flowers that ordained the silky material of the shirt. He led her across the roadway that was now stopped in all directions.
“Take a seat here on the grass and I’ll be right back with a bottle of water,” the man said, patting her on the head.
Mouse watched as the man hustled back to what she assumed was his station wagon. He reappeared with two bottles of water in hand. She took caught one last glimpse of the man in the Hawaiian shirt as he turned with the condensation pooling rapidly around the plastic containers. She looked over her shoulder as she vanished into the heat of the day.
Chapter 18
“How’d he sound?” Val asked. Her need to psychoanalyze was always evident in situations like this.
“I don’t know. Different. He didn’t ask for my help, but it sounded like he wanted to,” Declan said.
“He’s family to us now, Deck. We do anything for family,” Val said. She had a serious look in her mesmerizing eyes.
“I know that. And I guess that’s why I’m so torn. Not sure what’s the best move,” Declan said.
“I think I know who might be able to help with this decision,” Val said, raising her eyebrow as she smiled coyly.
The reference to Nick’s former partner, Izzy Martinez, was not lost on Declan. A missed opportunity for a relationship that Nick had passed on when he had returned to Texas. It was a topic of conversation in the Enright house for several months after his departure.
“Maybe you’re right. But I don’t think he’s been including her in his life as of late,” Declan asserted.
“What makes you say that?” Val inquired.
“I ran into Izzy at a training session last month. She’s moonlighting as a negotiator with the Bureau’s SWAT and HRT groups.”
Declan’s unit cross-trained regularly with their Crisis Negotiation Teams (CNT) so that communications and tactics were in sync.
“I asked her if she’d heard anything from Nick. Her face told the story. She seemed sad. Didn’t really say much but hinted that it’s been a while,” Declan added.
“Maybe so, but I’m sure he’d welcome a call from her. Call it a woman’s intuition.” Val loved talking relationships with Declan. She could sense his discomfort with the topic and thus made every effort to torment the man she loved. “I could call her for you if you’d prefer.”
“No. This is something I should do. I want to hear her take on my impression of Nick’s last call. It’ll hopefully put my mind at ease,” Declan said, softly.
Just then, Laney appeared in the kitchen. She stood silently and slowly swiveled her head from Mom and then over to her dad. Her small hand reached cautiously outward and gently intertwined with Declan’s pinky. With the delicate fingers of his four-year-old wrapped around his own finger, Declan automatically began to softly caress the outside of her hand with his thumb. This was a routine connection that his daughter had created a few weeks ago after celebrating her fourth birthday. Declan felt that it was as calming for him as it was for her. Laney still only spoke on the rarest of occasions, but Val and Declan celebrated any form of communication from their daughter. They’d both developed adjusted parenting strategies since she was diagnosed with Autism.
“I’d hate to take off for Texas and leave you all alone with our wrecking crew. Especially if I don’t know what I’m getting myself into,” Declan said.
Val was strong but the demands of their three young daughters were exhausting. It was exacerbated with the constant challenge of Laney’s sudden meltdowns. Those moments were tough even when both parents were present.
Declan was a devoted father and never put work in front of family when possible. They’d adjusted to his sporadic schedule as a member of the FBI’s elite Hostage Rescue Team. His heroics in thwarting a devastating terrorist plot during the previous year had landed him some flexibility that others in his position didn’t have. It also didn’t hurt that he’d been decorated by the President himself.
She answered on the second ring.
“Hey, stranger! And to what do I owe this honor?” Izzy asked. Her voice was a mixture of excitement and guarded inquisitiveness.
“I know. It was good seeing you at training. I wanted to touch base with you on a strange call I received,” Declan said, cutting out the small talk.
“Call?” Izzy asked. “Him?”
“Yup,” Declan answered. She was quick on the uptake.
“Tell me what’s got you worried,” Izzy said.
“That’s the thing. It was what he didn’t say. I called him to give the update about the J’s pizza takedown. He was evasive. Sounded like he wanted to tell me something or ask for my help. But he didn’t.” Declan heard the out-of-character discord. He attempted to clarify and continued, “It was something in his voice.”
“I know you well enough to trust that gut instinct of yours. If you sensed that something was off, then I’m guessing you’re right to be concerned.” Izzy’s voice trailed off.
“Maybe we’d get more if you reached out to him,” Declan said, with some hesitancy.
A sigh and then a long pause before Izzy responded, “Maybe. I’m not sure. But if Nick is in some sort of trouble, then it’s worth a shot.”
“Thanks, Izzy. You’re the best.”
“I wish he felt that way,” Izzy said, softly. Then she hung up.
Izzy stared down at Nick’s number, hovering above the call button. The hesitation frustrated her, but she knew why. It had taken a long time to bury the hope that Nick would call for her. That he would find a way to open himself up to her. And now she would look weak. But Declan’s request trumped her personal misgivings.
Chapter 19
“This interruption better be worth it,” the man in the expensive suit hissed into the phone.
He was a man of control. A man who was not a slave to the whims of others. The text message was urgent. So, he’d made that call.
“Simon had an early retirement. The delivery was lost,” the man on the other end said.
His voice was clear, and the message was delivered with a simple guise in the event that his boss was in earshot of someone outside of their circle.
“This is unacceptable. Notify Cain. I expect that
this situation will be resolved by the end of my luncheon.”
The man in the expensive suit relayed this with an eerie calm. The mention of Cain would express the seriousness of the situation. He hung up without waiting for a response. He returned to the ornate room and to the company seated around the secluded table.
“Senator Murdock, my apologies for the disruption. You know better than most the challenges of running a business.”
“James, no need. Your work and charities are integral to our state. It gave me a chance to pitch your idea to Jerry,” Murdock said. His thick mustache carried a remnant of the cheesecake he’d just forked into his fleshy cheeks.
“Pastor Collins, I think you will be the perfect person to endorse his border reform campaign. Your work with illegal immigrants has been amazing and will help humanize us to those opposing our cause,” Jerry said. “I mean, this is Texas and we’re trying to stop the wall from going up. Nothing like swimming upstream.”
“Please, just call me James. No titles necessary here. Just some friends trying to figure out how to help some people in need,” Collins said, smiling broadly and exposing his perfect teeth.
Collins adjusted the silver cufflinks embossed with the symbol of the Saint Benedict Cross. His open collar gave him a casual air, but there was nothing casual about the man.
“How long has the package been out for delivery?” Cain asked.
He carried no detectable accent. His past had long since been erased. He was known only by the name given to him on the first day he came to work for the Pastor. Collins was the only living person that knew his real name, and it had been so long since he’d heard it uttered that he never reacted to it. His life changed when he met the religious man. His naming carried a reference to his beginnings, like that of his biblical namesake.
“Two hours.” The man on the other end said, knowing why this was asked.
“Intact?” Cain asked.
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