“Hands! Now!” Declan boomed at the man seated in the chair facing the door.
The large man sat in the dark and didn’t move.
Declan stepped closer, but in the dark, it was difficult to make out the silent man’s features.
“Don’t move!” Declan then spoke over his shoulder to Izzy and said, “Hit the lights.”
Izzy turned to flick the light switch.
The door slammed shut, and what little light provided from the outside moonlight disappeared. The room was cast into darkness.
“Shit!” Izzy yelled.
Declan spun, and Izzy’s head smacked him hard on the side of his, like two coconuts clacking together. The impact sent him staggering backward, and he tripped over the seated man’s leg, falling to the not-so-soft carpet.
Looking up from the floor, Declan registered that the seated man was dead or at least unconscious. His face was covered in blood. Declan scrambled back, scooting along the floor on his butt like a crab. He needed distance from whoever closed that door and tossed Izzy like a rag doll.
Izzy was on the ground and not moving. In the darkness, a large figure had already closed the gap. His frame could have been that of a bear. The speed of the large man was impressive. More so was the impact that his fist carried as it came crashing down on Declan’s eye. Dizzied by the blow, Declan fired his gun blindly at the mountain of a man that hunched over him. He only managed to get one round off before the weight of the large man spilled over him.
Declan couldn’t see out of his left eye, and his gun hand was now pinned to the floor by a knee. It might as well have been sealed in concrete as Declan struggled in vain to pull free. More punches rained down, but this time, they peppered his body as well. It was like being hit with a sledgehammer. Declan had been in plenty of hand-to-hand battles, but he’d never been so overwhelmed.
The man then pressed both of his large hands around Declan’s neck and squeezed. The flow of oxygen was cut off, and Declan writhed to fight his way out. The room was getting darker, and sounds began to fade. The bald man’s face got closer as he applied more pressure. His eyes were a scary calm. The bald man watched curiously as Declan felt his life slipping away. Sweat rolled down the madman’s face and onto his. Wheezing, he thrashed in agony. In that moment of utter desperation, he saw his girls. He pictured each one’s face as the world around him blurred.
The bald man’s eyes flashed in a combination of shock and anger as his head snapped forward. Izzy wrapped tightly around his neck like a boa constrictor. She clawed at his face. The bald man tried to ignore the interruption and was intent on finishing his work with Declan, but she was relentless.
He loosened his grip, launching upright. He stood with Izzy on his back. She looked like a child receiving a piggyback ride. If not for the dire circumstances, it would have been almost comical.
Declan forced himself into a fast, if not temporary, recovery and tried to take aim on the giant who stood above him. Izzy’s back now provided a shield, leaving him no clear shot. Declan aimed low and fired at the big man’s legs. With his vision still blurred from the damaging blows, Declan concentrated hard to aim his shots and the rounds found their mark.
The pain of the gunshots caused the man to spasm, flinging Izzy over the bed. She came crashing down onto an end table. He collapsed to his hands and knees, holding the fresh wounds to his calves. Even kneeling, the man was enormous. The bloodied behemoth spun toward Declan, a ravenous look filling his eyes.
What little ambient light existed in the room was washed away as the large man launched toward him. Declan aimed for center mass and squeezed the trigger. The muzzle flash in the darkness was blinding. Declan continued to send rounds at the target until the mountain toppled. The dead weight of the man slammed down on Declan.
Declan wheezed as he pushed hard, sliding out from under him. He climbed atop the man’s back that was now slick with the blood emptying from the exit wounds. He roughly grabbed the beast’s neck and searched for a pulse. Nothing.
Declan then crawled his way to Izzy, who was lying face down in a pile of broken wood and glass. He touched her arm, and she spun, swinging wildly. Declan caught her arm by the wrist.
“It’s me! He’s down,” Declan said reassuringly.
“Sorry,” Izzy said, cautiously. “You sure?”
“I hope so ‘cause I’m out of bullets,” Declan said, returning to his calm, almost cocky, demeanor.
The tension in her muscles went slack and the two slumped against the cheap box spring of the bed.
“The girl!” Izzy yelled. Panic filled her eyes.
“Bathroom!” Declan said, pushing himself up from the ground.
Izzy flicked on the lights. A macabre scene set before them. The large bodies of the two dead men occupied much of the small room. As much as Declan and Izzy wanted to rush into the bathroom, part of them was terrified at what they might find.
Declan opened the door to the bathroom and saw the dark blanket covering a small body in the bathtub. His heart sank. He’d always been able to distance himself from the horrors of the world, but in this moment, he failed to do so. He couldn’t shake the thought of his own daughters from his mind. The taste of bile filled his mouth and he leaned against the sink.
“Mouse! It’s us. The two from the bus station. Friends of Nick and Anaya,” Izzy said, hoping for some response.
Nothing.
Izzy closed the distance to the little girl. Collecting herself, she pulled back the shroud to reveal the delicate features of the small girl. She seemed even smaller now.
Declan stood watching from the doorway, a sickening sadness filling him.
“Mouse?” Izzy whispered.
Nothing.
Izzy bent low and gently pressed two fingers along the child’s exposed neckline.
Mouse’s eyelids fluttered. She opened them slowly as if waking from a terrible nightmare.
“Oh, thank God!” Izzy scooped the small teenager from the tub and brought her to the bed. Declan pulled a Gerber multi-tool from his waist and clipped the zip ties, freeing the girl’s hands.
Without warning, Mouse shot her arms out, wrapping them tightly around Izzy’s neck. She buried her head in Izzy’s shoulder and wept softly. Izzy held her for what seemed like an eternity.
The embrace was interrupted by the sound of police radios as members of the Arkansas State Police filled the room.
Chapter 51
After working things out with state police, the three departed for Austin. The drive back was uneventful. Izzy drove the entire way because Declan’s left eye was completely closed. Mouse slept soundly, only waking once. When the weary trio arrived, they were greeted by Nick, who was in the company of Kemper Jones and Anaya Patel.
Jones saw the exhaustion on Izzy’s face and offered her a quiet office in the back that had long ago been converted into a bedroom. It’d proven necessary too many times to count when a big case rolled in. Izzy didn’t protest his offer and followed him back.
Declan and Nick exchanged smiles as the two men took stock of each other’s injuries. Anaya squatted down and looked at Mouse. She put out her hand toward the teen. Mouse only hesitated for a moment before taking it.
“I’m going to talk with her for a moment and let you two boys catch up,” Anaya said, walking away hand in hand with Mouse.
“You look like you went a couple rounds with Mike Tyson,” Nick said with a chuckle.
“You should see the other guy,” Declan retorted.
Both men grabbed at their aching sides as they laughed. The last twenty-four hours had taken its toll on the two hardened men.
“I can’t thank you enough for what you and Izzy did for me, for Mouse,” Nick said. His tone was serious now.
“No thanks needed. I’m going to be on a little vacation when I get back to Connecticut, while the bureau waits for the all-clear from the Arkansas State Police on my shooting,” Declan said.
“That’s nothing you can’t handle.
You’ve been through worse,” Nick said.
Nick broke eye contact and looked down. He pursed his lips and let out a shallow breath that escaped between his clenched teeth, making a quiet hiss. Declan noticed Nick wanted to say something else but was holding back.
“What is it?” Declan asked, prodding Nick.
“Doesn’t matter. It’s in the past,” Nick said, still avoiding eye contact with his friend.
“No time like the present. Spit it out,” Declan said.
“It’s just something that’s been eating at me a bit,” Nick said, again stopping himself.
“There’s nothing you can’t say to me. Not now. Not ever,” Declan said.
“The money from the bank job. What happened to the money?” Nick asked sheepishly.
“You mean the buried treasure?” Declan smiled but continued before Nick could speak. “It bothered me too. Once I was cleared and the FBI gave me the opportunity with HRT, I didn’t want the money. But I couldn’t give it back either.”
“So what’d you do?” Nick asked, looking around to ensure that nosy ears weren’t listening.
“Val and I talked. We’d spent some of it to get back on our feet before the Khaled thing blew up. Literally. But we decided that I should try to do something good with the money left over.” Declan sighed and continued, “Even though the Jamal Anderson shooting was ruled as justified, I was devastated when I learned he’d been a pawn in Khaled’s twisted game. So, I decided to try to make it right as best I could. I found the mother of his infant child, and after doing a little bit of research into her life, I learned she was a waitress working double shifts to provide a good life for her son. I had an attorney draft up a non-disclosure benefactor contract, and a week later, Shakira Anderson received a $60,000 check.”
“Jesus. That’s a weight off my shoulders,” Nick said. He put a hand on his friend’s shoulder and leaned closer. “You did the right thing.”
“I hope so, but the weight of Jamal’s death isn’t going anywhere. It’s something I’ll carry with me to the grave,” Declan said seriously.
Jones walked up to the two men and saw they were engaged in a deep conversation.
“Not to interrupt, but I got the strangest update from the Homicide Unit of the Arkansas State Police,” Jones said, shaking his head in disbelief. “That big guy that y’all went toe-to-toe with had one of them damn microchips in his hip. Been in there awhile they said. Branded too.”
“Do you think he started off like Mouse?” Declan asked, unfamiliar with these types of investigations.
“Anything’s possible. Could’ve been taken and abused. Maybe they saw some potential use for him outside of the trade. The brainwashing by these organizations is legendary,” Nick responded, thoughtfully.
“Well, whatever humanity he’d been born with had been torn out of him. He died a monster,” Declan said, rubbing his damaged eye.
“True. I’ve arranged with the hospital to have the tracking device removed from Mouse’s hip. We don’t need any more surprise visitors showing up,” Jones said to the pair, changing the subject.
Everybody nodded in agreement.
Anaya returned with Mouse in tow. She had her arm draped loosely over the small teenager’s shoulder in a nonchalant half-hug. Standing there side by side, they could have been mother and daughter.
“She understands. No more running.” Anaya looked down at Mouse, who gave a weak smile. It was the first time any of them had seen her show this emotion, and it lifted the group’s tension slightly.
“Where were you going to run to?” Nick asked, looking down at Mouse.
“Pidgeon,” Mouse said quietly.
“Pidgeon?” Nick asked, thoroughly confused by the teen’s remark.
“Pidgeon, Michigan,” Mouse spoke confidently as if this would explain everything to the four adults standing around her.
“Why there? Family?” Nick asked.
“No.”
Mouse paused and looked down at her feet. She swayed from side to side with her hands clasped in front. Under the child’s tough exterior Nick saw she was still just a little girl. She looked up with a cheeky grin.
Feeling comfortable with her saviors, Mouse explained, “I wanted to get as far away from here as I could. I grabbed a map and pushed my finger up until I hit blue.”
“But I still don’t understand why you chose Pidgeon,” Nick said.
“It sounded like a fun place to start my new life,” Mouse said, broadening her smile.
“Makes sense to me,” Declan said. “I think we should find a way to get you there.”
“I’m already working on it,” Anaya said, smiling down at Mouse.
The group laughed, the four adults thoroughly impressed at the resilience of the little girl standing before them.
Chapter 52
“What do you mean they went dark?” Nick asked.
“I mean, as soon as you guys recovered the girl, they must have realized we figured out the tracking system. They shut it down, or more likely, just reconfigured it so we couldn’t follow the trackers anymore,” Jay said.
“Shit! I planned to hit as many of those locations as humanly possible. I mean, we could’ve shut down a major network. We could’ve saved a lot of kids,” Nick said sadly.
Nick slumped in the chair. The injection of pain that radiated from his recovering stab wound was a welcomed distraction to his worry. The phone was still pressed against his ear but Nick said nothing else, lost in his thoughts.
“I may have some good news for you. For starters, I sent the last data points to a group that handles this sort of thing. Non-governmental, but extremely effective. These guys operate outside the system. You might not ever hear the end result. But you can rest assured that they’ll be able to help some. The ones they didn’t relocate,” Jay said.
“Some but not all,” Nick interjected softly.
“You know you can’t save ‘em all.” Jay paused, allowing for his friend to absorb the truth of that statement. He continued, “The other good news came from the phone you took off that guy in the motel. He’d sent a message just before your friends raided the room. It was a picture of the dead guy in the chair and a message that read: Why have you forsaken me?”
“Please tell me you know who he sent it to!” Nick exclaimed.
“You won’t believe me when I do,” Jay said.
The crowd that surrounded the Safe Haven Children’s Center’s grand opening gala was larger than expected. It was filled with families supporting the launch of the new facility. A beacon of hope aimed at being an outreach to families in need. The project was funded in large part by the charitable donations from God’s Reach Ministries.
The podium was occupied by the well-dressed Pastor Jim Collins. He looked upon the crowd and smiled widely as cheers erupted from supporters and congregation members. He absorbed the adoration like a beachgoer soaking up the sun. Satisfied, he attempted a gesture of humility, waving his hand to subdue the hoots and hollers of his fans.
The roar subsided, and he began his speech.
“It is with a great pleasure that I am called before you today. It looks like the rain will hold off long enough to celebrate this momentous occasion. I’m humbled to be asked to introduce a great man, a man who is not only a close personal friend of mine, but a true believer in the betterment of our society, a man who stands against injustice and seeks to provide shelter to children in need. Senator Duke Murdock has worked tirelessly to bring together the pieces that have made today possible. Without him, I don’t think the Safe Have Children’s Center would be a reality.”
Collins allowed a pause, so the crowd could cheer and clap. He turned and gave a rehearsed nod to the senator, who was waiting eagerly for his turn in the spotlight.
Collins’ gaze returned to the onlookers. “My heart is light today. Lifted by the kindness of those who donated their time and money to this project. I look out into this crowd and see so many who will benefit from the services tha
t will be provided within these walls. So many of our young children are swallowed up by the streets, by people with evil in their hearts, tearing them from their families. I am committed to finding these lost souls and giving them refuge. I am committed to pushing back against the beast and providing safety. I will not rest until all children are safe!”
The crowd exploded in a contagious volley of cheers. This time, Collins allowed it to continue. He looked back again, smiling in the direction of the senator. The smile drained from the pastor’s face as he saw a group of men and women in clearly recognizable blue windbreakers. The jackets were adorned with distinctive bright yellow lettering. They read FBI.
The senator’s back was turned and he was already leaving the stage. Senator Murdock, encircled by his protective detail, disappeared into the heavily tinted black Suburban, never looking back to see the fate of the man on the podium.
For the first time in his adult life, he was at a total loss for words. Pastor Jim Collins swung his head wildly from the approaching agents to the hushed crowd as if debating on leaping from the stage. The cool-headedness of the charismatic evangelist was gone. What remained was a terrified shell of a man.
He fumbled with the words, trying to play it off as some type of misunderstanding. The microphone captured his desperation.
“What can I help you gentlemen with today? Can’t you see we’re in the middle of an important ceremony? It’s for the children!” Collins pleaded.
“Children are the last thing you’re here for,” Nick said, barely keeping his cool.
Nick walked slowly toward the religious figurehead. His hand rested on the butt of his service weapon. It was still holstered, but he was poised to react if the need arose.
“Put your hands behind your back.”
“I don’t understand,” Collins protested.
“Would you like me to explain the charges to the crowd?” Nick asked through gritted teeth.
The Lion's Mouth Page 18
