Covering Ollie (Police and Fire: Operation Alpha) (On Call Book 2)

by Freya Barker

  My house is by no means small, but it’s getting pretty crowded nonetheless, so I guide the guys out onto the deck. Ma serves coffee while Pops takes charge of the boys, finding a movie for them to watch. No chance those kids will go to bed, despite the late hour, but I’m hoping they’ll fall asleep on the couch.

  Ollie comes out, closing the door behind her, walks straight to me, and presses herself against my side. She just nods at the other men.

  “Right, I have something for you all to look at.” Damian puts two sketches side by side on the table. “The waitress just saw the guy from the back, but caught a hint of his profile.”

  The sketch of the woman is from the front. A neatly coiffed hairdo, a pair of winged glasses, and even though the sketch only goes to just below the shoulders, there’s a distinct slump there.

  Ollie leans down for closer inspection. “It’s weird,” she shares. “I know it’s just a sketch, and from a distance it looks like an old woman, yet up close she looks younger. I mean, not young, but…here,” she points at the neck. “There’s no woman over seventy with a neck like that.”

  “Plastic surgery,” Cruz suggests.

  “Right, but why waste money on plastic surgery to look younger and yet do your hair and wear glasses that make you look like someone’s grandma?”

  I try to visualize the woman without the glasses and the hairdo and suddenly the image seems vaguely familiar. Then I look at the drawing of the man and try to put the two together.

  “Montenegro,” I hear Cruz say and whip my head around to find him with his phone pressed to his ear. Ollie freezes against my side.

  “What kind of deal?” His jaw is clenched and his eyes find mine. “I know you know the girl is your granddaughter. And I further know she wasn’t even on the map until you put her there.” He bends his head, hand in his neck, as he listens. “You know I can’t fucking make promises like that,” he grinds out. “I have to talk to the family, but let me remind you, you’re bargaining with your own flesh and blood. Anything happens to that girl while you’re yanking our chain, and fair warning, cancer will be the least of your goddamn worries. Call me in ten.” He stabs at the screen and shoves his phone in his pocket.

  “He has her?” Ollie asks the question on all our lips.

  “No, but he may have a bead on who does.”

  “What does he want?”

  Cruz turns to Damian before his eyes come back to Ollie, and he takes a deep breath before speaking. “A chance to sit down with his granddaughter before he dies.”

  “Absolutely fucking not!” I bark, loud enough for everyone inside to hear. Worried glances on every face in my living room.

  Ollie worms herself out of my hold and turns to face me. “Joe,” she says softly.

  “No way I want Trinny within a hundred feet of that animal,” I growl, the thought alone has the blood freeze in my veins.

  “Honey,” she tries again, pressing a hand against my chest, right over my heart. “I’ll do anything to get my girl back—even make a pact with the devil himself.”

  “What if—”

  “She’ll be covered,” Cruz assures me.

  “She’ll have to carry that burden the rest of her life,” I point out.

  “We’ll have to make sure she understands it’s not hers to carry,” Ollie counters. “She’s not alone.” She turns and points inside where the boys have returned focus back on their movie, but the adults are still watching closely. “She has a room full of family, and a small army of cops and FBI agents who have her back.” She steps closer, curls her hands around my neck, and pulls me down. “We’ll be here to take care of her. We have no choice.”

  It goes against my every fiber to negotiate with a man who callously toys with the life of a young girl, let alone his own offspring, but Ollie’s right. Time is ticking and we have nothing to put our teeth into—we have no choice.

  I rest my forehead to hers, pull her tight against me, and whisper, “Okay.”

  “It’s him,” Cruz says, looking at the screen of his phone. “We’ll set up a meet,” he says without greeting. “After we retrieve the girl unharmed.” He listens for a moment. “Fuck you for playing with lives, Montenegro. Fine. Now give me a name.”

  “What lives?” Again it’s Ollie who’s first to jump on Cruz the moment he tucks away his phone.

  “He says he has a guy on Adam Szura. Calls it security. Says he’ll give orders to let him go as soon as he sees his granddaughter. Fuck!”

  “Who is Adam Szura?” Keith asks.

  “The FBI agent who helped me disappear,” Ollie shares, a tear running down her face.

  “Name?” I prompt.

  “Montenegro’s deceased wife’s sister, Katerina Pianalto, says Ollie will know her as Katherine Carey.”

  Chapter 31

  Ollie

  Waiting is a whole new brand of agony.

  It’s one in the morning and both boys are curled up asleep on the couch, as is Sal who is fading in and out. Rita went up to lie down in Ryder’s room for a bit, only after promising to wake her as soon as we hear anything. The only two as wide-awake as I am, are Keith, who still holds his vigilance at the front window, and Grace. She adamantly refused to take a rest, claiming she’ll catch up on sleep when she’s dead.

  We’ve been blindly staring at the TV, playing reruns of Live PD, Grace’s favorite show, but neither of us are really following. It functions as background noise to fill the silence.

  “Joe should sign up for this show,” Grace comments. “Our local law enforcement gives good eye candy.” I look up when Keith stifles a chuckle, and even manage a smile when I catch his eye. Grace doesn’t seem to hear and forges on in her fantasy. “Betcha Joe can give that guy they call Sticks a run for his money, but he’ll need a cool nickname like that. Maybe a few tattoos.”

  “Not sure Joe is a tattoo man, Gracie. Or even a nickname guy. I’m positive, though, he’d rather stab himself in the eye with a rusty nail, than parade himself on camera.”

  “Spoilsport,” she mutters, folding her arms over her ample chest and focusing on the screen.

  I run my fingers through Mason’s hair, who zonked out with his head on my thigh. Both boys have been stuck to me like glue since their father left with the rest of the men about two hours ago. Heading to the FBI office to regroup and strategize. Tony Ramirez had shown up to relieve Keith, just as they were about to leave. I overheard them arguing about who would stay and who would go with the guys. Tony pointed out Keith having a wife and a young son—unlike himself—suggested he shouldn’t take unnecessary risks. Guess that argument won, because minutes later it was Tony who followed the other guys out, and Keith was still here. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Tony’s point, though, and that just adds to my anxiety.

  Two hours is a long fucking time to wait for a phone call. Especially if you’re hoping to find out your daughter has been found unscathed, and your man walked away in one piece. Two hours filled with disbelief that the woman I’d just spent months upon months working with would do something like this.

  Money or power are the prime motivators, Cruz claimed. He further explained that, according to Montenegro, Katherine contacted him a while ago, apparently after seeing Trinny and me at the Christmas tree lighting the end of November. Told him she found her sister’s doppelgänger right in town. Sent him a picture. Of Trinny. Montenegro had taken one look at Trinny, recognized me in the background, and had done his calculations.

  It had been Katherine’s idea to bring Trinny back into the family fold through Josh, who was instructed to woo me. Clearly I was not to be wooed. I’m not clear on what ultimately motivated her to snatch Trinny, but I have no doubt she did. The old man insisted he had no part in that.

  I’m giving myself a headache.

  I’m about to untangle myself from the boys to grab some water and a few ibuprofen, when Keith’s phone rings softly. His eyes go to the screen before coming to me.

  “It’s them.”
/>
  Joe

  “Three properties in her name, one in her son’s.” Jasper pins printouts up on the board.

  There’s a condo in Josh’s name, Katherine’s main residence, and two smaller houses not too far from the college, that look like investment properties—probably rentals.

  “All right, folks, let’s divvy these up and go check them out,” Livingston says, taking charge. “Surveillance only. You spot something; you call it in and wait for backup. No one goes in alone. I repeat—no one goes in alone.” He’s looking at me as he says that.

  I’m the first to step forward and snatch the sheet with the big house off the board. There’s no fucking way I’ll hold back if I find Trinny and even suspect she might be in danger. Cruz knows it too. Still, I give him a terse nod. Not that he buys into that because I’m on my way out the door when he catches up with me.

  “We’re a team, Benedetti,” he says, snatching the printout from my fingers.

  Fine.

  The house is set back from the road about fifty yards. A two-story neoclassical monstrosity—complete with a half-round portico jutting out over the main entrance, held up by four Roman columns—that makes about as much sense in the rustic setting of Durango as the Taj Mahal would in the middle of a Nebraska cornfield.

  The driveway is edged on either side by the same trimmed cedars that runs along the entire front of the property, and at the end of it we can just see a black Cadillac Escalade parked outside of the separate garage.

  “Black SUV,” Cruz points out from our vantage point across the street. We parked my Sequoia the next street over and walked here.

  “I see that. We need to get closer but we can hardly roll up that damn driveway.”

  “Only light on is over the front entrance.”

  “Right, but I’ll bet her security system includes motion sensor lights,” I suggest.

  “We’ll be careful,” he says, already darting across the road, where he crouches low behind the cover of the hedge, waving me over. “We each take a side. Stick to the outside of the hedge.”

  Cruz takes the left side, so I take the other. When we make it to the end where the drive widens into a loop running in front of the house, he points me to a brick garden shed set back to the right of the main house, and gestures he’ll take the three-door garage on the left.

  I scan for lights, but there don’t seem to be any on the small building. I shine the small penlight I have attached to my key ring through a dirty window on the side, but I can’t see anything but gardening equipment inside. From my vantage point behind the shed, I scan the eaves and window frames of the house for security lights. I spot one, mounted under the soffit of the portico on this side of the house. I’m pretty sure its reach doesn’t extend beyond the edge of the circular drive, but to be sure, I give it another few feet as I make my way to the side of the house.

  There are three narrow but tall windows on this side, no lights or cameras visible. More careful here, I forfeit my penlight to check the first one and see what has to be a study. The light from the main foyer streaming in through the open door is enough to see it’s empty. The other two windows expose a dining room. Equally empty.

  I stop at the far corner, do the same check along the roofline and around the framework, and find just one light mounted directly over French doors leading out onto a semicircular stone patio. Four windows, two on each side of the doors, but I’ll only be able to check the two outer ones. Getting close to the inside two would mean triggering the motion light.

  I’m about to round the patio to the other side when my phone buzzes in my pocket. Holding the screen close to my body and shielded with my hand to minimize the glare, I read the message.

  Livingston: Found her.

  I take off on a crouched run, staying well clear of the house, and taking a generous turn around the far corner. I see Cruz’s shadow between the side of the garage and the fencing marking the edge of the property.

  “Upstairs,” he whispers when I join him.

  I take a step back and I see one of the small windows over the garage has a faint light shining from the interior. “How do you know it’s her?”

  “Quiet and you’ll hear.”

  I concentrate, trying to filter through the night sounds, and suddenly I hear it, a rhythmic metallic sound. Like the knocking of water pipes. “Is that an apartment?”

  “Yes, no exterior stairway. There’s a separate door on the other side, close to the house.”

  “I’m going to look.”

  “Joe,” he hisses, grabbing onto my arm. “Wait. Rest of the team is on the way. They’re gonna come in hot, three vehicles coming up the drive, the house will light up like Christmas. We use that distraction to get her out.”

  I open my mouth to protest when we can hear a door closing at the rear of the main house. Cruz pulls me back into the shadows.

  “No lights,” I whisper under my breath.

  “Interior switch,” Cruz whispers back.

  Then we both fall silent as a shadow comes around the corner, making his way quickly to the front.

  Josh fucking Carey.

  I don’t have a good feeling about the man sneaking around his mother’s house, making his way to where a vulnerable seventeen-year-old is being held against her will.

  When he disappears around the other side, I’m on the move. Careful where I put my feet, I keep my back to the garage as I make my way to the other corner, Cruz following close behind. Then I hear the sound of a key turning and the faint squeak of a hinge, and I know I need to move now. Cruz is a beat ahead of me and darts around me.

  The next moment we hear the heavy footfalls of someone running up the stairs.

  *****

  Trinity

  She seemed like a harmless old lady.

  I pulled the suitcase she pointed out off the baggage carousel and noticed how heavy it was. No way she could handle that weight.

  Didn’t seem like a big deal to help her. We were still waiting for our bags anyway.

  The gate on the big SUV was open, but when I pulled the suitcase around the back, I saw a man coming from the other side of the truck. A man I recognized. I’d passed him in our driveway a while back. He’d looked angry then too.

  I tried to back away when I felt something sticking in my ribs, and the old lady’s voice sounded right behind me, telling me to get in.

  I should’ve screamed.

  There’s a nightlight plugged in the outlet over the sink of the small bathroom where they handcuffed me to the drain. Thank God the floor’s clean.

  I don’t know why I’m here, they haven’t told me, but I overheard them arguing in the front seat. The woman was angry at the guy, went on about how he already almost got himself caught when he set the truck on fire. Then she said he needed to control himself if they were going to make the old man pay. I’m guessing the truck is Mom’s since she told me about the explosion last week, but I can’t figure out what I have to do with an old man.

  The lady is mean, but the guy really freaks me out. He was rough when he dove in the back of the SUV with me, cuffed my hands behind me and then ran his hands over my body. She yelled at him to get his hands off me, and he claimed he was checking me for weapons. Stupid. I just got off a plane, like I’d have weapons on me.

  I also didn’t like the way he grinned at me when he cuffed me to the pipe and the woman eventually came in and shoved him out of the bathroom. Luckily I haven’t seen them since.

  I cried a bit at first, but when it got dark outside I got mad. I should’ve been home; eating the cannoli Mom told me she and Joe’s mom had made this week. Grandma Grace was supposed to be there for dinner tonight, and I should’ve been telling them about my trip, showing them the pictures on my phone. I’m pretty sure dinnertime was a while ago, and my phone with the pictures is still in my backpack I left with Kim. Probably still on airplane mode.

  Mom has to be frantic by now.

  I’ve been trying to pick at the handcuff wit
h my nose stud but the stupid thing slipped from my fingers and bounced away. I can see it right fucking there, at the base of the bathtub, but I can’t even reach it with my foot. I tried.

  Instead I pulled a face towel from the ring above me, stuffed it around my wrist under the handcuff, and I’ve been yanking hard, hoping I can break the drain. The pipe is rusted and it moves a little more, but I have to give my wrist a break.

  I’m about to try again, when I hear footsteps stomping up the stairs and I scoot back as far as I can in the space behind the toilet. Then the door barges open and I let loose a scream.

  “Shut the fuck up,” he hisses and my mouth snaps shut. It’s that creep. He shoves the door shut, locks it, and leans his body against it, just as I hear more steps coming up.

  “Out of the way!”

  I recognize Joe’s voice and scream again. I’m still screaming when I hear something hitting the door, and then again, but this time there’s a crunching sound as the frame splinters. The guy is knocked to the floor as the door flies open and Joe comes charging in.

  He takes one look at me, then jumps the man on the floor and starts pounding the snot out of him. Wailing on him.

  I promptly burst into tears.

  *****

  Ollie

  “Honey, wake up.”

  I open my eyes to see Keith leaning over me. Straightening up, I look over to see Grace is slumped to the side on the far side of the couch, deep asleep. Then my eyes slide to the time display on the satellite box under the TV—it’s after three—before returning to Keith.

  “News?”

  “They’re on their way. Your girl is fine.”

  I must’ve yelled, or maybe screamed, because the next thing I know everyone is awake. Even Rita comes stumbling down the stairs. The moment I see the lights of Joe’s truck bouncing off the dark TV screen, I’m up and moving. Straight out the door, meeting her halfway, my arms already open.