“I got it,” Rainhorse replied.
“I’m watching you. Don’t blow it,” Barnabas warned.
“I won’t.”
“Now get in there and revive Jingles. Make amends. I don’t want to have to worry about you two. I have enough on my mind without worrying about what is going on there. Are we good?”
“Yeah.”
“Anything else?”
“Yeah, the girl’s phone received three calls from her mother and also one text. The text said, ‘Tried to reach you—call me.’”
“We knew this would happen. You know what to do.”
Rainhorse heard the phone go dead. He was fuming inside. He killed for a living, but… not this. He never killed anyone that wasn’t some scumbag who deserved to die. And he certainly never killed…
A woman…
A girl…
A teenaged girl…
And he couldn’t say no. He would have to do it.
He hated this.
It was getting worse and worse.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Sam, I think there might be something wrong,” Vandy said. “I can’t reach Lindsay.”
“I thought she was spending the day with her friend Maggie,” Sam replied.
“She is supposed to be, yes.”
“Well, that’s probably your answer. She’s hanging out with her friend. Maybe her phone is off.”
“She never turns that damn thing off.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but she’s ignored your calls and texts before, hasn’t she?”
“Many times, but much less since our relationship has gotten better.”
“When was the last time you tried calling her?”
“About two hours ago.”
Vandy’s phone buzzed. She looked at the display.
“What is it?” Sam asked.
“Oh, thank god,” Vandy replied. “It’s a text from Lindsay. It says, Sorry I missed your calls. My phone is acting up. See you in Bozeman tonight. Love Lindsay.”
“Well, mystery solved, then,” Sam replied.
“I guess.”
“You still sound worried. Why don’t you just call her?”
She thought for a moment, “I think I’ll wait. She’ll think I’m acting in a controlling fashion.”
“Suit yourself,” he replied. “If it were me and I were worried, I’d call her.”
“I think I will.”
Vandy dialed Lindsay’s number. She turned to Sam.
“It went straight to voicemail,” she said.
“Do you have Maggie’s number?”
“I do.”
“Try her.”
Vandy switched the cell to speaker phone, dialed Maggie’s number and sat the phone on the counter. Maggie answered the phone on the second ring.
“Hello.”
“Maggie, this is Vandy.”
“Hi, Ms. Vanderbilt.”
“Maggie, I’m trying to reach Lindsay.”
“What a coincidence. I just talked to her on the phone.”
“On the phone? She’s not with you?”
“No. She made… other plans. Is there a problem?”
“What other plans?”
“I’m not sure. She’s kind of independent, Ms. Vanderbilt.”
“Ya think?”
Maggie laughed, “I’m sure everything is ok.”
“Damn her for not answering. She has me worried sick.”
“Ms. Vanderbilt, I know you’re worried,” Maggie said. “I don’t want to get Lindsay in trouble or anything, but there’s something you should know.”
“What is it, Maggie?”
“Lindsay didn’t really stop off in Chicago to meet me,” she said.
“What are you talking about?”
She heard a deep sigh, “I sorry to be the one who tells you this, but Lindsay stopped off in Chicago to meet her boyfriend. I was supposed to cover for her, but you seem so worried. I thought you should know.”
“You have to be kidding me,” Vandy scoffed.
“I’m sorry, I’m not.”
“What’s his name?”
“Steve.”
“Steve who?”
“I don’t know, I swear. I’d tell you if I did.”
“Do you have his number?”
“No, I don’t. All I know is, he met her in school and he lives in Chicago. She told me she was spending the night at his parent’s house.”
“Jesus,” Vandy gasped. “That girl… She’s in so much trouble.”
“If you want, I can try to call her.”
“Would you? She might answer if you call. If she is with a guy, she probably will not take a call from me. Tell her to call me. I’m worried sick.”
“I will, and I’m sorry, Ms. Vanderbilt. Take care.”
“Goodbye.”
Vandy hit the end button and looked at Sam, “Mystery solved, I guess.”
“Boyfriend, huh?” Sam noted.
“Apparently. That means she spent the night with him. You just wait until I see her...”
“And you didn’t know about this guy?”
She shook her head, “No. Nothing, but I’m not surprised about that. If I had a nickel for every time I lied about boys to my parents…”
Sam could tell, Vandy was seething… and worried.
“She’s had boyfriends before, right?” Sam asked.
“Of course. Nothing serious.”
“Are you friends with her on Facebook?”
“Yes, why?”
“Have you looked at it lately?”
“Sure, just a while ago. I posted a note for her to call me.”
“Anything on Facebook that leads you to believe she was dating a boy? Pictures of them together, notes back and forth—that sort of thing?”
“No, but this would be just like her. She’s too smart to post something like this on Facebook when she knows I could see it. Are you worried?”
“No, it’s probably nothing,” he said. “I’m not.”
Sam lied. He was getting worried, but outwardly decided not to show it. He didn’t want to worry Vandy more than she already was. He looked at his watch and then at Vandy.
“Text her again and let’s give her a little while to respond. I’m sure she’ll call.”
Sam nodded and picked up his cell.
“I’m headed to the barn for a few minutes,” Sam said. “I’ll be back soon.”
Sam walked to the barn and, when inside, pulled his own cell, and dialed Hank Patterson. Hank was a former Navy Seal who now headed up an organization known as the Brotherhood Protectors, a private security force comprised of ex-military men and women. Sam, a former Army Ranger, had been a member of the organization for more than three years now. It was through the Brotherhood Protectors that he met Vandy when he was assigned to watch over her.
Hank answered on the first ring, “Sam!” he greeted. “How’s the quiet ranch life treating you?”
“Damn good, thank you,” he said, “but I need a favor.”
“Name it.”
“Do you still have contacts that can ping the location of a cell?”
“I do. What’s up?”
“We can’t get in touch with Vandy’s daughter,” Sam said. “Her last known location was O’Hare in Chicago.”
“How long has she been missing?”
“Since she arrived in Chicago yesterday afternoon.”
“And how old is she?”
“Sixteen.”
Hank sighed, “Sam, she’s probably with a friend or a guy. There’s a lot to do in Chicago.”
“Something just doesn’t feel right. My radar is going off. Can you have her phone pinged?”
“I can,” he said. “It’s not exactly legal. It might take a while.”
“It’s important. As soon as you can, ok?”
“Give me her name and cell number. I’ll see what I can do. I can’t promise anything.”
CHAPTER FIVE
The young woman who had been posing as
Maggie Trumble on the phone smiled and handed Barnabas the phone.
“How did I do?” she asked.
“You were very convincing, Melody,” Barnabas replied. The woman had been part of his operation for two years now. He handed her a roll of bills. She smiled and slipped them into the front of her bra.
“I listened to the whole conversation,” he continued. “I don’t think Ms. Vanderbilt suspected a thing.”
“How did you pull the cell phone scam off?” she asked.
“Advance preparation,” he said. “I have a man who only has to be near a cell phone to clone it. We followed Maggie a few days ago and cloned it while she sat in a coffee shop.”
“So, she never knew?”
“Nope. Once her phone was cloned, it was easy to intercept the call,” he said.
“You’re going to eventually let her mother know you have the girl and will demand money,” Melody noted. “What was the purpose of this deception?”
“We’re not quite ready yet,” Barnabas said. “I needed to buy some time without arousing her suspicions. I doubt we’ll be able to avoid the FBI getting involved, but I can’t have them poking around just yet.”
“Won’t they just try to find this guy, Steve?” she asked.
“You’re asking me if they will be able to find a guy named Steve with no last name, in London?” He chuckled.
“I see your point. You really are resourceful,” she said. “Cloning and hacking Maggie’s phone is an amazing accomplishment.”
“When you have the money and technology, you can accomplish most anything,” he said.
“Is there really a Steve?” she asked.
“Yes, there really is,” Barnabas replied. “If they had time, they could even find him, but they don’t have time.”
“You thought of everything, haven’t you?”
“It’s what I do,” he replied.
CHAPTER SIX
“How long was I out?” Jingles asked. He sat up, rubbing his jaw.
“About two hours,” came the reply. He handed the smaller man an icepack.
“I think you broke my jaw, asshole,” he scowled. “It hurts like hell and it’s all swollen. I think my nose is broken, too. My entire face is red.”
“You do look like the business end of a baboon,” Rainhorse replied, dryly.
“I could make a call and have you killed for what you did,” Jingles growled, holding an icepack on his face. “Barnabas ain’t gonna like this. No sir, not one bit. You just wait until I tell him.”
“I told him already,” Rainhorse said, flatly.
“What did he say?”
“He said I should make nice with you.”
“That’s all?”
“That was the gist of it,” Rainhorse lied.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Call him yourself, if you want. I don’t care.”
“You know he don’t like to be called. He’s the one who wants to call.”
“Then shut your mouth.”
“You seem to forget I’m in charge here,” Jingles barked.
“It’s doesn’t look to me like you’re in charge of diddly squat. You’re a puppet and Barnabas is pulling your strings. I’m surprised you can talk at all when he isn’t here with his arm up your ass making your lips move.”
“Piss off. What about the girl?”
“She’s in the bedroom, asleep.”
“Did Barnabas say anything about her?”
“He said to keep her safe. He wants the girl to speak to her mother before the transfer is made.”
Jingles nodded, “And then after, we…”
He used his index finger and raked it across his neck in a cutting motion; he also made a gagging sound. He giggled.
“You knew about that, did you?” Rainhorse asked.
“Sure. Didn’t he tell you?”
“Just a little while ago.”
“Not before?”
“It must have slipped his mind.”
“What about her phone?”
“I texted the mom, already.”
“That was my job.”
“You were… unavailable at the time.” Rainhorse mocked.
“Kiss my ass.”
“I’ll pass. I’m not a fan of hairy cellulite.”
“This ain’t over, Rainhorse.”
“That’s the first thing you’ve said we actually agree on.”
Jingles’ phone rang. He glared at Rainhorse before answering.
“Barnabas,” he greeted. He paused to listen, “Hold on one second.”
Jingles stood, “I’m gonna take this outside. You stay here with the girl.”
“You can count on that.”
The pudgy man scowled.
Rainhorse watched Jingles leave the safe house and decided to check on the girl. He cracked the door open—she looked asleep. She would have to be hungry and thirsty by now, he thought. The safehouse was stocked with the basics. He saw fruit in the fridge. He also had left over cheese and crackers from when he’d eaten earlier. He threw together a quick plate of food, pulled a bottle of water from the fridge, and walked toward the bedroom. As he began to close the door, he heard her call out, “Who’s there?”
“It’s me,” Rainhorse said. He saw her relax.
“Good. Thank god it wasn’t the other guy,” she replied. “I’m dying of thirst. Do you think I could have some water?”
“I have water, and some food. You must be hungry.”
“Oh my god, thank you. I’m starving,” she admitted.
“Then sit up.”
She sat up and extended her legs over the edge of the bed. He sat the water on the night stand. He walked over to the bedroom window and pulled open the curtains, wide enough to give him a view of Jingles, who was standing by the van, talking on the phone, presumably still to Barnabas. He wondered what they were talking about outside his earshot.
“Ok, I’m going to unlock the bag and pull it up just over your mouth, but still keep your eyes covered,” he said. “It’s critical that you do not try to pull it off. I can’t allow you to see my face.”
“My hands are tied behind my back—what can I do?” she reminded him.
“Just don’t try anything,” he said.
“Ok, I won’t,” she said.
"Promise me."
"I promise."
Rainhorse unlocked the bag and pulled it to the bottom of her nose, just far enough up so she could get a little fresh air. He then held the glass to her lips and turned it up. She drank three quarters of the water and nodded when she had enough.
“Thank you,” she said, and took in a breath. It’s so nice to not have that bag over my mouth. The air is not fresh at all.”
“Sorry,” he said. “We can leave your mouth and nose uncovered for a bit.”
“Thank you. What about the food?” she asked.
“Oh yeah,” he replied, picking up the plate. “On today’s menu we have an apple, a banana, a few grapes, some cheese and crackers.”
“Is it a Granny Smith apple?” she asked.
"Hell, I don't know."
"Is it green?"
He looked at it, “No. it's red.”
"Dark red or does it have yellow mixed in?"
Rainhorse sighed, "Dark red. Are you going to eat it or what?"
“It's probably Red Delicious. I’ll start there.”
“As you wish.”
Rainhorse pulled a small knife from his pocket and cut several small slices from the apple. He placed one of the slices near her lips.
“Say ahh,” he said.
She opened her mouth and received the slice of apple, barely chewing before swallowing.
He chuckled, “That good, huh?”
“I haven’t eaten in a while. You may recall, I missed my usual dinner time.”
“Sorry. My bad.”
“More please, and some banana too, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“No problem at all.”
He placed a large
r slice of apple in her mouth and began to peel the banana as she chewed.
“Have you heard anything?” she asked.
He paused, “Not yet,” he lied.
“Well, thank you Mister… uh.. I don’t know your name,” she said.
“And you won’t,” he replied.
“Well, I have to call you something,” she said. “I think I’ll just call you… Jackson.”
“Why Jackson?”
“It’s from the movie, Cat Ballou, with Jane Fonda,” she said. “Have you seen it?”
He fed her two more bites of banana, the last of it.
“I haven’t seen a movie in a theater in more than ten years,” he replied. "Hell, now that I think about it, more like twenty."
“This movie is from, like the 1960s, back when they first started making movies.”
He chuckled silently, deciding against correcting her.
“I must have missed it,” he said.
“At any rate, one of my favorite characters was a young Indian boy named Jackson Two-Bears.”
“An Indian boy?”
“You sound like you might have Indian heritage,” she noted. "That's what made me think of it."
“I don’t think they like to be called Indians—it’s stereotyping,” he replied. “It’s not very PC.”
“My mother didn’t raise me to be very PC,” she countered. “I noticed you didn’t deny it, though.”
“Deny what?”
“Being an Indian.”
“I didn’t confirm it, either.”
“They want to be called Native Americans, right?”
“Actually, I think they prefer to be referred to by tribe,” he replied, “like Cheyenne, Cherokee, Shawnee, Apache.”
“So, you’re Cheyenne?” she asked.
“I didn’t say that.”
“It was the first tribe you mentioned.”
She was a smart girl, he thought—too smart for her own good. No denying it.
“Whatever. Open up.” He fed her a chunk of cheese. She chewed.
“Hmmm, not bad. What kind of cheese is this?”
“Velveeta, I think.”
“Only the finest cuisine, I see.”
He chuckled, “Did you just make a joke?”
“It was more of a smug remark,” she said. She could not hold back a tiny smile.
“I see.”
He fed her another slice, and then a cracker.
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