Burden of Proof

by DiAnn Mills

  Did Jason want Willis to think he hadn’t found Isabella?

  “Tell me what I want to know,” Willis said, “and we’ll make a swap.”

  “I don’t have a guarantee.”

  “Neither do you have Isabella. Tell me what I need, and I’ll locate your daughter.”

  “You arranged for her kidnapping?”

  “I said I’d locate her.”

  “I’ll find her on my own.”

  “Think about it, and I’ll get back with you later.” Willis hung up.

  April released a breath held from an attempt to analyze the conversation. “Can I see the caller ID?”

  Jason handed her the phone: Willis Lennox.

  “I assume the man was the same Willis who’s county sheriff?”

  “The same.”

  Could Jason have staged the conversation? Did he think she’d believe him without confirming the man’s voice on the other end of the phone?

  7

  “I’M ON YOUR SIDE,” April said to Jason.

  He shook his head. “I’d like to believe you. But I think you’re concerned about Isabella, the one thing we have in common.”

  April had met delusional killers before, and she knew how to gain their confidence. She could befriend him, make him think she sided with his claims. Enlist all her active listening skills.

  She didn’t believe in his innocence . . . but something didn’t seem quite right, and she had yet to detect a lie indicator in this wild story. And the phone call from the so-called Willis caused her to ponder Jason’s claims. If he’d let her search for intel on his charges, she might be able to leave a message for the FBI.

  “You lead the way out.” He pulled April’s phone from her bag and tossed it with his onto her bed. There went the ability to be tracked. He pointed to Isabella. “Would you take her?”

  She bit back the bitter taste of another opportunity to gain control of Jason. Her every plan seemed to put Isabella at risk, and April wouldn’t put the baby in harm’s way. She gathered up Isabella.

  “I’ll lock the door and set the alarm.”

  “How kind.” A fugitive concerned about protecting a hostage’s home?

  “I detect a bit of sarcasm.”

  More like disbelief. Jason thought he could get away with breaking one law after another. Couldn’t he see the danger for Isabella?

  Her phone rang. “I should answer that.”

  “No time.”

  “The FBI office is expecting me to report in.”

  Jason snatched the phone from her bed and read the caller ID. “It’s Simon.”

  “He’s my partner.”

  A moment later, Simon left a message.

  “Would you press in your security number?” He held out her phone, and she entered her code. The message was important to her too.

  He tapped Voice Mail and Speaker. “April,” Simon said. “I’ll be at your place in about twenty minutes. I’m concerned you’re taking this morning too hard. So let’s talk about it a little, and then you can sleep before our 2 p.m. debrief. I know how hard you took the suicide. We’ve learned Benson had a history of depression. I’ll say it one more time—you did your best. Anyway, knowing you keep nothing but healthy stuff at your place, I’m bringing bagels and cream cheese. Seriously, I’d like to have the paperwork completed by end of day so we can enjoy our weekend. We’re looking forward to dinner tonight.”

  Jason bounced the phone in the palm of his hand. “What suicide?”

  She wasn’t in the mood to go into detail. “I tried to talk a man down from jumping. He’d lost his job earlier in the day. Saw no other way but ending his life.”

  “Hey, I’m sorry. I hear the sadness in your voice. Now you’re thrown into the middle of this.”

  “I’m working through it.” Both cases.

  He nodded. “Let’s go. No time to waste.”

  Outside, she noted the license plates on Jason’s truck were different from the report out of Sweet Briar. “Your plates don’t match the crime report.”

  “I stole them. Add that to the list.”

  Her training told her not to irritate the distraught person. Engage him in pleasant conversation. With luck, the owner had reported the plates missing to the authorities. She tossed her weekender into the back of the double cab while balancing Isabella and glanced at the car seat. “Top-of-the-line brand?”

  He gave a half smile. “It’s a Chicco. Reviews and research say it’s the best.”

  Jason asked her to secure Isabella into place and click the safety harness. He exercised the same precautions as before, omitting another chance for her to apprehend him. She closed the truck door.

  “Open my door and slide over. You know the drill.” He kept his distance while she obliged. “Don’t forget to buckle up.”

  Jason roared the engine to life. She stole a look behind her through the truck’s passenger-side window, but he wasted no time backing onto the street. Maybe Simon had underestimated his arrival, and even now he was approaching her street.

  “He’ll soon find out you’re not at home, and within a matter of time, news will break that an FBI agent is missing.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “Will the donut shop have us on their security cameras?”

  “Yes, if anyone looks. My car’s there too.”

  “Right. And people witnessed us leaving together.” He paused for a moment. “The woman who kidnapped Isabella is also on the security footage, right?”

  “Yes, she is.”

  “My knowledge of how investigations work and the procedure stuff is limited to TV shows. Do you have Simon’s number memorized?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “I’m thinking on down the road you may need to let him know you’re okay.”

  Really? She was a hostage held by a wanted man. “Our phones are inside my house.”

  “After we leave the city, we’ll pick up a couple of burners.”

  A flicker of hope reignited. Buying a phone from a store and activating it would leave a trail for the FBI to follow.

  She waited a few minutes to begin a conversation aimed at getting answers to her questions and garnering his trust. “Why do you think the woman shoved Isabella into my arms?”

  “Did you ask?”

  April explained the woman’s comments to Isabella. “I turned to talk to her, to see if I could be of help. She said the baby was making her crazy. Before I could ask another question, she left the shop. I thought she’d gone after a diaper bag, but obviously not. Then you showed up.”

  “Here’s my take. She’d either had enough and didn’t know how to care for a baby, or she spotted me pulling into the parking lot. If she recognized me, she got scared and saw an FBI agent to hand off my child. You were convenient.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t recognize the woman?”

  “I was following the tracker, not her. Never got close enough to read the license plate number. When I drove up to the donut shop, I saw a car matching what I’d seen at my parents’ and rushed inside.”

  She pushed away her own feelings about a baby caught up in the middle of a critical situation. Isabella needed to be in a foster home, but April knew better than to bring up the subject. “I’m glad I took Isabella.”

  “I’m hoping it was divine intervention for my daughter and me.”

  April grappled for an idea of how to deal with a killer who loved his daughter above all things. How did she find the right gauge to sort out the facts? “Are we taking Isabella to your parents?” When he kept his attention on the road, she lowered her voice. “You don’t have to answer. I’m concerned about her too.”

  He lifted his chin, appearing to contemplate giving her an answer. “Yes. I hope to convince them to take a vacation.”

  Jason flipped on the AM 740 radio station from Tyler County. An update indicated an ongoing search for him. No mention of a female FBI agent as hostage. “An AMBER Alert has been issued for twelve-month-old Isabella Hope Snyder. Last seen by her
grandparents at 8:00 Thursday night in Sweet Briar, Texas. Authorities believe her father, Jason Snyder, facing murder charges, took her as a hostage after he escaped custody. The baby is dressed in pink pajamas.” The reporter went on to play Sheriff Willis Lennox’s report. “‘We’ll do everything we can to bring in this killer.’”

  “Even I understand Willis means dead or alive.”

  She heard the same implication. “If you surrender to the FBI, the truth will surface.”

  “Not happening,” he said.

  Until she witnessed the evidence clearing him from his charges, she needed to stay on the task of befriending him. “Have you told me everything?”

  “Not sure. . . . The shooter might not have been very skilled because it took two shots to kill Russell: the first shot broke the window, and the second hit its target. Willis is a crack shot, so as much as I’d like to think he pulled the trigger, it might not have been him. But I bet he’s still responsible. If not, I have no clue what’s going on. The question is who killed Russell and why.” He hesitated. “It bothers me that Willis is claiming the window isn’t broken. If he was telling the truth, someone replaced it.”

  Did he expect her to believe him? Had an innocent man been set up?

  Whoa, April. You won’t know if he’s lying until you learn the facts. She shoved aside her doubt to concentrate on her job. Most fugitives believed they weren’t guilty, while some justified their behavior.

  “When Isabella is safe, do you want to talk to your deputy friend?”

  “That’s the plan.” Jason stared into the rearview mirror. “Hey, pretty girl.”

  Isabella babbled.

  “She’s my reason to go on living,” he said. “I will not have her growing up thinking her father killed a man.”

  8

  APRIL STARED OUT at the surprisingly blue sky with meringue-like clouds. The area had been hard hit with high winds and rain earlier in the week, but the current absence of gray clouds held promise. She could use a positive sign.

  She’d given up talking to Jason for the present, as he appeared to be preoccupied and nonresponsive to her attempts at light conversation. They’d been on the road close to an hour.

  He took side roads and highways toward Sweet Briar. License readers set along the road to image his truck meant little until law enforcement realized he’d switched plates. He thought his bases were covered, but agents were trained to locate him through a variety of technology. Cell phone and computer records, interviews with family and friends, and behavior analyses were just starters. She’d rather Jason surrendered.

  The countryside hosted goats, horses, and cows among some dormant fields, depending on the owner’s prerogative. A peaceful life.

  The farther they drove toward the Big Thicket of East Texas, the denser the woods. She peered into the trees and saw only blackness. A bit of a metaphor for the way she felt with Jason in these bizarre circumstances.

  She stole a look at the man. Lack of sleep creased his features, and that meant he’d make a mistake . . . and give her an opportunity to gain control without endangering Isabella.

  They passed a Pentecostal church on the left and a Chevron station on the right.

  A Confederate flag waved in front of a log cabin on cement blocks.

  A billboard—hoghunttoday.com.

  Gorgeous homes sprang up alongside deserted mobile dwellings. The next field held an oil rig. From all the recent rain, most residences had natural water hazards as part of their landscaping. He turned onto 105 toward Sour Lake, then north toward Sweet Briar. Who named a town Sour Lake?

  Jason peered into the rearview mirror. “Isabella, are you okay back there?”

  A mix of unidentifiable sounds met April’s ears.

  “Watch my girl,” he said. When April swung to the backseat, he caught his daughter’s attention in the mirror. “Daddy loves you.”

  The little girl touched her heart.

  “I want more love,” he said.

  This time Isabella tapped her fingers together to indicate “more” and touched her heart.

  “You taught her sign language?”

  “Yep. She’s saying a few words. Her vocabulary consists of no, Da, eat, and Fuff. The latter’s our dog, Fluffy, a boxer. My wife named the overly friendly beast.”

  “Protective?”

  “Are you kidding? All he does is bark.”

  “Has Isabella taken any steps?”

  “She’s been standing in her crib since she was nine months old. Been expecting her to take off at any time. I thought for sure she’d walk at her birthday party. But no, she’s saving it for another special occasion.”

  “Who keeps her while you work?”

  “No one. She’s gone with me to the office and on the job site since the beginning. She rides in a harness on my back and wears a miniature hard hat. My job is to check in with the foreman and ensure they are following specs, but I don’t ever put her in danger. If a situation looks unsafe, I hand her off to Russell. Guess I won’t be doing that anymore.” He paused. “Russell and his wife gave her a T-shirt that says, ‘Snyder Construction Official Mascot.’”

  Who was Jason Snyder? He’d opened up to her about Isabella, personal things about his and his daughter’s life. Did this mean she was earning his trust, and he’d let down his defenses so she could right this mess?

  Jason blinked to clear the grit in his eyes. His reflexes were working at half speed. He must keep his eyes on the road and avoid law enforcement until he could figure out who’d fired two shots into the construction office’s window. He’d taken a different stretch of road to possibly throw off law enforcement and give him time to deliver Isabella to his parents. The shooting replayed in his mind—how Russell jerked when the first bullet hit his arm. Then the second into his chest. Impossible to eliminate the memory.

  When he tried to give his mind a reprieve from Russell, thoughts about Isabella’s kidnapping flooded in. He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He wanted to strangle the woman who’d taken his daughter. God help him, but he wanted her to feel the same paralyzing fear.

  When Lily died, Jason believed the hardest task ahead of him was being the best father and providing for Isabella’s care. But he’d failed Lily and their little daughter and subjected Isabella to a dangerous situation. He’d breathe easier when Mom and Dad had her. But were they really safe since they’d also been victims? For certain, his parents must take a vacation until the false charges were lifted. But he’d have to face the consequences of his own actions. The future looked like a mass of gray clouds.

  He was counting on God to clear his name, but Jason would work his part too by taking responsibility to expose the truth. Forcing the agent beside him on this venture hit the top of the dumbest things he’d ever done. She couldn’t be trusted any more than she trusted him.

  “What’s your area of the FBI?” he said.

  “Collateral duty as a negotiator. I work public corruption.”

  What irony. “I should have figured out the negotiation part.”

  “Jason, how can I make you see this isn’t the right way to seek justice for Russell?”

  “I’m the one with the most to lose, and the odds are against me.” Her priority was to talk him into surrendering. Everything she said had an ulterior motive.

  But maybe, if he could convince her to believe in his innocence, she’d help him sift through the illegal activities in Sweet Briar and find the evidence to release him from being held responsible for Russell’s death.

  Tough house to build but not impossible.

  Isabella whimpered. He glanced at the time and realized she needed a bottle and a diaper change. He pulled off the road to a farmer’s lane and turned off the engine. “Can you mix up a bottle and change her?”

  “Sure. Four scoops per eight ounces of water?” April unsnapped her seat belt.

  “Yes. Bottled water is on the floorboard behind my seat. Not warm, but it will have to do. Only one
left. Climb out the same way you got in. Don’t run off.”

  She looked around at nothing but pastures and woods. “I’d hate for you to shoot me.”

  “I’d laugh if not for my miserable situation.”

  “You need sleep.”

  “I will once I figure out what to do with you while it’s happening.” He exited the truck, stepped back, and she scooted out from his side.

  Again she changed Isabella on a towel-covered rear bench seat. Nasty job, but someone had to do it. April used hand sanitizer and mixed the bottle. “I have a question. Or rather, confirmation.” Isabella latched on to it before April could shake it thoroughly.

  “Go ahead.”

  “When Sheriff Lennox said he could make this go away, he meant your telling him how to find his wife and son?”

  “You heard right.”

  “Help me to understand, Jason. You’re saying Sheriff Willis Lennox charged you with murder, arranged for Isabella’s kidnapping, and now says he can make it go away if you give him what he wants?”

  “Exactly. Doesn’t that fall under the jurisdiction of public corruption?”

  “It does.” She placed Isabella into her car seat.

  He wondered if someone could have picked up his trail. Or had he temporarily left them scrambling?

  “The truth is the only thing guaranteed to exonerate you.”

  “Time to get back on the road.”

  April climbed into the truck. “And even if you comply with his demands, it doesn’t answer the question of who killed Russell.”

  “I have no answer.”

  “It’s a critical piece of your problem. The way I see it, you won’t give him what he wants, so he’s out for vengeance and breaking the law in the process. And so are you.”

  “Right. Wish I’d talked more with Carrie, Russell’s wife. See if I could have found out why Russell told her we’d argued. But when Willis unlocked the cell, he suggested I leave her alone.”

  “You mentioned she was emotionally fragile.”

  “Carrie battles depression and takes medication. It’s gotten worse in the last year since Lily passed. The two were really close.” A burst of pain spread over his skull. Lights flashed across his vision . . . the onset of a migraine.