by Terra Little
Elise studied Brandy’s photo then looked down at the contents of the folder. Flipping through a sheaf of paper-clipped documents, she paid special attention to the photocopied medical records and color photos from a variety of doctor and hospital visits. Over a ten-year period, Brandy had received medical treatment for an array of physical injuries, ranging from very minor to extremely serious. The first time was for a broken pinkie toe six months after her wedding, and the last time for a broken jaw just months before she disappeared. In between those visits, she’d been seen several times by plastic surgeons, for reconstructive surgeries to her face, and twice by an oral surgeon for dental implants. Like many of the women they serviced, these visits had always occurred in private office settings or on an outpatient basis, but never in a traditional hospital setting, where her constant and escalating injuries were likely to draw unwanted attention.
“Dortch was smart,” Olivia said, breaking into Elise’s thoughts. “And they were fairly comfortable financially, so arranging private doctor visits for his wife or a discreet procedure here and there was likely just a matter of making a few phone calls or snapping his fingers at the right people.”
Elise looked up from the file and frowned at Dortch’s image on the screen. He was handsome, if you liked beady green eyes and tight mouths, she thought and nearly snarled. The man had beaten his wife mercilessly for a decade and had somehow convinced her to put on a brave, happy face for the world through it all. He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
“You keep saying ‘was.’ What happened to him?” she asked.
“He was killed by a hit-and-run driver less than a week before Brandy came to us,” Olivia supplied, aiming the remote at the screen. A second tab expanded over the first one. “News of the accident was covered by several of the major media outlets. Here’s a clip from one of the local nightly news broadcasts.” She pressed another button, and an embedded video began playing in the top right corner of the screen. After it ended, she expanded another tab on the screen. “His death was ruled an accident and the investigation was quickly and quietly closed. Given that he was dead and she was finally free of his abuse, Brandy had no reason to contact us, except she knew that her husband’s death wasn’t an accident and that she was next. That brings us around to the why of it all.” She pressed a button and a new image took over the screen.
Seeing it, Elise groaned and dropped her head in her hands. A second later, her head popped back up. “Are you kidding me?” she shrieked incredulously at Olivia. “Please tell me that’s not Borya Maysak.” Maysak was a notorious Russian mob figure. It was impossible for anyone who followed the international news channels on at least a part-time basis not to recognize him on sight.
“It is.” Olivia’s voice held a note of finality. “For years, there were rumors that Dortch was mixed up with the Russian mafia and I have to admit it does make sense, when I think about how quickly he ended up in elected office. As I said, before running, Dortch was a city councilman, but he put food on the family table as a financial advisor for one of those chain operations. The rumors were never confirmed, but, according to Eli’s intel, Maysak was behind Dortch’s campaign funding, among other things, during his term and, in exchange, Dortch was behind the disappearance of five million dollars of Maysak’s dirty money. The poor idiot was supposed to be laundering it, but he got sticky fingers, instead. In the broad scheme of things, five million is pocket change to Maysak but, for someone like him, it’s the principle of the matter. He would’ve wanted to send a message.”
“Dortch’s death was a hit,” Elise said, more to herself than to Olivia. “I remember bits and pieces of the story now. It broke around the same time that the California wildfires were dominating the news. I remember thinking at the time that it didn’t get nearly as much coverage as it should have.”
“You’re right, it didn’t. Lucky for us, that worked in our favor. By all indications, Brandy was next on Maysak’s hit list. There was some speculation that she knew about the theft and possibly had a hand in it. Plus, she had intimate knowledge of her husband’s business dealings with Maysak. The morning that she came to us, her house had been broken into by two men that she’d never seen before, while she was out running errands. She watched the whole thing on her cell phone, via the closed-circuit cameras that Dortch had the foresight to install when they bought the place. She never returned home. Instead she hid out in a local women’s shelter for a couple of days and then someone slipped her a network green card. That’s how she found us. While all of the major networks were covering her disappearance and speculating on what happened to her, she was moving through the network. When no credible leads ever turned up, her digital footprint eventually disappeared and, when no body was ever found, the case went cold.” The heels of her stiletto pumps clicked on the tile floor as she slowly paced from one end of the screen to the other. “Facial recognition software positively identified the two men as two of Maysak’s goons, so she knew what was up.”
“If we erased her to save her life, then I should remember her more clearly. It’s interesting that I don’t.” Closing the folder, Elise sat back in her chair and threaded her fingers through her hair.
How could this be happening?
“You had just taken on a child abduction case in Florida, so you were only around for the initial news coverage. If you met her in person, it would’ve only been once or twice and, even then, only in passing,” Olivia explained, leaning a hip against the table. Turning back to the screen, she studied the images there in silence for several seconds. “I processed her and handled her placement myself. By the time you were done with your case in Florida, Brandy Cannon Dortch had already ceased to exist. I wonder if she used Maysak’s dirty money to cover our fee.”
Elise sent her sister a withering look. “That’s the last thing we should be worried about right now. I’m more interested in knowing how much Broderick knows.”
“Maysak is a dangerous man and he’s powerful, but men like him don’t get that way by being fools. I did some more digging on your man while you were gone. Believe me, Maysak wouldn’t have wanted the kind of attention that messing with him would’ve resulted in.”
“He’s not my man.”
Olivia flapped a dismissive hand. “Whatever. Maysak would’ve been meticulous enough in his own research to find out for himself that Broderick was out of the country, as well as out of contact with his sister both before and after the money went missing. They were born ten years apart, and, by Brandy’s own admission, they weren’t very close. She probably didn’t think Broderick would even miss her enough to bother looking for her.”
“Great,” Elise chirped with sarcastic cheer. “That eliminates Broderick as a potential target, but what about us?” Visions of bloody shoot-outs, duct-taped mouths and dark vans flashed before her eyes. “Maysak is probably sitting back somewhere, following Broderick’s progress and waiting for the trail he leaves to lead him right to Brandy. That’s what I would do, if I were him. And if it ever does lead to her and she talks—”
“It won’t,” Olivia cut in sharply. “And, hell, even if it does, except for what’s in that folder and the few details that I can recall from memory, there’s nothing concrete linking us to Brandy Cannon Dortch’s disappearance.”
In the interest of plausible deniability, the data that they retained on erasures was purposely vague. Aside from the numerically coded files that they maintained on each client’s abuse history, there was nothing else in their physical possession that could or would reveal anything else about the women they helped. Everything was kept in this room and stored only on the devices within it, and all of it within arm’s reach of quick and permanent disposal at a moment’s notice. Elise was well aware of the safeguard procedures they had put into place when they first started out. But Borya Maysak wasn’t someone that she wanted to come face-to-face with, now or ever.
“Where is Brandy now?”
“Well, as you know, she started out in Albuquerque, New Mexico, but she requested relocation about a year ago, after a new tenant moved into her building and spooked her. Per Brandy’s report, the new tenant started asking too many questions and poking around in her things when she thought Brandy wasn’t paying attention. I don’t yet know where she ended up after that. But I put Eli on her trail as soon as I found out who and what she was, and he’s working his way through the network now. We should have an exact location on her in a couple of hours.”
“Why so long?”
“Delays are a part of the process, remember?”
Elise sighed disgustedly. “How could I forget? I helped design the process.”
The network was still in its infancy when she’d first stumbled upon it. Well, technically, she hadn’t stumbled upon the network, it had actually stumbled upon her. By then, she’d been volunteering at the shelter for nearly a decade, having racked up thousands of frequent-flyer miles in college by coming home every chance she got, and, later, sacrificing one of every two days that she was off duty from the department to the cause. What had started as a means of completing a community service requirement for high-school graduation, had quickly become her passion. As if it was precisely what she’d been born to do and fate had simply brought her to it when it was time to begin doing it. Which, as fate would have it, was right around the time that the police commissioner’s wife was tried and convicted of murdering the abusive monster that was her husband.
Working at the shelter, Elise had heard so many stories of torture and unspeakable violence that for months, she’d had nightmares. Some of the women found the strength to get out, and, with support from friends and family, were able to build new lives for themselves. But there were other women who wanted to get out and couldn’t, because they had nowhere to turn for help. Women who eventually gave up on the possibility of escape and faded into the shadows, where they silently screamed in terror each and every day.
The very first woman that she and Olivia had erased was the wife of a four-star general, and for twenty years, she had suffered her abuser’s torture in silence. Until the day the general lodged a steak knife in her chest, missing a major artery by a hair, because his steak was well-done, instead of medium-well, the way he preferred it. She’d tried to leave him four different times before that and had been betrayed by her own family each time. The general’s family was old money, and he’d always been very generous with his in-laws, so their allegiance was to him. He made sure that she had no friends and didn’t socialize outside the home, and after a while, she stopped fighting it and him. For all of that, her consolation prize was a steak knife through her chest and a near-death experience. It wasn’t until a social worker slipped into her hospital room the night before she was to be discharged and sent back to her life, to offer her a second chance, that she finally got the help she needed.
Those were the kinds of women that Elise had signed on to help when she’d been approached by a recruiter with the Federal Air Marshal Program. Someone like Brandy Cannon Dortch should never have been on their client list.
Getting to her feet, Elise closed the file and scooped it up. Tucking it underneath her arm, she glanced at Olivia on her way to the door. “Okay, fine. We wait, but please let me know the second you hear something from Eli. In the meantime, I’m tired and I could really use a shower and a glass of wine.”
“You’re not thinking of going to see her, are you?”
Hand on the doorknob, Elise looked back at Olivia over her shoulder. “Honestly, I don’t really know what I’m thinking right now, Olivia. When I walked through the door a little while ago, I was thinking of asking you to help me come up with a believable excuse to see Broderick again. But now that I know that even if I did see him again, I’d have to look him in the eyes and lie to him, there’s really no point in bothering with that now, is there?”
“Elise—”
“Now, all I can think about is how wrong you were before, when you said that this was no one’s fault and that it could’ve happened to either of us. The more I think about it, the more I realize that this couldn’t have happened to either of us, because, unlike you, I would’ve taken one look at Brandy Cannon’s dossier and known that she wasn’t a suitable candidate for placement. I would’ve refused to meet with her outright. You were the one who made the bad call, so when you think about it, this is really your fault. Thanks to you, there are some very bad people out there looking for a suspected thief that you erroneously erased, and, when they find her, it’ll only be a matter of time before she sings and someone finds us.”
Olivia was staring at her incredulously. “Is this about Broderick?”
“No, this isn’t about Broderick.” Was it? “It’s about you carelessly putting our firm, our lives and our freedom in jeopardy.”
For once in her life, Olivia was speechless. For several seconds, her mouth worked but no sound emerged. “I didn’t think—” she began when she found her voice.
“No, you didn’t. Now we have a problem and I have to figure out how to fix it. If that means I have to meet with Brandy Cannon in person to do it, then, yes, I’m thinking of going to see her. I really don’t know yet. Maybe wine will help me think more clearly.”
She walked out of the war room, leaving Olivia standing there looking like she herself was ready to go to war, and closed the door in her face. They didn’t argue often and whenever they did, it was usually about something insignificant. But this latest feud, if you could even call it that, was a little different. Elise didn’t know which she was more irritated by—the thought of having her fledgling affair smashed to pieces before it could even begin in earnest or the idea that Olivia could be so careless with the firm’s livelihood.
Either way, wine was the answer.
Chapter 13
Eli was less than happy to see Elise’s smiling face when he answered the knock at his apartment door two days later. It was barely eight o’clock in the morning and anyone who knew him knew that he wasn’t a morning person, even though he was usually up and about hours before the sun rose. Despite the long-standing military slogan’s implications, soldiers weren’t the only people who accomplished more before 6:00 a.m. than most other people did all day. People like Eli Seamus were right there with them, lurking in the cybershadows, peeking into unsuspecting people’s private lives and debating whether or not to wreak havoc with the press of a button, well before the sun rose. As a former CIA agent, the work was fun, an entertaining pastime that just happened to pay handsomely, without all the aggravation of rush-hour traffic and missed lunch breaks. As a result, he rarely ever left his apartment and never when it meant that he’d have to mingle with other people on anything other than a very small scale and for a very short period of time. The flip side was that he very rarely welcomed visitors to his home, making Elise fear that he was in danger of becoming a hermit.
A very cranky one.
“You’ve got ten minutes,” he grumbled at Elise as he flung the door open wide enough for her to enter, whirled in his electric wheelchair and took off through the apartment.
“Well, good morning to you, too, sunshine. I brought you a gift,” Elise said, stepping across the threshold and closing the door behind her.
“Oh, yeah?” he said over his shoulder. “Did you bring anything with bacon in or on it?”
“’Fraid not, my friend. Your cholesterol is through the roof and so is your blood pressure. That means no bacon for you. Just coffee.” She followed him into the living room, passing him one of the two take-out coffee cups in her hands when she caught up with him and then sipping from hers carefully. It was steaming hot and strong enough to stand up and dance. He sampled his coffee, too, and promptly frowned. She’d given him her caramel latte and kept his Colombian dark roast by mistake. Wordlessly they traded cups, and she took
hers over to the couch to sit.
“In that case, you only have five minutes,” he said as he rolled up to a workstation in a corner of the room and pulled a keyboard from underneath the desktop. While he worked, she relaxed and enjoyed her coffee.
Eli was gruff and prickly, but his surroundings were filled with lush, lovingly tended house plants, and furniture that invited one to put up their feet and snuggle in for a nice long nap. Built-in bookshelves were crammed with books from several genres and there were framed photos of various family members, including several of his adorable granddaughter, scattered everywhere. It was such a peaceful, homey place that no one would ever suspect its sole occupant—a middle-aged, wheelchair-bound man with piercing blue eyes, a bushy gray beard and a penchant for gardening—of being a first-rate hacker and cyberspy.
“Is this a new couch?” she asked, rubbing the microsuede fabric appreciatively. “It’s very nice.”
“Nope,” he said as his fingers flew over the keyboard. “You and Olivia still not speaking?” She’d told him about their disagreement over Brandy Cannon Dortch’s erasure when she called for help.
“Nope,” she parroted.
“You’ll kiss and make up soon enough,” Eli predicted gruffly. “In the meantime, it never hurts for any of us to be reminded to stay on our p’s and q’s. Speaking of which, it didn’t take me long at all to get a bead on Lynn Collins,” he said as he typed. The printer on the desktop next to him hummed to life and began spitting out sheets of paper. When it was done, he snatched them up and slid them into a large envelope. “Everything that you, me and God could possibly need to know about her is right here.”
Elise sat up and reached for the envelope. “Any surprises that I need to know about?”
