Critical Vulnerability (An Aroostine Higgins Novel Book 1)

by Melissa F. Miller

  She swallowed around a lump in her throat and spoke in a calm, measured voice.

  “We need to go. I’ll help Mrs. Chang down the ladder and come back for you.” She stared hard at Joe to make sure he was listening.

  After a moment, he nodded slowly.

  “Okay. Stay right there.”

  “Roo—” he began in a slurred, affectionate voice.

  “Not now, Joe. We can talk later.”

  She turned and looped one of Mrs. Chang’s arms around her shoulder. Then she walked the woman to the edge of the trapdoor and considered her options.

  “Okay, I’m going to climb down first. Then I need you to take my hand, okay?”

  Mrs. Chang grinned lazily.

  This wasn’t going to work.

  “New plan.”

  Aroostine lifted the frail old woman over her shoulder and turned and backed into the trapdoor. Mrs. Chang hung limp and nearly weightless. Her arms dangled over Aroostine’s back as Aroostine carefully worked her way down the ladder.

  Mrs. Chang’s feet bumped against Aroostine’s knees in a rhythmic motion with each step Aroostine took.

  After what seemed like days, she reached the cellar floor. She let Mrs. Chang slide to the floor and rested her against the wall.

  “I’m going to go get Joe now,” she explained.

  The woman mumbled something unintelligible.

  Aroostine climbed back up the ladder, much faster than her first trip now that the light from the cabin filtered down to guide her.

  She pulled herself up into the kitchen and looked around. No Joe.

  Un-freaking-believable.

  “Joe?” she called.

  Her voice echoed in the empty room.

  She pressed her sleeve over her mouth and nose and hurried across the kitchen to the adjoining room. Inside, two thin mats were pushed to one corner. Joe stood in front of the small square window with a sock in his hand. The glass was smashed out.

  Smoke poured through the broken window.

  “Joe? What are you doing?”

  He dropped the sock to the floor with a thud and turned toward her voice. His eyes were glassy and unfocused.

  “Gotta get out . . .”

  He gestured toward the window.

  “That’s not the way out. Come on, come with me.”

  He ignored her and shoved both arms through the opening, as if he were doing the breaststroke.

  She screamed and raced across the room to tug on his shirt.

  “Joe, you’re too big, and the cabin’s surrounded by fire!” She pulled him back into the room, praying he wouldn’t slice an artery on the jagged shards of glass framing the window.

  “You’re on fire!” she shouted in horror.

  He jerked his head to the side and saw the flames licking at his shoulder. He threw himself to the floor and rolled from side to side.

  Her sweatshirt was still damp. She stripped it off and balled it up.

  “Here.” She crouched beside him and pressed the damp cloth against his smoldering shoulder.

  “Thanks.”

  She searched his eyes. The pain seemed to have cleared his mind. He looked focused, alert. “Can you get up and follow me?”

  He nodded.

  “Okay, let’s go.”

  She led him through the smoke-filled structure and to the trapdoor.

  “Can you manage?”

  “Yeah.”

  He coughed before descending the ladder. She followed behind, going slowly, so she wouldn’t bump into him. Now that they were out of immediate danger, her heart overtook her brain, and a wave of sadness and hurt washed over her.

  Below her, Joe dropped to the ground and joined Mrs. Chang near the wall.

  Aroostine clattered down the remaining rungs.

  Mrs. Chang pulled herself up to a standing position.

  “Okay, let’s do this in a chain,” Aroostine said.

  She took Mrs. Chang’s left hand and waited until Joe reached for the woman’s right hand. Then she led them along the tunnel down toward the ravine.

  She shuffled along, forcing herself to move slowly even though she wanted to run to the opening. They took small, uneven steps. Mrs. Chang stumbled, and Aroostine slowed her pace even more.

  Her lungs screamed for fresh, cold air.

  Behind her, Joe was coughing.

  Finally, she heard the water below and pulled them forward toward the sound.

  Her chest burned with every breath she took.

  She tumbled out of the tunnel, and Mrs. Chang’s hand slipped out of hers.

  Aroostine collapsed on her back in wet, marshy grass. She could hear someone splashing through the water.

  The light gray sky turned black.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Aroostine woke in a panic. Something was covering her face.

  “Shh, shh. Take it easy,” soothed a female emergency medical technician. “It’s an oxygen mask. Don’t touch. Anyway, you’ll rip out your IV.”

  IV?

  She turned her head to the side. Sure enough, an intravenous line was running from the back of her hand to a pole beside her. She let her eyes travel around the white, square space. She was in the back of an ambulance.

  “Just fluids,” the EMT chirped. “You’re gonna be fine. Your friend’s got a burn, but you don’t have a mark on you.”

  Joe.

  She tried to struggle to her elbows, but the EMT pressed her back with a firm hand.

  “Listen, honey, it wasn’t a bad one at all. They’ll fix him up in no time. He’s in the ambulance ahead of us with the old lady. You can see them after we get everyone checked out. You might as well relax. It’s another twenty minutes to the hospital, even with Anthony driving this thing like he’s in a NASCAR event.”

  Aroostine let her eyelids flutter closed and played back what she could remember.

  The cave. The tunnel. The cellar.

  She opened her eyes again and stared at the EMT, who was fussing with the bag of fluids.

  She must have felt Aroostine’s gaze on her because she looked over almost at once. Aroostine drilled her gaze into the woman’s bright blue eyes and refused to blink.

  The EMT sighed loudly, but her face softened with sympathy or something like it.

  “All right, sister, you want me to tell you what I know?”

  Aroostine nodded encouragingly.

  The woman lowered herself onto what appeared to be an overturned milk crate.

  “My name’s Aimee, by the way. You must be Aroostine Higgins, because you don’t look like you could be that Franklin dude’s mother.”

  Aroostine widened her eyes at the mention of Franklin’s name to let Aimee know she wanted to hear more. Was he here? Had she talked to him? Had they caught the man?

  Aimee seemed to understand.

  “He called 9-1-1 and reported an incident. Dispatch played the tape for us because it was kind of weird. He said the ‘incident’ was at an old log cabin made of aged white oak that sat up on a hill near a stream. Like, that’s not how you report an emergency, you know? You give an address or a precise location. And, you know, you say there’s a fire or a domestic dispute or whatever the incident is.”

  Aroostine bobbed her head so enthusiastically that the oxygen mask started to slip.

  Aimee knitted her brows and frowned.

  “Now, no more of that, or I’m not talking to you anymore,” she chided as she readjusted the mask over Aroostine’s nose.

  Aroostine gave a very small, careful nod of understanding.

  Aimee smiled and went on. “Anyway, it was clear he didn’t actually know where the cabin he was describing was, if that makes any sense. He told the operator that his mother and an unrelated male were being held hostage in this cabin. Then, shortly afte
rward, he called back and said that some lawyer—I’m guessing that’d be you—went up to bust them out and found the place on fire.”

  She gave another tiny nod to confirm that Aimee had gotten the story right so far, or at least close enough.

  “Lucky for you all, we knew exactly where the cabin was.”

  Aroostine tilted her head as if to say, You did?

  “Yeah, sure. It’s famous around here because it’s the oldest standing structure in the county. Everybody knows the White House. We’d heard that some big-shot millionaire had bought it to restore it and turn it into a museum, but, as far as we knew, it was sitting empty.”

  She wondered whether the structure could be saved.

  Again, Aimee seemed to read her mind.

  “I think it’ll have to be demolished now, but you never know. The firefighters were a good ten minutes behind us. When we got there, we called for a volunteer department over in Bridgeton to come out and lend a hand, too.”

  She fell silent for a moment.

  Then she continued “You’re all darned lucky your friend Franklin called us when he did. He reported that the suspect fled in a black Mercedes sedan. You don’t see too many of them out this way, so Chief McClain set up road blocks at each entrance to the forest. He came out the west end and tried to drive right through the blockade. Last I heard, he’s sitting in a cell with a sprained wrist. His head is pretty banged up, too, but from what I understand that happened at the cabin.” She gave Aroostine a curious look.

  Aroostine’s heart was racing. They’d caught the man. They had to hold him until she could get in touch with Sid and let someone at Justice know.

  It couldn’t wait until she got checked out. The man could have unlimited reach. He’d make bail and disappear forever unless the federal agencies got involved.

  She clawed the mask off and sucked in a harsh breath. “I need to call my office. It’s urgent,” she rasped.

  Aimee gave her the stinkeye and slapped the mask back over her mouth.

  “No way.”

  Aroostine began to thrash. She’d tear out the intravenous line if that’s what it took to get this idiot woman to pay attention.

  “Oh, knock it off. Is your office down in DC? The feds?”

  She nodded vigorously.

  “Well, someone named Mitchell is already waiting for you at the hospital. Don’t ask me how he got there so fast. I guess he’s a better driver than Anthony. And the rest of your jackbooted thugs are swarming all over the property already.”

  Aroostine collapsed against the metal stretcher, limp with relief.

  Mitch wouldn’t let the man get away.

  Joe and Mrs. Chang were going to be okay.

  She closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift to sleep.

  The beaver was waiting for her.

  When it saw her, it rose on its hind legs. Its black nose quivered in the air.

  She walked up to it and held out her hand.

  The beaver nosed her palm. The wet, cold touch tickled her skin.

  Then it turned its silver eyes on her and stared into her eyes for a long time, impassive and unmoving.

  She couldn’t look away.

  The wind seemed to whisper her name in her grandfather’s voice.

  The beaver twitched as if it heard it too, then it slipped into the stream and silently swam away.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Friday night

  She woke again in a bright, white hospital room. A heavily starched sheet and thin blanket were tucked tightly around her body. She turned her head to the right. A metal stand holding a bag of fluids stood sentry over her, the liquid slowly snaking its way through the tubing and into her arm.

  She turned her head the other way. A blue-cushioned chair was pushed against the wall near a window. Mitchell sat in the chair, staring at her. He looked tired. And worried.

  She let her gaze drift to the window over his head. Through the slatted blinds, she could see dark slices of sky.

  “You’re awake. Do you want me to call a nurse?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

  She shook her head. “No. What time is it?”

  He checked his watch. “Almost eight thirty.”

  “Friday night, right?” She was pretty sure, but it didn’t hurt to confirm it.

  He gave her a small smile.

  “Right. You’ve been here since early afternoon.”

  “How long have you been sitting there?”

  “Since early afternoon.”

  His gentle eyes met hers and held her gaze. “You drifted in and out of sleep. I didn’t want to leave in case you woke up.”

  A lump rose in her throat. And then she remembered. “Joe and Mrs. Chang. Are they—?”

  “They’re both going to be fine. He . . . Your husband . . . has a burn on his shoulder, but it’ll heal fine. The doctors want to keep Mrs. Chang for observation. She inhaled a lot of smoke, and her condition was probably a little bit iffy in the first place, after being held captive for a week and a half. They set her broken fingers and tried to feed her some soup.” He grinned.

  “Tried to?”

  “Apparently that’s all she had to eat the entire time she was in the cabin. She sent her son out to find her a cheesesteak. And a beer.”

  Aroostine laughed a scratchy, dry laugh.

  “They checked you out pretty thoroughly, too. Although, I think they had you sedated for a while because you kept pulling off the oxygen mask. You’re lucky you didn’t suffer more from smoke inhalation.”

  Her laugh faded, and her throat hurt. “I know.”

  “How’d you know about the Underground Railroad?”

  “The what?”

  “According to the locals, that cabin was once owned by an avowed abolitionist. It’s been rumored for years that it was a stop on the Underground Railroad, but no one ever found that tunnel system. You just stumbled on it?”

  “Oh. The tunnel . . . Rabbits.” She didn’t have the energy to explain in greater detail.

  He fixed her with a look.

  “It’s a long story. What happened at court?”

  “I told Rosie what you wanted her to do, so she didn’t go to court. Judge Hernandez is apparently a big fan of the ten-minute rule. At 9:40 exactly, he declared a mistrial because no one from Justice had appeared. He didn’t have his deputy call over or anything—just issued the order. It showed up on the docket a few minutes later, and Sid went ballistic.”

  “But he had to know it was just Judge Hernandez being petty. He can refile—”

  “I don’t think it even bothered Rosie. She was too worried about you. She knew you wouldn’t just blow off court, even if you were deathly ill. She was hounding me to tell her what was really going on. While I was trying to put her off, your boy Franklin called and told me you found the place where the guy stashed his mom and your husband. He said to hold tight and he’d be back in touch.”

  She smiled. Franklin had come through.

  Mitchell continued, “But since I didn’t actually have anything concrete to tell Rosie all morning, I just kept saying you were really sick. Finally, she’d had enough and said she was calling the Metropolitan Police and the FBI to report an officer of the court was missing. I begged her not to and told her to just keep working on tracking down the venture capital group. And, what do you know, she found your guy.”

  “She did?”

  He nodded. “She did. Adan Tereshchenko.”

  “That’s him? The investor?”

  “Nope. The venture capital group was nothing more than a shell. She tracked down the ‘lawyer’ who met with Franklin. That guy was a hired actor, by the way, but he gave her his contact, who gave up Tereshchenko.”

  “She did all that today?”

  “She said she had to do something to keep herself busy. She�
�s really concerned about you.”

  “So, who’s Tereshchenko?”

  “We’re still tying it down, but it looks like he’s tied to Eastern European organized crime.”

  “Like, mobsters?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Why?”

  “Why were they so interested in your case, you mean?”

  She nodded her head.

  “It was the reference to the Ukrainian ballbuster on the tapes. This outfit used the venture capital group as a front to get in with SystemSource. Can you imagine how much power they might have had? The RemoteControl system has been sold to the governments of eleven countries. Just in the US, it controls the US Mint, our offices, large chunks of the financial systems—including the NASDAQ. For crying out loud, it controls the operating rooms at Walter Reed and the kitchen in the White House.”

  “It does?”

  “Yeah, think about that for a minute. It could have been an absolute disaster, but they couldn’t get in through Franklin’s backdoor.”

  She smiled. “Really?”

  “Really. Apparently four different hackers accepted a challenge posted on Silk Road to break in. Each of the four failed. And all four were unceremoniously shot point-blank for failing. The whole mistrial was just supposed to cause a delay long enough for them to figure out a way in.”

  Her smile vanished. She was suddenly cold. She tried to pull the blanket more tightly around her even though she knew the chill was coming from within.

  “If he’s willing to kill, why didn’t he just kill Womback and Sheely?”

  He cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

  “If he didn’t want the tapes to get out, wouldn’t the surefire way to prevent it be to kill the defendants? No defendants, no trial.”

  “You’re frightening, you know that?”

  She blinked up at him and waited for him to go on.

  “That was plan A, as it happens. He posted a job on Silk Road looking for an assassin. The CIA heard the chatter and had the marshals scoop up Womback and Sheely and their families weeks ago.”

  “They’ve been in protective custody this whole time?”

  “Yeah, and Sid was not happy that nobody bothered to tell him.”