Changing Tides

by Veronica Mixon

  “You spend no less than a year in jail and have a record for the rest of your life.” His gaze locked on her face. “You think the fashion industry hires many ex-cons?”

  The heady scent of fear rolled off her. “Cedar said he’d talk to the judge and get the charges dropped and expunged from my record.”

  “Your boss is an attorney. I’m a federal marshal.” Nathan tilted his head back and forth. “Who’re you going to trust?”

  He tried to get a clean read, but it was impossible. The girl came in scared and had moved into petrified. Her breath turned short and choppy, and her body’s frame was as rigid as a tree’s trunk.

  She uncrossed her arms and gripped the edge of the table. “It was only a dime bag. And it wasn’t even mine.”

  “How original.” Nathan deadpanned. “You be sure to explain that to the sentencing judge.”

  Tears swam in her eyes.

  Time to throw the lifeline. “If I’m satisfied with your answers, I’ll have the charges dropped. Otherwise, you receive the maximum sentence.”

  Her heaving chest and steady stream of tears had no impact. Nathan looked at his watch. “What’s it going to be?”

  In less than ten minutes Lizzie spilled all she knew. Nathan placed a call to Savannah’s chief of police and gave the okay to drop the cocaine possession. He disconnected his phone and turned his attention back to the girl. “Keep our conversation to yourself. You confide to your boss or anyone in or out of your office, and I’ll rescind my request to Chief Ellington.” He reached across to the next table, picked up a stack of napkins, and handed one to the girl.

  She wiped her tears and nodded.

  He stood. “And in the future, Lizzie, don’t do anything that anyone can hold over your head.”

  Nathan hit the sidewalk, texted Hart, and gave her the airstrip and the name of the local pilot who’d called and left Cedar a message about flying a group from Florida to California. He instructed Hart to run the guy, the company, and all their registered aircraft through the system. Then he assigned two agents to the Coastal Pines Executive airport, thirty minutes south of Talbot Island.

  He attempted a call to the two officers assigned to Roslyn and Owen, but his agents didn’t answer. For the past two days, they’d complained of spotty cell service on the island. Nathan sent a text to their backup satellite phone.

  If somehow they missed Kate returning to the island, they’d pick her up at Coastal Pines. But if she managed to slip through their net, Nathan would have no alternative but to issue an arrest warrant and he’d lose the opportunity of talking to her without Cedar Haynes glued to her side.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I stood in the lobby of the Jacksonville Airport Hampton Inn, out of a misting rain while I waited for my Uber car. Seven minutes later, I climbed into the back of a black SUV and met Les, my driver.

  I dialed Mom, but she didn’t answer. She was usually up by six. I sent her a text.

  —My ETA is 7:30, call me.—

  My previous four messages to Mom had gone unanswered. Anxiety weighed like a cement block on my chest. Until I had Owen in my arms and safe, I couldn’t relax. I reminded myself that Mom refused to carry her phone around like a security blanket. She kept her cell by her bed or sometimes in her purse and checked her messages periodically throughout the day. My pulse settled somewhat, but the weight tightened as if a blood pressure cuff wrapped my heart and each beat released a spurt of pressure.

  I checked the weather app on my phone. Sebastian had stalled off the coast of Miami and was expected to collide with another front and hurtle up the coast at a breaking twenty-three miles an hour. His gusting winds topping out at a hundred and fifteen.

  I texted Cedar on my last unused burner.

  —Got plane. Lvg @ 10. Need directions to house.—

  Ten miles from Talbot Island Les pulled into a rest stop. I used the restroom, grabbed a Diet Coke, and hopped back into the car. An eighteen-wheeler backed into a parking spot and blocked us from pulling out.

  My cell dinged a text from Cedar.

  —In court. Will send soon.—

  I glanced sideways, and an intense tingle of déjà vu settled over me. The face of the man in the car beside us fired fragmented memories through my head, like a ball spinning on a roulette wheel.

  Then the ball slid into a winning slot.

  The SUV was a gray Explorer, the same make, and model that followed me from Charleston. I studied the driver’s profile, Hispanic male, in his late forties or early fifties. Nothing about him stood out, no visible scars or tattoos. But there was something. There had to be hundreds of gray Ford Explorers, the odds of this one being the guy who’d followed me was a long shot.

  The driver’s eyes locked on mine, held for one hot, vibrant moment before he turned his attention back to the semi. The truck moved, and Les gave the Explorer the right of way. We both merged with the northbound traffic, and the Explorer zoomed three cars ahead.

  I couldn’t seem to shake my unease. I wanted another look. “Les, can we pick up speed?”

  He glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Can’t afford tickets in my line of work. I set my speed five miles over the limit and stay there.”

  Suddenly, my insides felt as though I’d swallowed broken glass. Recognition zapped my brain. I bolted upright and called my assistant Jennifer, at home.

  “When you apply for a license to marry, isn’t there a section to list former spouses?” I asked. Jennifer had chocked up two marriages by the age of twenty-five and was working hard on number three.

  “Yeah, I had to admit to the jackass from my wayward youth when I married the second bozo, why?”

  “I need you to scan the picture on the middle bookshelf in Joseph’s office. It’s of three men, Joseph, his son, and another man standing in front of a wooden building with a sign written in Spanish.” If I was right, the other man in the photo had the same features as the guy in the wedding photo stuck in the Journey book. “And there’s a book on his desk, Michener’s Journey. A photo’s inside, scan that one, too. Text them to me.” If my hunch was right, the photos were of the same man, and he had similar features as the man in the Explorer.

  “I met the US marshal at eleven o’clock last night and turned over Joseph’s computer.”

  “I’m sorry you had to go in so late, but it was an emergency. I also need you to locate a copy of Joseph and Kathleen’s marriage license. I want to know if Kathleen was Joseph’s first wife.” If I was right, the photos were all the same man, and another confirmation that Joseph was the one threatening Owen.

  “Kate, is everything okay? The Feds hauling out a manager’s hard drive can’t be good. Tell me the truth, do I need to worry?” Jennifer’s voice begged for reassurance.

  “I’ll explain everything as soon as I get back in the office.” I gave her my new cell number. “Don’t give the number to anyone else.” Jennifer didn’t question why.

  Les turned into the Marsh Coast Golf Club and stopped. A bride and groom posed in front of a group of palms outlined in tiny lights under the porte cochère, a morning wedding.

  I jumped out of the car and gave Les instructions on where to wait. Opening the service door on the side of the building, I slipped through, turned left, and entered the ladies locker room. I planned for us to sneak out the back entrance, hustle across the eighteenth green, cross a backyard that led to a side street, and meet up with Les. Simple enough. Except my hands were shaking, my knees were knocking, and I couldn’t seem to take a full breath.

  I sat on a chair by the sink and sent Mom a text.

  —I’m here. Where r u????—

  My phone vibrated, and a blank text popped onto the screen with an attachment. I recognized Mom’s number. The pressure in my chest eased. Thank God, she was finally answering her messages.

  Then I opened the attachment.

  Let the sleeping dog lie or your son will pay the price.

  You came close to losing him once.

/>   Will you chance it again?

  This time for good.

  Sending him to Florida won’t protect him.

  My heart skidded, then crashed. The words were a replica of the original threat I’d found in Ben’s car on Monday. Except for the last line. The first note had instructed me to open Ben’s trunk. That sentence was substituted with new demands.

  Go straight to Spartina

  Wait for further instructions

  Or you’ll never see your boy again!

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I stumbled out of the locker room and punched Mom’s number into my phone. Pick up. Pick up. Pick up. “Please, Mom. Answer the phone.”

  Panic fueled my muscles, and I ran for the parking lot. My brain stretched for reason, a less horrifying explanation—a hacker. Joseph’s hacker.

  I darted up and down the rows of parked cars hunting for Stanley’s sedan. Range Rovers, Lexus, BMW’s, plenty of Mercedes, but none that were chocolate brown.

  Mom and Owen had to be here. Somewhere. I dashed back to the locker room and checked every stall. Searched all three seating areas in the restaurant. I called Mom’s phone again and went straight to voicemail. “Call me. I need to talk to you.”

  I called my uncle’s home, then Mom’s cell, back and forth. Ranting each time Stanley’s number beeped busy and Mom’s calm, unruffled voice said she’d return my call. I stopped the madness and called Cedar. “Do you know where Mom is?”

  “She’s not with you?”

  “Joseph’s kidnapped Owen and Mom.” The words slid from my lips, and the jarring truth sank in.

  “What?”

  “I got a text…”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Why would Joseph kidnap Roslyn and your boy?”

  I swallowed an urge to scream. “They were supposed to meet me. They’re not here. She’s not answering her phone.”

  He sighed. “You sneaking away from Spartina most likely got Parsi’s nose out of joint. He’s probably socked them in one of his safe houses until he finds you.” A serves-you-right tone engulfed Cedar’s voice. “I’ll call him, find out where they are. But this wrecks the California plans.”

  I stood in the club’s foyer and locked on to the idea that a federal marshal had forced Mom and Owen to leave my uncle’s—not really that far-fetched. Unlike Joseph holding Owen and Mom hostage, which fell apart somewhere between my heart and my brain. “But if Parsi has Owen and Mom, then who sent the text from Mom’s phone? The same text left with Calvin’s body?”

  “You got that message again today?”

  “Except this one’s ordering me back to Spartina.”

  “I haven’t talked to Roslyn since yesterday.” Apprehension finally drifted through Cedar’s tone. “When’s the last time you spoke—”

  I hit disconnect. Cedar didn’t know anything. I dialed Stanley’s home number again. I clutched the phone tighter, prayed he’d answer and make sense of this nightmare.

  “Kate.” Stanley’s voice broke. “We can’t find Roslyn and Owen.”

  “That’s why I’m calling. She was supposed to meet me.”

  “She left an envelope on her bed addressed to you.” Relief swept over me. Mom must’ve changed her mind about going to California. “What’s the note say?”

  Stanley read the message. The words an exact replica of the text I’d just received. “Do you know what this note means?” he asked.

  The perimeter of the club’s foyer turned fuzzy. My stomach rolled and knotted. Bile rose in my throat.

  “Kate.” My uncle’s voice echoed from the phone. “Kate, are you there?”

  Questions rushed forward. “How long have they been gone?”

  “We’re not sure.” Stanley’s voice faltered. “But we think sometime within the past two hours. I tried to call you. Left messages at your house, your office, your cell.”

  Two hours? Where was I two hours ago? Ten miles away eating breakfast. Joseph stole my baby while I scarfed down eggs. “Oh, God.” My chest seized, squeezed. No way to get air. I slumped into a chair. Breathe, Kate. Slow. Breathe.

  “My car’s in the garage.” Stanley’s words broke through. “And Roslyn’s purse is still in her bedroom.”

  I felt as if I’d been cut, the knife so deep the wound wasn’t yet painful. “The marshals didn’t see anyone on your property?”

  “We were all passed out.”

  The minute amount of blood remaining in my heart drained away. “Passed out?” I pushed the phone tighter against my ear.

  “I couldn’t sleep…” Stanley’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “I came in the kitchen to get water, sat down with the marshals and drank a cup of coffee. Must’ve been laced with something because we all woke up on the kitchen floor. And Roslyn and Owen were gone.”

  My field of vision contracted to a one black point, then disappeared altogether, leaving behind a bright, blinding void. “Is Owen’s iPad in his room? His Ranger’s cap? He doesn’t go anywhere without them.”

  “I’ll look.” The telephone bumped against what sounded like wood, then Stanley’s voice mixed with another and floated through the receiver.

  My phone pinged with an email from Cedar.

  Word on the street is Erica’s gunning for your indictment. My source says there’s a good chance she’ll get it. Be careful.

  “Kate Landers?”

  I jumped and came close to dropping the phone. “Yes.”

  “What’s your location, Ms. Landers?”

  One long quiver ran up my spine. “Who’s this?”

  “Officer Warren Peabody. My partner and I are investigating the possible disappearance of your son and mother.”

  The police officer’s words muffled, drowned by the stronger and far more compelling voice in my head.

  Go to Spartina

  Wait for further instructions

  Or you’ll never see your boy again!

  I disconnected, jammed the phone in my purse, and ran full out. Cut through the eighteenth green, skirted a backyard fishpond, and found Les. The car door was locked, and I banged on the window.

  Les engaged the locks, and I climbed inside. “Interstate. Head north.” I wheezed and pointed toward the exit.

  Les drove to the front entrance of the golf club, stopped and turned to face me. His lips moved, but blood rushed my ears, roaring like a fierce summer squall.

  “Why are you stopping?” I pointed to the road. “Go. My brain recognized my pitching screech, but I didn’t care. “This is an emergency. Drive.”

  “I can’t go to Savannah. My daughter has a fever. I need to go back to Jacksonville.”

  “No. I have to go home. I live an hour south of Savannah.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t take you to Savannah.” His soothing voice was soft and fluid as if he were consoling a lost child.

  James’s car was near the airport. “Okay, you can drop me in Jacksonville. Near the airport.”

  Les put his SUV in gear. “Give me the address.”

  ****

  Ten minutes later we drove over the bridge and headed north on the interstate. Eight lanes of traffic traveled at a steady seventy-five miles an hour, and the dark clouds in the sky were as black and desolate as my thoughts.

  This wasn’t the first time Owen had disappeared. But his last abductor had been his father. And although I was livid, I wasn’t worried about Owen’s safety. I’d called Erica and begged her to find Adam. She dropped everything. Used her resources, called in favors, and found Adam six days later on a remote island in the Abacos. I banished the voice in my head whispering to call her.

  Let sleeping dogs lie or your son will pay.

  The message was clear, don’t go to the police. But Erica was already at Spartina, and so were Nathan and their team. And one of them worked for Joseph.

  My imagination conjured images of Owen, horrors blended with Calvin stuffed into Ben’s trunk that morphed into Owen’s sweet face. I pushed my ricocheting delirium to the deepest pit of my consc
iousness. Succumbing to frenzied hysteria wouldn’t get my son back. I called Cedar.

  “Have you heard from Roslyn?” he asked.

  “No. The kidnapper drugged Stanley and the two marshals. The local police are investigating. Do you have a contact in the FBI?”

  “I do. But the text instructed you to wait for instructions. Not saying you’re wrong, just make sure you’re willing to take the risk. Might be better to go home and let the kidnapper contact you. Find out what they want first.” His words rushed together, a cadence he often used when convincing someone over to his side.

  “The only reason Joseph would send me back to Spartina is that he has a man on Nathan’s team. I can’t fight this alone. You make the call to your friend.”

  I felt better. No, I felt less. The pain in my chest eased, the tightness in my neck dissipated, and my mind honed to laser sharp.

  “You don’t know for sure that the kidnapper’s Joseph,” Cedar said. “And it’ll be quicker if Parsi calls in the Feds.”

  “I don’t trust him.”

  “A US marshal isn’t behind this kidnapping.”

  Stanley tried to ring through, but I ignored his call. “Maybe not, but Parsi has a Cabral man on his team.”

  “We don’t know that for sure.”

  “We don’t know anything for sure except that Owen and Mom are gone. Call your contact. Now.” I disconnected and turned the sound to vibrate. The only call I intended to answer was Joseph’s.

  Stanley made a second attempt to get through, but I had nothing to tell him. And if the police were still at his house, I didn’t want to explain my decision to go to Spartina. I typed a text.

  —Talking to FBI. Wl call w/update.—

  Not quite the truth, but close.

  Drizzling rain turned into a steady stream. Long stretches of shiny blacktop closed in and brought new images from the dark, foreboding sky. Owen frightened and crying. Mom attempting to be strong. Oh, God, would I see them again? Blood oozed between my fingers. I unclenched my fist and ran my finger over the four half-moon cuts in my palm.

  I’d promised myself I’d be the world’s most loving and attentive mother. And two months later, I’d failed the most basic of parental responsibilities, to protect my son from evil.