Family Ties (John Taylor Book 5)

by Travis Starnes

  “Have you had any luck?”

  “No. The only real connection I had was that it had something to do with the family, so I’ve been trying to work back who they would have had do it, and follow the money. Of course, now that we know your friend Graf is both dirty and leading the investigation into Frieda’s death, he seems the most likely candidate.”

  “You know they have video of you entering and leaving the building right around the time she died?”

  “Yeah, I’d heard that. I’m not surprised. Frieda was still warm when I got there, so it’s not surprising my showing up at the apartment was in the window. Seeing how she was killed and knowing what I knew about members of the police being in the family's pocket, I was positive I was going to be framed with her death, so I didn’t stick around.”

  “Something just occurred to me. I only ever saw a video file containing a loop of you coming in and then leaving the building. Graf told us that you were the only person to come or go from the building within several hours of the murder. Still, considering he just pointed a gun at my head, I’m starting to think his word can’t be trusted. I’d really like to see the original video.”

  “Didn’t Graf take the video? Even if we got it out of police lockup, I guarantee he’s cut out any parts that would incriminate the real killer.”

  “The quality was digital. Frieda’s building was pretty high end, and the cameras I saw were all newer models. I’d bet it’s stored digitally, and Graf just got a copy of it. The building management probably still has access to the original file.”

  “Our best bet is probably the building manager. I was coming and going enough that the doorman got tired of constantly checking to make sure I was allowed in the building. He didn’t have the authority to allow me to pass without stopping on his own, so he called down the manager, who talked to Frieda and okayed it. If anyone had access to the security video, it would be him.”

  “In the morning, we’ll set up and watch for him to leave the building, so we can have a talk with him. First, though, I want to stop and see a friend of mine.”

  “Why am I not surprised you have a friend here in town.”

  Taylor’s years in the Special Forces community had led to him building up a fair number of contacts who, after getting out, ended up in various security and intelligence jobs around the world. In the few years that Whitaker had known Taylor, he’d often been able to come up with a random person he knew ‘back in the service’ who had been able to help them out.

  “He already kind of knows what’s going on. He’s the one who tracked down the real identities of the guys who jumped me at the storage locker. When that information clashed with what Graf had told me was when I knew he was dirty. Unfortunately, my poker face sucked, and Graf realized I was on to him before I could make a move.”

  “What do you need to get from your friend?”

  “First, I want to find out how screwed we are. My guess is Graf will find a reason to put a warrant out for me to and use the cities resources to track us down, but that’s a guess. I don’t want to be blindsided by someone just doing their job and taking us in if we can avoid it.”

  “You agree that we shouldn’t call Joe, at least not yet.”

  “No. He’d tell us to turn ourselves in and then try to work and clear us through diplomatic channels. That sounds great in theory, but Graf would make sure we were dead well before he could make anything happen. This is one of the times doing things the ‘right’ way would be completely wrong.”

  Whitaker looked away for a minute before saying, “I agree.”

  “Hey,” Taylor said, cupping her chin in his hand and turning her face back towards him. “I get it.”

  Whitaker stared into Taylor’s eyes, searching for something, before pulling out of his grasp.

  With a heavy sigh, she collapsed into herself, softly saying, “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.”

  “So, are we going to talk about this now?”

  “Yeah.”

  They sat awkwardly for a few minutes, neither looking at each other, both trying to come up with what to say next.

  Eventually, Taylor said, “I still think I did the right thing. Qasim was a danger to everyone, but I recognize what a terrible position I put you in. I know how you feel about doing things by the rules. I know how much lying on the official report hurt you, and I’m sorry I put you in that position. I know I said, afterward, that I didn’t ask you to do that for me, and I know I was wrong about that. I knew you loved me, and I wasn’t surprised when you made your story match mine. I’d expected you to do it. I almost wish you hadn’t. I think jail would’ve been better than losing you. These last few months have been awful.”

  Taylor ran down. He’d been struggling since she left on what he actually felt. He still thought he’d done the right thing, but he realized he’d been so stubborn about his actions being right he refused to see what his decision had forced her to do.

  “I still think you shouldn’t have shot him once he was in handcuffs. I admit that you knew him better than me, and I accept that you’d know better if he was still a danger in custody. What I was really mad about was that I felt you’d forced me to falsify the report, but you were right when you said you never asked me to do it. I made my choice but didn’t want to take responsibility for that. Everything that’s happened over the last week has pointed out that maybe you’ve been right all the times you said always going by procedure didn’t work. If I did things the way I ‘should,’ I would have turned myself in after I found Frieda’s body, and I’d almost certainly be dead now. I still think that usually, it’s best to do things the official way, but I agree that you’re right. Sometimes the official way and the right way are not the same thing.”

  “So, where do we go from here?”

  “I think I try to stop being so rigid about doing things the ‘right’ way and you stop being so stubborn in doing things ‘your way.’ I’m sure there will be times when we run into this again. Next time, we need to not dig our heels in and try and see things from the other’s perspective. Had we talked about it like this and not just retreated to our corners, things would have gone differently.”

  “That sounds a lot easier said than done.”

  “It is, but there’s one thing that, if we remember it, we should be able to get through our disagreement.”

  Taylor looked at her, trying to work out what she meant.

  “What’s that one thing?”

  “That we love each other and only want the best for each other.”

  Tayor left out a soft chuckle and said, “There’s that. Had I remembered that and thought about it, I wouldn’t have demanded you just accept what I did as right.”

  “Had I remember it, I wouldn’t have handed back the ring.”

  “Speaking of which,” Taylor said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small box. “Would you consider taking this back?”

  Whitaker’s breath caught as she reached out and took it, opening the box to reveal her engagement ring.

  “You have it with you?”

  “I’ve had it in my pocket every day since you left, hoping we’d be able to fix this.”

  “Yes, I’ll take it back. I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.”

  Whitaker slid the ring on her finger and looked back at Taylor, her eyes filled with tears. Taylor leaned down and gently kissed her. Whitaker threw her arms around his neck as their passion mounted.

  Their collective sorrow and regret for the time apart and their joy at being back together fueled them. They spent the rest of the night trying to show the other how much they loved each other.

  Chapter 9

  The next morning Taylor and Whitaker both seemed to subconsciously need to constantly touch each other. Passing each other in the small motel room, they repeatedly reached to make physical contact. A slight caress of the back or brief hand hold seemed to reinforce they were really together again, even if their underlying problems hadn’t
been solved.

  Since both of them only had the things they’d been carrying when they went on the run, it didn’t actually take all that much time to get ready. Neither had a lot of cash on them and they couldn’t use credit cards since Graf would almost certainly have flagged those by now. Taylor had already pulled the battery out of his cell phone, but thankfully Whitaker had a burner she’d picked up. Overall, their supply situation was severely lacking.

  “Where’d the bike come from?” Taylor said as he worked through the things that, if used, could come back and haunt them.

  “It was Grace’s. Actually, it was an old boyfriend of hers who left it behind when they broke up. She’d just kept it in case he ever came back for it.”

  “So, it’s in his name?”

  “Yea. Unless Graf is really thorough, I don’t think he’ll be able to trace it.”

  “Graf seems pretty thorough. He might figure it out and put a BOLO out for it.”

  “So, we need to dump it?”

  “Maybe not. Let's go see my friend, he might be able to help us out.”

  She gave Taylor a peck on the cheek before sliding on the bike helmet. Taylor thought briefly that he needed to get one too. Not just to make sure his brain stayed in his skull if they wrecked, but also because it was an excellent way to keep himself anonymous as they drove around town.

  Any APB on them would include their descriptions and the fact that it was a man and a woman last seen on a motorcycle. The last part wouldn’t mean much if he was wearing a helmet, since there were a fair number of motorcycles in the city, and many of them had a male and female rider.

  Although the trip to Bryant’s shop didn’t take long it was nerve-wracking as they looked for any sign of police. Whitaker let Taylor drive since he had more experience on a motorcycle, but she was still the one wearing a helmet since it didn’t fit Taylor.

  It was still early when they arrived at the shop, just a few minutes till it was supposed to open. Thankfully, Bryant was there and the only one inside when Taylor and Whitaker walked in.

  “You really turned everything to shit, didn’t you?” Bryant said as soon as he saw Taylor.

  “Things went sideways, yeah.”

  “What happened?”

  “The cop I was working with turned out to be dirty. He told me those guys you checked on were just basic street thugs, and they were just looking to rob us. He got the drop on me as soon as I got off the phone with you. Thankfully, that was the moment Whitaker decided to show up.”

  Taylor tilted his head in Whitaker’s direction to indicate her.

  “So, you’re the lady behind all the trouble?”

  “Something like that,” she said as she looked around the repair shop.

  “We could use some help,” Taylor said.

  “No, kidding. What, you need to get out of town?”

  “No, we’re going to find out who killed her aunt and get the evidence to prove we’re innocent.”

  “You realize there are warrants for the attempted murder of a police officer out for the both of you, right? Any cop that finds you isn’t going to be gentle and will probably err on the side of lethal force if you give them the chance.”

  “We realize that, but we can’t just run. Even if we convince the US authorities that we’re innocent and not to extradite us, Whitaker’s career would be finished.”

  “Let’s not forget the minor detail of making sure the person who actually killed Frieda gets brought to Justice,” Whitaker said, picking up a broken radio and looking it over.

  “That too, I guess,” Taylor said.

  “Okay. Well, you’re here. What do you need from me?”

  “Partially, we’ve already gotten it. I assumed Graf would do something like this, but I wanted to make sure.”

  “I can do some more checking if you give me a few minutes.”

  They waited, poking around the shop as Bryant did his digging, logging into different databases he apparently had access to. Most were in German, which made sense, so Taylor didn’t know what he was actually doing.

  Eventually, Bryant pushed away from his computer and said, “Aside from the warrant, they’ve put out notices to the airports, ports, bus and train stations. You’ve both been called ‘armed and dangerous.’ I give it until tonight till your faces start popping up on news broadcasts.”

  “Shit, that’ll make everything harder.”

  “I imagine. She’s got the right idea,” Bryant said, pointing at the helmet in Whitaker’s hand.

  “Yeah, but we only have the one.”

  “I have one that should fit you, plus a riding jacket. Keep it on as much as you can, and you should be okay. It’s not that uncommon to see people walking around with their helmets on if they’re not too far from their bike.”

  “Thanks, I owe you.”

  “You sure as hell do,” Bryant said as he headed to retrieve the helmet and jacket.

  Taylor and Whitaker didn’t stick around long. They both wanted to be in a position to grab the building manager as soon as possible. The longer they were out in public, the more dangerous it got. Especially if Bryant was right and their faces would soon show up on people's TVs. Considering they were wanted for trying to kill Graf, the news getting interested seemed to be a no brainer.

  There was a small park across from Frieda’s apartment building with a handful of benches. They parked on the other side of the park from the building just so they weren’t sitting directly in front of it, starring and sat on a bench with the most unobstructed view.

  The key to a stakeout is one person is always focused on the target. This sounds easy enough for most people, but the act of just staying at one space for long periods is both tedious and exhausting. Things can happen fast, so the person watching the target can’t look away to read or do something else, intermittently watching. It requires the watchers' complete attention. The real hard part, though, is keeping your mind from wandering. Taylor knew some law enforcement listened to music or audiobooks while on a stakeout, but he’d found that it made his mind wandering worse.

  The focus and monotony is why it’s usually best to have two people on a stakeout. Besides being available to give the other person a chance to use the restroom, the watchers could switch out frequently, resting their eyes and resting for the next go.

  Even with a partner, though, Taylor hated it. More so now that he was with Whitaker. There was a tension that still hung in the air between them, despite their reconciliation the night before. They’d forgiven each other and even bent to try and see the other side, but the issue wasn’t resolved. He still believed he’d done the right thing, and she still believed he hadn’t. That wasn’t something that was going to change, but it was something they were going to need to deal with.

  Ever since they’d started working together, it had been a problem looming in the background, waiting to rear its head. Taylor was pretty sure that, if they didn’t deal with it, then they wouldn’t last. The hard part was, he wasn’t sure what the compromise was. While he and Whitaker got along well, this would always be an area they completely disagreed on, and one they both thought was critical.

  He knew Whitaker could feel the tension too, but he also knew that she was too professional to let something like that interfere with what they needed to do. So for now, it would just be sitting there, hanging above their heads, waiting.

  It turned out they didn’t have to wait too long for the manager to show, at least as far as stakeouts go. After three hours of sitting on the hard park bench, Whitaker spotted the man leaving the front door of the building, walking away from it to the west.

  Taylor hadn’t met him, but Whitaker had, and her description turned out to be really accurate. He was middle-aged, probably in his late forties, rotund with thinning black hair. Large glasses sat somewhat crookedly on his face as he walked down the sidewalk away from them.

  Taylor and Whitaker got up at the same time, moving in opposite directions. This part they had discussed extens
ively the night before and again this morning. The hardest part of this would be actually making the snatch. If they had a car, it wouldn’t have been so bad. They could have just pulled alongside him and pushed him into the back seat. Taylor had been involved in a few snatches over the years when he was in the service, and it was always surprising how fast it could happen.

  On a motorcycle, though, they didn’t have that choice. The area wasn’t particularly busy, but it also wasn’t empty. It was broad daylight, which meant that no matter what they did, they’d be visible. They’d eventually settled on the plan that Taylor would follow him on foot, and Whitaker would follow further behind on the motorcycle, ready to swoop in and retrieve Taylor if things went sideways.

  Taylor fell in step behind the man, about twenty or so feet back. This section of Berlin wasn’t like Manhattan, with its near-constant wall of people, but it wasn’t empty either. There were maybe a dozen people on their side of the street that Taylor could see. He’d timed it so that there were two other pedestrians between them, making it less obvious that Taylor was following the man.