“1-888-373-7888. It’s a division of the U.S. Department of Human Services. It was set up as a response to the TVPA, well, now the TVPA-R.”
My pen paused. “The what?”
“TVPA.” He enunciated each letter. “It means the Trafficking Victims Protection Act that passed in 2000. It has since been revised.”
I flopped back in my desk chair. “I had no idea.”
I heard his chair creak as he shifted his body weight. “Mrs. Westfall. You are not alone. That’s why we need people like you to spread the word. You may never be able to help those two girls, but you can help others. God bless you for your fervency.”
With that, he ended the call.
Now I was even more confused.
No more than a minute later my landline phone rang. “Hello?”
A mechanical, graveled voice replied. “Stop shaking the bushes, Mrs. Westlaw, or we’ll shake you.” Click.
I let the humming tone ring in my ear as my mind tried to grasp what just happened. Had someone bugged my home phone? When? As if it was on fire, I tossed the wireless receiver onto the bed. Then I dashed to the windows, closed the blinds, and double-bolted my doors.
Tom Cat mewed. I picked him up, grabbed my purse, and locked us both in the bathroom. Then, I dug for my cell phone and dialed Agent Hernandez. Maybe a companion right now wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Then again… I hung up before it rang twice.
I refused to be threatened. If I was rattling cages it meant I was doing some good. I apologized to my furry friend, unlocked the bathroom door, and re-opened my blinds.
If she called me back, I’d let the Feds in to do a sweep for listening devices, and agree to have them monitor the comings and goings in my complex for a while. But nothing more than that. No roommates. I deserved my privacy as much as possible.
* * *
Thursday at two in the afternoon, I opened the glass door to the church office. Mrs. Edwards was not at her station. I tapped on the desk. “Hello?”
I heard footsteps. Jake came out, this time in full minister-mode—vested suit, white shirt, black tie.
“You cleaned your shirts, I see.”
He ran his hand down his front and knitted his forehead. Then the light went on. “Ah. Yes. I guess I did. Come in.”
I stopped midway. “Where is Mrs. Edwards?”
“Dentist.” He cocked his head and propped against the door jamb. “Are you uncomfortable being alone with me? We were alone in the kitchen the first time.”
I readjusted my purse on my shoulder and walked toward him. “No, of course not.”
I’d just lied to a man of the cloth.
He sat down. So did I.
“Okay, have you done your homework? Asked the questions?”
I inched forward in my chair. “I called the number on the pamphlet and talked with...”
He leaned back and held up his hands. “Whoa. Stop.”
“What?” I scooted back into the chair, my hands in my lap.
“Jen, stop avoiding the main issue. You are torn between mourning your husband who isn’t the man you thought you married, and missing another man—the one you can’t decide who or what he is. Ask yourself, why did he, this Tom, have such an effect on you?”
I gulped down the emotions rising in my throat. “I have.”
“You don’t look as if you have an answer.”
I bowed my head. “I don’t.”
“Keep asking, then. Until you know that, you can’t move forward.”
I turned to stare out the window. “I know. It’s just too jumbled. It’s like putting together a jigsaw puzzle with the pieces all on the gray side.”
He pushed the tissue box toward me, and then clasped his hands over his desk. “Jen. Turn them over, one at a time and look at each piece. Ask God to help you find the next, then the next. Let Him guide your path.”
I smirked. “Ah. Back to question number one?”
He winked. “Always.”
I turned my head and stared at the tree in the reflective garden outside. The limbs jiggled slightly in the breeze, but the tree was sturdy, well-rooted. I wanted to be that tree. For me, for Monica, for Marisol, and yes, for Tom.
“I love him.”
“Your husband or Tom?”
“Yes.” It came out in a whispered squeak. I blinked, glanced at Jake then back to the tree.
He said nothing. I knew he was waiting for me to speak again. My eyes filled, blurring my view of outside. I wrapped a tissue around my fingers, then unwrapped it and dabbed my eyes. “The trouble is, I don’t know either of them, do I?” I shot him a look.
“How can you love someone you don’t know?”
I nodded as I took a breath. “Exactly.”
“Are you angry with them?”
The answer spurted out of me. “Yes.”
“Are you angry with yourself for being duped?”
The answer was the same, but less emphatic. I glanced down at the tissue, wrapped around two fingers this time.
He leaned in for the zinger. “Are you angry at God?”
I bolted from the chair and went to the window. “Don’t go there.”
“It’s my job to go there. You know that, Jen. Are you angry at God?”
I spun around with venom in my eyes. “Yes.” I screamed.
Jake rocked back with his hands laced behind his neck, just as he had in the kitchen before. He propped one foot on the opposite knee. “Good.”
I splayed my hands in confusion. “Good?”
“Uh-huh.” His eyes glistened brighter yet. “Which means two things.” Jake held up a finger. “One, you still believe in Him, and two…”Another finger joined the first one. “You have answered the first question. You believe He is in control. Otherwise, why would you care enough to be angry with Him?”
Flies could have buzzed in and out of my mouth and I not felt them.
He winked, flipped open his calendar and tapped a page. “Next Friday. Same time?”
I plopped in the chair, arms wrapped around myself. Wow, this man was good.
* * *
For two hours I paced and processed my session with Jake. I felt as weak as a horse that had just been ridden hard. I chose to hang up the emotional saddle and return to my mission. I flipped the pamphlet over in my hand. How was I to find these girls? If I raised awareness, it might not be a warning over the phone this time. Those goons from New York might raise their ugly heads and snatch me again.
Then, an idea gleamed inside my brain. I sat, cross-legged, half yoga style on the bed and slapped my own forehead. I had to get the attention off me and on to finding the girls. Duh! TV interviews wouldn’t do that. Maybe I could eventually write the memoir, just not now. This couldn’t be about me.
It was about Monica and Marisol, and hundreds like them. I’d go on an incognito, underground trek, with the help of Jake, and maybe Grace from Canyon. That way, even without Tom, I’d find out more about the world of trafficking. Make contacts. Seek them out. Needles can be found in haystacks—I just had to risk getting pricked when I least expected it. Maybe I already had.
I uncrossed my legs. Or, I could go the other route. I could make it all about me and stay in the limelight. I clapped my hands. Tom Cat jerked.
“Sorry, guy.” I leaned over to stroke his fur under his collar. “Mommy just had a brainstorm.”
What a better way to point to the problem? Not through sensationalistic media, but through legal means. Get involved with the big guns like the nonprofits and lobbyists, and then glean info from them. Be their local spokesperson and become a public figure. Let other people help me with the legwork. Rally the troops. Then it would attract way too much attention for anyone to try and mess with me.
I hugged Tom Cat, then set him down. Yes, that was the best route to take.
I rose from my bed and spun around the room as two feline eyes tracked my movements. I picked up my adopted stray and buried my cheek in his fur. “I have a new direction to go, Tom
Cat.”
But first, I had to get over my fear of public speaking. That interview with Channel 11 had unnerved me to no end. I Googled the topic and Toastmasters International popped up. A local club met at a restaurant two blocks from my house on Tuesday evenings. Cool. My plan emerged like a butterfly from a cocoon.
The phone rang. My heart flew out of my chest and then back in. I bent over the bed. The caller ID said “Name Unknown.” I took a deep breath, and then clicked the talk button. “Yes?”
“Tom says to drive to Arlington. Now. Meet him in the cough syrup aisle at the Walgreens on West Park Row near the University.” Click.
I knew that voice. It wasn’t mechanical. It was Chinese, and female. Mae Lin.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Tingling spread over my head and down my arms. Was this a trap? I remembered her slap across my face. She was not my friend. Perhaps she wanted to lure me somewhere I wasn’t familiar with so she could...what? It made no sense.
I dug through my wallet and stared at the card from Grace in Canyon. If I heard anything, call. I reached for the phone, tapped it twice with my fingernail, and then got up to make a cup of tea.
As the mug of water circled round and round in the microwave, it gave me time to think this through. Was the “him” I was supposed to meet really Tom? He and Mae Lin hadn’t parted on good terms. Why would she be his mouthpiece now?
The microwave dinged. I held the steaming cup to my face and breathed in the vapors. Just smelling the Earl Grey steeping eased my brain muscles. I sat down and sipped―slow, methodically. No, I was not dashing off to some drugstore in another city. No way.
But what could I tell the police? A strange voice which might have been the Chinese girl who was involved in kidnapping me left a cryptic message on my phone? Uh-huh. They’d rush over on that tip. Sure.
Tom Cat jumped onto my lap. I stroked his fur. “You are the only male I can trust, now. Well, you and Jake.”
The light bulb went on. He knew the whole story. He was astute. “Yes.” I hugged the animal again, set him down and punched in the number to the church. Mrs. Edwards answered. “I’m sorry. Pastor Jake is in premarital counseling with a couple. Can I give him a message?”
“Yes. Please.” I thought for a moment. “Tell him Mae Lin called me.”
I had to spell the name for her twice.
Three computer Scrabble games later my cell phone rang. Sure it was Jake, I didn’t check the caller ID. “Hi. What shirt do you have on now?”
“A blue one. I’m here at Walgreens. Where are you, Jen?”
The hint of Irish brogue in his voice sent a rush of ice through my arm, then heat. Tom. I wanted to yell at him, hug him, but also hang up on him.
“At home,” I replied coolly. I slurped my tea for effect.
A few seconds of silence followed. Then the phone clicked off.
Clarity slapped me in the chest. Had that been Tom, or someone pretending to be him?
“Jen, you’re stupid, stupid.” I hit my forehead with my palm. Now, whoever wanted me to come to Arlington knew where I was.
I grabbed my keys, hopped in my car and drove the opposite way, west toward Weatherford. Then I took Loop 820 around, down I-35 and back to my apartment complex via three side streets. I sat in the parking lot and watched the cars come and go. Each one knew the gate code or had a clicker. Tom didn’t have either. Neither did Mae Lin. It was a gated community, but of course it was possible to sneak in after another car before it closed. I couldn’t stake out my own apartment complex all day.
“The Feds could,” I said out loud to my steering wheel. But that would mean telling them Tom, or someone pretending to be him, had contacted me. Then would begin the surveillance and companions 24/7. I didn’t want on that merry-go-round again.
I slammed the steering wheel with the heel of my hand. This was ridiculous. I couldn’t cower in my car all day waiting for someone to show up with a gun tucked under a jacket.
I felt idiotic. This wasn’t TV. No spies or cops and robbers lurked inside those apartment gates. This was real life. I started the car, pointed my clicker at the gate, and went home.
As I walked in the door, Jake called back. I told him about my phone calls to the Anti-Trafficking Coalition, the one from the Chinese woman, and the man who sounded like Tom.
“You were wise not to go.”
“Jake, may I ask you something. And tell me honestly.”
He laughed. “Yes, I believe God is in control, too.”
I scoffed at him in jest. “Please. I’m serious. Do you think Tom is, uh, was a psycho?”
I heard him blow his breath out over the receiver. I waited.
“I never met him, so I can’t answer that. In abnormal psych courses in college I learned true psychopaths can be geniuses. They can be cunning, devious and lure other people into their games. They seek out vulnerable, unhappy people and suck them into their delusion. Look at Hitler.”
I chuckled. “Hardly the same.”
“True, but still...”
For a moment we both were silent. Then he said quietly, “Jen. If he calls again, call the police and tell them. He isn’t worth your time, or your love. That will fade. It was all part of the excitement and chaos. Your feelings for him are trying to fill a void, so you keep things stirred up instead of facing life.”
His words pressed hard against my heart. He was right. I nodded into the phone. “Okay. Got it.”
“Jen, listen. Adrenaline rushes can be addictive. They make us feel alive. But they are dangerous. You need to pray yourself through them.”
After we hung up I paced for a few minutes. His words floated around me, not quite sticking.
I tore up the agent’s card and stuffed it into the bottom of the sack lining my trash can, then scooped Tom Cat’s dirty litter into it, tied it together, and walked it to the dumpster. Grace’s card, the officer from Canyon, I kept. She might be able to help me find Marisol and Monica and get in touch with statewide anti-trafficking groups. Besides, I liked her.
My cell phone buzzed with a text message. I picked it up and swiped my finger on the app. The words blared off the screen. I’m still here. Please come. Have Snickers.
My heart jumped into my throat. Only Tom knew the significance of a Snickers bar to the two of us. Maybe he’d be all the protection I needed. I texted back: Okay. Coming now. Got Agritos?
I dashed to my car, got in, and plugged the partial address into my phone’s navigation search. Walgreens. West Park Row. Arlington. Thank God the GPS lady was smarter than most humans. She understood exactly where I needed to be. Within a half hour, her soothingly calm voice had guided me to my “destination straight ahead in 400 feet.”
* * *
Walgreens wasn’t crowded. I noticed three employees, a hunched-over wisp of an old man adjusting his glasses to read the labels in the laxative aisle, and a young woman with purple streaks spiking out of her hair browsing the hair products. No one was in the cold and flu remedy section.
I’d never been to Arlington, though Six Flags, the Rangers’ ballpark, and the Cowboys’ stadium close by, made it a tourist’s mecca. T-shirts for each of them crowded for display space near the candy aisle. I chose a blue and red Ranger’s shirt, size medium.
“Want me to buy you that one?”
I squeezed my eyes shut and took a breath to keep from squealing and flinging myself into his arms. I put the T-shirt back and brushed through the hangers, which made the shirts wave back and forth almost in a hello. I cleared my throat. “Long time no see.”
“Miss me?” His arm, sporting the new gold Rolex, reached out to take a Ranger’s shirt off the display rack. I smelled my favorite brand of cologne. His breath was warm, and smelled freshly minted. Was it for my benefit to snare me in his webs of deceit again? Or did he really care? I turned my back to him so he couldn’t read my emotions. “Was I supposed to?”
He scoffed. “Well, perhaps not since you’ve moved on to greener pastures. I mean, th
e way you’ve been hanging around that young minister.” He made a disapproving click with his tongue. “Alone, behind closed doors no less.”
I swung toward him, my Irish temper bubbling to the surface.
He cocked his head. “Ah, I see. Is it because he’s safe? Or do you like the challenge?”
The temperature in my cheeks increased by at least ten degrees. “Because of you, I am seeking counseling from that pastor.”
His grin widened. “And signed up for Bible courses, too. Glad to be a good influence on your life.”
“How…How did you know?” I sputtered.
“I have made it my job to know, lady.” He leaned in and brushed his lips over my right cheekbone then moved them to my ear. “I have been watching you, hon, even in your travels. I wasn’t the only one. Others in New York watched to make sure you did the right thing and came home.”
I gasped. “If you knew about those goons on the plane, why didn’t you intervene?”
“I couldn’t, Jen. It would have brought me out into the open. I am still wanted, you know.”
I flipped around. “Stay away from me. Crawl back into your delusional underworld. I want no more to do with you.” Another lie.
The manager came over. “Is anything wrong here?”
Tom scratched his head. “She doesn’t want me going to the game with the guys instead of her.” He rolled his eyes for effect.
I thrust my hands onto my hips. “Oh, sure. So, I guess Miss Buxom, always-wearing-a-too-tight-T-shirt Sheila is one of the guys, huh? She gets to go with you.”
The manager spun on one heel and backed away from the line of fire.
Tom’s eyes twinkled. “See, we make such a good pair.”
“Not anymore.”
He rubbed the small of my back. “I’ve missed you. I just had to wait until things cooled down a bit.”
My eyes became hot. I jerked away from his touch. “I mean it, Tom. Go away.”
He held up a Snickers candy bar. “Then, why did you come?”
I looked away.
“Your finger is still bare. Never replaced the wedding ring, huh?”
I clenched my jaw and stormed out of the pharmacy. I half-wanted him to follow me and half-wanted to put as much distance between us as possible. I walked to my car and stood there trying to collect my thoughts. Hadn’t he just admitted to knowing about my being shanghaied in New York? Then why hadn’t he stopped it? Surely, if he was truly the big underworld man he claimed to be, it would have been a piece of cake.
Hush in the Storm Page 21
