Huddled Masses (JP Warner Book 2)

by Derek Ciccone

  Byron backed her up, “I’ve always admired your guts, JP, but this isn’t the Jones case. He was one dude—granted, one crazed, cunning serial killer—but this is a shadow army we’re dealing with. Gwen’s right.”

  As she often is. I think I surprised everyone by agreeing without even a whimper, much less a fight. I asked Carter, “Do you know how to get hold of Jovana? She’s the only ‘authorities’ I’d trust with this.”

  Which was saying something, since she’d basically lied to us every step of the way. That, and I’ll be hearing about the ‘shoulder rub that wasn’t’ for the rest of my life.

  He shook his head. “She contacts me—it’s the only way she works.”

  Same here. But it led me to a thought, “She’s probably listening right now. You know how the CIA likes to play with their bugs.”

  I began pacing the room and shouting like a crazy man, “Jovana, come out and play! We have what you want. I know you’re listening!”

  My voice began to quiver, and each step was like I was trudging in mud. The room began to spin. Then once again, everything went black.

  Chapter 45

  “Go fish,” Gwen said.

  Gracie reached into the pond of cards on the floor of the tree fort and pulled one out. They were going old school—and not just the card game, but all electricity was off, and the only lighting came via lantern.

  A long silence ensued, and Gwen turned to the boy who was restricting the flow. “It’s your turn, Chase.”

  He didn’t appear enthused. “Why can’t we play a game?” he whined.

  “This is a game,” his sister informed him.

  “If it’s a game, then how come there isn’t a screen?”

  “Back in history, not all games were electronic. Like when Mom was a kid,” Gracie said.

  Gwen made eye contact with Allison, who was sitting on the edge of the lower bunk, and had been staring off into space most of the night. But Gracie’s comment brought her a brief smile. Back in history?

  The topic of modern technology reminded Gwen to check the baby monitor. It was actually an app that she’d added to her phone following JP’s fainting spell this afternoon.

  After being revived, he predictably refused to go to the hospital. Luckily, Dr. MacDougal, who’d been treating them since back in history, still made house calls. But since every Dr. MacDougal diagnosis Gwen could remember consisted of a vague reference to a virus and a prescription for an antibiotic, she wasn’t confident that a head injury would be his specialty. But their luck continued to trend upward, when he brought along his son, who had recently left the trauma unit at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital to move home and work in his father’s practice.

  The younger Dr. MacDougal described concussions as snowflakes, in that two are never alike, and the path to a cure is often bumpy and unpredictable. So he wasn’t surprised that JP’s symptoms had returned, which included headache, blackouts and nausea. The only recommendation was bed rest, with curtains drawn to counter his light sensitivity. He provided him a “seasickness wristband” to help with the nausea, and suggested Advil for the headache.

  The phone app showed JP sleeping soundly inside the colonial. The app probably would have made a better security system than the one JP paid a fortune to have put in—it had audio, night vision, alerts for noise or movement, and even a few pre-loaded lullabies if her baby couldn’t sleep.

  Gwen returned her attention to the game—a way to pass the time as it slowly crept toward morning. The meeting at Gazette headquarters concluded with the agreement that they were over their heads and needed to turn what they knew over to the professionals. But they didn’t trust Hawkins, who was heading up the Huddled Masses case for the FBI. And if they went to the local police, they would just be transferred to him. And after what happened to Marty Cooper, using the anonymous tip line didn’t seem like a good option. That left the CIA, but they had no idea how to get hold of their contact.

  So they decided to sleep on their next move, with the main priority keeping Allison and her kids hidden safely away. For that purpose, the tree fort came in very handy.

  “Do you have any twos?” Gracie asked, but Gwen was focused on the girl’s mother, who continued to stare at the wall.

  “Miss Delaney,” Gracie said again, snapping her to attention.

  She looked at the girl, dressed in her pajamas, concerned about an insignificant card game, unaware that her whole future had been altered. Her heart broke her.

  “I’m sorry, Gracie … my mind is getting sleepy. How about we rest up and play again in the morning?”

  Gracie and Chase looked disappointed at first, but recovered quickly, as kids often do. “I got the top bunk,” Chase exclaimed, and practically ran up the ladder.

  But once reaching the top, his expression turned from excitement to unsure. Gwen thought he might have miscalculated how high up he was, and was rethinking his decision. But his true focus was the tree branches along the roof. They were actually plastic, as JP wanted to provide the “full tree house effect” when they designed it.

  “What if a bird makes a nest in them, and then poops on me in the night?” the boy asked.

  Gwen stifled a laugh, and was about to explain that the branches were fake, when Gracie made her way up to the top bunk. “I’ll protect you from the birds, little brother.”

  The act grabbed Gwen’s heart. She had been an only-child growing up—Tommy came along after she was already an adult—and she thought it would be nice to have someone around who would protect you when the bird crap of life started coming down on you. They would need each other now more than ever.

  Chapter 46

  Gwen reached the bottom of the ladder. She folded it back up and pushed it closed, safely enclosing the children inside.

  She took a seat next to Allison at the base of the tree. She zipped up her jacket—the day had started out like spring, but the night had turned cold. And the woods were as dark as Gwen could ever remember. The only light came from her phone, reminding her to check the baby monitor app once more—it’s not like he hadn’t escaped before.

  A second light appeared. This one was a small orange dot coming from beside her. “I didn’t know you smoked?” Gwen said in a soft voice.

  “Picked up a pack on the way here, when we stopped for gas—first cigarette I’ve had since I was fourteen.”

  A long pause hung over them, before Allison spoke, “What am I going to tell them? How can I possibly look at their little faces and say those words … your father is never coming home.”

  Gwen put her arm around her—she was out of words, and doubted that anything would help, anyway.

  “And I have to tell Marty’s family. They don’t even know … we’re supposed to go down there to visit next weekend. Agent Hawkins said his name wouldn’t be revealed for a few days, until they complete their investigation, but I can’t let them hear it from the news. Oh God …”

  Gwen was about to tell her that it was going to be all right, but she caught herself—it wasn’t going to be.

  “And Gracie knows something’s up—you can’t fool her for long. Chase is more wrapped in the moment, but he follows his sister’s lead.”

  “Kids are resilient—they bounce back quicker than we do. And they have each other—just look how Gracie protected him in there. The important thing right now is that they’re safe. Let’s just get through tonight, then we’ll take what you know to this CIA agent—if JP and Carter trust her, then I trust that we’re in good hands.”

  “If they can even get in touch with her. And what then—we live in witness protection or something? I have to pull Gracie and Chase out of a school they love, and the only home they ever knew, and move to Seattle or Albuquerque?”

  Allison glanced up at the tree house. “They’re great kids … they don’t deserve this.”

  Gwen pulled her closer. “I know.”

  “And why did they choose us? I just don’t understand.”

  Gwen had been
thinking about that. It wasn’t random, because every move this group made was plotted. The only connecting link was JP, but he hadn’t even returned to Rockfield when Tully hired Marty Cooper’s new consulting business. Not to mention, he had no relationship with Marty, and hadn’t seen Allison is fifteen years. There was some other reason, she just wasn’t sure what.

  “I wish I knew,” Gwen said, the cold beginning to overtake her senses. “What do you say we go back inside?”

  Allison put her cigarette out, and Gwen helped her to her feet. Gwen pulled the stairs down, and began to climb. Allison followed her.

  In the distance, Gwen could hear a rustling sound. She wondered if it was the fisher cats—more reason to get inside.

  The sound grew louder, and was headed their way. It happened so fast that they couldn’t react.

  It was a motorcycle. But that was all Gwen could make out as it whipped by them. When she glanced down, Allison was gone.

  The driver had grabbed her as he sped by, and she was now in his clutches as he skidded the bike to a stop. Gwen shone her phone in the direction, and saw that the driver was wearing night-vision goggles. Uh-oh.

  Another motorcycle followed, coming to a stop right in front of the stairs. Gwen’s first thought was: the kids! She needed to get inside and lock them safely in. She scrambled up the ladder and into the tree house, but she didn’t have time to close it behind her. Her assailant was in right after her, and tackled her to the ground.

  “We meet again,” he said, smirking. The goggles and motorcycle helmet didn’t hide his identity, nor did he try to conceal it. It was the British accent guy who said that it always ends badly for JP’s girlfriends. He was starting to look like Nostradamus.

  He got to his feet and headed for the children, who were now awake and screaming.

  Gwen lunged after him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and held on for dear life. “You leave them alone—they have nothing to do with this!”

  He tossed her to the ground. “You have a big mouth, just like your boyfriend.”

  His attention went to her, which was what she wanted—it delayed his march to the children. He flipped her over on her stomach, and pulled out a rope. He tied her hands behind her back, and then placed a gag over her mouth.

  He might have silenced her “big mouth,” but there were other ways to communicate. She looked Gracie deep in her eyes, pleading with her to run as fast as she could. The girl read the signal, grabbed her brother, and jumped off the top bunk—their loud thud alarming the attacker. But when he reached to grab them, they were already past him, and down the stairs.

  The attacker just smiled, as if he were impressed by the escape. He made his way after them at a measured pace, and disappeared down the ladder.

  Gwen slithered like a snake on her belly to get a view out the opening. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark, and she was able to see the children attempt to get away. But his long strides made up ground fast, and he collared them by the back of their pajamas.

  They demanded, “let us go!” And surprisingly, he obliged. He then instructed them to run as fast as they could toward the Warner home, and inform JP that there was an emergency at the tree house. He pointed them in the right direction. “Don’t stop until you get there,” he shouted.

  They looked frozen for a moment, unsure, until their mother yelled at the top of her lungs, “Run! Run as fast as you can!”

  They took off immediately. Chase first, Gracie leading from behind.

  Allison remained in the clutches of her captor. He set her on the bike, and handed her a helmet.

  “Trust me, I’m not going to hurt you. I was told that if you don’t arrive in one piece, I’d better not show up, so put the helmet on,” he said.

  When she refused, he forcefully put it on her. He then straddled the bike behind her, and in a flash, they were whizzing through the woods.

  British had returned inside the tree house. Gwen noticed that both his hands were full, and she knew this wasn’t good for her. He set the items down long enough to toss her onto the bed.

  He reached down and reclaimed the items he’d brought with him. In one hand was the pack of cigarettes, a gas can in the other.

  “You need to be very careful of smoking … especially in such a woodsy terrain. One little ash could set the entire forest on fire.”

  She yelled at him, explaining where he could shove his cigarettes, but the gag made it inaudible.

  “I know what you’re thinking—that they’ll eventually figure out that it wasn’t an accident. But by that time, I’ll be long gone. So the point is moot, love, and not worth your final thoughts.”

  She looked to her phone, which had fallen near the bed. It was torturing her—close enough to see JP, but too far to reach.

  “There are others amongst my group, who thought we should just have shot you when we had the chance, or I should just strangle the life out of you right now … but I’m a romantic. And what can be more romantic than JP Warner running to save his damsel, death be damned, before they both succumb to the fire. Willy Shakespeare would approve.”

  He picked up the can and began soaking the insides of the tree house with gasoline, saving a good douse for Gwen.

  When the can was empty, he headed for the entrance. “Ta-ta, love.”

  Gwen rolled off the bed and slithered across the floor once more until she could see out the entrance. She saw him coating the tree bark in gas. He lit a match and started the fire in a circle around the tree. It immediately began to climb up the trunk, and smoke began to pour inside.

  He shut the door of the fort … like an oven. Gwen’s view had been cut off, but she could still hear his motorcycle speeding away.

  She could already feel the intense heat below her as she made her way across the floor, until she reached her phone. She took one last look at JP on the baby monitor, who was still sleeping soundly, and said into her gag, “Sweet dreams, baby. I hope you know I’ll always love you.”

  Chapter 47

  I woke up to the sound of the doorbell.

  And it wouldn’t stop. Ding, ding, ding, ding …

  I picked myself out of the bed, and the dizziness returned. I walked hesitantly, trying to get my bearings—“I’m coming!” I shouted.

  As I made my way to the bedroom door, I noticed the powerful sun shining through the pulled shade, turning it an orange-ish color. But unless I’d pulled a Rip Van Winkle, it should be the middle of night—there was no sun. I pulled the shade to see that the woods behind the house were ablaze!

  Light was not a friend in my condition, and I turned away. When I did, things began to click.

  The woods are on fire.

  The tree house is in the woods.

  Gwen is in the tree house!

  I gritted my teeth and ran as fast as I could down the stairs, hoping like hell that Gwen was the ringer.

  But she wasn’t.

  It was Chase and Gracie. The boy was sobbing, while the girl remained surprisingly composed.

  “Mr. Warner—they told us to get you. There’s an emergency. They said not to stop until we got to you,” the girl spoke fast.

  “Who told you this?”

  “The men on the motorcycles who took my Mom.”

  “Hold on … slow down … someone took your Mom?”

  “We weren’t supposed to look back, but I did, and saw him drive off with her.”

  “That was brave of you, Gracie. What about Gwen … Miss Delaney?”

  “The other guy tied her up in the tree house.”

  Son of a … There was no time to waste. I was about to instruct the kids to run to my parents’ house, but I didn’t need to, as they were walking toward us, dressed in bathrobes.

  “JP—thank God you’re alright,” my mother said.

  “I called the fire department, they should be here any second,” my father added, always calm in a crisis. He shielded his eyes, as he looked to the burning woods.

  “Mom, Dad, this is Gracie and C
hase. Hide them away in your house, and don’t tell anyone but Rich Tolland about them,” I said and began to run toward the blaze.

  “JP—no!” I heard my mother call out as I raced into the woods, but I wouldn’t be stopped.

  I immediately felt the heat. It acted like a brick wall that I was unable to break through. But I kept hammering deeper into the forest. I could feel sharp rocks cutting into my bare feet, but I couldn’t stop. I knew this was the work of Huddled Masses, and that they’d sent the kids to lure me. If they were counting on me to make an irrational decision in the name of Gwen, they’d done their homework.

  “Gwen!” I shouted out, but no answer came. Nor could I hear her at all, yelling for help, anything.

  As I got closer to the tree house the smoke grew thicker, and breathing became near impossible. It felt like the heat was searing the skin off my body. My head felt so light I was positive it would fall off my neck, and the spinning returned. I crashed to the ground, and was on the verge of the lights going out once again.

  This time I wouldn’t allow it. I rolled to my side, and propped myself up.

  But my comeback would be brief. I took two steps, and grabbed my throat—it felt like it was burning inside. I fell once again, struggling to maintain consciousness. I recalled a fire safety movie from elementary school that instructed us to stay low and crawl. I could hear the sirens in the distance, but they would be too late.

  I tried to drag myself over the ground. I could physically feel the life being sucked out of me, and with all my remaining strength attempted one final call to Gwen. But nothing came out.

  Chapter 48

  I woke up to find my brother, Ethan, looking down on me. I was obviously dead, but my final destination was less evident. Ethan would definitely make it to heaven, so I had that working for me, but I was concerned that he was looking down on me.