His Secret Life

by Webb, Debra

  The man stalked over to Jane and ripped the tape off her mouth. “You’re going to make a statement for me.”

  Since she wanted him out of here as quickly as possible, she didn’t argue. But she couldn’t come off as too cooperative, either. “What statement?”

  The man shoved a small recording device in her face. “State your name and the date. This is a report to your employer. You located Troy Benson, aka Trace Beckman. During your time with him you witnessed him murder a waitress. He used you in an effort to facilitate his escape and now he is using your mother to ensure your cooperation.”

  “But those are lies.”

  He slapped her hard. Muffled sounds of fear came from her mother.

  “Fine,” Jane snapped.

  The man turned on the device.

  “This is Jane Sutton of the Colby Agency.” She gave the date. “This is my final report on the investigation of Troy Benson, aka Trace Beckman, dictated using resources entirely self-supplied. I personally witnessed Mr. Beckman murder the waitress named Patsy. He used my mother to ensure my continued cooperation. At the time of this dictation we have escaped unharmed.” She glared up at the bastard standing over her.

  He turned the device off with a click. “Very good, Jane. Too bad the bad guy came back after you’d dictated your final report. Not to worry, though, I’ll make it fast when I kill you. You won’t have to suffer.”

  He slapped the tape back over her mouth and stalked out of the room. This time he didn’t bother turning off the light, but the door slammed shut just like the last time.

  She smiled, the tape wrinkling and tugging at her lips. Dumb bastard. He had no idea she’d just given the Colby Agency a message of her own. Dictated using resources entirely self-supplied stood for D-U-R-E-S-S. Duress.

  The Colby Agency would know she had been forced to make the statement. However these dirtbags planned to use the statement, it was going to blow up in their faces.

  She wished she could be there to see.

  Moving quickly now, Jane tore the tape off her mouth and her torso. That was the great thing about duct tape, it was tough all right, nearly impossible to burst free of. Yet it tore quite easily if one’s fingers were positioned on the edge and the pressure was applied in opposing directions. She used the same technique to free her ankles.

  She jumped out of the chair and rushed to free her mother. They hugged. Jane thanked God that her mother was safe. She drew back, searched her mother’s tear-filled eyes. “It’s very important that you do exactly as I tell you. Can you do that?”

  Her mother nodded.

  “Chances are they’ve got someone outside who might spot us if we make a run for it.”

  That left only one option.

  “You remember when I was a kid, I would sometimes hide in that place in your closet?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, her voice ragged and hoarse.

  “That’s where we’re going to hide.”

  Her mother nodded, those tears sliding down her cheeks in tiny rivers.

  Jane led her mother to the walk-in closet. She didn’t want to disturb the clothes, so she crouched down and pushed aside the homemade fasteners her father had used to hold the piece of Sheetrock in place over the hole. This was actually a no-frills access door to where the small water heater was housed between the closet and the master bath. It would be cramped but they would make it work.

  “Go,” she said to her mother.

  Her mother hesitated.

  “I’ll be right behind you after I’ve opened the window. I want them to think we sneaked out that way.” Maybe an argument would break out because their man outside—and they no doubt had one—will insist he didn’t see anything, but the ones inside wouldn’t believe him.

  Her mother crouched down and crawled her way into the cramped space. Jane put the piece of Sheetrock back in place, and secured it so it wouldn’t slide out of place. Then she ensured that the shoes on the floor and the clothes hanging from the rods above were just as they had been before she’d removed the access door.

  She closed the closet door, turned out the overhead light and made her way to the window. Pulling back the blind, she unlocked and raised the window sash.

  Holding her breath, she dared to take a peek outside. She surveyed the side yard in both directions. Couldn’t see anyone. Perfect. She counted to ten, sufficient time for her mother to have time to run across the street.

  Then Jane did the thing her mother would likely not forgive her for. She let the blind bang against the window frame.

  Frantic footfalls in the hall outside the door told her the men were coming. She got into position, half in and half out the window.

  The door flung open and the light came on.

  “Freeze or I’ll shoot!”

  Jane froze.

  “Step away from the window.”

  Hands up, she did as she was told.

  Strong hands grabbed her and hauled her to the center of the room as the second guy hung his upper body out of the window to look for her mother.

  “Where is your mother?”

  Jane smiled. “You’re too late. She got away.”

  The muzzle of the weapon bored into her forehead. “Where is your mother?”

  “Gone.” She couldn’t keep the smug smile off her face.

  “She’s gone,” the guy in the window verified. “Probably straight to the closest neighbor to call the cops.”

  A profusion of swear words followed, then, “We have to get out of here. Now.”

  And that was Jane’s goal.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Palwaukee Private Airfield, 1:00 a.m.

  Victoria waited as the executive jet taxied along the runway beneath the bright lights. Holding on to her grandmother’s hand tightly, Jamie waved wildly with her free hand.

  Her mommy and daddy were on that plane.

  Lucas stood on the other side of Jamie. Simon and Ian had accompanied them to the airfield as well.

  There were no words for the intense relief Victoria felt. Her son was home and he was safe. Some of the burden of the past two weeks lifted from her shoulders. With Jim and Tasha here, some of the immense concern for Jamie’s wellbeing would be lightened for Victoria. For the past two weeks she had worried that her every decision was the wrong one. For the first time in more than two decades she had second-guessed herself repeatedly.

  Tasha, her husband close behind her, descended the stairs from the plane. Jamie pulled loose from Victoria and rushed to her parents. Tears welled in Victoria’s eyes as she watched the emotional reunion.

  Jim swept Jamie into his arms and hugged her close. Lucas ushered Victoria forward. She’d been too enthralled watching her son and his family to have the presence of mind to join the joyous reunion.

  “Victoria.” Jim reached out with one strong arm and hugged his mother.

  It felt good to be in his arms. Tasha hugged her next while Jim and Lucas shook hands. Ian and Simon brought Jim up to speed on the events that had occurred earlier in the evening. Two men Victoria hadn’t met disembarked next. Members of the elite Mission Recovery Unit.

  Lucas shook hands with each and then made the introductions. “Victoria, this is Phillip Bromstad and David McCartt.”

  Victoria shook each man’s hand. “I appreciate your support, gentlemen.”

  “We should get to the agency,” Jim suggested, his daughter still in his arms, “so we can go over the first phase of my strategy.”

  “McCartt, Bromstad,” Lucas addressed his specialists, “you’ll ride with Michaels and Ruhl.”

  “This way, gentlemen.” Ian led the others to the SUV.

  Lucas ushered his family to the waiting limo. The driver opened the door. When they were all settled and the driver had fallen in behind the SUV, Jim turned his attention to Victoria.

  “We have reason to believe Barker is in the immediate area.”

  Victoria’s pulse skipped. “He must be preparing for the final move if he’s wil
ling to take that risk.”

  “That’s my conclusion as well,” Jim agreed. “If he’s planning to make his final move, he would want to be close by to ensure that there were no mistakes.”

  This was a man Jim knew from his past when Leberman was in charge of his life. Barker, like Leberman, was pure evil.

  “Then we don’t have much time,” Lucas suggested. “We’ll have to move swiftly.”

  Fear knotted in Victoria’s stomach. This was the point where anything could happen. And the risk of mistakes and surprises was far, far greater.

  “Phillips, Bromstad, Simon and I will be moving in on Barker’s suspected location.”

  Victoria exchanged a look with Lucas. “Do you think that’s wise?” She didn’t have to spell out what she meant. Jim understood perfectly.

  Those blue eyes, so much like his father’s, zeroed in on hers. “I will see to this personally. No arguments.”

  Tasha looked as terrified as Victoria felt.

  Jamie twirled her fingers in her mother’s hair, totally unaware of the danger moving closer and closer.

  Victoria summoned her courage. Jim was only doing what his father would have done were he still alive. What Lucas would do.

  And if Victoria were honest with herself, she would do exactly the same thing. She had…more than twenty years ago. She’d faced whatever peril necessary. Anything to find her son.

  “You’re right,” she said, proud of the man her son had become. “You take care of this. The rest of us will ensure that Jamie is protected.”

  “Don’t let her out of your sight,” Jim said to his wife. “Not for a moment.”

  Misery welled in Victoria. She’d let Jim out of her sight for just a moment all those years ago. A single moment. But it was enough time for evil to strike.

  Tasha reached out and took Victoria’s hand in hers. She smiled even as her lips trembled. “Victoria and I will keep her safe.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Navy Pier, 1:15 a.m.

  How the hell long did it take to transfer a call?

  Troy paced back and forth across the same stretch of concrete he’d been tracking for the past half hour. He’d gotten the number for the Colby Agency from information. Then the phone he’d borrowed from his contact had died. Since the man had already left—with Troy’s money—he’d had to walk the streets until he ran into someone willing to sell his cell phone for a thousand bucks.

  Now he was on hold!

  He’d thought about hanging up and calling 9–1-1, but what would he say? That a woman whose name he didn’t know was in danger? That her daughter, Jane—if that was her real name—Sutton, was probably on her way to wherever the trouble was going down?

  “What the hell?” Troy’s chest felt ready to explode with frustration.

  “Ian Michaels.”

  About time. “This is Troy Benson.” Or should he use the name from his old life? Confusion jammed his thought process. What difference did it make? “Jane’s in trouble.”

  “What’s your position?”

  His position? Troy shook his head. “I don’t know what you mean. She got a call—”

  “Where are you, Mr. Benson?”

  “The Navy Pier. You need to come now.” He gave Michaels the names of the closest cross streets. “You have to hurry.”

  “I’m nearby. I’ll be there in four minutes. Stay where you are, Mr. Benson.”

  The connection ended.

  Where would Jane go? Her mother’s home? Her home? Some other location?

  If the old man wanted him, why the hell didn’t he demand that Troy go with Jane?

  This didn’t make sense.

  He turned all the way around in the empty parking lot. Standing here wasn’t going to help Jane. He needed transportation. A taxi? There had to be a taxi stand around here somewhere.

  Stay where you are, Mr. Benson.

  Ian Michaels had told him to stay put. Jane trusted Michaels. Troy had to calm down. He had to wait for Ian Michaels. And he had to trust him.

  A black SUV wheeled into the parking area.

  Troy started walking that way. Then he broke into a run. As he neared the SUV, the passenger window powered down.

  “Get in, Mr. Benson.”

  He hesitated at the door. “Ian Michaels?”

  “That’s right.”

  Still Troy hesitated. Fear throbbed in his skull. “You have some ID?”

  The man behind the wheel pulled a credentials case from his jacket and held it close enough for Troy to see.

  Ian Michaels.

  Troy got into the SUV.

  “Where is Jane?”

  “I don’t know.” Troy scrubbed a hand over his face. “I got a call from my uncle. He said she should call her mother. She made the call and then she got into her rental car and took off. I tried to stop her but—”

  “You’ve received no additional calls?” Michaels increased his speed, rushing along the quiet street.

  Troy shook his head. “She took my cell phone with her. I had to buy one from a kid to call you.”

  “I received a call from Jane about half an hour ago, but the connection was severed before I could track her position.” Michaels entered a number into his cell and, to whomever he had called, said, “We have a situation.”

  How could he be so calm? Troy stared out the window at the passing buildings. His uncle would kill Jane if that was what it took to get to Troy. Maybe he’d do it anyway, just to make Troy pay for the trouble he’d caused.

  Damn it. He should have ended this long ago.

  “Have Conroy and Porter meet me at Mrs. Sutton’s residence.” Pause. “Yes, Jane’s mother.”

  Troy turned to the man behind the wheel.

  “No one goes in until I’m on the scene.”

  When he’d put his phone away, Troy said, “I can’t be sure that’s where she’ll be.”

  Making a sharp left, Michaels glanced at him. “That’s where we’ll begin.”

  Too calm. The man was too damned calm. “He’ll kill her,” Troy felt compelled to say, just in case this guy didn’t get it.

  “I’m aware of the danger.”

  Troy tried to slow his breathing. How the hell had he let her drive away without him? He should have done something. Anything!

  “Relax, Mr. Benson, we’ll be there in under ten minutes.” Michaels glanced at Troy again. “If it’s you your uncle wants, Jane will be safe until he achieves his ultimate goal.”

  Somehow that didn’t make Troy feel any better. “How can you be sure?”

  “There are no certainties when dealing with men like your uncle,” Michaels admitted. “But that’s the most probable scenario. That’s the one we’ll operate under.”

  Most probable. Great. Just great.

  THE EIGHT MINUTES it took to reach Mrs. Sutton’s home were the longest of Troy’s life.

  Michaels parked a block from the house.

  “That’s the rental car Jane was using.” Troy’s heart bumped his sternum. “She’s here.”

  Michaels shut off the ignition. “She has definitely been here.”

  Damn. He was right. She could be long gone now.

  With that bastard Troy had trusted for far too long.

  Two other men joined them on the street. Porter and Conroy, Troy assumed.

  “Head east and come around behind the house,” Michaels instructed. “Benson and I will give you two minutes and then we’re going in through the front.”

  The two men headed east through a side yard.

  Troy wanted to run up to the house and kick the door in. He wanted to do anything but stand here.

  Michaels removed a handgun from beneath his jacket. He dressed like FBI. Troy remembered then that Jane had said he was a former U.S. Marshal.

  Then he made a move that surprised the hell out of Troy. He reached down, pulled a .38 from an ankle holster and passed it to Troy. He’d had a weapon but he’d left it in his bag. He hadn’t been thinking. He was a research scient
ist. He was no good at this kind of game.

  “Don’t fire unless absolutely necessary and—” Michaels looked him dead in the eye “—you fully recognize that your target is the enemy.”

  “Got it.”

  “Do you have any idea how many men we’ll encounter?”

  “Three crashed into my house the other night. Chased us for a while.” He shrugged. “There could be more.”

  “We’ll approach from the shrubbery line that separates Mrs. Sutton’s house from her neighbor. Our first goal will be to check the front windows. Conroy and Porter will do the same in the rear. Then we’ll go in through the front door.”

  “All right.” The closest Troy had come to anything like this was running from his uncle’s hired help.

  So he followed Michaels’s lead. When they were in position in front of the house, they separated. Troy moved to the window on the east end of the house, while Michaels took the end nearest the street corner.

  The house was dark, but Troy saw no movement beyond the first two windows. The gleaming LED display, the kind found on cable boxes and DVD players, told him he was peering into the living room.

  Michaels climbed the front steps, Troy followed.

  Standing to one side of the door, Michaels reached out and checked to see if it was locked. The door opened. He pushed it inward.

  The silence inside had the hair on Troy’s arms standing on end.

  What if they were too late?

  Michaels went inside.

  Troy moved in next.

  Conroy and Porter entered through the back door.

  After a quick walk through in the dark, the Colby investigators turned on the lights in one room after the other.

  The place was deserted, but evidence of a struggle was in the living room as well as one of the bedrooms.

  Two chairs. Torn duct tape. Nylon cuffs that had been cut.

  No notes. No nothing.

  Where the hell would he have taken her?

  Troy picked up a piece of the duct tape.

  Blood stained the sticky side.

  Fear pumped through his veins.

  He was vaguely aware of Michaels and the others discussing going to Jane’s next, but Troy couldn’t take his eyes off the blood.