by Fiona Quinn
“Well we know where the flowers went. So maybe Marla-Mary-what’s-her-name will be headed for jail.” Thorn didn’t sound very hopeful.
“You know that’s not going to happen.” Nutsbe clicked back on the screen, and they could see an officer standing in the driveway next to Sophia, listening to her tale.
She held out the paperwork the magistrate had given her the day before. He looked it over and handed it back.
Thorn sat forward. “I wish we could hear what they’re saying,”
“Yeah, check out the look on the guy’s face. What’s he going to do? It’s not like the flowers have serial numbers on them. Sophia can’t prove they’re hers.”
“He can go over and ask Marla some questions, scare her a bit. See if he can’t trick her into admitting something. He’s telling Sophia to go inside. He’s probably afraid she’ll go storming over to confront Marla, and he’ll have to dive into a cat fight.” Nutsbe shook his head. “I’d rather fight a man any day. Women? Woof, once you’ve got them riled enough to fight, they’re all kinds of vicious. They don’t have boundaries, anything they can grab, claw, or bite is fair game. I can’t blame the guy for wanting to avoid that. It’s just too early in the day.”
Nutsbe switched the camera back to the interior of the house and turned up the audio. The doorbell rang. Sophia opened it to a woman in a swimsuit and a pair of shorts.
“Who’s that?”
Thorn and Brian shook their heads.
“Sophia, why is that police officer here? He’s walking over to Marla’s.”
“Marla’s a nut case,” Sophia answered. She stood holding the door mostly shut. She hadn’t invited the woman into her house.
“It wasn’t enough that the sheriff crashed my party last night and put everyone in a bad mood? Now you have to ruin her pool party too?”
“Is that where you’re going?”
“Not until I know what the police are there for. My whole family’s dressed and ready to head over. What did you do now?”
“Did you notice my yard?”
The woman turned and then looked back at Sophia. “You’re blaming her for that?”
“Well someone moved my flowers from my yard to hers. It wasn’t the Easter Bunny.”
Nutsbe smacked Thorn with the back of his hand and grinned. “Feisty.”
“You do know, don’t you, that her husband is having his office over for brunch by the pool? His boss. His boss’s boss. That officer just went over there in front of everyone. Marla isn’t going to take that well. I guess we’ll hang out and wait for things to calm down before we go over. Girl, I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes right now.”
The woman moved out of the camera’s view, and Sophia slammed the door shut.
“She’s right,” Brian said. “I’m going to head over to Sophia’s.”
“You’d better cook up a good excuse for showing up this morning. Last night’s recording sounded crystal clear, bro. She doesn’t want you there,” Thorn said.
“Yeah? Well, if she was just some woman I knew, I’d respect that. But my job is to protect her. My excuse is that I’m taking over some automatic locks with keypads.” He turned to Thorn. “Lana was over at Sophia’s house while we were getting the restraining order, wasn’t she?”
“Yeah.” Nutsbe shook his head. “She forgot to lock the door again. Wasn’t ten minutes later that Rochester went in and tried to make himself a sandwich. Too bad Sophia doesn’t believe in keeping non-dehydrated food in the house. That was entertaining to watch though. That man cusses like a Marine.”
Thorn pointed at Brian. “While you’re there, go talk to Joe Rochester about getting a tracker on his dad so he gets pinged when Pops steps out of the house. Lucky for everyone, this guy doesn’t wander far.”
“Not lucky for Sophia.” Brian stood, and pulled his keys from his pocket. “All right, I’m heading out.”
“I’ll keep a close eye while you drive and buzz you if you need to stomp on the gas,” Nutsbe said. “And hey, while you’re over there, try to find out what time her buddy Jael’s coming in tomorrow and if she plans to meet his plane.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Brian
Sunday a.m.
Brian drove slowly into the neighborhood. A steaming cup of coffee and a cup of chai were snugged in the beverage carrier on his passenger seat next to a bag with some breakfast sandwiches. Sophia needed protein to help her body deal with all the stress. He hoped like hell that she wouldn’t have another seizure. Nutsbe said he’d call if Brian needed to intervene quickly. So far so good.
He pulled up in front of what had once been a beautiful garden, like a treasure chest brimming with jewels that had adorned the top of the hill. He hadn’t thought much about it until that moment. Gardens didn’t happen for free. Even if these were perennials, they took tending to look nice. In the great big mess of Sophia’s life, she took the time to make it look beautiful. He wondered what the impetus was. Was she keeping nervous hands busy while her boys played out front? Did she think of it as a tribute to her deceased husband and his parents? For whatever reason, she had been meticulous. Now, it looked like a roadside bomb had gone off in her yard. He felt the atmospheric change. This was a war zone now.
Brian scanned down the road. It seemed like the guests at Marla’s poolside brunch had cleared out when the police did. There wasn’t an extra car in sight. There was no happy laughter floating in the warm air, no squeals from kids splashing in the water. The neighborhood was eerily silent. Without shifting his head, Brian let his peripheral vision scope out the windows on the Sheppards’s house. Sure enough, someone was at the upstairs window, tracking him. He bet it was weird for Sophia to know she was under the Sheppard microscope, always being watched. But what did he know? Maybe it was reassuring to her.
With any luck, Brian could get Joe Rochester to get his dad under control, get the locks changed out so Lana couldn’t keep leaving the door unlocked, and get Marla arrested for ignoring the restraining order. But Brian couldn’t forget that tomorrow was Monday. Anything he did to scrape those monkeys off Sophia’s back today would be meaningless if that tablet came into the US and the FBI walked their intended path.
This case was FUBAR from the minute he took the assignment.
His phone buzzed, and he dragged it from his thigh pocket. “Brainiack here.”
“You aren’t gonna believe this shit.” Nutsbe was laughing. “This is like a damned rollercoaster ride from hell, dude.”
Brian rubbed a hand over his tightly cropped hair to stop his scalp from prickling.
“Research earned their pastries this morning. They found Marla-Mary-what’s-her-face through a picture of her kids. I kept a gift card from The Morning Grind when I was scanning her wallet, and the techs ran fingerprints. Boom. They’ve got a match.”
“Tell me there’s an arrest warrant out for her.”
“Better. We’ve got both kids listed with the FBI as kidnapped by their mother. Are you ready for this? Betty Greer, from Pennsylvania. The dad was given full custody of the children, and Mom was remanded to the state mental hospital for evaluation. The children are listed in grave danger. And guess what Betty’s maiden name is?”
“Are you freaking kidding me right now? It can’t be.”
“Yup. Betty Ann Campbell—hubby’s half-sister who’s suing for a stake in the Campbell inheritance. Hang on. Andersson and Finley are walking into the war room. I’m putting you on speakerphone.”
Brian leaned against the back of his Range Rover, thinking this would be an appropriate time for cigarette, though he didn’t smoke. He popped the hatch so he could look busy while he listened in to the information Nutsbe had on the kidnapped children, who had disappeared the year before. It included photo recognition of the mother and both children and fingerprints from mom and the daughter, Raina.
“Brian, what are the kids’ names?”
“I can ask Sophia.”
“Hold off. They’re contactin
g Aiden O’Connor in missing persons for the next step. We don’t want to get anyone’s antennae up.”
Brian could hear several conversations going at once.
“Are you there in the neighborhood?”
“Affirmative.”
“The Richards’s still having their party?”
“Negative. I think the police showing up and the ensuing screamfest was probably a buzzkill. No one’s outside but me. The Sheppards’s are doing their surveillance duty, other than that, things are quiet.”
“Hang on… Okay. They’re sending the photo I snagged of Marla Richards and her kids in front of the house to the biological father for confirmation. We need you to be eyes and ears until further notice.”
“Wilco. Out.” Brian stared at his phone. Huh.
Brian moved to the barren flower garden and looked around to see if he spotted something the cop had missed. A footprint. Something that might have fallen from a pocket. Anything to identify who had done this. There was always the off chance that it wasn’t the psycho up the street, but someone else who wanted them to think it was. Now wouldn’t that be bat-shit crazy? In any other scenario, Brian would consider and reject the possibility. But here? In this neighborhood? There were no holds barred on the improbable.
He stooped as he checked Sophia’s tires for any new hazards. There, under the car, by the right front tire he saw a trowel. It must have slid down the drive last night. Whoever had lost it knew they couldn’t retrieve it; the lights would flash on this far from the road.
Brian went to his cargo bin and pulled out an evidence bag. Making sure he angled himself so that any watchful eyes wouldn’t know he’d found it and packaged it up. He put the bag on the floor of his car. He’d take it to forensics to see if they couldn’t pull anything interesting from it.
He glanced up as Sophia came out to stand on her porch. Her arms crossed over her chest and wearing the most unwelcoming face he’d ever seen on her. Even from here he could see the red splotches around her eyes from crying. His heart stuttered. How the heck was he supposed to deal with this? All he wanted was to warn Sophia and whisk her away to somewhere safe. It was a fantasy that formed and blew up in the same moment. He wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t do that. They’d both have to keep themselves belly to the table until their hands had been dealt, and they knew what cards they were playing.
“You’ve got one hell of a vole problem,” he said and felt like an idiot. He moved to the passenger’s door and retrieved his duffel, and breakfast. He held up the drink carrier, then sauntered down the sidewalk toward her. Before she could reject him, he sat down on the stairs and said, “I brought breakfast.”
She didn’t move.
Brian tore the bag open, using it as a make-shift placemat and laid a sandwich out for her, moved the chai over next to it, then unwrapped his food. “I also brought you a possible solution to a problem.” He took a bite and chewed slowly, giving Sophia a chance to make up her mind.
Finally, she sat down beside him and picked up the chai. Her thank you sounded suspicious.
He pulled the duffle over. “Locks,” he said. “They throw the bolt automatically when the door is shut. I have one for each of your doors. It’ll help keep Mr. Rochester out.”
“That’s too dangerous. What if I were outside and didn’t have my keys? My boys could be locked away from me.”
“It opens with a code. Actually, you can have seven different codes. You give each person their own. For example, Lana and Nadia would each have their own personal PIN. The computer saves that information. You can check your phone and see who’s been at your house while you were gone. One of the codes is a designated service code; you give that to people who might come to check your dishwasher or what-have-you. You schedule the time it can be used, and that’s the only time they can come in. It even has a face capture camera, so anyone who steps onto your porch gets a mugshot and a time stamp coming and going, whether the door opens or not. It’s an effective system.” He handed one of the boxes to Sophia.
“That’s kind of cool,” she said, looking it over. “You know what? You might be right. This might stop Mr. Rochester from getting in. I can’t figure out how he’s doing it now. I’m so careful about locking up. But if nothing else, I guess I’d have warning that he was in my house, before I got home, right? You said it tells a computer.”
“It goes to a phone app. I’ll make sure it’s all hooked up and working for you.”
Sophia handed the box back to him, and Brian was gratified to see her pick up her sandwich and take a bite. Besides adding another layer of security for Sophia, being able to work on the lock project would give him a good excuse to hang around, keeping track of the comings and goings in the neighborhood while the FBI put a plan in place.
His phone buzzed. “Sophia, I think you should go in the house and shut the door.”
She looked over at him with confusion.
“Marla and her kids are heading into the cul-de-sac. I’ll stay out here.”
Sophia didn’t need to be told twice. She gathered her food and cup and without further conversation went inside.
Brian swiped his phone. “Brainiack here.”
“You’re on speakerphone. Thorn, Finley, and Andersson are in the war room with me. We’ve got ID confirmation from the dad. FBI SWAT mobilized the second Finley made the phone call.”
“She’s walking up the road now. She’s got both kids with her. Pierre Richards isn’t in the picture. She’s looking rabid, so I’d say things didn’t go well at her house after hubby’s office peeps got front row seats on the crazy train.”
“Finley here. Tell us when she gets where she’s going. Our team is suiting up at the cars and will be moving in.”
“They went up to Kay’s. She opened the door, and they’re going inside. Nutsbe, you have the address?”
“Roger that.”
“SWAT is moving through the trees at the top of the road. They’re watching Marla’s house. Turn them around.” Brian could see one of the men clearly. Dressed head to toe in black, with a balaclava hiding his face, he had an automatic rifle slung from his shoulder and plenty of cartridges held at the ready in his vest loops.
Brian edged over to Sophia’s door and cracked it open. “Sophia, come here,” he used the combat whisper that he hoped would carry to her ears only.
“What are you doing?” she asked as she tried to jerk the door open.
Brian had a solid hold on the handle to stop just that from happening. “Sophia, get down here and listen to me.”
Thankfully, she crouched, putting her ear to the crack.
“Do you have a basement, somewhere below ground?”
“No. Why?”
“Sophia, I need you to trust me. Please. And do what I say. Go upstairs to the kids’ bathroom, shut the door, get into the tub and lay down.”
“What? No. Why in the world—”
“Sophia, the tub is metal. It’s going to be the safest place to be for the next little bit. Do it now.” Even though he was whispering, he used his voice as a weapon. It was the timbre that made even non-English speakers do what he wanted them to do when he wanted them to do it. It was the voice that said do as I say or you’re going to be in for a world of hurt.
The door shut, and Brian could hear Sophia running up the stairs and a door slamming shut.
“She secured?” That was Andersson.
“Affirmative.”
“We’ve let the team leader know you’re on site. You are not to engage. They’ve got this.” It was Finley this time.
“Roger. Wilco.” Yeah, he’d wait and see.
“Good morning!”
Brian turned his head to see Joe heading across the side yard with his arm raised in a wave. He stopped when he was standing on the driveway. He stared at the empty garden space. Brian turned back to see SWAT stacking up at Kay’s front door with a breacher in front. Second one in was a guy looking through the window of his ballistics shield with a can in h
is hand. Brian was assuming it was smoke and not flashbang, since there were kids in the house.
Brian made his way calmly toward Joe and put his hand on his shoulder. “Go home.”
“I’m so sorry to bother you. Have you seen my dad?”
“Go home.” Brian turned Joe and gave him a push in the right direction.
Joe turned back, his brow scrunched together in confusion. “I know we’ve been a pain. But I can’t find my dad. I put him to bed last night after you guys brought him back. I went to find out why he was sleeping so late and—”
There was a bang as the breacher crashed his tactical ram into the door, breaking the lock’s hold, splintering the wood.
Yelling filled the air as the SWAT team shouted their orders. It was always hard to listen to terrified children shrieking “Mommy!” Brian hated the fear in the kids’ voices, no matter what language they were screaming. Brian twisted Joe’s wrist, locking his elbow out, forcing him to the ground behind Sophia’s van. He flopped on the ground beside Joe, hoping Sophia had followed his instructions and was keeping her head down. “FBI SWAT are across the street. We’re going to stay down in case anyone feels like being stupid and starts firing a weapon.”
Joe nodded his head to show agreement.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sophia
Sunday a.m.
Sophia was in the fetal position with her cheek pressed against the cold surface of the bathtub. She didn’t know what was going on, but the screaming and yelling outside had finally stopped. Still, she wasn’t sure if it was safe to get up.
“Sophia, I’m coming up the stairs.” It was Brian’s voice.
The door to the bathroom opened, and there he was, reaching down his hand, pulling her up.
“Sorry about that. It was just a precaution. I was worried about stray bullets.”
“Bullets?” Sophia held her arms against her chest, protectively. She reached for the ring on her bracelet and twirled it around as she searched Brian’s face for more answers.
