by Cat Connor
Sam watched as I assembled the conversation.
DaveAddison: Everything is in place.
MaddieHayes: All three?
DaveAddison: Yes. Day, time?
MaddieHayes: Thursday 6 p.m.
DaveAddison: Last sale?
MaddieHayes: Confirmed – shipping tomorrow.
DaveAddison: Fund Transfer?
MaddieHayes: Completed.
“Sam do we have a location?”
“Cyber says MaddieHayes is inside the USA, narrowing location now. DaveAddison is in Syria.”
“Hawk,” I hissed. “So who is his friend? Male or female?”
“We got MaddieHayes – Virginia, Alexandria.”
“Can we get an actual address?”
“They’re still trying.”
“Any idea what the first part of the message refers to?”
Sam shrugged. “Something that’s set to happen at 6 p.m. on Thursday.”
“Could be the end of the world, for all we know.”
Both chat participants logged out. Leaving confusion in their wake in the chat room. Within minutes, the people left started playing a lyric game. Someone wrote a line of lyric, the others were supposed to guess what song it was. They mostly sucked. The occupants needed to listen to the songs with better ears.
“All three what are in place?” Doc muttered.
“No idea.”
“What are they shipping?” Sam wondered aloud.
“Kids?” I said, and then had second thoughts. “Weapons?”
My eyes met Doc’s. I could see his thoughts. “Nukes. It could be three nukes that are in place.”
A Moonlighting episode played in my head. I was in the eighties, complete with shoulder pads and big hair. A drunken Dave Addison danced across a crowded bar singing ‘Respect.’ Even playing a drunk, Bruce was cute when he was young. I doubted Hawk was ever cute.
The mystery of Hawk’s helper within the USA needed solving because that person meant Carla was in danger. My thoughts about Hawk and his friend were not exactly professional. Wishing them both a slow painful death seemed at odds with my training and moral code. Chanting, ‘Die scum, die’ wasn’t very FBI. I kept the chanting to myself. I doubted it would please Doc if I let my freak flag fly too high.
“All this means is that they are using the chat room to communicate. I presume that means they think we can’t understand the conversations.”
“We couldn’t, Chicky. You’re the one who saw the pattern in the words. Lee and I would’ve moved on without seeing it.”
I nodded my head. My fingernails tapped on the laptop case.
“Wish they’d said more. It feels like we got the end of a message.”
“Maybe there is more. I’ll start a search through the transcripts for their names, now I know what to look for in the conversations I might even find something,” Sam said. “Feels like we don’t have much time.”
“Because we don’t,” I replied with a small laugh and a generous eye-roll. “Hey, the world’s ending at 6 p.m. on Thursday and it’s Monday night already.”
Sam smirked. Something twinged in my gut. I wasn’t entirely sure I was joking about the world ending.
Rowan made his presence known. I’d forgotten he was there.
“Now what?”
“Sam’s looking for more conversations, Lee and Misha are trying not to get blown up, Doc’s waiting for me to fall over and I need to see a kid.”
Sam grinned. “I’ll tag along on that mission.”
“Hoping you would, someone needs to drive and it can’t be me right now,” I replied.
Doc nodded, agreeing with my decision regarding driving. I experienced a sudden bout of friendliness towards him. “Want to come?”
“Sure,” Doc said. “I get to meet Carla.”
“Yep.”
Rowan spoke. “Can I come, or this some kind of team-building exercise?”
“You can come,” I replied.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“To visit my daughter.” I knew saying that was a bit premature but I wanted to try it. My daughter. Had a nice ring to it.
“You have a daughter?”
I nodded.
Sam smiled and grabbed his keys.
“I’m an uncle,” he said, as we piled into his car.
“Thought we decided you were too cool to be an uncle, Sam.”
The smile on his face waivered, his eyes widened. “I’ll be the coolest uncle around. I sure don’t look like an auntie.”
No, he sure didn’t. He looked like he could save the world before breakfast without even breaking a sweat. My smart mouth just wouldn’t shut. “Hang on!” I said. Raising my hand. “Just trying to imagine you in a dress. Well shit. Now I got LL Cool J in drag.”
“You going there?”
“Trust me, it’s not by choice. How the hell am I going to scrub that image outta my brain?”
“You’re skating on thin ice, Chicky.”
Laughter bubbled. “Let’s ask Carla if she can live with having an Uncle Sam, shall we?”
He lunged for my phone but missed. I slipped the phone back into my pocket without texting Carla. “Watch the road,” I warned.
Rowan spoke from the backseat. “How old is your daughter?”
“She’ll be fourteen in a few weeks.”
“You have a teenager?”
“Yes, I do.”
“See what I mean about you being hard to know? I had no idea you had a child.”
Sam pulled up a driveway. We waited for the agents to come out and clear us.
Two agents approached the car, weapons drawn. They checked our badges and photo ID. Rowan sat silently in the back of the car next to Doc until told we could go inside the house. One agent stayed with the car.
I knocked on the front door. Chrissy opened it quickly and ushered us in. The other agent disappeared from behind us. I looked back and saw him heading back down to our car.
“Carla is in the living room watching TV,” Chrissy said. She smiled with flirtatious coyness at Sam.
Carla poked her head around a doorway. She smiled then squealed, “You’re here!” She barreled across the hallway and wrapped her arms around me. I hugged her back.
“I’m here. I know we’re supposed to do dinner – but will you settle for take-out pizza?”
“Okay,” she replied, still hugging me.
I looked at Sam. “Would you and Chrissy go grab pizza?”
“You sure?” Sam asked, glancing around.
“I’m here with Doc and we have two agents outside – no one’s getting in. Go …”
He didn’t need to be told twice. Chrissy had already pulled a jacket from a hall closet and put it on. Carla led me into the living room by the hand. Rowan followed along. I was waiting for the squeal when she realized who he was.
It didn’t happen. She very calmly gave him a once-over and suggested he sit on the sofa. He smiled and obliged. Doc hovered in the doorway. He was back to wearing suits and looked every bit a Special Agent bodyguard. Carla and I sat on another sofa.
“Carla, I have news …” I said.
Her eyes widened. “Is it good?”
“Where’s that parent help form for your trip?” I asked. “I’d better fill it in, if they require a police check.”
Her mouth opened and closed, and then she squealed and threw herself at me. “Really? You’re my mom?”
“I have interim custody of you; the adoption should be final by your birthday. Is that okay with you?”
She squealed again. “Yes! I have a mom. I don’t have to live in foster homes anymore.” She glanced at me as if looking for reassurance.
I nodded and smiled. “No more foster homes. As soon as we close this case you can come home.”
“Home,” she said. “Home! A real home!”
“Let’s call my dad. He can’t wait to start being a grandpa.”
Carla nodded. “Can I?”
“Absolutely.”
I gave her my phone and watched as she called my father. They talked for a few minutes, she squealed a lot and laughed. A song filled my head, ‘Testify’ by Lorenza Ponce. As I listened to Lorenza singing, I realized I was living for love but a far different love than I’d ever imagined. For the love of a ghost and a child.
Rowan leaned back on the sofa and said nothing. He watched with a smile on his face. I surmised it would be very hard to watch Carla without smiling. She radiated joy in all directions.
Doc indicated that Sam and Chrissy had arrived back. I smelt the pizza before I saw them. When the door opened, Carla jumped to her feet and ran to Sam.
“Did you know? I have a mom!”
Sam swung her around the room. “Yes, I know. You also have some uncles and a grandpa. You got yourself a whole family.” He placed her back on her feet.
With the cheekiest smile, Carla said, “You’re not uncool, Auntie Sam. What pizza did you get?”
Sam’s smile froze. Chrissy laughed. I high-fived Carla. She really did belong with us.
“Chicky?”
“I swear I didn’t tell her!”
We ate, we talked, and it was just what I needed. It was hard leaving her there and heading home but, until Hawk was behind bars, she was safer where she was.
But there was still a nagging doubt.
Thirty-Four
Don’t Lose Your Head
It was heading toward ten-thirty when we finally got home. Ten-thirty and a bitterly cold dark night. It felt like a Friday not a Monday. The four of us sat in the living room, simply because it was bigger than my home office. I started chasing things I had forgotten about, getting reports, to keep myself awake.
Doc kneeled beside my chair. “It wouldn’t kill you to sleep.”
“I will, when this is over. When I bring Carla home.”
He sat back on the couch next to Rowan and picked up his laptop. “Plenty of time to sleep when we’re dead.”
A smile paused on my lips before I dove back into work.
“Anything about the Russian diplomat?” I asked Sam.
He was being held at Christchurch Central police station until the Russians could pick him up. Misha had a word with someone in Moscow and said diplomat was required to talk to FSB about his involvement in the Virginia murders and his involvement in child trafficking in New Zealand. I suspected the talk involved water, electricity, and things we didn’t need to know about.
“Not yet. I’ll chase that.”
I picked up my cup from the table and took a gulp of coffee. Cold, yuck, coffee.
Rowan leaned over and took the cup from me.
“I’ll make coffee. Sam, you?” he stood up.
“That’d be great,” Sam said, handing up his cup. “You sure you know how to make coffee? Don’t you have people who do that for you?”
Rowan grinned. “I make a half decent cup of coffee.”
Rowan declined my offer of help. I let him go. Standing seemed like a lot of effort. Why was he here? Why my laptop? Why the pictures?
“Sam, you buying any of this?”
“This?”
“This …” I said, waving a hand toward the kitchen.
“He’s sweet on you, Chicky; any idiot can see it.”
I’m obviously completely retarded.
I laughed. “I don’t think so.”
Sam shrugged. “Whatever.”
I’m a married woman. Until death do us part. Mac didn’t seem to grasp the concept of death leading to parting. For a dead guy he was dropping by an awful lot. It wasn’t easy being the live partner in such circumstances. Not that I was doing much living.
“He’s keen,” Doc commented.
“No, he’s just a friend,” I retaliated.
“I think you’re missing a few signals; probably blasted right out of your head.”
“Sam, say it isn’t so.”
“Some guys, they like dangerous women.”
Rowan came back in with the coffee in time to hear Sam’s comment and derived a conclusion.
“He’s right, some guys like dangerous women.” He paused and smiled, it was truly disarming. “I prefer intelligent blondes with knowing blue eyes and a kick-ass smile. A side of danger is not unwelcome.”
“Oh please.” My eyes rolled so hard my brain raced to keep up.
“It’s so hard to believe?” He sank into the sofa.
What was that roaring I heard? Forty million women screaming, ‘Pick me!’ At least I think that’s what they were saying.
“We’ll talk, soon as this mess is cleared up.”
Rowan grinned at Sam. “Is it ever good when a woman says, ‘we’ll talk’?”
“Not in my experience,” Sam replied.
“Mine either,” Doc added.
“Work,” I said, with a well-placed glare in Sam’s direction. “Thanks for the coffee, Rowan.”
“You’re welcome. Can I stay?” Rowan asked. “If you’re going to work all night, I can make coffee.”
Doc kicked my foot and winked at me. I glared at him then replied to Rowan, “Sure. If you don’t mind being bored shitless.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Not at all.” I like to keep my possible suspects close; just because a dead man and an NCIS agent said he wasn’t involved didn’t mean I wasn’t going to be watching closely. Knowing he’d done an impromptu show in Sayreville and the missing kids we found in DC were from New Jersey and New York served to heighten my remaining suspicions.
“You always work from home?” he asked.
“No,” I replied. “Not always.”
Sam intervened, “Circumstances occasionally make Ellie’s place more convenient as our base.”
Rowan nodded. He turned his questions to Sam.
“Are you any closer to finding that guy you were after in New Zealand?”
“Just when we think we are, he throws a curve ball. Lee and Misha were chasing a lead but it fell through,” Sam said. “They’re on the way to New York for the pick up.”
“We’re chasing our fuc’n tails,” I grumbled and thoughts emerged regarding the basket and gifts. “Rowan?”
“Yes.”
“Have you had anything else, besides the basket, given to you recently?”
“A pen,” he replied.
“Like a biro?”
“More like this … I gave you one too,” he said and dragged his jacket off the arm of the sofa, then rifled through the pockets until he handed me a very nice upmarket refillable pen. I held it in my hand for a few minutes. It was black, with gold accents; on one side of the barrel was the band’s logo, on the other side, ‘Grange.’ It was the same as the one he’d given me.
“Very nice,” Sam commented. “You have one, Ellie?”
“Yeah, Rowan gave it to me before we left Christchurch. It’s …” I unfurled my legs and stood up then patted my jean pockets. I pulled the pen from my back pocket. “… here.”
“Where’d they come from?” Doc asked.
“It’s a prototype from the record company. They’re having them made up as gifts for special events.”
My turn. “Fancy, and it was delivered directly from the record company?”
“I was given them both in London, a courier delivered them to the tour manager.”
I sat up straighter at the mention of a courier. I needed something clean to open the pen onto, so I reached for a magazine from the pile under the coffee table.
House and Garden. Mac’s subscription still came. I opened the magazine out and found a sealed advertising envelope inside it. I removed the envelope, carefully opened all sides and spread it flat on the table. It would do to contain possible evidence without contamination. Then I unscrewed the barrel of Rowan’s pen and tipped the components onto the envelope.
“Okay. One spring, one pen refill, the mechanism that retracts the ball point nib … and extras.” I peered at the spread out components.
“Extras?” Rowan said as he leaned forward.
; “Seen anything like this before?”
Sam, Doc and Rowan nodded.
“That’s like a tiny microphone, you had a clever version on your shirt in Christchurch,” Rowan said pointing to a small metallic object. “But what’s that?” He pointed to a small capsule.
“A GPS device,” Sam muttered. “Fuck me seven ways on Sunday, you’ve been bugged and tracked.”
I unscrewed the barrel of the pen Rowan had given me, and tipped the contents carefully onto the card.
“Rowan was bugged and so was I. Look!” I pointed to the small microphone from my pen and another small object the size of a vitamin capsule. “Don’t that just suck? Whoever did this knows we know and knows where we are.”
Sam left the room. When he came back, he had a small paper bag. He tipped all the pieces from the pens into the bag and sealed it with a good-sized piece of tape. Then he wrote his name across the seal.
“I’m picking they aren’t all like this,” I muttered. “This is not going well at all.”
Sam removed the bag from the room.
“Where is it?”
“In the kitchen, I can’t tell if its sending information, so best kept out of harm’s way. I’ll take it to the lab myself,” Sam replied.
The pen. The break in. There wasn’t anything wrong with Lee’s bug detector after all. Lee had the stupid pen in his pocket while he was doing the sweep, no wonder it was having a fit.
“Lee and Misha?” I asked Sam.
“Whoever was listening knows they’re headed to New York.”
“Did we mention an address?”
“I texted it to him, Ellie. We never said it,” Rowan replied.
A rush of cold hit me.
“Phone, get me the phone!”
Doc handed me his, his eyes darkening as he tuned in to my wavelength.
I called Lee. My mind screamed ‘Answer the damn phone!’ If only he could hear it. Come on, answer it.
I pointed at Sam, “Try Misha – and Caine.”
Sam used his cell phone and the landline.
My call flipped to voicemail. I left a message, “Lee, do not go for the basket. I repeat, abort the pickup. Send bomb squad alone.”
