Time To Kill (Witness Security Book 2)

by Jamie Hill

  Nick frowned. “Already done. This is Marshal Woods. Woods, this is my chief Evan Rhodes and Marshal Ben Markham.”

  Woods stood and shook their hands. “I ran the phone as soon as he got the text. Her phone is pinging off ghost towers. The IT guys say it’ll be next to impossible to trace it, but they’re working on it.”

  Evan stomped into the house. “Damn. I’d hoped we might have had something. That was too good to be true, I guess.” He paused in front of Charlie. “How are you, Archer? Doing okay?”

  Charlie glanced up. “Yes, sir. They’re taking real good care of me. And I got my manuscript! So that’s the main thing.”

  Evan turned back to Nick. “Yeah, that’s the main thing.” He moved closer and whispered, “Somebody stop me from throttling this guy.”

  “Take a number,” Nick replied.

  Woods said, “You know, my mother told a story about patience with other people. You see, there was this man—”

  Nick’s patience was at an all-time low. “Maybe later, Woods. Evan, Ben, why don’t you step into the kitchen so we can talk.” He walked into the compact room and they followed, taking seats around the small table.

  Evan looked at Nick. “How are you really doing?”

  “I’m absolutely sick. I keep going over possibilities in my mind, if only we would have done this and not that. I feel like a rookie for things to have gone so wrong, so quickly.”

  “That kind of thinking won’t help Jordan or anyone. What’s done is done. The two of you made the best you could of a lousy situation. I’m sick for Jordan, too, but I have faith that LA Witsec is going to come through for us. They’re talking to the DA and the police, trying to work out whatever arrangements they can.”

  Nick shook his head. “When I got that text, I nearly lost it. If that guy would have given me a location and asked me to trade Jordan for Charlie, we probably wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

  Evan sighed. “Then I’d be dealing with two missing marshals, and my gut tells me you’d both probably be dead. As appealing as it might be, we will not—cannot—negotiate with scum like this. They have no honor. They’d make the trade then shoot you all down in cold blood. I have no doubt about that.”

  Nick hated to ask, but had to say the words. “What does your gut tell you about Jordan? You think she’s still alive?”

  The chief didn’t hesitate. “Definitely. She’s their only link to Charlie. I believe she’s safe for now. I don’t want to think what might happen if they somehow got Charlie from us.”

  Ben set his jaw. “We’re not going to let that happen. There are four of us, and one witness. We’ve got this.”

  Nick rubbed his chin. “We just need Jordan. Maldito sea! Where is she?”

  * * *

  Bakersfield, California

  Jordan was awakened by the sound of footsteps in the hall and a door slamming. She had no idea what time it was, and didn’t know when she’d fallen asleep. After breakfast she’d been bound to the headboard spindle again, and left alone for several hours. She didn’t like it one bit, but it beat the alternative scenarios running through her mind. The woman had left her in the man she called Gabe’s hands. Fortunately for Jordan, Gabe had made himself scarce. She prayed that continued.

  Both sides of her jaw were stiff and sore. The woman had brought her a sandwich for lunch and Jordan could barely chew it, not that she was hungry. She’d definitely lost her appetite, but she needed to keep her strength up. If given the chance, she’d have to make a break for it.

  Not knowing where she was being held was almost as frightening as the realization that nobody knew where she was. Is anyone looking for me? If they’d truly killed Nick, no one in California would know she was missing. How long would it take before Evan figured out that something was wrong? At least a day, maybe more. A lot could happen in the span of one day.

  The thought caused tears to well in her eyes. Keep it together! People are depending on me. She thought of Charlie and fear struck straight to her core. If these people got to him before someone from Witsec did, they’d both be dead. The woman hadn’t hidden her face, or Gabe’s identity. Jordan knew enough to understand the meaning. She’d never be released.

  That thought in mind, she promptly fell asleep. Now wide awake and more clear-headed, she needed to figure out what, if anything, she had the ability to do in her current predicament. Write a note? Who would see it? It was a stupid idea, with her hands bound over her head.

  No idea is stupid. Keep thinking, girl. It’s how you’re going to stay alive.

  The bedroom door burst open and Gabe entered with a tall, dark-haired man. “Rise and shine. We’re going for a ride.”

  “Where?” Jordan felt the need to ask. Like they’re going to tell me.

  “Somewhere that’s not here.” The man tossed the cuff keys to Gabe, who unhooked her, then fastened her hands together again.

  “I need to pee,” Jordan told them.

  “Thirty seconds. Go.” Her motioned toward the bathroom.

  She stumbled to her feet and got her bearings after being prone for so long. “It’ll take thirty seconds for the blood to return to my feet,” she muttered through clenched teeth.

  “Then I guess you ain’t got time to pee.” The man grabbed her arm.

  “I’m hurrying.” Jordan wrestled her arm free and hurried into the bathroom. She didn’t even try to close the door before she did her business. Modesty, at this point, was not her main concern.

  She washed her hands and tried not to worry about her appearance in the mirror. Every time she caught a glimpse she swore she looked more pathetic than she ever had before. How much worse can it get? They pulled her from the bathroom before she had time to dwell on the frightening thought.

  The man handed Gabe a blindfold. “Put this on her.”

  “Please don’t.” Jordan hadn’t realized how much she hated the dark. It had never bothered her before. Suddenly, she had a new crop of phobias.

  Gabe tied the fabric around her head, blocking all light and vision. The two men flanked her and led her out of the room. She couldn’t tell where they were going, but knew when they descended some stairs onto a hard, flat floor. A garage? Her guess rang true when a car door opened and she was thrust on her stomach into the back seat. They shoved her legs in and slammed the door.

  She squirmed in an attempt to get comfortable, but it didn’t seem possible. Her legs were bent at the knees, feet sticking up in the air. How will that look driving down the road? Maybe someone will notice and report the driver.

  A front door opened and someone got it. “Quit fidgeting.” It was Gabe’s voice.

  She thought about attempting to befriend him, but couldn’t help remembering what the woman had said about her seeing to his needs. Unwilling to appear too friendly, she remained silent.

  A blanket was thrown over her and adjusted to cover her feet. So much for someone noticing. Fuck! She hadn’t meant it to, but her swear came out like a muffled sob.

  “It’s gonna be okay,” Gabe muttered gruffly. “We’re getting you out of here.”

  * * *

  Los Angeles, California

  Nick’s second worst nightmare was coming true.

  “Doug is on his way.” Evan pocketed his cell phone. “He got the same texted photo of Jordan. I’m thinking now that the kidnappers didn’t know which man was accompanying her, so they sent the picture to all the men in her contacts list.”

  Ben smiled. “Bet her mechanic is really wondering what’s going on right now.”

  Nick groaned. “And we all answered them, so they still don’t know who to contact to work a trade.”

  Evan tugged his ear, an old nervous habit Nick hadn’t seen in ages. “I should text them back. Tell them I can make this happen.”

  Ben looked at him skeptically. “Exactly how are you going to pull that off? We’ve already agreed we aren’t giving them Charlie.”

  “Not Charlie, but maybe one of us dressed up like Char
lie.”

  Nick shook his head. “You told me yourself, that’s a suicide mission. Once they see him, or the man they think is him, they’re likely to gun us all down.”

  “Damn it!” Evan paced the floor. “You’re right. I’m just feeling your frustration. Listening to Doug rant didn’t help. He’s hell bent for leather to get here.”

  It was Nick’s turn to swear. “Shit! I wish you would have told him not to come. He’s just going to make things worse.”

  “I don’t agree. We can use the manpower. I’ll take help from anyone who offers when it comes to getting Jordan back.”

  If we don’t kill each other first. Nick was not at all sure that wouldn’t happen. “I thought we were getting help from LA Witsec? What are they doing, besides leaving a marshal parked on our sofa?”

  “They’re working things from their end. I’m checking in every half hour. They’re telling me to be patient. Pretty sure one of these times when I call their number will have been disconnected.”

  Woods entered the kitchen, phone in hand. “My chief is on the line for you, sir.” He handed the phone to Evan and looked at Ben. “Would you mind keeping an eye on Steven King out there? He tried to go out and get some air earlier. Fella just doesn’t seem to get the gravity.”

  Ben nodded. “Will do.” He went to the living room.

  Evan spoke into the phone. “Chief Rhodes. Yes, sir. Good. Of course, he’ll be ready. Thank you.” He ended the call and returned the cell to Woods. Turning to Nick he said, “They’re going to speak with LeRoy VanDyke’s son and want you to go with them. You got a look at the Hispanic guy with the mustache at the storage unit. One of Tracy VanDyke’s employees fits that description.”

  Nick nodded. “Sure, I’ll go. It beats sitting here doing nothing.”

  “I figured you would. They’ll be here in twenty minutes.”

  “I should go clean up.” He started for the garage, hesitated, then proceeded on. He had to get his bag. Jordan’s would be there waiting for her when she got back. Bitching up a storm about her face, and how she needed a hot bath. He’d make sure she got whatever she needed, as long as he got her back.

  He lifted the hatch of the SUV and stared at their two bags. Without thinking he unzipped Jordan’s and reached inside, grabbing the purple shirt he’d seen on top. Holding it to his face, he inhaled the clean, fresh scent of fabric softener and her. He unzipped the corner of his bag and shoved the shirt inside. Hauling his case out, he closed the hatch and returned to the house.

  There were three bedrooms; he chose the one with the attached bath to freshen up. He opened his suitcase on the bed and dug around for a clean shirt and his bag of toiletries. Before he closed it again, he refolded Jordan’s shirt, inhaled the scent one more time, and then tucked it away.

  Nick smiled on his way to the bathroom. It’d only be creepy if it was her underwear, right? It was really no big deal that he wanted to wrap himself in her shirt, maybe even sleep with it. It was probably the only way he’d be getting any sleep.

  Think positive thoughts. He was heading out with LA Witsec and there was a chance they’d find her tonight. That would be amazing. He’d do anything it took, but it’d be icing on the cake if he managed to do it before Doug rode in on his high horse.

  A half hour later, three LA marshals picked him up in a black SUV. He and Evan spoke with them briefly before Nick climbed in the back and they took off.

  They introduced themselves as Lincoln, Minkin, and Todd. Nick tried not to laugh out loud as the children’s poem Wynken, Blynken, and Nod ran through his mind. Jordan would get the joke. These guys did not look like they’d appreciate his humor. He kept his mouth closed and his lips sealed tight.

  Dark-skinned Todd sat in the back with Nick and did most of the talking. “LeRoy VanDyke, or Van as he’s called, is as dirty as they come. He owns a trucking business that’s been on federal radar for quite a while. They’ve been transporting stolen goods and drugs. The feds were watching and waiting, hoping to figure out if Van is the head honcho, or if there are bigger fish to fry.”

  “Van has a kid that works with him?”

  Todd waffled one hand back and forth. “Sort of. Tracy VanDyke had a successful career in software design before his father became incarcerated.”

  “Had?”

  “He seems to have put that on hold. He’s currently running the family business. It’s a strange deal, because he never seemed that close with his father. They don’t live near each other, and to the best of the feds ability they didn’t think the men saw each other much before Van went to Corcoran.”

  “What do we know about Tracy?”

  “He’s thirty-five, has a wife and two elementary school-aged kids. They don’t seem rich, but don’t appear to be hurting for much.”

  “Thanks to Dad?” Nick asked.

  Todd shrugged. “Oh, and Tracy has a twin sister, name of Tessa. Their mother died years ago, when the kids were in college. Both of them seemed to turn out okay, considering their old man. Tessa owns an upscale boutique which the feds have gone over with a fine-tooth comb. The books and other aspects of the business seem to be above reproach, as is Tessa.”

  “She isn’t involved in the trucking company?”

  “Not that we can ascertain. Neither of the kids even live in LA, which is curious. Tracy and his wife have moved into Van’s home for now.”

  “Curiouser and curiouser,” Nick murmured.

  Todd merely stared at him.

  Nick zipped his lip again. Jordan would have gotten it. He really needed to find Jordan.

  Todd went on, “So, Tracy might know what his old man was involved in, but there’s nary a shred of evidence to support that. All illegal activities have come to a screeching halt these past six months.”

  Nick thought a while before speaking. “The VanDykes have a Hispanic employee?”

  “At least one, possibly more. They have about forty people on their payroll.”

  “Was Pete Rossi on the payroll?”

  “Not legitimately, but there’s no doubt he got paid for the work he did. Some of the pay might have been in blow, but for as many people as he whacked, he had to get some cash too.”

  “He’s the one our witness is going to finger. Do we have any reason to believe he’s well enough connected on the outside to pull a job like this?”

  Todd shook his head. “Rossi didn’t have a pot to piss in when he was apprehended. He’s got no family of record, and according the folks at Corcoran, his only visitor has been his lawyer.”

  Nick tried to piece it all together. “So Rossi is claiming that Van hired him to do the dirty work. But Rossi admits he was the hit man. So he gets—?”

  “To live. The DA took the death penalty off the table and Rossi’s in witness protection, though Van keeps managing to find him. Which either says something about Van or the security at Corcoran, not sure which.”

  “Fuck.”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  Nick took another moment to process. He’d known the basics, but everything had a different context now, with Jordan’s life hanging in the balance.

  Todd continued, “Without Rossi and Charlie Allen, the case against Van is weak. Possibly weak enough to earn him a release for time served.”

  “That would be bad.”

  “Another understatement. Van could go right back into business and probably would. He’ll feel like he’s above the law, and he might be right. We’ve got to do what we can to keep Rossi and Allen alive and fit to testify.”

  “And to somehow find my partner,” Nick said softly.

  Lincoln spoke for the first time. “That’s our number one priority right now. She may be your partner, but she’s one of us. We’re taking this very seriously, believe me.”

  Nick did, and it warmed his heart. He felt better knowing there were others vested in getting Jordan back in one piece. “Thank you.” He turned his face to the window. Real marshals don’t cry. Thinking about Jordan, wonde
ring where she was as the sun went down on this very long day, he almost couldn’t help himself.

  Todd said affably, “We’ll find her.” He nudged Nick’s shoulder and managed to hit the spot where the bullet had grazed, which wasn’t quite healed.

  Nick stifled a groan, and nodded quickly in agreement. Ugh. Could this day suck any worse? He quickly reconsidered and tried to be like the little bird in the pile of shit because, yeah, things could always be worse.

  Chapter Nine

  California State Prison, Corcoran

  Protective Housing Unit

  Corcoran, California

  Marvin Mason paced the floor of his small cell, mulling over all the changes he’d experienced in the last week. New cell, new name, new hair color, new attitude. Pete Rossi and his problems were history.

  After the second dead rat incident, once he’d gotten in touch with an honest guard, he’d been immediately relocated to a different part of the prison. He’d asked to be moved to a different facility entirely, but that request was denied. The best he could figure was that no one at Corcoran wanted to admit their security had been lax. They’d assured him this area was much more secure, but he could only take their word for it. He’d heard the same thing before.

  This time they went as far as coloring his hair along with the new identity. So far, the guards had treated him well. The food was even better than the stuff he’d been getting, so that was a plus.

  I’m going to make it. For a while there, it seemed like Van had gotten the best of him. He hadn’t held out much hope of surviving. In the new cell, things looked brighter. Figuratively speaking. It was still prison, and as crummy and dingy as ever.

  What kept him going was remembering he was waking up on the top side of the grass each day. Figuratively speaking again. The outside area he was allowed to pace in a couple of times a week hadn’t seen a blade of grass in probably fifty years. He didn’t care. The sun felt fine, shining on his face.