Relentless (Elisabeth Reinhardt Book 1)

by Nancy Alexander

  Glancing at her spikey brown hair in the Subway window, she thought about the crime pattern. The description of the crimes, the victims and the brief descriptions of the killers match Jake and his two buddies. I can’t be absolutely sure without more information, she thought. If I were positive I’d call the FBI. But I need to take some precautions. She called and registered for Tai Kwon Do classes because she felt certain something was about to happen and she needed to be ready. It wasn’t just the nightmares or the news reports that had her frightened; it was the email from Mrs. Goodwin. Once a week, Gina went to one of the local coffee shops equipped with Wi-Fi to exchange emails with her old school counselor. She’d spend about an hour reading online crime reports from West Virginia and searching for news about her family. She was especially interested in Jake. She needed to know if he was still out there, committing crimes and trying to find her. She knew he had been following her years ago. That’s why she and Mrs. Goodwin had established their secret email account developed solely for the purpose of keeping in touch. She always used internet café computers to make the contact and Mrs. Goodwin used the computers at the public library. The underground network that relocated her so many years before, always notified Mrs. Goodwin if strangers were asking questions about her. Several times over the years, Gina had been told of men asking after her.

  Gina knew that Jake would never forget her, that he would try to find her until one of them died. She knew that with certainty. She also knew the gang was ‘on the move’. She felt it in her bones. When she read the newspaper she knew it was him and he was after her. Because of that she started practicing at the firing range. Gina had been raised with guns. It was one of the few things Earl had taught her. She was a good shot and getting better. Those news reports of ‘goings on’ back in Hurricane were making her hyper alert. She began noticing things around her, listening to noises, watching faces in the crowds. She was taking precautions, getting ready. He’ll never recognize me now, she thought. I miss my old hair, but this hair is safer.

  Therapy sessions had been going well. She felt less traumatized and frightened, that helped her overall attitude. There had been no ‘mental’ problems at work for over a week now, so she felt things were on the right track. She still had not told her therapist the whole story. She knew that she should, but she just could not bring herself to do it. At the last therapy session, when they were talking about the real fears and dangers that she had, the issue of the gun and the need to improve security, Dr. Reinhardt had given her a name. Gil McCray, a former police officer, ran a personal protection service and he seemed like just the right fit for her. She thought it a bit odd that her therapist would have such a number but was glad to have it. She figured that since Dr. Reinhardt worked with trauma survivors perhaps this man had helped other people before and that’s how she knew him. She had no hesitation in calling the number and McCray agreed to meet her the following day. She was instantly at ease with him. Even on the phone his questions became normal conversation and she was able to tell him details about her past that had always been secret.

  McCray had a reputation for helping people develop self-defense programs. Nearly 40, he had worked for the Chicago Police Department for eighteen years. Joining the force had been the most important decision of his life. McCray was a highly moral man who loved being a cop. He achieved detective rank after only 4 years and his record of clearing cases was outstanding. However on occasion McCray found the ‘rules and regs’ a bit too restricting. His fight for the underdog had taken him outside the boundaries of law enforcement one time too many. His last, most troublesome, conflict with departmental administration occurred when he was retrieving a kidnap victim, a 16 year old Latina who had been snatched from the parking lot behind her church one Sunday night. McCray, lead detective on the case, had gotten a little too physical in order to force the suspect to ‘give up’ where he stashed the girl. The results of the IA investigation that followed were ‘inconclusive.’ His record had catapulted him into the public eye more than once and the media regarded him as a modern day Superman. He was respected both inside and outside of the Police Department. Because of that, the Mayor and the Chicago PD brass felt that the best course of action was to allow the man to retire gracefully. They’d let him retire with his hero status intact. Filing criminal charges against McCray had been out of the question. So McCray took early retirement with full benefits, an intact service record and opened his own company, called ‘Protect and Serve’. It opened with a staff of one.

  Divorced twice, his second wife had left him a few years back and moved to Oregon with their 11 year old son, so McCray focused on his business and the people he helped. Most of the time, he fought within the limits of the law, using his training and skill, plus a lot of ingenuity. Yet, sometimes, a situation arose that required him to step outside the boundaries of the law. While he missed the authority and camaraderie that the badge gave him, he loved the freedom of being a private consultant. That freedom allowed him to form alliances that his official role prohibited. His consultation business had taken off with an unexpected surge. Fellow officers, seeing the need for what he could offer, referred prospective clients to him by the handful. He was known for his ability to protect witnesses being threatened by powerful defendants who had the means to ‘shut them up’. He had several ‘safe houses’ and equipment stashed in storage units throughout the greater Chicago area. He had tracking equipment, listening devices, weapons, disguises, vehicles - - he had it all. McCray took each client’s concerns seriously and worked hard to provide uniquely tailored security programs for each of them. After a year of ‘flying solo,’ he hired two additional consultants, one a former undercover cop with NYC’s Gang Unit and one from the DEA. A formidable team dubbed the ‘Big Three’ they were respected, if unofficial, members of the Chicago crime fighting community ‘off the books' but ‘on the job.’

  CHAPTER 19

  PREPARATIONS

  Gina first met Gil in an upscale sandwich shop after she had gotten that warning email from Mrs. Goodwin and read about the killings in Hurricane. She was intending to reveal just a sketchy outline about her situation, but he was an attentive listener and had a genuine interest in her situation. It was the oddest thing. She felt more comfortable with him than she ever had with anyone. She ended up telling him whole story, names, events, everything. Gil said very little, though he nodded a lot and seemed to absorb everything that she said. She explained how she ran away from home and ended up soaked and bleeding on her school counselor’s doorstep, how that counselor helped place her with the Baker family. She told him how she kept up with news articles and her old counselor via a secret email account. I’m a bit of detective myself, she said with a grin.” “All very promising,” Gil grinned back.

  She told him about the first day she met her foster family. How lost and desperate she had been. “I needed a place where I would be safe,” she told Gil. “I never had that before, not really. My family was always strange and well, not safe. The Bakers embraced me; it was there that I learned how to be the person I am. I came to life with that family. My foster sister Linda, two years younger than me became my best friend and confidant. My real family never socialized with outsiders so we only had each other and the family dynamics, well they were strange. I spent most of my childhood alone. Anyway, Linda and I told each other everything.” Gil nodded and suggested they walk a bit as they talked. He wanted to make sure they couldn’t be overheard. As they strolled through the park Gina talked about her feelings of isolation.

  “I have friends here,” she said, “but I cannot risk putting them in danger. I have to ride this out alone. It’s just me. I’m all alone.”

  Gil looked directly into her frightened eyes, put his hand on hers and said, “Not quite, Kiddo. Not quite.”

  They met on a regular basis working to improve her self-defense skills, her home security system and to access more information about the danger she might be facing. Not only did he help impr
ove her shooting, but he taught her ‘the moves’, how to grab the gun and fire when running or how to roll and shoot. He taught her evasive strategies, how to cut through stores and hide out in restaurants. He taught her how to spot pursuers on crowded streets, how to avoid detection, how to get away when being chased. They went shopping for a large shoulder bag she was to carry. They packed it with disguises so she could change her appearance in a moment using sunglasses, hats and scarves along with some weapons, a small handgun, pepper spray, a knife and a stun gun. These items were carefully arranged inside pockets of her purse so she could access them in seconds. They practiced retrieving items and using them. Gil used a stop watch during their practice sessions. “Seconds make all the difference between life and death,” he said. “Wear clothes with pockets so that you can carry your keys and pepper spray. You are most vulnerable at doorways, going in and out of buildings and getting in or out of cars.” He installed dead bolt locks in her condo on the door and windows, and an alarm system. Gil lived across town, but could be reached on his cell at a moment’s notice and they had worked out an emergency signal in case she needed him. They both took the work seriously knowing that even a moment’s hesitation could end her life. McCray knew a woman in trouble when he saw one. He could always tell the real thing and Gina Reynolds was the real thing.

  Her situation was becoming all the more real to her. Since Gil suggested she needed more social support, she phoned her friend Katherine when she got home and began to share some details about her situation. “For G-d’s sake, Gina what are you talking about?” Katherine spurted out.

  “I’m still trying to put all the pieces together, Kat, but right now my life is complicated and I want you to know what’s been going on with me. There is a crazed man, my cousin, who is after me, determined to kill me. That’s why I’m so careful all the time and why I’ve been so worried lately.”

  “You mean for real? Like real danger?” Katherine exclaimed. “That’s horrible! Gina, you should come and stay here with us, you know hide out over here till it’s over.”

  “Kat, you are sweet, but I think I’m OK here for now.”

  “Are you nuts?” Katherine asked, “You tell me a crazed killer is after you and then say I shouldn’t worry about you? Are you nuts?”

  “I’m not sure how much of what I am remembering is real and how much is just fear. I’m trying to figure that all out now.”

  “Gina, why don’t you just call the police, it sounds like you need help.”

  “I would, Kat but it’s complicated like I said. I have to make sure about some things first, trust me, I’m working on it.”

  “Well I hope you figure it out soon because this is scary stuff and it’s not to be trifled with.”

  “I know, Kat, I’m not trifling, I promise, I have someone helping me, a private protection guy.”

  “Really?” Katherine asked with a provocative swing in her tone.

  “Yes,” Gina said “and it’s not like that! He’s helping me.”

  “Alright, if you say so, but remember we’re here for you, my whole family is. Any time you need to talk just call me. And remember my Dad was a marine, he’d know how to protect you.” Katherine said as they hung up.

  These days, Gina was always on the ‘look out’. She could never relax even in the NICU or her therapist’s office. At home she turned on the alarm and checked the door and window locks constantly. She bought new heavily lined curtains and always kept the drapes drawn and stayed away from the windows. She changed her phone number to unlisted, used just initials on her mailbox and kept her cell phone in her right hand and her pepper-spray in her left whenever she left her condo. The only other concern she had was Twinkie. When she had moved in her condo had been remodeled and her closet expanded. She now loosened a piece of sheetrock in the back of her closet and made a small crawl space back there just big enough for the cat. It was under the shelves she had installed for her shoes and was not visible when standing. She positioned boot and shoe boxes in front of the hole so that even if someone was kneeling on the floor, the hole could not be seen. For weeks she placed tiny treats inside the hole to encourage her cat to go inside. She had to make sure that the cat knew how to get in and that she would run there if frightened. Every once in a while when the TV blasted shouts or gunshots, Twinkie would run to her little hiding place. After a few weeks of practice, Gina was sure, if frightened, Twinkie would know exactly where to go to be safe.

  That relieved a huge chunk of anxiety. She was telling Dr. Reinhardt about preparing her cat’s hiding place when she saw an expression flit across her therapist’s face. At once she interpreted it as “she thinks I’m crazy” and looked away feeling embarrassed. Her therapist caught the shift and asked what just happened? Gina responded, “You must think I’m over-reacting here, going overboard to make sure my cat is safe.”

  “No, actually I think it’s a loving and creative solution. What gave you the idea that I thought otherwise?”

  “Well”, Gina began, “you got this funny look on your face….”

  “Ah I see,” said the therapist, “yes, I suppose I did. The hiding place just reminded me of something from a long time ago.”

  “Oh, thanks for telling me that,” Gina said, “it’s good to know you didn’t think I was crazy.”

  Dr. Reinhardt was deep in thought as her patient left the session. She felt great empathy for her and what she was going through. Not just because of her PTSD and the memory work they were doing, but because of the real-life fear that she had. Dr. Reinhardt was certain Gina had real reasons to be afraid. She thought about the little hiding place Gina created for her cat and her mind drifted to another hole in another closet, long ago and far away. She had been a frightened 4-year old, in a quaint Austrian chalet. Vividly she remembered her mother’s urgent voice drilling them, instructing Elisabeth and her sister Reina to run and hide behind a wall panel in a closet. She remembered the musty smell, a rough wool blanket on the floor of that space and the two tiny cloth dolls that waited for them on that blanket. She remembered how the wall looked from the inside, wooden boards with plaster covering them, nails jutting out. “You each have a cup of water and 2 pieces of bread. Do not eat or drink unless you have to because you cannot go potty. The smell will alert the soldiers. The food and water are there in case I am gone for a day or more.” She remembered hearing the warnings over and over again.

  “This is important you must listen to me you must pay attention. You must not make a single sound,” she said. “Do not move or rustle around. Do not talk to each other. Do not cough or cry. Do not make one single sound or the Nazi’s will come and take you away. They are very bad people,” she warned again. “They will get you and take you far away and I’ll never see you again.” She remembered crying and clutching her mother’s hand. “You must hide to be safe,” her mother had warned; her face white with fear. “Where will you be, Mommy?” she had asked. “Will the bad men take you away?” “I’ll be hiding too,” her mother told her, “in a different hiding place. We’re all hiding. Do not come out of that hole no matter what you hear, no matter what you think. You and your sister stay put until Papa or I come for you and remember do not make a single sound.”

  Most of all Elisabeth Reinhardt remembered the fear, the cold mind-numbing fear. It was the fear of death; she recognized it in Gina's face. It had traveled with her throughout her childhood. She knew it well.

  CHAPTER 20

  CONFIDENCES

  They sat cross-legged on stuffed easy chairs sipping herbal tea from over-sized mugs. The children were in bed, the dishes were done and they could talk. ‘Girl-talk’ time was one of the highlights of their week. Tonight however there was some tension. Tanya wanted to know what was going on with Gina and she wanted details. She was a smart woman who had achieved a lot during her 36 years of life. She had grown up on the lower east side, the middle of 5 children born to an African couple who had emigrated from Ghana. Her father knew just a few words of E
nglish when he found employment in the meat-packing district. Her mother cleaned offices until Tanya was 3 when they opened a small booth in the Chicago Farmer’s Market selling hot-dogs and sausages finally accumulating enough money to open a tiny restaurant featuring Ghanaian foods. The children were raised underfoot and learned the value of hard work from an early age, all of them washing dishes, setting tables and waiting on the customers. When Tanya went to school she applied the same values of hard work to her studies. She attended Kennedy King College on a full scholarship attaining her RN and later at the University of Illinois she earned her Master’s Degree in Nursing.

  Her greatest skill however was not her knowledge. It was her people skills. Tanya had an earthy wisdom and keen intuition. It clicked into gear when she supervised staff in the NICU and when she held a sick baby in her arms. It clicked into gear now. “So, girlfriend,” she said, dark eyes studying the woman across from her, “What’s up with you?”

  Gina fingered her spikey brown quills, “You mean this?”

  “Sure, that,” Tanya replied, “but more than that. What’s all this about?” she waved her hand in a circle, “Your hair looks like shit, excuse my French, you’re walking all weird, and you’re jumpy as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. What’s up with you?”

  Gina folded her arms and looked away deciding what to tell her. Tanya was her best friend but these deep dark worries, she had never told anyone, except her therapist.

  “OK,” she said deciding, “but please let me tell you this my way, OK? It’s a long and ugly story, but here goes. I’m going to give you the Readers Digest version and later we can talk specifics if we want, OK?”

  “I’m all ears, Sugar…” Tanya said sipping her tea.