“I need to go get her boyfriend.”
“Whoa…”
Mark refused to back down. He stood there, feet planted apart, arms folded over his chest in his best Keith imitation, and refused to break eye contact. “She needs the people who care most about her. I can start making calls and make an enemy of you, or you can assume that Levoski trusts that I have her best interests at heart.”
“Can’t have both of you in there at once. Even Dr. Levoski won’t break that one.”
“That’s fine. I’ll go get him.” He took two steps before looking back. “Thank you. For everything. Just save my girl.”
Twenty-Six
Bleary-eyed, Tyler stared at screens that meant nothing and flicked the balls of the Newton’s cradle with little interest. The clock rolled over to two a.m. With a wicked sweep of his hand, he sent the contraption flying across the room. It crashed against the door to Mark’s office with a satisfying clinking-thud.
The tangled mess on the floor created an adequate representation of Tyler’s mental state, and he might have perfected it with a few swift kicks and a toss into the wastepaper basket if the phone hadn’t rung. His hello echoed in the room before he even snatched it from the cradle. “Is she okay?”
“From what I am hearing them imply but not say, Flynne will likely recover fully and without any lasting negative effects.”
Never before had Tyler sworn in utter gratitude. “I thought it was taking so long because…”
“Because of weather. I got in late. Look, I need to talk to you about something. I need your opinion on Flynne’s trustworthiness.”
That knocked him back in his chair. “Huh?”
“She went rogue, Tyler. It doesn’t matter if she was right or not. Next time she tells agents that I said to do something, how will they trust that it’s true? She lied.”
That wasn’t something he’d thought of. He’d been proud of her initiative—her drive to do “whatever it takes,” just like The Agency motto said. But Mark had a point. While agents sometimes had to lie to one another for the good of their clients or The Agency itself, they needed to trust the word of the one holding their intel. “I don’t know.”
“If she tells you to kidnap me and ignore everything I say, will you do it?”
Though he ran a dozen scenarios through his mind, Tyler couldn’t think of a single reason he would trust her… and yet he still couldn’t say he wouldn’t. But why? The answer came just as Mark started to ask another question. “I think—yeah. It depends on if she promised not to do it again.”
“You… what?”
The disbelief would have been bad enough, but being frosted with a thick layer of amusement just made it that much worse. Still, Tyler stuck to his assertion. “I mean it. Flynne is not above manipulating the truth and the rules to her advantage, but when she says she won’t, she won’t.”
“I wasn’t aware that you were that much in love with her.”
The words hung there, as if a bomb waiting to be activated. Through each miserable second, Tyler grappled with the idea of being truly in love with Flynne. Sure, he cared about her. He wouldn’t have been tormented for the last few hours if he wasn’t, but in love? Maybe a bit premature. Then again, do you ever feel like you love the person you love… enough? He didn’t know.
“Am I?”
“It sounds like it to me.”
A new thought changed Tyler’s perspective a little. “Even if I’d say the same thing about Keith? Or even Erika?”
“Are you saying you’re not in love with your girlfriend?”
That he couldn’t say either. “I don’t know. I just—well, we never talked about it. I don’t see her enough to know. I think that’s the thing.”
“So, I’m curious about something.”
Why are you so chatty?
“If you and Flynne broke up, how much would you trust her to have your back then?”
“Why shouldn’t I? That’s just weir—oh.” His gut clenched as understanding gripped it and twisted a knot. “Morgan.”
“If it makes it any easier, it sounds like it happened in the course of trying to divert him from realizing Erika was there.”
The knot twisted tighter. “It doesn’t.” He’d have hung up if he didn’t have a message for Mark. “Got a call from Corey.”
“And?”
“They found the niece—traffickers, they think. At a rest stop, she managed to sneak out of the van they had her in and climb into a trucker’s cab. He called the police.”
The dead line told him that something was up. He just didn’t know what. Other than the fact that my girlfriend apparently… isn’t.
“St. Louis commuters are shaken after a bizarre accident today. A car plunged off the Eads Bridge and into the Mississippi. Witnesses say that another car rammed the vehicle multiple times before it hit another car and flipped through and over a section of the safety railing. Police have the man they believe to be responsible in custody after two other drivers blocked his car and held him until police could arrive…”
A hand stirred a small dollop of honey into a sturdy mug in slow, lazy circles. Clink, clink. As the newscast droned on, a phone rang. “G’day. What do you have for me?”
“He’s in custody. Being questioned. Not talking yet.”
“Let’s keep it that way.” The teaspoon tapped again. Clink, clink. “Did the girl make it home?”
“She’s still giving a statement, but the mother is there with her.”
“Excellent.”
The grotesque sounds of a throat clearing preceded the next question. “Do I let him know she’s home?”
“Not necessary. Mendina will ensure that.” Another stir. Another clink. A sip. “You’re good for now. Pull everything back. I have a call to make.”
Starting a call relayed through multiple servers and locations around the globe—a nuisance but necessary. Time consuming, too. Between sips of hot, black, honeyed tea, the teaspoon made its synchronized clinks. Clink, clink. Sip. Clink, clink.
Five minutes passed. Clink, clink. Sip. Clink, clink.
Ten.
The phone rang at almost fifteen minutes on the dot. “Hello, Secretary Jehnson.”
“Who is this? How’d you get this number?”
“Are all your bad guys present and accounted for?”
“Wha—?”
“Better check on that.”
Click.
A smile formed. The spoon swirled. A sip. Clink, clink.
Corey answered with the first ring. “What’s going on, Mark? We got a call that Brent’s been arrested!”
“He has. He ran Erika Polowski and Flynne off the Eads Bridge.”
After a gasp that almost hurt to hear, she protested. “He wouldn’t! Brent is the most mild-mannered man. He catches mice and takes them out to the country and lets them go. It drives Marci nuts!”
Everything Mark had found said the same thing. “Look, if Erika and Flynne hadn’t seen him in St. Louis—obviously following them. If we didn’t have him on CCTV stalking her, I’d be agreeing with you. I’d assume that people stopped the wrong car somehow, but they didn’t. So, what do I need to know about your brother before I go in and talk to him?”
“His family is everything to him. None of this makes sense, but in case he knows Alyssa was missing, tell him she’s back first thing. It might help… somehow.” She huffed in that way she always had when needing to steady herself. “I told them he didn’t take her.”
“He couldn’t have. We knew that. I’ll do what I can to get him out. Erika and Flynne won’t press charges if I can find out what he was doing. There’ll still be criminal charges, but they’ll be easier to get dropped if the girls refuse to cooperate. It’s safe for Marci and the kids to go home now, though. I’ve got surveillance on their house—just someone in training, but I think that’s all you need right now.”
“I’m on my way to St. Louis now.”
“Don’t go into the station without calling
me, first. I want to use you if the situation warrants it, but it’ll be more effective if you appear unexpectedly.”
“Okay.” The huff sounded wavery this time. “Mark, he didn’t do this. I mean, maybe he did, but he didn’t. You know?”
It was the first thing she’d said that did make sense to him. “Just get here, Corey. Somehow, this is going to be all right. I just don’t know how yet.” Once she disconnected, he added in a sigh, “And I don’t promise you’ll like how, either.”
An officer led him to an interrogation room, giving him sideways glances all the way there. Inside, Brent sat with his hands cuffed to the table, staring at the opposite wall almost unblinking. “Just knock if you need out. I’m going to lock the door.”
Mark nodded. As the door closed, he pulled up a chair to the end of the table and sat there in an attempt to avoid the feel of an interrogation. “Are you all right, Brent?”
The man didn’t move.
“You should know that this room is being visually and audibly recorded.”
That got him a blink and a slight shift but no real response.
“You should also know that I am not with any state or government agency.”
The man’s hands clenched. His jaw twitched. He looked over at Mark.
“My name is Marco Mendina, and while I’m not a lawyer, I’m your best shot out of here. Do you understand that?”
This time, not a twitch.
A glance around the room did little to help Mark. It was all standard fare. Plain walls, table with restraint bars, three chairs, and two tiny cameras peering down, watching. Always watching. They don’t even need the mirrored windows anymore.
Mark started with the best chance at cooperation. “Marci and the kids are worried about you.” The way the man stiffened gave away much. “Did you hear about Alyssa’s disappearance?”
Tears rolled down his cheeks.
“I know you didn’t have anything to do with that.”
The movement was so slight, Mark didn’t know if he’d really seen it, but the man looked like he shook his head. Barely.
“She’s home now—safe.”
Brent sat up straight. “Safe?”
It might have been the wrong move, but Mark couldn’t help but smile. “Safe. Untouched. She got away.”
The man sobbed. Before Mark could even request tissues, his phone rang. Suresh. “Yes?”
“The man who gave Liv Todd the information about her sister? I found him.”
“Who was it?”
“His name is Brent Knupp of Dolman.”
Things clicked into place. “Thank you. Payment will be sent tonight.” Without waiting for a response, Mark clicked the phone off and sent a text message. Then he turned to Brent. “Liv Todd is safe, too.”
That stopped the tears. “What?”
“I can get you out of here. It won’t be easy, but I can. Your daughter is safe, your targets are all alive. But you have to tell me who you’re working for.”
All visible signs of discouragement or distress vanished, and a hard look that Mark suspected no one knew he could manufacture appeared. “Marco Mendina?”
“Yes.”
“Do your employees call you Mark?”
He smiled. “Yes, Brent. They do.”
Silence reigned again. The jaw worked, his eyes flitted from Mark to the cameras to the cuffs on his hands, and back to Mark again. At least ten minutes passed before he spoke. “My family needs protection. No matter what you do with me, they are not safe.”
“I have a guard—”
“They are not safe!” The voice reverberated against the walls until the whole room screamed them.
“Indefinite or temporary?”
Brent’s jaw worked again. “Long-term. At least until you get the creep.”
Creep implies man. That validates a lot of presumptions. Good… Good…
“Can you do it now?” Brent leaned forward, hands clasped together. “Even if you don’t help me. Get them out.” His eyes narrowed. “Tell Corey—”
“We’ll talk to Corey later. Right now, we need to talk about who you’re working for.”
The man’s jaw clamped shut so fast it should have broken teeth. He leaned back as far as possible in the chair and stared at the wall again. Silence.
“Mr. Knupp, we’re going to help your family.”
Still, nothing.
“Is this about where you are, or where your family is?”
For a moment, Mark thought he still wouldn’t answer, but the half-whispered word came eventually. “Both.”
That’s all it took. Without even turning away, Mark called Claire. “Hey, love, time to move. Get the Knupp family to the Harbinger apartment ASAP. Destroy your phone now.”
Ignoring Brent’s bug eyes, he made the next call. It rang… and rang… The third try got an answer. “Mark, I don’t have time—”
“I need Brent Knupp released to me. St. Louis police. ASAP.”
“We’re kind of in the middle of a huge mess over here. I don’t know if I can—”
There wasn’t time to play the “whose Daddy is tougher” game. “Don’t make me go to the press.”
“Don’t make me go to the press. Do you have any idea who is missing from federal custody?”
“Do I care?”
“You should. Now what’s up in St. Louis?”
A smile formed. You can bark, but you’ve got no teeth. “Check the news. Brent Knupp was just arrested for forcing Erika Polowski and Flynne Dortmann—”
“Your Flynne? And… Polowski… Hang on.”
Two minutes dragged out longer than half-time at a football game. Jehnson’s voice sounded strained when he returned. “I’ll make the call. Give me twenty.”
Twenty-Seven
Sunshine streaked through the vertical slats of the window blinds, teasing her with the day outside. Every bit of her ached, from the hangnail on her toe to the rogue eyebrow hair that always grew away from the rest, as if it considered itself too important to associate with common hairs. Her head, however, pounded like nobody’s business.
Keith still slept in the chair beside her bed. His hand dangled over the arm, just a couple of inches away from her mattress, as if he’d fallen asleep touching her. Probably because he did.
An aide entered, carrying a tray with two meals on it. She smiled and gestured at the bed tray. Erika could have cried when she realized the woman wanted her to move—to remove Keith’s phone and make room for the tray. Wincing, she grabbed it and allowed it to drop to her lap. That hurt, too. Her eyes closed in pain-filled defeat.
By the time Erika managed to convince herself to open her eyes again, Keith was awake—watching. “Did you sleep?”
She nodded. “I know you did.”
“Might be a dumb idea, but I thought it was a risk worth taking.”
He’s getting pretty good at talking with his mouth wired shut.
“I overheard one of the nurses say that they’re probably discharging you this afternoon—no pneumothorax for you.”
Erika eyed him, uncertain if he was ready to leave yet—if it was safe for him. “And you?”
He checked the canister at his side and grinned. “About where it was last night. I think I’m drained. Can’t take a good breath, still, but that might be the whole broken lung thing.”
Erika didn’t believe him until he threatened to show her the nasty cannister. “Okay, show me.”
And he did. She couldn’t be sure it hadn’t increased any. She hadn’t paid that close of attention to it, but either he’d become a better actor in the past few days, or he wasn’t lying. “Good.”
They ate in silence. Oatmeal, scrambled eggs, bacon. Orange juice for her. Milk for him. The white, dry toast lay there getting colder and more disgusting with every passing minute. Eventually, a woman twice the age and size of the last one came in to take it away. “Have you decided what you want for lunch? I recommend the roast beef with au jus.”
They just nodde
d.
“For two, right?”
Another nod.
“Mashies and raw veggies?”
Keith didn’t move, but Erika nodded.
“He’s not a veggie guy?” The woman winked. “I’ll add an orange on there.”
They stared at each other until Keith finally spoke. “Do you feel like half your age all of a sudden?”
To Erika’s utter disgust, she giggled. “Yep.”
He rose, shifted that infernal cannister onto the floor, and leaned over her, searching for something. If the smile that formed meant anything, he’d found it. “Hey…”
Those eyes staring into hers… if she hadn’t been in love with him already, that look right there would have done it. “Hey, yourself.”
“I could have lost you.”
“God said no to an early entry to eternity.”
His fingers brushed back her hair, and his hand cupped the back of her head. With his gaze locked on hers, the whispered words washed over her. “Thank You, Lord for saving Erika… again, and now we ask for healing.”
“For him, too,” Erika added.
A wink. “Okay, for me, too. Can’t take care of her if I’m a mess anyway.”
The kiss should have made him gag—what with the vomiting, the Mississippi river water, the no brushing of the teeth… Instead, he lingered as if she’d gargled in Listerine and washed it down with mint water. For half a second or two, he even made her forget that she should be mortified.
“I love you.”
The words proved to be too much. Tears formed. “Endorphins.”
Keith grinned. “Fine, I endorphin you. I’m dopey on dopamine. Seronading you with serotonin. Your moxie gives me oxy… and an incurable desire to hold you indefinitely…”
“I think you nailed it with the dopey one.”
Once more, he brushed his hand over her cheek. “I’m good with that.” He swallowed—twice, his eyes never blinking. “I could have lost you,” he repeated.
And once more, she disagreed. “Nope. Sorry, it wasn’t possible.”
With his cheek pressed to her forehead, he murmured, “Care to elaborate?”
Hashtag Rogue Page 21
