Surrender to Love

by Adrianne Byrd

  Julia stood, and Carson embraced her. Her body shook as heart-wrenching sobs filled the sheriff’s office.

  “I’ll give you two a few minutes alone,” Sheriff Benton said, getting up from his chair.

  “Thank you,” Carson replied.

  Julia soaked his shirt with her tears.

  He stroked her hair and soothed her with his calm voice. “It’s going to be all right. We’re going to find them,” he promised.

  She shook her head against his chest. She couldn’t help but think the worst. “Th-this is all my fault,” she managed to choke out.

  “Nonsense. We’re all victims in this. But that doesn’t mean we can’t fight back.”

  She pulled away from him. “Fight who? The Mafia? The federal government? We don’t know who we’re up against. We don’t know what they want.”

  “I know.”

  “Hell, we don’t even know if the kidnapping is related to what happened back in Atlanta.”

  “I know that, too. But we’re not going to be able to get anywhere unless we’re able to pull ourselves together.”

  She stared at him, trying to figure out how he managed to look so calm. Finally she drew in a deep breath and did her best to rein in her tattered nerves and emulate his courage.

  “That’s my girl,” he encouraged. He ignored his own pain, ignored the intense stinging at the backs of his eyes. He tightened his arms around Julia and prayed.

  Robin struggled to break free from the ropes that bound her hands. Next to her, she could hear Bobbi trying to do the same.

  “Hurry, hurry, hurry,” she recited, but for all her troubles, she succeeding only in hurting her wrists.

  What did these guys want with her—with them? She didn’t know, and had no intention of finding out.

  Frankie resented having to make the call to the Georgia Inn while Nicholas played babysitter. He didn’t trust him with the children and feared what he’d do to them. He thought about calling his uncle and telling him he no longer wanted any part of this, but he suspected this assignment with Nicholas was a test. He’d failed his family before—should he dare fail them again?

  “Morning, neighbor.”

  His gaze snapped up to see an elderly white man with kind eyes tipping his hat toward him in a friendly gesture. Frankie nodded slightly but didn’t break his stride on his way to his destination: the lone pay phone on the corner of the road.

  Once inside the small quarters, he closed the door and glanced at his surroundings. The only person on the street was the old man he’d just passed. It was hard trying to be inconspicuous in a small town, where everyone undoubtedly knew each other.

  He reached into his pocket and withdrew a slip of paper with the Georgia Inn phone number they had gotten from the girls. If everything went as planned, this whole thing would be over in the next twenty-four hours.

  Chapter 30

  Julia and Carson arrived at the inn just as the sun began to set. Neither spoke, but simply stared solemnly up at the two-story house with trepidation.

  The smile she gave him wobbled. “Thank you,” she said suddenly. “You’ve been a rock for me today when I know your suffering is as deep as my own.”

  Carson’s calm, cool, and collected demeanor dissolved. His glossy eyes and firm jawline hinted that he was a man on the edge of losing control.

  Nervously, she squeezed his hand, which still kept a firm grip on the steering wheel. “We will find them.” It was her turn to be strong even though she didn’t feel the part.

  He nodded and pulled his shimmering gaze away from her. “I can’t lose her. She’s all I have.”

  Julia lifted her hand to caress his cheek. You have me, she wanted to tell him, but instead she wished there were something she could do to ease his pain. It was unfair for life to deal this kind man another harsh blow. Bobbi was all he had left of Karen, and Julia didn’t want to see that taken from him—or be responsible for it.

  “How long do you think it will take Sheriff Benton to get in contact with the FBI?”

  “I’m sure that he’s talking to them right now. In a few hours this place will be swarming with agents.” He looked at her again. “Do you still believe that the man who killed your ex-husband was a federal agent?”

  It was her turn to look away. “I don’t know what I believe anymore. I just want our daughters to be returned. I want this nightmare to be over.”

  Carson looped his arm around her shoulder and gathered her close. “It will be,” he said. He kissed the top of her head.

  Julia closed her eyes, amazed she still found comfort and strength in his embrace. Had it been just this morning that she was about to leave this man? The thought seemed ludicrous now.

  “But what if you’re right?” Carson said, suddenly.

  She pulled away and glanced up at him. “What do you mean?”

  Carson shifted in his seat to face her. “I don’t know. I mean, there is a chance of your being right, isn’t there? It’s one heck of a coincidence that you called the FBI and a man showed up at your door impersonating a federal agent, don’t you think?”

  Julia had thought about that a number of times. “I suppose so, but you have to remember that I never saw the man’s credentials or anything. If anything I just panicked and got the heck out of Dodge.”

  “But maybe we should be prepared for that possibility.”

  “Prepared how?” She shrugged. “If he is a real agent then—”

  “Then Sheriff Benton may be contacting trouble.”

  “And if he wasn’t, then this Vinny character is still out there looking for me and whatever it was David told them I had. Either way, I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place.”

  Carson blinked as if for the first time realizing the magnitude of her situation—their situation. “If they want something, then perhaps they only took the girls for bargaining leverage.”

  “Regardless, I don’t have what they want.”

  “Maybe you do and you just don’t know it.”

  “A lot of good that does us,” Julia countered with frustration. “I don’t know what to do anymore,” she confessed with another firm shake of her head. “I’ve run out of options.”

  “I’m not about to let you give up. We’re not giving up.”

  Their eyes met and Julia read his fierce determination and felt her own confidence rise.

  “Okay, so what do you have planned?”

  Paul popped a few aspirins into his mouth and chewed the bitter pills as though they were candy. He’d sent Tony off to contact the sheriff of Moreland, while he was busy trying to figure out a way to connect Eric and David Mercer’s deaths to the Montellos, specifically Vinny Montello.

  He groaned at the sudden knock at the door. “Come in.”

  He glanced up when the door swung open, then had to do a double take at the sight of Detective Jackson from the Atlanta Police Department standing in his office doorway.

  “I hope that I’m not disturbing you,” Jackson said solemnly, and moved further into the room.

  “Not at all.” Paul stood. “Please have a seat.” He gestured to an empty chair in front of his desk.

  Jackson closed the door behind him.

  Paul swore the room shrank in comparison to the man’s formidable size. “It’s good to see you again.” Paul offered his hand.

  “Likewise,” Jackson replied with a firm shake.

  As both men took their seats, an awkward silence weaved between them before Paul’s curiosity was piqued at the sight of the manila folder the detective held. “So what brings you out into my neck of the woods?”

  “A homicide,” he answered matter-of-factly.

  “I’d imagine you get a lot of that in your line of work.” Paul tried to thaw the room’s icy tension with humor. He got the impression that Jackson didn’t care too much for FBI agents.

  A wry smile cracked the corners of the detective’s stony features. “Funny.” He tossed the folder onto Paul’s desk and instructed him, “T
ake a look.”

  With raised brows, Paul glanced suspiciously at Jackson before flipping open the folder. The dead woman’s face sent his mind reeling back to the night at the Kelleys’ estate.

  “Isn’t this—”

  “Her real name was Rachel Miller. She died from an overdose of heroin. Why she was posing as someone else at the Kelley estate is a mystery. But you’ll never guess who owned the apartment she was staying at.”

  Paul pulled his eyes from the picture to look at the detective.

  “Does the name Vinny Montello ring any bells?”

  Paul leaned back in his chair, certain that he hadn’t heard Jackson correctly. “You want to run that by me again?”

  “You heard me. Vinny Montello, as in the leader of the New York Mafia crime family.”

  “I know who he is.” Paul couldn’t believe his luck. “How did you know to come to me on this?”

  “Once I recognized the corpse, I visited the FBI’s Web site and read up on the Mercer boys, and I put two and two together.”

  Paul liked what he was hearing, but knew from experience that he didn’t have enough to actually tie Vinny to his case. Mason would definitely require more proof. Absently he remembered a time when he had had someone working on the inside of the Montello family, and he wished desperately that his informer hadn’t quit the business.

  “And that’s not all. I requested a copy of the phone records for the apartment, which raised a few eyebrows at my department. Especially on an overdose victim, but I’m glad I did.”

  Paul’s face lit with a wide smile. “Please tell me she was calling Vinny’s personal cell phone.”

  “There were a few calls placed to his home in New York, yes. We were able to verify that much, but there were an awful lot of calls placed somewhere else as well.”

  Paul frowned. He suspected that this was the part he wasn’t going to like. “Where?”

  “Seems Miss Miller had this agency on her speed dial.”

  “I don’t understand,” Paul said.

  “Let me see if I can make this clear. Rachel Miller was in constant contact with someone who works for you.”

  Frankie held his fingers poised over the telephone keypad while he thought about what he was about to do, about what he was about to risk. He shook his head. He should have remained retired. He was only supposed to find a bag of diamonds—not kidnap children.

  Now he was supposed to make the call to the Georgia Inn to arrange a meeting with Julia—her in exchange for her daughter—but he needed to make another call first.

  He punched in the number he’d known by heart for years and glanced nervously around the phone booth while he waited for the line to connect.

  “Paul Regis,” the assistant agent in charge answered in a hurried voice.

  Frankie hesitated.

  “Hello?” Regis sounded agitated.

  “Hey,” Frankie croaked out, then coughed to clear his throat. “Long time no hear from.”

  “Who is this?”

  “Paul, don’t tell me that after all we’ve been through, you’ve already forgotten about me?”

  “I don’t believe this—Frankie Montello?” Paul looked up at Detective Jackson, then back down at the phone. “You won’t believe this but I was just thinking about you a few minutes ago.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I think about you from time to time, too.”

  Paul waited through the ensuing silence, praying for another miracle—that Frankie was actually calling him about the Mercer brothers and the missing Dr. Kelley. “So where have you been?”

  “That depends. Are we on a secure line?”

  “No, but if you can hold on a moment, I can fix that.”

  “I’ll hold.”

  Paul punched a button and focused his attention back on the detective. “I want to thank you for bringing this information to my attention. Right now I have to take this call.”

  For a fraction of a minute, Jackson looked put off about their meeting ending so abruptly, but he nodded in understanding. “Sure, no problem. We’ll keep in touch.”

  “Most definitely.” Paul assured him, and once again offered the man his hand. “I really do appreciate your bringing all of this to my attention. You have been a godsend on this case. Thank you.”

  Jackson quickly assessed Paul’s face for sincerity, and when he found it, he smiled broadly. “I’m glad to have been of some assistance.” He flashed what could only be described as a rare smile and left Paul’s office.

  Quickly, Paul transferred his call to a special phone that required a key for a secured line. “Frankie, are you still there?”

  “Yeah, but I may regret all of this later.”

  Paul nodded against the phone, then wasted no time getting to the point. “To what do I owe the honor of this call?”

  “To make a long story short, I came out of retirement recently.”

  “Is that right? Why on earth would you do a crazy thing like that?”

  “Hey, a man’s got to make a living, and the last time I checked, I wasn’t what you would call CEO material.”

  “So you started working for your uncle again?”

  “It was supposed to be an easy assignment.”

  “Tsk, tsk.” Paul shook his head. “You disappoint me, Frankie. Haven’t you learned by now that there’s no such thing when it comes to working for Vinny?”

  “What can I say? I’m a slow learner.”

  “Apparently. So what was the job this time?”

  “Recovering a package that had been stolen from the family a while back. I was told that it was a slip-in, slip-out kind of job. But it quickly escalated, then I was supposed to find someone. Then Vinny assigned a cleanup man to play tag or babysitter—I haven’t figured out which one yet.”

  “Sounds like you’re in over your head again.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Are you going to make me play twenty questions before you tell me about this job you’re on, or are you going to continue being vague and waste my time?”

  “My, you’ve gotten more impatient in your old age.”

  “I’ve developed a low tolerance for bull.”

  “I’m sure you have a team assigned to the Eric and David Mercer murders.”

  “Are you going to tell me that was some of your handiwork?”

  “I had nothing to with their deaths.”

  Paul drew in a deep breath and chanced asking the million-dollar question, “Did Vinny have anything to do with it?”

  “Tell you what. You tell me what you know and I’ll let you know whether or not you’re on the right track.”

  “What kind of dance is this, Frankie? You called me, remember?”

  Paul listened as his old informer drew in a deep breath. Frankie had been instrumental in one high-profile case a few years ago when he had purposely disobeyed Vinny and refused to blow up a car that held the wife and children of a state representative.

  “All right,” Frankie gave in. “I don’t have much time to talk to you anyway. Let’s just say that Vinny has a man working on the inside of your agency.”

  Paul bolted straight up in his chair. “Who?” This news coming right on the heels of Detective Jackson’s discovery was a bit much for Paul to wrap his brain around.

  “I don’t know. I’ve been in contact with him a couple of times but I don’t know his real name, but according to my cousin this man is the one who finished both brothers off—no doubt responding to the price tag Vinny had on the brothers for the past few years.”

  “Okay, the brothers are dead. Why is Vinny still involved?” Paul asked, though he already suspected the answer.

  Frankie drew in a deep breath, and Paul knew that his old informer was evaluating how much to tell.

  “You’re not chickening out on me, are you?” Paul pushed.

  “You know how the game is played. I want a deal,” Frankie admitted.

  Paul suspected as much. “What kind of deal?”

  “The usual. I wan
t blanket immunity and a top-of-the-line protection package.”

  “What good is all of that if you decide to come out of retirement again?”

  “After all this I don’t think that will ever be an option for me again.”

  Silence hung over the line while Paul weighed his options. “All right,” he finally said. “You got yourself a deal. Now tell me what you got.”

  Chapter 31

  Henry Wilkins had lived in Shiloh for most of his sixty-eight years and knew just about all the townfolk, but he most certainly did not know the slick Italian man who had nearly mowed him down on the sidewalk. Despite his urge to demand that the guy watch where he was going, Henry had instead greeted the stranger with a smile. It was part of his belief system to treat people the way he’d like to be treated.

  But when the stranger’s beady eyes lifted to meet his own, there was no ignoring the man’s coldness. In fact, something about the Italian raised Henry’s hackles and warned him that there was more to the man than met the eye.

  The Italian said nothing to his greeting, which was just fine as far as Henry was concerned. As he walked past the old Southern Hospitality Hotel, he glanced into the nearly vacant parking lot and noticed another slick Italian withdrawing something from the trunk of a blue car. This fellow glanced around, and Henry couldn’t put his finger on what troubled him about the two strangers.

  By the time Henry made it home, he found his wife and her usual bridge partners gossiping as usual around their flimsy card table.

  “I know. Miss Arlene called me this morning with the horrible news,” Henry heard Bernice saying in a low voice. “I just can’t believe that something like that could happen out here.”

  “Poor Carson,” Henry’s wife Connie piped up. “I can’t imagine what something like this is doing to him. He’s never gotten over the death of his wife.”

  Henry shook his head with a wry smile. Connie could dish out the dirt with the best of them.

  “Actually, I heard that Carson had fallen head over heels with some woman staying at the Georgia Inn,” someone else said.