by Debbie Burke
“What is it? What has happened?”
She pulled back and pointed at the phone lying on the bed. “Neal.”
He picked it up then looked at her with a silent question.
“Read the text.”
He studied the message with a deepening frown. “This is very bad.”
She sank to the bed and he sat beside her, arms and thighs touching. “I don’t know what to do. How can I help my son?”
“Let us think this through logically. We do not know for certain what they want. He said he will call with ‘details.’”
“Details have to mean a ransom demand. They’ll want money. What else could they want?”
“You are probably correct.” He squeezed her leg. “But we must have patience. We will not know until they contact you again.”
She scrubbed her hands together. “I tried to raise cash but I’m hitting dead ends. My house is free and clear but I’m afraid that, with the seizure, the feds will tie it up too. No bank will make me a loan if I’m arrested.”
“Is money all?”
“What do you mean?” She studied the concerned furrow of his brow, the pursed lips under his mustache.
One shoulder lifted. “If all you require is money, I make an excellent living. I have a good deal of money. I will give it to you.”
His open expression made her think of the simplistic way a young child solved problems, naively unaware of adult complications and consequences. His willingness made her heart swell to bursting. “Oh, Kahlil, that is unbelievably generous of you. But you hardly know me. You can’t just give me…” Then she started choking.
“Shh, shh,” he whispered, rubbing her back. “Listen to me, my treasure.” He cupped her face. “If money would have made the difference to save my wife and daughter, do you not think I would have thrown it at the doctor with both hands? If money will rescue your son and save you from a broken heart, I will throw it with both hands. Please accept it. If you do not, my heart will break again.”
She gazed into his green eyes, tender, compassionate, full of love.
Destiny, fate, whatever it was, brought this man into her life during her most desperate hours. How could she feel so tortured yet so blessed in the same instant?
Her voice quavered. “I’ll pay you back, I promise.”
He closed his eyes and waved her off, shaking his head. “Let us not worry about that now. Let us take care of this moment’s problems, OK? I thought of something I should do to keep anyone from tracking you.”
Her earlier idea came back. “Disable the GPS?”
He smiled. “Very good. You are becoming more conversant with Lucifer.” He took the phone and swiped various screens, changing settings. “When you do make calls,” he cautioned, “move several miles away from the motel so cell towers do not triangulate on this location.”
“I’ll need my car.”
“Later we will drive back to town and pick it up.”
He continued to fiddle with the phone, making more adjustments Tawny didn’t follow. No matter how he tried to reassure her, the damn smartphone still baffled her. Why did strange screens pop up, asking her to activate apps she didn’t recognize or want? Why did bizarre tones—gongs, chirps, jingles—sound off without apparent reason?
“I don’t know how you do it,” she lamented as he flicked from one function to another so quickly her eyes couldn’t keep up. “I’ll never figure it out.”
He gave her a lopsided smile. “Yes, you will. You are not accustomed to technology, that is all. Besides, I am here to rescue you from Lucifer’s antics.” He stroked her cheek. “Do not worry.”
She sighed. “I can’t help it. That instrument of the devil is my only lifeline to Neal. If it does something I don’t understand or I screw up an urgent message, I could cause him to be killed.”
“You must not think that way. The most important functions are call and text. You know how to do those. I will help you with anything else.”
“What if you’re at work when he contacts me?”
“I will be close by. Do not worry.”
* * *
The irony of naming the phone Lucifer amused Kahlil. If only she knew.
He admired Tawny’s graceful sway as she crossed the room to the window. She stared out at the mountains while he worked on her phone.
The device transmitted video and audio that he remotely activated. The video camera had proved less useful than anticipated because the phone usually stayed in her pocket, or pointed at her kitchen ceiling while it charged. In the future, he would not bother with the video option.
Besides, the audio had been more than adequate for tracking her activities, as well as her mood. When she talked on the phone, or face to face, he heard conversations perfectly, played through the hearing aid device he wore. When she cried, or sang along with the car radio, or cursed, or talked to her dead husband, he knew. The monitoring of her mood cued him to the optimal times to withdraw and be unavailable, or to appear when she was most desperate.
Her early conversations about him with her physician friend had been endearing, a charming diversion from his serious preparatory work. How many men, he mused, enjoyed the rare opportunity of secretly listening to a woman’s honest opinion of them?
For a brief moment, he allowed himself to open the compartment in his mind where he contained his growing affection for Tawny. Her helplessness touched his heart. Maryam had never been dependent on him. He’d never felt the protective instinct toward his wife that he did for Tawny. Even as he maneuvered her into peril, he longed to shield her from pain.
But it could not be. He closed the compartment and returned to the task at hand.
With his phone, he sent a text: Tamper now.
Then he returned to Lucifer. Skimming the hidden call log, he noticed four attempted calls from Tillman Rosenbaum, the Billings attorney. Kahlil had already blocked incoming contact from those numbers. The longer the delay until Tawny received legal counsel, the more the noose tightened around her. To authorities, her actions appeared increasingly erratic and indicative of guilt.
“Kahlil.” Tawny’s voice pulled him from his reverie back to the motel room.
She stood silhouetted against the window with the backdrop of towering mountains. What a vision she was, slender, willowy, glossy braid tumbled over her shoulder, soft brown eyes, and a sweet expression.
A needle of regret pricked him.
Chapter 9 – Ojo
Tawny stood at the window, watching Kahlil, absorbed in thought, sitting on the bed, holding her smartphone. It was noon and her stomach growled. Courts adjourned for lunch and she hoped to get a hold of the Billings lawyer during recess. But to prevent her location from being tracked, she needed to leave the motel.
When she spoke his name, he looked up, startled, as if from a far planet. Then he smiled. “Yes?”
“I’d like to make a call and I’m hungry.”
He popped up off the bed. “Let us go then.” He handed the phone back to her. She donned her jacket to cover the revolver in her pocket. Outside the room, a Cadillac Escalade sat in the parking slot.
Tawny shook her head. “I can’t believe they rented you another car.”
A sheepish expression crossed Kahlil’s face. “I had to go to a different agency.” Once on the highway, he asked, “Where shall we go?”
“Back toward town. There are lots of places to eat between here and there. Do you think it would be OK to pick up the Jeep, too?”
He turned sideways. “You no longer trust my driving.”
She chuckled. “I never did. But that’s not why. You have to work and I need to get around.”
“You are welcome to use this car.”
“That’s not very handy for you.”
He faced front, frowning. “I’m thinking of the people who want to arrest you. They may have a bulletin out on the Jeep.”
He was right. Should she rent a car? But that meant showing identification and using a credit ca
rd. Even if the agency accepted cash, she had to conserve money for Neal.
She needed advice on how to proceed. Slipping on her readers, she pulled the phone from her pocket, and tapped the lawyer’s number. “This is Tawny Lindholm. It’s urgent I talk with Tillman Rosenbaum.”
“Mrs. Lindholm!” the secretary exclaimed. “I’ve been trying to reach you. Mr. Rosenbaum wants to see you. He’s making a trip to Helena tomorrow. Could you meet him there?”
A four-hour drive but finally a chance to talk to him face-to-face. “Yes, I can do that. Tell me where and what time.”
The secretary named a hotel near Fort Harrison at eleven in the morning.
“I’ll be there.” Tawny hung up. For the first time in days, she’d made progress. Then she felt Kahlil staring at her. “I have to go to Helena tomorrow to meet a lawyer.”
An odd expression crossed his face. “Helena? That is a long way.”
She shrugged. “It’s the only way to see him. The secretary said she’s been trying to call me.” She skimmed Lucifer’s call log. No messages from Tillman Rosenbaum’s number. Was the secretary lying, trying to cover for a boss who didn’t return calls? Or maybe she’d called the home phone but Tawny hadn’t been there. Oh well, it didn’t make any difference now that she had an appointment to meet him.
Kahlil’s mouth pulled tight.
Why did he look so strange? He knew she needed help. “Kahlil, I have to find out where I stand, whether I’m going to be arrested, if he can get my money released. I can’t stay in limbo like this. Not with Neal in danger.”
Kahlil said nothing but Tawny got the strong feeling he didn’t approve. She waited several minutes, thinking he’d explain. When he remained silent, she asked, “What is it?”
He focused on driving. Finally, he answered, “I have a great fear your hope will be disappointed.”
“What hope?”
“That this attorney will be able to help you. Your son’s situation is precarious. Your own situation is grave. I do not wish to dash your hope but I do not see a way this attorney can do anything to change these circumstances.”
She huddled in the seat, pondering his words. For her whole life, she’d revered people with education, lawyers, doctors, accountants, professionals. They held the secret keys that unlocked knowledge she could never possibly gain. They knew the unseen powers behind the system. They had answers.
Yet when cancer struck Dwight, the specialists with many letters after their names had failed to find answers.
Now, beside her sat a man of education, a psychologist, who expressed doubt about her faith in another man of education, a lawyer. Who should she believe?
She laid her hand on his shoulder. “I have to try. He’s a specialist in government seizures and forfeitures. Even if he doesn’t have all the answers, maybe he can tell me what my rights are, what the government can or can’t do to me. I need to know.”
He pressed her hand, then returned to steering the curves. “You will make the right decision.”
* * *
So close. Kahlil had tried to postpone her contact with the Billings attorney. If only the delay could last one more day. Should he move up the timetable to prevent her from going to Helena? No, too many details still to complete. Not worth the risk of failure by rushing. Better to finish the job properly. After years of preparation, a day or two did not matter. Focus on the overall mission, not the minutiae.
Should he shadow her to Helena? Not really necessary, as long as she kept the smartphone with her at all times, which he knew she would while waiting to hear from her son. Yet Kahlil hated to think of her away from his physical control with the plan this close to fruition. Unforeseen circumstances might arise. He had observed that phenomenon too often. No matter how well-planned the plot, things went awry. A person took a shortcut and arrived at a meeting early, as Maryam had done, an instant before the drone strike.
If only she’d waited for him, she would have lived.
“Are you all right?”
* * *
Tawny studied the drawn line of Kahlil’s mouth, the tightness of his jaw, his fingers clenched around the steering wheel. His color was strange. Under dark olive skin, he looked ill.
“Are you all right?” she repeated.
His head jerked to face her. Even his beautiful green eyes looked glazed and flat. Then he blinked several times and smiled, his normal expression returning. “Forgive me for losing focus. A memory of my wife.”
Of course. Tawny supposed her own face sometimes underwent changes like that when she remembered Dwight. The pain inside breaking through to the surface. She squeezed his arm and smiled back in understanding.
They stopped for sandwiches then continued to town. Kahlil drove around several blocks, circling Tawny’s house. She recognized a few neighbors’ cars but most people were working at midday. No strangers stood out on the quiet streets. “Looks OK,” she said.
Kahlil nodded. “I need to go home for a bit. After you get your car, text me and we will drive back to the motel. I will lag behind to see if anyone follows you.”
“Good idea.” She kissed him and got out of the big SUV in the alley behind her garage. She hurried through the gate toward the back door, hoping Starshine didn’t spot her.
With Tawny’s key in the lock, her neighbor’s voice rang out. “Hi, Tawny!”
Damn. She half-turned and waved, hoping to duck inside without interference, but Starshine had already trotted up behind her, stopping at the foot of the steps.
“Look what I brought you!” Starshine held out several ugly, misshapen pieces of metal that looked like beer cans a car had driven over. “It’s my new design for a necklace and bracelet collection. Here, I want you to be the one to debut them.” She thrust the junk toward Tawny.
“Starshine, I’m in a real hurry, I can’t talk now. Later, OK?” She slipped inside the mud room and closed the door in Starshine’s face. The woman peered in, leaving greasy nose prints on the glass. Tawny closed the secondary door between the mud room and kitchen, pulling curtains to block Starshine’s view.
The feds didn’t need to set up surveillance. They could just hire Starshine.
The house felt strange, as if she’d returned from a long trip. Was it only this morning she had packed to leave? Seemed like weeks ago.
In the bedroom closet, Tawny considered her one dressy suit, a navy blue pin-stripe with a cropped jacket and tight pencil skirt, still in the dry cleaner’s bag since Dwight’s funeral. Emma had insisted Tawny buy it for the service, despite the outrageous cost, because “Daddy would want to see you looking this hot.” Hot wasn’t Tawny’s idea of mourning attire, but if that comforted Emma, fine.
Now, meeting the lawyer, Tawny wanted to make a good impression. She pulled out the suit, along with a lace-trimmed silk camisole and navy pumps, to take with her.
She unplugged her laptop and stuffed it in a bag. The answering machine blinked and she hit play. Two more calls about bounced checks. But no message from Tillman Rosenbaum. So, his secretary had lied when she’d claimed he tried to call back. Oh well, Tawny would see him tomorrow.
Ready to leave, she checked for Starshine, lurking to pounce. The neighbor appeared to have given up. Tawny texted Kahlil and hurried to the garage with her bags and the suit, which she hung on the roll bar. She backed the Jeep out and drove down the alley. In the rearview mirror, she spotted Starshine staring after her.
At Kahlil’s house, she slowed. He already waited in the Escalade and waved her on.
The trip went fine until she stopped for gas. Without a credit card, she needed to go inside the convenience store and pay cash. She handed the attendant forty dollars, then returned to the Jeep. A highway patrol cruiser pulled into the station and parked across the lot, facing her. Was he watching her? She debated whether to take the time to pump gas or just drive off, leaving behind the forty dollars. With money scarce, she decided to fill the tank. She peered between the pumps, trying to see the trooper, but
sunlight glared on his windshield, blocking her view.
A short distance away, Kahlil’s SUV idled on the shoulder while he used his phone.
“Hurry up, hurry up,” she urged the pump under her breath. At $38.75, it clicked off. She jumped in the car and left without retrieving the change. Back on the highway, she watched her mirrors to see if the cruiser followed.
He did.
Within a quarter mile, he lit her Jeep up.
“Dammit to hell!” She immediately pulled to the shoulder and stopped. Was this the end? Would he arrest her, or worse, confiscate the smartphone, severing her only link to Neal?
Mouth sticky-dry and heart thudding against her ribs, she pulled the registration and insurance from the glove box and took her license out of her wallet. Two car lengths behind, the cruiser sat canted diagonally, half on the shoulder, half still in the lane, flashing strobes brighter than the Fourth of July. Seconds dragged to minutes. What was he waiting for?
The revolver! She quickly removed it from the pocket of her jacket and put it in the glove box where it was legal. Not that it made any difference if he arrested her.
She flicked through the phone contact list, highlighting Tillman Rosenbaum’s number. She knew she had the constitutional right to a phone call. Although, with the seizure of her money, she seemed to be coming up short on rights lately.
From the limited view of the Jeep’s mirrors, Tawny couldn’t see Kahlil. She didn’t dare turn around for fear the trooper might interpret that as aggressive behavior.
At last, the man got out of his car. He was built like a weight lifter, sleeves tight over bulging biceps, shaven bald with sunglasses propped on his shiny forehead, about thirty, Neal’s age. In a small town, maybe he’d been one of her son’s classmates.
“Afternoon, ma’am.” He peered in the window, giving the once-over to both her and the interior.
She offered the paperwork. “Hi, how you doing?” She tried to sound casual but couldn’t prevent the quiver in her voice.
His name tag read J. Yarborough, a name she didn’t recognize as a friend of Neal’s. The trooper accepted the documents, studied them, then returned to his car without a word.
