Watching Their Steps

by Alana Terry

  “Take care of her, Lord. Just—just take care of her.”

  REFRESHED AFTER A LONG, enforced nap, Keith met with Mark in the office of the Mayflower Trust building in Rockland. The plaque on the outer door read, “Acquisitions,” which always amused him. Mark Cho watched him from across the desk, his fingers toying with a pencil as he made his initial assessment.

  Despite his Asian sounding surname, Mark’s broad-shouldered, tow headed, piercing blue eyes belied the hint of any Asian heritage. Rumors among the agents ranged from adopted to dominant Scandinavian genes. Keith just assumed he’d changed his name for personal protection and privacy.

  “What happened with Corey? I could tell from your tone that you were calling to red-line her.”

  “I was.”

  “So why didn’t you do it?” Mark continued when Keith didn’t speak. “My guess is one of two things. Either you thought you needed to have yourself evaluated to assure you were still objective, or you were concerned for Erika.”

  “Both, but primarily Erika.” He swallowed. “Frankly, Corey seems to have cracked, but her being there was better than risking a replacement drop for both of us.”

  “What happened?”

  With a detachment Keith assumed at every debriefing, Keith told of Corey’s arrival, of the snippy comments, the verbal catfight, but he hesitated when it came to Erika’s perspective. “I—”

  “Keith, you’ve been with us for five years. You’re one of the best agents we have. I want the facts, yes, but I also want your impressions. I need your instincts.”

  “Erika seems to think Corey had a thing for me.”

  “I’ve thought that for a couple of months.”

  When he felt surprise creep over his face, Keith shut down. His job was to keep his emotions hidden. Exposing them now could mean his job. “I—I didn’t know.”

  “Well, at least now you guys can do something about it—if you can get past yesterday anyway.”

  He knows, Keith thought to himself. I should have known I couldn’t hide anything from him. “I can’t, Mark. Not after what I saw today—um, yesterday.”

  “Why not?”

  “If you’d seen her yesterday...” he shook his head. “Not possible, and besides, even if I was willing, Corey would consider it a betrayal of whatever. It’s weird, Mark. It’s just weird.”

  “Do you trust her to protect Erika?”

  He thought carefully before answering, wanting to be sure his answer was unsullied by his thoughts and opinions. “I trust her with Erika’s physical safety. She won’t let Alek get to her. I don’t trust her to treat Erika well. She’s already been just nasty. I’d managed to make Erika feel safe. She hated it, but she felt safe.” He kneaded his knees with his hands before meeting Mark’s gaze. “Look, Mark. I assessed the client, discovered how to keep her fighting, but feeling reasonably well-protected, and was on the top of my game. I allowed no more laxity in rules than Karen did and approved of. Corey walked into that cabin and destroyed weeks’ worth of hard work in minutes. By the time she was done, Erika was threatening media exposure and lawsuits.”

  Though he didn’t say them, a string of foul words flew across Mark’s face. “I’ll send Karen in to relieve Corey.”

  Disappointment washed over Keith, but he nodded. “I think it’d be best.”

  “You don’t want to go back?”

  “If you thought I should, you’d have mentioned it.” The words were hard to swallow, but they were true.

  “You’ll replace Karen in a week, but I don’t want you and Corey in the same space until we meet here.”

  Keith nodded and asked about his assignment for the week. “I assume I’m not on vacation.” The attempt at a joke fell flat.

  “No, can’t spare you yet, but good try. You’ll be assigned to the taskforce on Alek Anastas.”

  “Have you located Helen Franklin?”

  Mark’s face answered before he opened his mouth. “She’s officially on a ‘walkabout,’ but we actually have her in a hut in Fiji.”

  “Who here knows that Helen is who Anastas is really after?”

  “You, me, Karen, and Corey—and of course Jill and Tony in Fiji.”

  “No one else?”

  “No, why? Something is bothering you. I want to know what it is.”

  “It’s—” Keith frowned, searching for words that didn’t sound accusatory. “Well, did we ever figure out how they found the cabin?”

  “No. All of the scenarios we considered were refuted—except one that is impossible.”

  “What was that one?”

  “A mole.”

  “That’s the one that’s concerning me,” Keith admitted. “I had a few theories myself, but all of them would have meant Erika would be dead right now.”

  “Our list of moles is short.” Mark flipped through a file on his glass and chrome excuse for a desk. “Yep, it’s just you, me, Karen, Corey, Jill, and Tony.”

  “Well, it’s not you, and it’s not me. Jill and Tony would have to have accomplices, but it might explain the misses.”

  “Okay,” Mark was already pulling up files on his computer. “What about Karen?”

  “I can’t see it. Karen, more than all of us, couldn’t do it.”

  Agreeing, Mark moved to the next option. “Okay, Corey. What do you think?”

  “I don’t like it. It’s too easy. I mean, honestly, if she was a mole, she’d know we’d suspect her the way she was behaving. She’d have been more like Karen than the crazed person she was.”

  “And, as your boss, I have to consider you. After all, you just left the client with someone who showed clear distaste for her.”

  Keith’s stomach plummeted for a moment. “That doesn’t make sense either. If I am the mole, there’s no way Erika is in physical danger from Corey.” He kneaded his palms together, thinking. “I should tell you, Mark, I almost didn’t come back. I started to hide in the woods and keep an eye on them.”

  “Why did you come then?”

  “I thought my presence could be noticed and it put them in danger.” As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Keith added, “And I really don’t think Corey will hurt her. Yeah, after what she just put Erika through, and after messing up all the work I put into making Erika feel safe, even if she did hate it, I wanted to think Corey was it, but I don’t. I think she needs a month off to decompress and to get the idea of her and me out of her head, but otherwise, no. I just don’t think she’s the one.”

  “That leaves Karen, Jill, and Tony.” Mark stared at his screen before he turned back to Keith. “Okay, I’ll start looking into them more closely. I may need you to do some investigating. Meanwhile, I really want you to go to Columbus and check out the Hard as Nails chain of salons. Take your cousin with you—the pretty one. Have her go in for a set of acrylics or something.”

  “And what on earth am I supposed to say to make going to Columbus make sense?”

  “You’ll buy a boat. I’ll have one there for you. You want her opinion. Let me know what kind of boat she’d be crazy about.”

  “Um, Claire hates the water with a passion second only to snakes.”

  “Car?”

  “She loves mine. She’d kill me.”

  “What don’t you have that she’d go crazy over?”

  “Motorcycle. She’s always loved Harley Davidsons.”

  “And you hate them.” Mark closed his eyes for a moment, and then asked, “When is her birthday?”

  “Next month, why?”

  “That’ll do. Get me a picture of a Harley that you know she’d want and take her to pick out her birthday present.”

  “She knows I can’t afford—”

  “You officially have a bonus and you want to use some of it on her. Now make it happen.” Mark’s tone was dismissive.

  Keith stood, shook his boss’ hand, and strolled from the office, dialing his favorite cousin. “Hey, Claire. What are you doing this week?”

  “HE’S NOT GOING TO FALL for you.
” Corey couldn’t keep the venom from her words.

  “I don’t expect him to. I expect him—and you for that matter—to do the protecting thing you keep insisting is necessary. That’s it.”

  “He’s a Christian. Christians don’t get involved with non-Christians.”

  “So, that means you’re a Christian?” Erika didn’t give Corey a chance to answer. “Figures. You’re exactly the kind of person I’ve always associated with Christianity. Arrogant, self-righteous, vicious. Yep. Fits you all to a tee.”

  “Unbelievers love to excuse their rejection of Jesus with accusations. It’s revolting.”

  Laughter bubbled over until Erika was gasping for breath. Corey sat, arms crossed, and shook her head at the display of hilarity. Once under control again, Erika stood and threw one last barb at her guard. “I don’t think your Jesus would recognize himself in the nastiness that you keep displaying. I’m pretty sure the songs we sang in Sunday school at Grandma’s were about love, forgiveness, and mercy. You disgust me.”

  Corey watched her leave, the angst welling over inside until she wanted to follow, lashing out at the stupid girl. They were saving her life, and she spent the whole time attacking. What kind of idiot did that?

  Though she didn’t want to admit it, the accusations stung. Her faith was young—untested. She’d seen what it did in Keith, and she liked it; she wanted it. After a long session with a pastor near her home, she’d followed the scripted prayer he offered her, promised to read the Bible every day, and pray in the morning and evening. All she had to do was do those things and she’d be saved from the wrath to come. It seemed pretty straightforward, and it didn’t seem to be asking too much of her. God’s Son dies for her, she prays and reads. Simple enough.

  But it wasn’t. Nothing was. The ache in her heart grew stronger with every line of text read and every sentence of prayer uttered. Corey chalked it up to being like exercise—hurting more in the beginning until you got your muscles in shape. She was just conditioning her muscles, and then things would be easier—they had to be. The joy that Keith showed when apart from his job was infectious. Everyone in the Agency respected him for it and sought him when they had problems.

  Problems. Those problems were the reason she’d talked to him in the first place. She’d been sure her boyfriend was cheating on her—signs were evident everywhere—but she hadn’t wanted to confront it. How someone could be so thoroughly masculine, so good at taking down the bad guys, so untouched by the accusations and violence of some of their clients, and then so gentle and understanding when a weeping woman confessed that she felt betrayed and lost in the wake of her boyfriend’s infidelity?

  A prick, so light she hardly noticed it, touched her conscience. Her job was to protect those in danger, yes, but part of that protection process was to make the experience as less of an ordeal as possible. She hadn’t done that. Erika got under her skin, and Corey couldn’t deny that.

  “It’s her fault,” she muttered. “She made him lose his perspective, and now look. He’s ruined. He’ll lose his job. He’s become weak, and for what? He can’t even consider a relationship with her. A good man lost because some girl has a cute butt or spunky personality. It’s sickening.”

  Chapter 12

  CLAIRE STIFFENED AS Keith pulled up in front of a nail salon, Hard as Nails, and parked the rental car. “The owner of that bicycle shop has something I want you to see.”

  “Bicycle shop?” She studiously avoided even a glance at the large fingernails in the window that beckoned her. She wasn’t handing her cousin over to Alek and his goons. She’d give information as she got it, but family was family. You didn’t help people kill them.

  “Yeah, I thought it was odd too—kind of ironic, y’know?”

  “No,” she said, forcing herself to laugh as natural-sounding as possible, “I don’t know. I have no idea why we’re here.”

  “Your birthday present.”

  “Since when do you give me anything but a package of Ding-Dongs? That’s been the standing gift for the past twenty-three years or so.”

  “You’ll still get them.”

  “Keith, you can’t afford to give me much more than a book or a movie. Stick to the Ding-Dongs. The plane—”

  “Was free. Frequent flier miles.” He led her toward the back where Nate was working on bicycle brakes. “I got a bonus, and for once in my life, I’m not going to do the responsible thing and put it all in my savings. Half goes to making dreams come true. Come on.”

  Nate wiped his hands on a greasy rag and greeted them. “What can I do for you?”

  “We’re here about the bike.”

  “The bike? We’ve got dozens—”

  “No, the bike.”

  “Oh! Come in back and check ‘er out.”

  Guilt began to form, sending bile into her throat, as Claire realized what kind of “bike” her cousin had planned for her. How could she stand to betray that kind of generosity? He’d always been so kind to her, even when she’d been a pesky little kid—always trying to involve herself in everything the big kids did.

  The motorcycle stood in the center of the room and shone so intensely that it looked brand new. “There she is.”

  “Do you like it?” Keith asked with unmistakable eagerness.

  “It’s incredible, but you can’t—”

  “If it’s not what you want,” he interrupted, “we’ll find another one.”

  “I’d love it, but—”

  “We’ll take it. I need it shipped to Brunswick.”

  The man nodded. “It’ll just take me a few minutes to dig out the papers. Do you have a cashier’s check?”

  “I—I just thought you’d be able to use my credit card.”

  “That’s only for the business. I can’t take it for this.” The guy sounded apologetic.

  “I’ll find a way. Give me an hour, will you?” Keith pulled out his wallet and handed the man two hundred dollars. “That should hold it until I can get back.”

  Without waiting for a receipt, Keith led Claire out the door and glanced around them. “Why don’t you go in the salon and get a manicure? There’s no reason for you to ride around with me while I find a bank and get the check.”

  “I don’t want a manicure.”

  “What! You love manicures.” He punched the unlock button on his key chain and hurried to slip into the driver’s seat. “I’ll be back in just a bit.”

  She stood staring after him, stunned. What had gotten into him? Since when—? Then again, he was excited about the motorcycle. She had to cut him some slack. Especially since he’d expect to find her in the salon, and if she went in, she’d practically be handing him over to Alek and his men.

  Erika Polowski had information Alek couldn’t risk getting out, and she understood that, but letting them know he was there put Keith in trouble—not Erika. Claire deliberated and made her decision. She’d lie. The fact that Keith had brought her here to buy her the motorcycle proved he wasn’t protecting Erika anymore, so she’d spin that her way, and then she’d get information on the way home.

  Putting on a confident air, she shoved open the door and entered the salon. Before she could ask if they had an open slot for her, the girl behind the counter swallowed hard and picked up the phone. “Hey, yeah, can you tell Alek that Claire is here?”

  KEITH DROVE AROUND the corner and parked. He popped the trunk, grabbed the cashier’s check stowed there, and slipped it into his wallet. His watch assured him he had at least half an hour—thirty minutes to find the scum of the earth and ensure that Erika could return to her life, unhindered by the threat that now hovered over her.

  All because of an address. If Helen Franklin hadn’t been such a stickler for protecting her property, there’d be no issue. They could have taken down the Anastas ring on their own without worrying about the well-being of anyone, but because she was conscientious and persnickety about her possessions, Erika was in just as much danger as Helen—simply by address association. Alek Ana
stas was not a man to take chances. If Helen had to go, then anyone in her house would too, and that anyone was Erika.

  He could hear her questions as if she stood next to him. Why does knowing that hurt me? You’re going to get him, so it’s not a problem. Alek was the least of her problems. His small piece of the business would be the least of her worries. Someone like Erika wouldn’t keep her mouth shut if she knew how nauseating the stuff Alek’s salons hid was. That meant she’d have to be kept in the dark. Agency policy said not to share—just in case. With Erika, ignoring that could be a life or death fail. If the other men and women involved in the trade knew she was aware of their activities, she’d be dead. That he couldn’t risk.

  Pictures flooded his phone after he sent a quick text message stating he’d arrived. The first three were of possible cars to look for, and the last three were people. Two men and a woman, none of whom he’d ever seen before stared back at him. The woman was identified as exceptionally dangerous and that she had the potential to recognize him.

  “Great,” he muttered as he found his way into an alley and crept from doorway to doorway until he had no doubt he was one away from the salon. Initially, he had luck with finding the vehicle, but a man stepped out the door, talking on a cell phone, and then returned inside once he snapped the phone shut again. Keith sent an empty reply to that picture, acknowledging he’d verified location.

  Taking a deep breath, he hurried past the salon, and hid behind the garbage cans as he waited for a car to pass. The color was right, but the model seemed off. Then again, that had happened several times. The shadow follows, sees the target get out, it’s right next to a car with similar color, and the shadow takes a picture of the wrong car. It wasn’t common, but Keith never ruled out anything. Ever.

  As the car door opened, he sucked in his breath and punched the reply button on a picture of Alek Anastas that Mark had sent him weeks before he’d abducted Erika. He had twenty minutes before he’d have to walk in the front door of that salon. Twenty minutes was plenty of time to take down a man like Anastas—if he was alone. If the salon was crawling with the man’s army of bodyguards and silencers, then he’d be unlikely to escape and his cousin—