Watching Their Steps

by Alana Terry

  Keith shuddered. He couldn’t risk leaving his cousin in the hands of these people. As he sent another empty reply to signify urgency, he hurried down the alley, keeping to the doorways and ducking behind dumpsters and large cardboard boxes.

  A noise, a familiar one, sent a chill up his spine. His first instinct was to jump in the dumpster, but he’d have to walk in the salon in fifteen minutes. Being filthy was a great way to look suspicious. He had a choice of between flattened large refrigerator boxes or stepping inside the back door of the appliance store. Each second that he deliberated meant exponentially increased danger.

  There it was again—the sound. The click of a walkie talkie. Why didn’t they use cell phones on vibrate? Footsteps. He knew that gait. Whoever was coming was checking out the alley with a gun drawn and sweeping the area for a threat. Did they know he was there? Was his phone monitored somehow?

  He had thirty seconds to move. Keith decided. Taking one of the biggest risks of his career, he opened the back door of the appliance store and walked boldly inside, calling out quietly for anyone. “Hey, excuse me? Is anyone here?”

  An elderly man stepped from a storeroom with hands full of boxes. “Um, I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “I was in the alley and it sounded like someone was following me. Kind of creeped me out, so I came in here. I’m really sorry.”

  “Hey, no problem. There’s some seedy characters around these days. I’m considering retiring.”

  “Hey, thanks. I appreciate it.” Keith glanced around the showroom as he walked through. “Nice place you have here. You don’t see these old mom and pop type places very often anymore.”

  “Yeah, that’s true. Everyone keeps telling me I can’t compete with the big boxes, but I’ve made a good profit every year anyway—not enough to be rich, but enough to live comfortably.”

  “I bet you give great customer service.”

  “That’s the key.”

  He wanted to stay and talk. Something about the guy reminded him of Donald Bruner. “If I decide to replace any appliances, I’ll be sure to give you a call.”

  “Thanks. We deliver and install—free.”

  “I’ll remember that.” Keith had to force back a smile. I bet he wouldn’t deliver to Rockland free.

  His phone buzzed as he stepped out the front door and jogged across the street, dodging cars as he hurried into a costume store. “Hey, I was wondering if you have anything that reads Jack Sparrow or Captain Hook.”

  “Sure. Just step into that changing room and I’ll bring it. Waist?”

  “Thirty-two.”

  “Gotcha.”

  Behind the door, he slid open his phone. “ETA, 5. Get out.”

  A glance over the top of the changing room door showed the woman digging on a rack near the front window. He slipped from the room, crept through the swinging doors to the back, and dashed out into the alley. He ran, dodging around parked cars and dumpsters, until he reached the side street where his car was parked. Once in the car, he blasted the AC to cool him off as he drove around the block and parked in front of the salon.

  The salon door dinged as he stepped inside. His heart sank as he recognized the woman at the counter. He slid open his phone and hit an empty reply as he pretended to check the time. Just as she looked up to greet him, Keith diverted to the chair where Claire’s fingers sat under a little dryer. “Hey, I’ve got the check. I’m going to go over and pay for it and arrange shipment.” He pulled out a couple of twenties. “Meet you out front in say five minutes?” He hated to do it. She might be in the salon when the team arrived, but trying to pull her out now would definitely make the woman behind the counter pay attention to him. That wasn’t in the plan.

  “Sure. I’m done here anyway. I’ll be right behind you.”

  For a moment, Keith hesitated. She sounded as if she couldn’t wait to get out of there— something that didn’t make sense. Was something—nah. Paranoid. Surreptitiously, he pressed a button in his pocket, causing his phone to ring. He answered with his left hand and strode from the salon, talking away about how he got the cool motorcycle and praying inwardly that the woman couldn’t see his face.

  Even as Terry pretended to write down shipping information and pocketed the cashier’s check, he watched the street. “I see three agency cars. Frank, Yvette, and it looks like Dean. Argh, I think I saw that silver car go by. Yeah. Dean is whipping around—”

  “I wish I could stay and get this done.”

  “Taking care of her is getting it done. This was brilliant on Mark’s part, and here comes Claire. Get her out of here.”

  CLAIRE’S HANDS FIDGETED. How could she get information out of him without being obvious? The last time was easy. She’d sent a panicked text message claiming to be in the Dunstan district of Rockland being followed by “thugs” and how did she get out of there? He’d sent a quick text and whatever Alek’s tech guy had done to her phone worked. They found them in minutes. The cabin was empty when the team arrived, so someone had been monitoring something. Surely, it wasn’t her!

  The chill that ran up her spine terrified her. It was one thing to help find the woman who was stealing from Alek. Putting Keith at risk was another thing all together. Then again, the money was good. It had to be good now that she was stuck in it.

  Once he found his target and got the money back, she’d tell Keith all about how Alek had found her and asked her to help. He’d been so kind—worried that Keith would get caught in the middle and be accused of aiding a criminal. Of course, once she’d met Alek’s men, she knew that crossing him meant death to anyone. Alek had used her, and now she was trapped. However, trapped or not, she refused to turn her cousin over to a creep like Alek Anastas.

  She remembered the looks a few of his men gave her and the rumors about his business and shuddered. Claire knew she needed to find out where the woman was before they decided to take their payment from her—it wouldn’t be pretty.

  “How long do you get off this time?”

  “I just got a couple of days. I’ve got a ton of paperwork to do.”

  “Did you have a field assignment recently?”

  “You know I can’t talk about that, Claire.”

  “How am I ever going to get a job where you do if I don’t know what it entails?”

  “They’re not going to hire you. You know that.”

  “They will if I know what to do to make them sit up and take notice.” She put her hand on his arm. “Don’t you get to travel? All those frequent flier miles, right?” She had to remember to stick to the story. “That’s gotta be awesome!”

  “Forget about it, Claire. It’s too dangerous. Your dad would kill me.”

  “Helping people like that—going to exotic places...” She knew he couldn’t resist correcting her.

  “Exotic. Ramshackle cabins in the middle of nowhere aren’t exactly exotic. They’re miserable. Remember, usually the people we’re guarding feel trapped, alone, and they take it out on us. You couldn’t handle it, Claire. Become a pediatrician. It’s what you’ve always wanted.”

  “It’s too expensive. I’ll never get enough money.”

  “I’ll help. Dad would help; Uncle Ted will get another job if he knows you’re serious. There are grants, scholarships; you can get student loans. Come on, Claire. Do it.”

  “Because you don’t want me sitting around a dingy cabin in the Rockies protecting some battered wife from her husband?”

  He shrugged but didn’t answer. Her mind whirled as he pulled into the rental place at the airport. She’d have to do the phone switch thing. It would put him at risk, but she’d just have to refuse to cooperate unless they left him out of it. Besides, he wasn’t on that job anymore. It couldn’t hurt anything. She’d do it at security.

  Claire opened her phone and sent a text message to Jade. Phone switch at security. Need diversion.

  Chapter 13

  IT WORKED. HOW, CLAIRE didn’t know, but it worked. Her stomach churned at the idea that the
toddler had been pushed and cracked its head open, but how else could she explain a gushing head wound at Keith’s feet the moment he was supposed to step through the metal detector? It had been brilliant—sick, but brilliant. She wasn’t much for prayer, but Claire prayed the kid didn’t know that he’d been sacrificed so she could help find Alek’s money.

  She didn’t know if the phone dump had occurred or not. Once she saw the kid and the blood, she’d gone into action. Maybe Keith was right. Maybe it was time to get serious about a career and quit freaking out about the long-term ramifications about student loans high enough to buy a house. Every time she’d gone in to file the papers, she’d seen the numbers, gulped, and chickened out. It was time to stop it and get it done.

  Keith returned from the bathroom, his shirt and pants damp and the traces of blood still on the shirt. “Well, I got most of it out. Man, that was gross.” He squeezed her shoulders. “You did great, kid. I told you—pediatrician.”

  “Yeah, I was just thinking the same thing. It’s time to get back on the ball.”

  “Thatta girl.”

  “So, when does my bike arrive? I still can’t believe you bought that thing.”

  “Hey, sometimes a guy needs to feel frivolous. I don’t get time to enjoy that kind of stuff, so I live vicariously through my favorite cousin.”

  Laughing, Claire punched his arm. “I wasn’t always your favorite—well, maybe your favorite pest.”

  “A fave is a fave, as they say.”

  “Who says?”

  Keith shrugged. “Dunno. Just sounded good.” His cell phone rang. “I gotta get this. Be back in a few.”

  From her vantage point, she could see that something troubled him. He glanced sharply her way, and Claire forced herself to smile before mouthing, “Is something wrong?” Fortunately, he seemed convinced. Shaking his head as he walked away, she knew what he must be discussing. The blood, the hurt kid. One of Anastas’ guys must have gotten the phone. Great. Keith’s people already knew that someone was tracking him. Man, the people he worked for were good.

  Claire always wondered who it was and what he did. Bodyguard was too ambiguous. He’d had a chance at the Secret Service, but as far as she knew, he’d turned them down. Then again, didn’t the Secret Service have something to do with money? Counterfeit? Maybe the woman had been counterfeiting? That’d make sense why they’d have her in custody, but not why they were protecting her—unless.

  She swallowed. It couldn’t be. Alek wasn’t a counterfeiter. He dealt in other illegal activities of a less “clean” nature. Then again, who says he hadn’t branched out? He could easily be into trafficking and counterfeiting, and if this gal had taken off with plates or turned state’s evidence or something...

  As she watched him slip the SIM card from his phone and toss it in the trash, Claire’s mouth went dry. This wasn’t good. They couldn’t keep track of him without that card. Should she tell Alek or pretend she didn’t notice? She’d play it by ear. She could always remember him tossing something later and claim she thought it was a wrapper or something.

  By the time they were ready to board the plane, Claire’s nerves overcame her—and she knew it showed. Then again, maybe it came off as excitement. She’d run with that. “So, am I going to get you on that bike?”

  “Not on your life, and you know it.”

  “Had to ask.” She nearly choked as he picked up his laptop case, carry-on bag, and left his phone sitting on the miserably uncomfortable airport seats. The impulse to point it out was strong, but then she remembered the SIM card. It was a perfect excuse. She could call and tell them he’d left it and they could try to retrieve it. She’d look good instead of incompetent. She glanced at her watch and opted for waiting until she was on the plane. If she left now, it would look suspicious.

  IF CLAIRE’S SHOCK HADN’T been so genuine, he would have been convinced she was in on the phone tracking. The moment he’d gotten the call, his mind immediately went back to the moment that child’s head cracked against the tile at his feet. Surely, it’d been an accident. What creep would cause that kind of pain in a kid? Why he even questioned it, Keith didn’t know. Alek Anastas sold people like animals in an auction. Why wouldn’t he use one to further his needs?

  The idea was preposterous. Claire being in on anything that could hurt him or one of his clients was the most hair-brained idea he’d considered yet. Desperation made him see things in ridiculous lights. Karen told him to ditch the card and phone, so he had, but if they were watching him this closely, there was no way he could get near Erika again. They’d have to find someone else to take over that detail.

  The pang of disappointment surprised him. He didn’t have illusions about friendships with his clients. His job was to protect them, sometimes against their will—always against their desire. He was happy when a case was over because it meant another life saved, another family protected, another job well done. Nothing satisfied like that knowledge.

  Erika wanted to be home so badly that even he could taste it. The idea that he could be attracted to her came and went quickly—perhaps too quickly. It was ludicrous, really. She wasn’t very feminine, and Keith had always preferred decidedly feminine women. Her short, spiked hair could have been mistaken as a visual aid for the kind of hairstyle that repulsed him. He didn’t like a woman with a foul mouth or a sharp tongue—Erika had both. Furthermore—Keith began to feel as if he had geared up for a tirade—a guy could put up with a lot of things, but lack of respect wasn’t one. Erika definitely didn’t respect him.

  Despite his internal protests, Keith had a sneaking suspicion that he lied to himself. Still, he refused to admit it. Instead, he opted to consider that fleeting feeling of disappointment as due to being unable to finish the assignment. He’d never been pulled from an assignment. In fact, they usually sent him in when another agent failed. Withdrawn from duty—tough pill to swallow there. Of course, it upset him—a natural reaction. On and on, his mind tried to justify his unsettled feelings.

  A glance at his cousin told him she’d be out for a while. Claire had always been able to sleep anywhere. He stood, stretched his legs, and ambled down the narrow aisle toward the bathroom. He didn’t really need the facilities, nor did he relish the feeling of being in a sardine can, but sometimes flight attendants would chat with you if you stood around out there. They, unlike the people in front of you, understood how miserable it was for a tall man with long legs to be folded up like a Jack-in-the-box.

  Near the back of the plane, a row of empty seats beckoned him. He pointed to them and silently asked the flight attendant if he could sit. The young man nodded and pulled out a soda can as if to ask if he wanted one. Keith shook his head. Agents weren’t allowed to drink anything on flights.

  Keith pulled out a virgin cellphone and typed out a simple text, praying the attendant wouldn’t notice until it was sent.

  Bad news. Lost phone. Contact airport lost and found? All contacts in it gone. And can you get me a new one if they don’t find it? Thanks.

  There. Anyone reading wouldn’t think a thing of it. Mark knew. That’s what mattered.

  “WE MISSED HIM. SOMEONE tipped them off. My guess, it was you.”

  Indignant, Keith’s head whipped up ready to protest. “What—”

  “I think Servane David recognized you.”

  “Who?” Keith stared at Mark as if he’d spoken another language. What was with the French and their “Dah-VEED” for David anyway?

  “The woman in the salon. I know you did your best, but she could have seen you through the window before you came in.”

  “Oh.” He felt deflated. Every part of him felt like a failure and it showed.

  “Keith, stop beating yourself up. You got Claire out of there and safe. You did the right thing.”

  “I guess.”

  “Erika demanded to talk to me today.”

  He couldn’t resist laughing. “Oh?”

  “She informed me that if I didn’t want the biggest laws
uit since Tailhook, I’d better get Corey out of there.”

  “Great. Who’s going?”

  “Well, we don’t have the manpower to send someone to stay, so Karen is going to go take over until Corey gets back here, and then you’ll go in. Meanwhile, we have some tapes for you to review, and Justin in forensics wants to talk to you. He thinks he figured out how you were traced, but he needs to interview you first.”

  “Interview me? Really? I’m sorry about the phone. I don’t see how we could have avoided it, but man...”

  “I’m just glad Justin put that program on it. The minute they ran their dump, we knew it. He’s amazing.” Mark swung his monitor around. “Look here. Watch Claire.”

  Keith’s stomach dropped. Did they seriously think Claire could be a threat? There was absolutely no way. He’d seen her. The stunned expression on her face, the way she hadn’t really wanted to go to the salon—if she was trying to get information from him, she would have wanted to go in, wouldn’t she? It didn’t make sense.

  Second by second, frozen frame by frozen frame, they rewatched the scene at security. A hard, cold fury washed over Keith as he saw the woman behind them shove the child with a force that was unmistakable. “What the—”

  “It was about your phone. There’s no doubt.”

  “You said to watch Claire. You don’t think—”

  “No, I don’t. But after you saw that, you’d have questioned. Watch.”

  The child’s hand brushed her ankle. In incredibly slow motion, Claire whirled and blinked, looking stunned and uncertain. When the mother didn’t grab the child, she went into action, grabbing Kleenex from her purse. The focus and attention she paid to the child and the way she tossed dirty looks at the inattentive mother made it impossible to believe she’d been in on it.

  “What was with that woman?”

  “I can only assume the child isn’t really hers. Look—right there. See it? Does that man look familiar?”