Altercation

WiD
o
Publishing
Salt Lake City, Utah
www.widopublishing.com

Copyright © 2012 by Tamara Hart Heiner

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written consent of the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organizations and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Cover Design by Tracy Jo Blowers
Graphics by Andy Oakden

ISBN: 978-1-937178-21-5
Printed in the United States of America

Also by Tamara Hart Heiner

Perilous

To Hillary, who is exactly the kind of friend a writer and a girl could hope to have. Thanks for thinking my writing is awesome (or at least pretending like you do) and thanks for hanging out at IHOP at midnight.

And to my brother Spencer, who somehow managed to worm his way into this book.

D
etective Carl Hamilton leaned out of the hole blown into the four-story building, studying the concrete pavement three floors below. Pine trees speckled the mountainside and swayed in the chill autumn air.

Pulling his head back in, he examined the raw edges of drywall. It looked as though a bazooka or rocket-propelled grenade had blasted through. Similar holes dotted the rest of The Hand’s lair, and the garage door lay crumpled like a tin can in the driveway. Had the criminal been ambushed? If so, why?

One of the local police officers poked his head through an open door. “We found a desk. It has a piece of paper with names and phone numbers taped to it.” The radio on his shoulder sputtered and someone spoke in rapid French. The officer said to Carl, “They are dusting the attic for prints. We think that is where the kidnapped girls were held.”

“Sir?” Another officer came in, several small, colored books in his gloved hand. “We found passports in a shoebox in the closet.”

Carl slipped on a thin plastic glove before taking the passports. The picture remained the same, but they used several different names and represented the majority of known countries. One name repeated itself several times: Jeff Truman.

Finally. A name and a face. “There’s no American passport.” Sirens went off in Carl’s head. The Hand lived too close to the border not to have an American passport.

“He must have had it on him when the house was attacked,” the officer replied. “Perhaps he was planning a trip to the States.”

“But why?” Carl’s mind flashed to the girls, only recently rescued and tucked into an FBI safe house. The Hand couldn’t know they had been rescued. Certainly he didn’t know where they were. “I better warn the FBI.”

J
acinta Rivera crouched under an evergreen bush, grateful for the needles that hid her from sight. Footsteps crunched around her and she shuddered, pulling her knees in closer to her.
Please don’t let them find me
. If there were any food in her stomach, she would have vomited.

The footsteps stopped in front of her. Black leather boots pointed in her direction. Jaci looked down at her hands, suddenly aware of the metal pistol she gripped.

The boots walked toward another bush.
Sara!
Jaci knew that Sara knelt there, also hiding, probably also frozen with terror. Jaci stood up without a second thought.

He started to turn, but he was too late. Too slow. She shot him in the head four times, tracking his movement. He fell backward, his empty eyes gazing at the treetops. But instead of their kidnapper, Ricky’s familiar face stared upward. Horrified, Jaci dropped the gun and began to scream.

“Jaci!” Sara shook Jaci’s shoulders. “Wake up, Jaci. Wake up!”

Jaci smacked her head against the tree trunk. She opened her eyes, taking in the dim light coming from the hotel window and the cloudy sky outside.

Hotel. Window. She wasn’t in the woods anymore. Her eyes focused on Sara Yadle, huddling over her.

“Bad dream?” Sara whispered, moving off the bed.

Jaci closed her eyes, tears leaking down the sides of her face. “Yes.” Again. Both girls had been plagued by nightmares ever since their rescue four days earlier. But that’s all they were, thank heavens.

“What happened this time?”

Jaci struggled to remember the dream even as wisps of it floated past her like cotton balls being pulled apart. “The same. Hiding. Being chased.” Her heart thudded at the mere mention. “Something about Ricky.” And a gun.

“Dreaming about Ricky?” Sara said, a cautious smile reaching her eyes.

The terror of the dream fully dissipated and heat rushed to Jaci’s face. “It wouldn’t be the first time,” she admitted. Having a crush on her friend’s brother proved to be a bit awkward, now that they were all in tight quarters. She looked around the hotel at the other queen bed, shared by Amanda Murphy and Megan Reynolds. Empty. “Where’s Amanda?”

“In the other room, I think. Getting breakfast.” Sara fished through her newly acquired pile of clothing and pulled out a shirt. “I woke up when you did. Well, a few seconds before.”

Jaci climbed out of bed and wandered over to the vanity. She surveyed the purple rings under her almond-shaped eyes. Would she ever get a good night’s rest again? “I’m hungry too.” Her stomach rumbled. It hadn’t taken long to get accustomed to eating every day, even several times a day. She pushed open the door that separated the two hotel rooms.

Amanda looked up from the round table and waved a speared pineapple at her. “Morning.” Her auburn hair hung in wet ringlets down to her shoulder blades. Even the plain white t-shirt looked cute on her.

Jaci joined her and glanced around the room. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Across the hall in the boys’ room.” Amanda slathered butter on a pancake.

Pancakes again. They had room service every day. Jaci had never been so pampered.

Not that it felt like a vacation. Not with an FBI agent in the room across the hall. For the first time in months, Jaci felt safe. But she couldn’t wait to be free.

“Jaci?” Sara stuck her head into the room. “I’m going to take a shower. Then will you do my hair?”

Jaci nodded. She gestured at the pineapple and melons in front of her. “Don’t you want to eat?”

Sara wrinkled her nose. “No.”

“Just come get me when you’re done.” Jaci kept her long brown hair in a pony tail, but she’d styled Sara’s hair often enough to become familiar with a blow-dryer.

A knock tapped out on the hotel door: the secret signal. Jaci undid the latch, letting Mrs. Reynolds and her teenage daughter Megan in.

“Hi,” Megan said. “I got you another book.”

Reading was not Jaci’s forte, but it was either read or watch TV. Besides, how could she say no to Megan? The tall girl seemed almost awkward in her desire to please. Jaci turned the book over. “Thanks, Megan.” She put it down and stared at the soap opera playing out on the screen.

Sara returned, her damp blond hair leaving streaks of water on her shirt. She spotted Megan and Mrs. Reynolds. “Oh, hey. How are the boys?”

“They’re fine, honey,” Mrs. Reynolds said.

“When do we get to see them?”Sara asked. Her twin brothers shared a room with Agent Reynolds.

“Agent Reynolds will be over at lunch. He’ll give you an update.”

Sara nodded, and Jaci followed her into the adjoining hotel room.

“Here.” Sara put the blow-dryer into Jaci’s hand.

Jaci lifted it just as a maid called from the hallway, “Room service!”

“Is that our door?” Jaci asked.

A loud knock echoed down the hall, and Sara shook her head. “No. It’s the next one over.”

Jaci let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Per the FBI’s instructions, the “Do not disturb” signs remained on the doors at all times to keep anyone from accidentally walking in. Jaci didn’t know why it scared her so badly to think of one falling off, or of the maid coming in.

Sara cleared her throat. “Jaci. My hair.”

“Right.” Jaci turned on the loud dryer, losing herself in the mind-numbing noise.

I
’ll tell you exactly what I told the boys.” Agent Reynolds studied the three rescued girls before he continued.

Megan settled back in her chair, content to be in the background of this discussion. She picked at what was left of the taco platter in front of them.

Her father took a deep breath. “We don’t know where The Hand is. Nor do we know if he’s stopped hunting you. So we must assume he hasn’t.” He reached a hand up and rubbed it over his short-cropped hair. “But you can’t stay here forever. The FBI has prepared a safe house for you in Ohio. We’ll be moving you by car in two days.”

“Will our parents be there?” Sara asked, leaning forward, hope in her eyes.

Agent Reynolds shook his head. “No. We still can’t let the public know you’ve been found.”

“Will the boys be there?” Amanda asked, glancing at Sara.

“Of course they will be,” Sara answered. “They’re my brothers.”

Megan looked at her father, pulling on a strand of her reddish-brown hair. There was no guarantee that Sara would stay with her twin brothers, but Megan didn’t know if the younger girl could handle the strain otherwise. She seemed so frail, almost broken.

“Ricky and Neal will both be going,” Agent Reynolds affirmed.

Jaci and Sara both exhaled, and Megan smiled, mirroring their relief.

“Until then, you have to stay here. No looking out windows or opening the door. No phone calls. Nothing that could be intercepted or dangerous. Clear?”

“Of course.” Amanda sighed, crossing her arms. “We’ll just sit around and do nothing.”

“But we’re grateful,” Jaci said, her brown eyes earnest as she stared at Agent Reynolds. “It’s better than wandering around the woods.”

Or stealing from farmhouses, shooting policemen, and washing away in swollen rivers, to name a few activities,
Megan thought, remembering some of the stories the girls had told her.

“Megan.” Mrs. Reynolds stacked up the dirty plates and trash. “Put these in the hall for the maid to pick up, please. And check on your brother. Make sure the boys put their trash out.”

“Sure.” Megan helped gather up the trash and took it to the door. She was about to slip into the hallway when a hand touched her arm. Sara stood there, holding out a piece of paper that had been folded like an envelope.

“Will you take this for me?” she asked, extending it to Megan.

Megan eyed it warily. “Is it a letter?”

“Yes.”

Megan opened her mouth to object, but Sara quickly explained, “To Neal. Just to my brother. I heard your mother ask you to go over there.”

Megan relaxed and took the paper. “Sure. I’ll take it.”

Sara didn’t quite let go. “Promise you won’t read it?”

Megan held back a laugh. Sara was only fourteen, after all, and entitled to some dramatics. “I won’t read it.”

Sara let go. Megan took two steps across the hall, and then knocked the special code. She heard the chain slide across seconds before Spencer, her younger brother, opened it.

“Sorry, no maid service,” he said, and closed it.

Megan rolled her eyes and waited. He opened it again. “Oh, it’s you. Confused you with the maid.”

“Right.” She followed him into the room. “Because I look middle-aged and fat.”

“Yeah, that confused me,” he agreed, putting the chain back.

Megan resisted the urge to slug him. “Mom says to put your trash in the hall for the maid to pick up.”

“Oh, well, you can just take it with you.” Spencer piled it up and held it out to her.

She ignored him and directed her attention to the identical teenage boys playing a card game on the bed. She hadn’t learned to tell them apart yet, though just from their posture she could guess. One sat cross-legged over the cards, back straight, while the other lay on his side, head propped up, an expression of utter boredom on his face.

“Neal?” Megan held out the note.

Sure enough, the one sitting cross-legged twisted toward her. He took the note.

“It’s from Sara,” Megan explained.

The other boy’s mouth turned up in a lazy grin. “Lest we should think it was you who wrote the note to Neal.”

“She wanted me to give it to you. I think she misses you guys. She doesn’t seem to be doing all that great.” Megan clamped her mouth shut. She always said too much.

Neal’s eyes scanned the paper. He looked up, his brows knit together. “Is something wrong?” A piece of his straight brown hair fell across his forehead, and he tossed his head.

Megan resisted the urge to tell him that a haircut would fix that problem. “Um, no. I don’t think so, anyway. She’s just always, you know, kind of sad.”

The twins exchanged a look. Neal held up the note. “Did you read this?”

Megan shook her head.

“She wants us to sneak out and see her. She’s waiting for my reply to know when.”

“What?” Ricky exclaimed. “Sara? She’s willing to risk being found to see us?”

“Yeah.” Neal nodded. “That worries me.”

“My father said you guys will be moved in two days. Can’t she wait until then?” Megan said.

Neal grabbed a pen from the hotel veranda and began writing on the back of the paper. “That’s what I’ll tell her. Megan, keep an eye on her, okay?”

“Sure.” Not sure what else to say, she turned back for the door.

“How are the other girls?” Ricky asked.

She shrugged. “It’s a lot, you know, to let go of.” Sara spent most of her time crying. Amanda acted as if none of this affected her. Jaci had nightmares almost every night. “They’re fine.”

“Tell them we said hi,” Neal said.

“I will.”

“Take the trash on your way out,” Spencer said, holding it out like an offering when she opened the door.

“Take it yourself, lazy.” Megan shut the door behind her.

Megan lay in the queen bed she shared with Amanda, staring in the direction of the ceiling. The light from the bathroom, always on in case someone woke up disoriented or scared, cast the room into exaggerated shadow. Amanda breathed deeply from her curled up position beside Megan. Jaci tossed about on the other bed, a whimper escaping her.

None of these sounds were new. So what had awakened her?

There was a click, and then a sliver of light appeared at the hotel room door. Before Megan could consider screaming or hiding or anything so extreme, she saw Sara’s silhouette in the doorway. Megan shot out of bed and grabbed Sara’s arm, yanking her backward. She tried to slam the door shut with her other hand, but a rolled up towel blocked it from closing. She kicked it out of the way.

Sara gasped and whirled around, her hands slapping at Megan.

“Sara!” Megan hissed. “It’s me!” She quickly slid all the bolts and chains back into place. “What the heck were you doing?” She looked Sara up and down. The girl appeared uninjured, though tears welled up in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Megan took a deep breath, feeling the adrenaline surge dissipate. “What were you doing? Were you trying to sneak out?”

“Please don’t tell anyone,” Sara said, the tears glinting in the bathroom light as they trailed down her face.

Megan shook her head, annoyed that Sara would put her in this position. “I have to tell my father.”

“No!” Sara began to cry. “I just wanted to see my brothers. I’m okay. I—I . . .” She stopped and took several breaths. “I didn’t leave the room. Nothing happened.”

Megan relented a bit, feeling guilty for her earlier irritation. “It will be okay. I’ll just tell him you tried to see Ricky and Neal. But Sara, you
cannot
do that. Don’t you understand? The only reason you are safe here is because no one knows you’re here. All it takes is for one person to see you and the whole cover’s blown.”

Sara jerked her arm away and stumbled over to her bed. Even burying her face under the pillow didn’t muffle her sobs.