Altercation (10 page)

J
aci had been sick to her stomach all morning. Nerves, she imagined. In a few hours they would be driven to different, unknown locations.

Her stomach pitched over again and she could understand how Sara got sick when she was upset.

Sara tossed the Uno cards down on the glass-top coffee table. The big screen TV droned on, the volume turned down. “Where do you think we’ll go?”

Amanda chewed on a toothpick and shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe we’ll be close to each other. The Hand might not guess that.”

Sara gave a short laugh. “He guesses everything.”

Jaci picked up her cards and tried to focus on the colors and numbers.
Two more hours.
“There are fifty states. I bet I go to . . . Texas.” She put down a yellow five.

“Hmm.” Amanda matched it with a red five. “I’m going to Hawaii.”

“What universe do you live in? I’m going to Wyoming,” Sara said, slapping down a Skip. “Least populated state in the U.S. He’ll never find me.”

The basement door clicked as it unlocked. Jaci recognized the red stilettos and black nylons before she saw the owner.

“Crystal,” she said, surprised to see their therapist.

Crystal’s head appeared around the stairwell, and she gave a small smile. “Girls.” She wore a black dress suit, her blond hair in a bun at the nape of her neck.

“What are you doing here?” Sara asked.

“Official business. I’m taking you three to the drop-off point.”

Jaci raised her eyebrows. “Drop-off point?”

“Yes.” She glanced at her nails. “I volunteered. I wanted one more pow-wow with you anyway.”

Sara shrugged. “I’ve said all I’ve got to say.”

“You girls have been holding out on me. Why didn’t anyone tell me about the men who accosted you in the forest?”

Sara’s eyes darted to Jaci and she looked back at Crystal, giving a shake of her head.

“Why is it important?” Jaci asked. Her head pounded at the mere mention. “Some things aren’t fun to talk about.”

Crystal softened her tone. “But these things affect you, Jaci. You have to talk about them.”

Sara turned to Jaci. “I think I left my shampoo in the bathroom. Can you check for me?”

Something was going on. Jaci pushed herself to her feet. “Yeah . . . sure.” As soon as she left the room, she heard the low murmur of voices. Part of Jaci wanted to tiptoe to the door and eavesdrop. The other part was quite content to pretend she didn’t notice. One thing was certain: they were hiding something from her.

There was no shampoo in the bathroom. Jaci dawdled anyway until Crystal knocked on the door. “Jaci? Time to go.”

She came out reluctantly. “They told us two hours.”

Crystal shook her head. “Two hours until we rendezvous. Time to go now.”

“Where’s the rendezvous?”

“One hour from here. We’ll meet up, switch cars, and you’ll all be taken away.”

“And we won’t know where each other are,” Sara said.

“That is for your own safety.” Crystal looked them over. “Get your stuff, then! Let’s go!”

Banks was watching a football game upstairs. He barely glanced at Crystal and the girls.

“Guess he didn’t get too attached,” Sara whispered in Jaci’s ear.

Jaci cast her gaze around the safe house, a melancholy ache filling her chest. For a few days, they’d been safe. They’d been together. She hated to leave.

Agent Magrew poked her head out of the office at the end of the hall. She handed several green folders to Crystal. “Here are their papers. Don’t open them. Give them to the agents at the rendezvous.”

“I will,” Crystal said, clasping the folders against her chest.

Crystal’s blue sedan waited in the dark garage. The girls climbed into the backseat. Jaci sat in the middle between Sara and Amanda.

“All right.” Crystal rolled the car through the gate and picked up speed on the country road. “Now I know this is the last time you girls are going to see each other for awhile. Anyone want to talk about it?”

Amanda shook her head. “No. Just slow down.”

Crystal chuckled. “I can do better than that. Anyone want to go to McD’s?”

Jaci felt so nervous over the upcoming separation that food was far from her mind.

“Or not,” Crystal said with a shrug. “I just thought some fries and cheeseburgers might make you feel better.”

Jaci’s stomach rumbled, as if rebelling over her emotions. She wilted a bit, imagining the hot salty fries.

Amanda combed her fingers over the upholstery. “How far away is McDonald’s?”

“Close. Ten minutes from here. We’ve got time to spare.”

“Is it safe?” Jaci asked.

“You’ll never even get out of the car, sweetie.” Crystal looked at her in the rearview mirror. “I’ve got good tinting. No one will see you.”

“Well, okay.” She leaned back against the seat, grateful for the delay.

“Do you know where we’re going?” Sara asked. “I mean, what safe houses they’re sending us to?”

“I don’t, and I couldn’t tell you even if I did. How are you girls dealing?”

“How are we supposed to deal?” Amanda grumbled. “After everything we’ve been through, and then they just expect us to say goodbye? Go somewhere where we don’t know a soul, and trust them to protect us?”

Jaci rested her elbows on the compartment between the front seats. “I mean, really. They’re the FBI. Can’t they keep us together?”

“Being together won’t keep you safe.” Crystal pulled into McDonald’s and put the car into park. “All right, who wants what?”

Sara said, “A chocolate milkshake.”

“Jaci?”

“Fries and a Big Mac.”

“Cheeseburger and fries,” Amanda said.

“Okay.” Crystal undid her seatbelt. Giving a soft sigh, she turned around and studied the three of them. “You girls are going to be fine. Keep your heads down.” She patted Jaci’s elbow and climbed out of the car.

“Let’s find some music.” Amanda gave the other two girls a grin and pushed her slender frame up to the front of the car. She scanned for radio stations until she found one pumping pop songs across the waves. “Oh my gosh, I know this song!” She crashed back into her seat.

“Stay low,” Jaci hissed. “And turn the volume down. Someone will hear.”

The driver’s side door opened and Jaci sat up. Crystal hadn’t been gone long enough to get their food.

It wasn’t Crystal. A man wearing a baseball cap and a blue windbreaker slammed the door shut and backed out of the parking lot. Hitting the radio, he turned off the music.

“Hey!” Amanda cried. “What are you doing?”

He pressed a button on his cell phone. “I’ve got them.”

Jaci couldn’t breathe. She felt her eyes bug open. She clutched at her shirt, gasping.

“You can’t take this car!” Amanda lunged forward. “This is FBI property!”

The man’s hand smacked her in the face, slamming her into the seat. “Shut up.” He moved into the left turn bay and stopped, waiting for traffic.

The door next to Jaci opened and Sara threw herself out of the car.

“Sara!” Jaci screamed, shocked out of silence. She fumbled with her seatbelt, about to fly out after her.

The man swore and got out long enough to close Jaci’s door. Climbing back in, he locked the doors and put the car into reverse.

No sign of Sara. Jaci’s eyes scanned the traffic and the street. No squealing tires, no screams, no horns honking. Maybe Sara would get away.

The car jolted forward again. He made his left turn and peeled down the street far faster than the posted speed limit. Yanking the phone out again, he made a quick call. “Two and Three in vehicle. One escaped. Meeting at corner C.”

Jaci slid closer to Amanda, who hadn’t moved since he’d smacked her. “Amanda? Are you hurt?”

The girl lifted her face, revealing a shiny bruise on her left cheekbone. “Not too bad.”

Jaci swallowed, fear pounding in her temples. They’d been kidnapped—again.

C
arl stepped into Chez Ashton, a popular fast-food joint famous for its
poutine
. A strange dish, in Carl’s opinion, made of cottage cheese, French fries, and gravy. His body shivered when he stepped from the bitter cold air into the heated restaurant.

But he wasn’t here for the food. He had made two fantastic turkey sandwiches for lunch, complete with four bread and butter pickles each. He wasn’t hungry.

He stepped up to the cashier and tried out his sad French. “
Monsieur Julien est ici?
”

A teenager with a lip ring and dull brown eyes looked at him without saying anything, and Carl thought he hadn’t understood. Just as he was about to repeat himself, the boy said something and left the register.

Carl leaned back, glancing around the restaurant. The neon lights and bright colors made him think of a Denny’s. The employees wore maroon and gold uniforms with pointed hats. He felt a little sorry for Officer Julien—former Officer Julien—for being reduced to working in fast-food.

Then again, the man was lucky not to be in jail. There’d been enough evidence to get him discharged, but not condemned.

The teenager returned with a man looking every bit the part of a restaurant manager. Stress lines framed the corners of his mouth and tired blue eyes. He put on a forced smile and greeted Carl.

No more French. Carl extended his hand and said, “Do you speak English?”

Surprise flashed through Julien’s eyes a moment before his face went poker. “Who are you and what do you want?” His voice came out cold and even.

“Please. I’m not here on anything official.” Carl used his best consoling tone, the one that helped suspects to relax and victimized citizens to trust him. “I only have a few questions. Off the record.” He pulled out his badge and showed it to the man. “Do you have a moment when we can sit and talk?”

Julien glanced at the clock behind him and grunted. “I have a break in fifteen minutes. If you wait, I will speak with you. Have a seat.”

“Thank you.” Carl gave him a grateful smile and moved to a table.

Someone in front of him was eating the gravy-laden fries. Very interesting. He told himself he really ought to try it before leaving town.

Fifteen minutes went by, then sixteen, seventeen. Carl tried not to feel anxious. He realized Julien could’ve flown. Nothing obligated him to speak with Carl. Not unless he went through the extra trouble to have the police get a court order, and that could take days.

Just as he was about to get up and ask the teenager if Julien was still here, the man sat down across from him.

“Go ahead. What do you want?”

Carl leaned back. “I’m the detective from the States that’s been assigned to find The Hand.” Carl lowered his voice. “I’m not trying to get you in trouble. I’ve read your testimony. I need to know if you have anything else to add. Anything that might help lead to the girls. Please. We just want to find them.”

The man relented. He shook his head. “Then you know almost all there is to know. I am sorry. I did not know him personally. I was a liaison between him and his closer connections.” Hesitating, Julien leaned forward. “But I know some officers who did know him. Some who even had been to his house.”

Carl’s pulse quickened. No one had confessed to that in the interviews. “Who?”

“I don’t know what connections they may still have,” Julien said, running his hands over the orange tabletop. “I could cause trouble for myself.”

“They won’t be able to trace anything to you. The Hand’s flown the coop. His residence is empty.”

Julien raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been there?”

Carl allowed himself a smile. “I’m a detective. I figured out where it was.”

Julien took a deep breath and spoke so softly it was not even a whisper. “I knew of three officers. Two from my department, one from another city. I am sure there were more, but I didn’t know them.”

Carl pulled out his notepad, pen poised, waiting.

It took Julien a full minute to continue. Carl did not move. The man would provide the names in a moment.

“Chretian, Simard, and Plouffe.”

He recognized Chretian’s name. The man had been charged and awaited trial. He’d have to review those charges. The other names he didn’t know. “Thank you. Let me give you my card.” He handed Julien his anonymous card, the one with a fake business name and his phone number. Just in case anyone should discover it on Julien, they wouldn’t realize he’d spoken to a detective. “If you think of anything, please call me.”

Julien stood and they shook hands again. Then the man pulled on his pointed black hat and slinked back into the restaurant kitchen.

Simard had been dismissed from the police force. No new job information was listed. Carl used the GPS in his phone to track down his residence. He pulled his car to the curb just as the phone began to ring. The number was unavailable, which meant it was probably law enforcement. He turned the car off and got out. “Hello?”

“Detective Hamilton?” The deep, somber voice on the other end made him picture a very serious Morgan Freeman.

“Yes?” Carl hovered by the vehicle.

“How soon can you get to a secure line?”

This was bad. He knew it. “I’m twenty minutes from my hotel.”

“When you get there, call the number I’m about to give you. Tell them who you are and they’ll find me.”

Not even a name. Carl memorized the number Morgan Freeman’s voice gave him and as soon as they hung up, he programmed it into his phone.

For a heartbeat longer he stood where he was. He wanted to dive back into the car and race to his hotel. But he was here. The least he could do was check out the place.

I’ll be quick about this.
And he would. His head pounded with curiosity.

Stepping up to the front door, he rang the bell. No answer. He waited a moment and rang again.
Come on, come on.

Maybe Simard had found a job. He wouldn’t be home in the middle of the day if he had.

A voice from the sidewalk made him turn around. A petite brunette stood there, jogging in place with her index finger pressed to her neck. She spoke again, a question.

Carl shook his head. “I don’t speak French?” He raised his hands in a helpless gesture.

“Oh. Are you looking for Officer Simard?”

“Yes.” Carl nodded. “Do you know him?”

“I live across the street.” She pointed, still bobbing up and down. “He has not been here for days. Weeks. No lights on, no car.”

Really. That was interesting news. “Thanks.” He trotted down the steps and back to the car.

Interesting news that he’d have to dwell on later. Right now, he had a phone call to make.

The twenty minute drive back to the hotel stretched on for an eternity. Each red traffic light tested his patience. Carl drummed his fingers on the dashboard, resisting the urge to honk at innocent drivers.

He barely put the car in park before he flew into the hotel room. Picking up the phone, he dialed the number he had been given.

A female answered after one ring. “Name?”

His contact hadn’t given a name, so Carl assumed they wanted his. “Carl Hamilton.”

“One moment.”

The phone rang again, and the contact answered. “Detective Hamilton. Thank you for being prompt. This is Agent Keeler with the FBI.”

Keeler. He hadn’t met this guy. “Yes?”

“We have a situation. The three girls have gone missing.”

“What?” Carl gasped the word out and clutched the phone tighter. No. It couldn’t be. After all the work they’d gone through to get those girls into safe custody, they couldn’t be gone. “What happened?”

“I’m not at liberty to explain at the moment. But you are being reassigned to the case. We trust your insight on this one.”

Carl sank into the bed, head spinning. He couldn’t believe it. Gone. “What can I do?”

“I’ve already contacted your chief. We need you back in the States to get briefed. We’ll talk more at that time.”

“Got it. I’ll catch a flight back right away.” He hung up and started packing. He needed to find those girls—before someone else ended up dead.