Deliverer (12 page)

"Yep. Good ole' phone book."

Another reason why Truman had no land line. Or cable, or internet, or anything that could be traced back to his house.

A lot of good it had done him in the end, of course. "Grey, you're with me. Rodriguez and—" he hesitated before saying "Bennett." It felt so strange to include only one man in that name. "Derek. Start staking out Cincinnati. Look for side streets that aren't on the map."

"Big city, boss," Rodriguez grunted.

"Then we better get going," Derek said, his nose wrinkling. "Lots a ground to cover."

Truman ignored them. "Let's go, Grey."

Chapter 21

Rodriguez was right about one thing: Cincinnati was huge. Florence lived twenty minutes away from the motel. They pulled into the three-story apartment building a little after four p.m.

"Think she's home?" Grey asked.

"What is her job position?" Truman counted doors until he saw the one he assumed was hers. The shades were drawn tight. Looked pretty quiet.

"Employee roster said guidance counselor. I didn't get any more than that. All I know is that another case was added to her load."

“What makes you think it has anything to do with the girls?”

“Nothing, besides the fact that she lives here and could access them easily. Why relocate someone when you’ve got locals?”

Made sense. "Well, let's hope the new case is a group of emotionally distraught teenagers." Truman's gut twisted with an irritating stab of guilt. He forced it away. He couldn’t think about what he was about to do to this woman’s life. "She probably works normal hours. Let's let ourselves in nice and quiet."

Rentals, especially apartments, usually didn't come equipped with security systems or special locks, which worked in their favor. In less than five minutes, Grey had the place open. Truman pulled on his black gloves before touching the door.

Even without the lights on, evidence of children was everywhere. An umbrella stroller propped itself up in one corner. Shoes and dolls littered the couches and carpet. Sippy cups decorated the kitchen counters and floor.

"This is all from one child?" Truman asked.

"That's what it sounded like."

They continued down the hallway, stopping at a pink bedroom with see-through curtains around the pint-sized bed. "Stay in here," Truman instructed. "I'll try and find something about her cases."

As cluttered as the house was, Florence's office was pristine and organized. Truman broke open the lock to the file cabinet and rummaged through various thick green files. All of the patients were assigned a number next to their name.

Five names threw him for a moment until he remembered the boys who had helped the girls escape the police. So they were in custody now, too. Interesting. He'd have to investigate them further.

She'd already met briefly with each teen and written down a few key points of interest. Truman scanned the reports and then pulled out Sara’s file. His breath caught in his throat, and he reread the words three times before they sunk in.

"Dealing with unwanted pregnancy."

No. It couldn't be. His hands trembled, the paper shaking in his grip. Finding the chair, Truman sank into it. She was pregnant.

How? How could she be pregnant? His mind spun back to the nights in the mansion. He’d tried so hard to keep her safe, to keep her out of Sid’s hands so this wouldn’t happen to her. Not Sara. He dropped the papers from his hands and sank into the nearby chair, burying his head in his hands.

Sara was his.
Who would have the balls to do this to her? Had McAllister somehow found out? It was impossible.

Truman raised his head as his second-in-command entered his mind. Claber. Stupid, stupid idiot he was. Claber had been bucking Truman's control for years now and
Truman had placed her right into his hands. He’d asked Claber to watch over them, to escort her to and from his room.

Truman jerked to his feet and punched the wall. The lancing pain that flew up his hand and wrist did nothing to alleviate his fury. There was no forgiveness for this. Claber would pay. He ran his hand down his face, trying to calm himself.

He'd worry about this later. Truman closed the cabinet and returned to the princess room. His hands shook. "She's it. I found all the paperwork."

Grey leaned forward, excitement flashing in his eyes. "Did you get an address to the safe house?"

Truman shook his head. "The FBI are far too careful for that. No address, not even names. But it's definitely them." He made no mention of Sara's pregnancy. "You have equipment in the SUV?" Per Truman’s commands, Grey had traded in the black van for a dark SUV.

"Yeah."

"Tap all the landlines to the complex and bring up tape and rope. Then make yourself comfortable. We'll hide out here until they get home."

Chapter 22

A little after six p.m., Truman heard the sound of a key turning in the front door. It banged open, followed by the smell of fast food and the sound of little feet running down the hall.

"Hey Rachel!" a woman's voice called. "Don't you dump your bag on the ground! Come and get it!"

"I want to check on Mr. Hugs."

The cheery toddler voice brought an image to Truman's mind of a dimpled girl with golden ringlets and red ribbons. From his spot crouched behind the open bedroom door, he spotted a fluffy teddy bear wearing a dress and propped up on the pillow of the bed. Mr. Hugs might be having a gender crisis.

"Put your bag away first. Go give him a hug and come back to eat. You don't want your chicken nuggets to get cold!"

"Okay."

The footsteps resumed their hasty patter toward the bedroom, and Truman tensed. He pushed down the sense of unease, the bitterness over being forced to take this role.

She bounded into the room, only as tall as his thighs, straight brown hair in pigtails.
Don't frighten her,
Truman cautioned himself. He waved at Grey to stay back.

Rachel picked up the badly dressed bear on the bed and squeezed it tight. Truman stepped up to the bed and crouched next to Rachel, careful not to alarm her.

She looked at him, her eyes widening.

"Rachel," he murmured, "call your mother. I need to talk to her. But don't tell her I'm here."

"Is it a surprise?" Rachel whispered, mirroring his tone.

Truman nodded
in relief. A surprise, of course. He pointed behind the door. “I'll hide over here so she won't see me, okay? For the surprise.” He smiled again and the little girl grinned back.

"Mommy, come here!" Rachel chirped, her voice unsuspecting.

"Rachel, it's time to eat."

"It's really important, Mommy. Someone wants to see you?"

Truman slipped back behind the door, his muscles tightening. But Florence didn't react. "I've already met Mr. Hugs. Your food's getting cold."

"Not Mr. Hugs. Someone else. Please, Mommy?" She glanced at Truman, and he nodded, giving her a smile.

Florence sighed, and then her footsteps came down the hall. "Rachel, really." She stepped into the room. "We can play later."

Truman closed the door behind her and prepared himself for a physical attack. "We'd rather talk now."

Florence whirled around, and her mouth dropped open. Before she could utter a sound, Grey stood behind her, pressing a hand against her lips. "Shh," he murmured. "No need for that."

Truman moved to the bed, sitting next to Rachel and stroking Mr. Hugs. "We're not here to hurt you." He picked Rachel up and held her in his lap. "We just want to make a deal. Right, Rachel?" He smiled at her, and she looked toward her mother.

"Mommy?"

"Here are the conditions," Truman said, meeting Florence's clear blue eyes. Her chest heaved with repressed anger, features tight. "In a few moments, my comrade is going to move his hand. If you scream or try to leave the room, we'll be gone. And we'll take someone along with us." He stroked Rachel's pigtails. "Agreed?"

She nodded. Grey moved his hand. Florence grabbed it and twisted it around, her smooth blond hair escaping her bun. Grey gasped out as she pinned him to the ground.

Truman pulled out his gun and held it behind Rachel's tiny head. "Crystal," he said softly, "I wouldn't do that."

She lifted her head, spotted the weapon trained on her little girl. His heart pounded, desperate that she not call his bluff. He didn't have it in him to shoot this child. He couldn't.

But Florence didn't know that. In that moment, Truman saw all her resolve, all her FBI training melt away. "What do you want?" she whispered.

"Sit down."

She let go of Grey and settled onto the floor, her tight black skirt sliding up her thighs. Grey stood up, wincing and rubbing his body.

"Since you insist on not being civil, we won't be either. Rope, Grey."

Grey began fishing around in his cargo pants while Truman
tucked his gun away and turned to Rachel. "We're going to play a game with your mom. We're going to tie her up while we talk to her. Do you want to play?"

Rachel nodded and held out her hands. Truman pushed them down gently. "No, we don't need to tie you up." He looked back at Crystal. "You know where the girls are?"

"You're The Hand," she breathed, understanding dawning on her porcelain face. She tugged against the rope on her wrist.

He scowled and leaned forward. He was becoming too well-known in legal channels, thanks to those girls. He did not want to be recognized on the street.
"All I want are the girls. That's it. Get them to me, and I'll leave you alone."

She gave a laugh. "They're safe in FBI custody. I couldn't get them for you if I wanted to. What, you think I can waltz you into the safe house?"

"Just give me the address."

"There is none. Even if you had it, you wouldn't be able to break in. It's impossible."

The woman was far from broken. By tomorrow, she would tell the FBI all about Truman and his plans, and the girls would be whisked away somewhere safer, unknown.

Unless he had collateral.

"You'll find a way. Until then." He stood up, lifting Rachel with him. "Rachel's going on a sleepover."

Florence fought against her bindings. "You can't. You won't get away with this."

"I will." He arched an eyebrow. "I always do. And this one is too little to run from me."

"No!" Tears formed in her brilliant eyes. "Don't take her!"

"Mommy?" Rachel began.

Truman handed Rachel to Grey. "Take her and Mr. Hugs to the car. Don't forget her chicken nuggets."

Grey nodded, accepting the child and leaving the room.

"No!" Florence started to scream, but Truman cut her off,
knocking her to the floor and kneeling on her chest. She gasped, and he released some of the pressure. Sara's pregnant figure still pressed at the back of his head and made focusing difficult. Claber would pay.

Truman covered her mouth with his hand and took a deep breath.
"Listen. I won't hurt your little girl. I promise you. But if you don't do exactly as I tell you, you will never see her again. That is also a promise."

Florence shook under his hand, tears rolling down her face. "I'll do it," she whispered when he moved his hand. "I'll do whatever you want."

Truman nodded. "And no tricks. We're watching and listening." He moved off her body slowly as her eyes darted around the room. She thought he'd bugged it. No, but he'd tapped the phone, and that would have to be good enough. "Where's your cell phone?"

"In the kitchen," she whispered. "But I don't know how to get you the girls."

"We'll work on that."

"Please don't hurt her." She sniffed, no longer an FBI agent, but a vulnerable mother.

"I won't. And I reward those who help me. The two of you will rendezvous when the deal's over. Then I'll send you both far from here. Anywhere you want to go. It will be like a very long vacation." His eyes hardened, piercing hers. "But if you go to the police with this, if you try to stab me in the back, only Rachel will go. Understood?"

She nodded. Truman knew she hadn't given up. She would work every angle she could, try to catch him and save everyone. But in the end, her love for her daughter would win out. He reached behind her and loosened the knot. "Should take you about twenty minutes to work that free. What you do after that is up to you. But we'll know." With that, he turned around and walked out.

All the way to the front door, he prepared to run, waiting for her scream. It never happened.

#

“Transaction went through. Money deposited.”

Truman read through the email, glad that Claber hadn’t called.  Even after three days, Truman didn’t think he could mask his fury via a telephone call.

Somewhere in South Dakota, Grey had just given Rachel to Alfred. He would care for her and Mr. Hugs until Florence pulled through. Truman was paying him to be the perfect babysitter: Wendy's every day, walks in the park, the zoo, whatever she wanted.

He no longer cared about his accounts. He just wanted to get out of debt unscathed and have enough to live a simple life somewhere,
with Sara and her child, the child that he would raise as his own.

Everyone else in the hotel room was asleep. The only light in the room came from the glow of his tablet. Truman typed out a quick response to Claber. “I don’t need you there anymore. Book a flight to Cincinnati as soon as you can. Let me know your info when you have it.”

He sent the email and rubbed his jaw, trying to release some of the tension. Claber would pay for what he’d done.

His phone vibrated in his jeans, and Truman scowled. Better not be Claber. He pulled it out, surprised to see the “Restricted” label. “Hello?” he answered.

"The girls are being transferred tomorrow." Florence's voice shook over the line, and Truman knew she hated this even more than he did.

"Transferred?" Truman straightened and switched on the dim light by the bed. Derek moaned and rolled over on the other bed, and Rodriguez twitched on the floor.

“Yes, transferred,” Florence confirmed. “The twin boys were transferred to New York today. Tomorrow it’s the girls’ turn.

The digital clock on the nightstand showed just after midnight. "And you just found out about this?"

"You're lucky I found out at all." Florence inhaled. "They could've been transferred under our noses and none of us would know where they went." Accusation laced her words. Like this was his fault.

"Good thing they told you, then. Do you have a plan?"

"Yes. The agent that called me was concerned for their mental well-being, said they aren't responding well to being moved. He asked me to come in and do one last session. I suggested something even better. I volunteered to drive them to the rendezvous."

The plan clicked into place.
"And you deliver them to me instead." Truman's heart rate sped up. No one suspected Florence. She was the good girl, just like Captain Jefferson, just like himself, until McAllister. He'd been the good guy.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Where's the rendezvous?"

"I can't say," she said, and he knew she guarded as many FBI secrets as she could. "You'll have to meet me here in town."

"Got it. Take them to a fast food joint. Leave them in the car but go inside to order. One of my men will take them and the car while you're inside. Send me the address and the time to expect you. And you know what will happen if we see signs of anyone else." She wouldn't risk the cops. Who would they look for? Truman certainly wasn't going to be there.

"What about Rachel? How is she?"

"She's good. She's not here, but she's good."

"How can I trust you?" Her voice cracked and she choked back a sob. "I swear I'll kill you if you've hurt her."

"You'll see her again soon. I'll leave a rental car for you at the fast food restaurant. There will be a new passport for you and information inside. Go to the airport I indicate and catch your flight out of here. Rachel will be waiting for you."

"You're—" she took a deep breath. "You're an evil man."

He paused. He couldn't blame her for thinking that. "I'm doing the best I can. It's business, after all. I have to get those girls back."

"Some of us do business that helps other people."

"Not you," he returned, then felt bad for throwing her betrayal in her face. He didn't need her second guessing herself now, not when they were so close to the finish line. "We all do what we need to watch out for ourselves and the people we love."

She didn't respond. He pushed back his misgivings. If she backed out now, she lost her daughter. She wouldn't. She couldn't.

"All right," she whispered. "I'll have them for you tomorrow."

The phone went silent.

No time to worry about her. Truman lay back in bed and dialed Sid. "I'll have the girls tomorrow. When can you be here?" The sooner he enacted this deal, the sooner he could wash his hands of it.

"I'm in the middle of a business deal in Thailand," Sid said, loud music and voices echoing in the background. "I'll be here for five more days. As soon as I'm free, I'll head your way. Try not to lose them, Truman!" Sid laughed, a booming, irritating sound. "I might have to start charging a processing fee!"

So funny. Truman hung up. He thumbed though his contacts until he found McAllister's number. He stared at the name, dread weighing heavy on his chest. He tried to remind himself that McAllister couldn't trace the call, at least not if it were quick. He planned out a two-sentence conversation and hit "call."

The phone rang seven times before Truman hung up. Not even a voice mail. Truman knew better than to hope that meant McAllister had dropped off the planet.

#

By 5 a.m., the men were driving around Cincinnati, scoping out the city with new eyes. Grey had returned from South Dakota about two hours earlier, and though exhausted, he sat in the back of the SUV drowning himself with Red Bulls. Today was too important to sleep through. Derek sat beside him, tense and wild-eyed.