Deliverer (13 page)

Rodriguez would wait at the chosen fast food place, McDonald's, for Florence. When she went in to place the order, he’d take her car.

"These are the girls," Truman had said, showing him their photos over and over again. Rodriguez had to make sure Florence delivered the right people. "Number one." Truman stared at Sara's open face, the cheerful hazel eyes and perpetual smile. "Number two." Rivera's daughter, with her dark eyes and dark hair that were so reminiscent of the
Carnicero
. "And number three.” Murphy, the stunning redhead that should fetch a decent price. “Make sure you have these three."

"Take them to the warehouse?" Rodriguez pocketed the photos.

"No. Corner C." They'd scoped out several possible places to meet up with the girls. Truman needed a secluded area with plenty of visibility, just in case Rodriguez was being followed. Corner C was under an overpass. A trailer park flanked it, surrounded by broken down cars, run down buildings, and tall grasses. No one would notice his vehicle sitting out front, and no one would pay attention to the exchange of prisoners. Only when he knew they'd evaded the police would he take the girls to the warehouse. It hadn’t been hard to find an abandoned one in this old city.

That was last night. Hopefully Rodriguez would remember his part today.

Truman took a deep breath, enjoying the smell of the car, of being out of the motel room. Rodriguez couldn't mess this one up.

In less than six hours, the girls would be in his possession again.

His phone dinged, indicating an email. Truman pulled it out. It was from Claber. Truman memorized the flight date and time. In two days at six p.m. He’d go alone. None of his men needed to know.

#

"I've got them."

Rodriguez's heavily accented English carried through the phone, and Truman allowed himself a rare smile of satisfaction. "Meet me at the rendezvous in ten minutes." Closing his cell phone, he looked at Grey and Derek. "He’s got them. We'll wait under the overpass."

Grey hooted in triumph and Derek nodded. “Time for them to get theirs,” he whispered. The mad look in his blue eyes had lessened, revealing a somber, smoldering expression. Truman didn't want to think about the emotions broiling underneath the mask.

Truman tried to maintain a calm exterior, to not show how much this meant to him. He dialed Alfred. "You have Rachel?"

"Yes," Alfred said, his tone mildly perturbed. "She's wearing me out. When do I stop playing grandpa?"

"Soon. Get across the border and head to the airport. I'll text you the destination and  flight. Wait there for Florence, then make sure she and Rachel get on that flight."

The radar on the dash emitted several high pitched squeals, and Truman shot a glare at Derek. Derek slowed down. Wouldn't do to get pulled over now. None of the police in the area worked for him, and he couldn't take the chance of being delayed—or worse, recognized. At least one FBI agent in the area knew his description

The phone beeped in Truman's ear, indicating another call. "Gotta go."

Derek parked under the overpass and the car idled. Truman glanced at the caller ID. Rodriguez. A pit formed in his stomach, and he shoved it away. It was just an update. "What?"

Rodriguez’s voice carried over the tiny speaker, his words punctuated with hisses. "Two and Three in vehicle. One escaped. Meeting at Corner C."

Truman clenched his jaw and dug his fingers into the palm of his hands, the pit in his stomach forming into a hard rock. "Got it." He threw the phone and swore. Such a simple thing. Hop in the car, hijack the girls. And the idiot let one get away.

"What happened?" Grey asked, leaning forward from the back.

Truman took several deep breaths. Two and Three in vehicle. One gone. Sara was number one. "One of the girls got away."

"Shall I pursue?" Derek growled. "Hunt her down?"

Truman struggled for a moment. She didn’t love him, but maybe he could still earn her love.

But she might never forgive him for what Claber had done. That bastard. He’d ruined everything.

"No," he said softly. "Let her go."
Sara. That's all I can do for you.
"We’ll wait here for the other two."

Chapter 23

Truman didn't have much time to reflect before Rodriguez pulled up in Florence's FBI car.

"Quick," Truman ordered, jerking his head at Derek. The Bennett boy was easily the biggest of them all. He didn't expect the girls to go without a fight, and according to Derek, the Rivera girl had killed before. "Help Rodriguez get them in."

Derek jumped out of the car. Truman looked over his shoulder at Grey. "Grey, they'll sit by you. Keep their heads down."

Rodriguez guided the two teens, one with long dark hair and the other with a perfect, slender body and wavy red hair. Both struggled in his grip, twisting their shoulders and trying to pull away. Truman stared at them a long moment. It had only been a few weeks, but it seemed he hadn't seen them in forever.

Derek grabbed a hold of the brunette and locked eyes with Rodriguez. Rodriguez shook his head, and tug-of-war ensued microseconds before Derek released her and grabbed the redhead.

Grey opened the doors, and Rodriguez smacked his captive in the head. "Get in!"

Rivera's eyes darted to Grey, then to Truman. He saw her expression crumple. She knew, then. They were defeated. Truman turned back to the road, scanning for police or any followers. He took no pleasure in their recapture. He just wanted out.

All the doors slammed shut and Derek climbed into the driver's seat. He raised an eyebrow at Truman, and Truman nodded. The road was clear. Straight to the warehouse. He looked back at Rivera and Murphy. "Heads down."

They complied, though with Grey on one side and Rodriguez on the other, they didn't have a lot of options.

Truman faced forward again, a sick feeling ruining his earlier good mood. He wanted to hit the dash, scream, curl up and cry. He'd lost Sara, or rather, he'd never had her. Instead, he had these two girls who just wanted to go home to the families who loved and cared for them.

I've crossed the line,
he thought.
I’ve gone too far. And there’s no turning back now.

His father would be proud.

#

Rodriguez delivered the girls to their designated closet inside the abandoned warehouse. Truman’s head pounded. They drove the rest of the way to the motel in silence.

"Listen," he said when Derek parked the SUV. "I know we have to lay down the law. But do not hurt those girls. If they have any damage, any marks on their skin, their value goes down. And absolutely," he paused to glare at each man, hoping to make them feel the weight of his ire, "do not molest them.

“Here's the plan. Each morning, we deliver food to the girls and take them to the bathroom. Sid will be here in a few days. We just have to keep them hidden that long. Rodriguez, you have tomorrow."

He nodded.

Truman got out, slamming the door behind him. The men followed him into the motel room, but he stopped them before they got comfortable. "Grey, you've been traveling all night. Stay and rest. Derek, take the SUV. I want you by the warehouse at all hours. If there's any sort of activity there, get the girls out. Drop Rodriguez off in town."

"In town?" Rodriguez said, furrowing his brow. "You need some shopping done?"

Shopping. It was the farthest thing from Truman's mind. "No. Find out where the cops hang out. Keep your eyes and ears open. I want news." And maybe a small part of him hoped to find Sara. But just a small part. "Find a sleazy bar somewhere in town. Buy off the tender with a couple hundred, tell him we need some new looks for a couple of girls. But don't pay him. Be back here around seven." Truman needed to get some cash before he could actually pay anyone.

The men headed out, and Grey crashed on the other bed. Truman stayed awake in the dimly lit room. He called Sid and told him he had the girls. Just as promised, Sid would be there in four days. And he was bringing cash.

Truman's headache persisted. He gave in to the urge to drink and took a swallow of whiskey.  The alcohol burned all the way up to his ears, but did nothing for his headache.

He locked all the bolts and again tried to ignore the restless despair that flooded his bones. The angry words from
The Rape of Lucrece
exploded behind his eyes.

Thou foul abettor, thou notorious bawd;

Thou plantest scandal and displacest laud.

Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief,

Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief.

#

“I found one,” Rodriquez reported two days later. "Corner of Fifth and Vine. Decently priced, too. They're ready for your makeovers. Just show up."

It was the perfect opening for Truman’s exit. Claber’s flight arrived in two hours, and he’d been wondering how to get out alone. He stood, pulling on his baseball cap. “I want to see it. Make sure they won’t blow our cover.”

“They won’t,” Rodriguez began, but Truman raised a hand. His heart already pounded in anticipation of Claber’s arrival, and he didn’t have the patience to talk it out with Rodriguez.

“I’ll be the judge of that. Be back in a few hours.”

Truman ran scenarios through his head of how to kill Claber as he drove. He thought about hiding out in the longterm parking and shooting him, sniper-style. But that was too risky. He’d most likely be caught.

Besides, it wouldn’t bring him any closure. Claber needed to know why he was dying. Truman wanted to see the regret in his eyes.

It would have to be done somewhere out of sight. Somewhere no one would notice.

He drove across the border into Kentucky and picked Claber up at the prearranged terminal. The very sight of the man made his blood boil. He lowered his sunglasses over his eyes to hide his fury. Unbidden images of Claber forcing his wayhimself on Sara pushed through his mind.

Claber dropped his carry-on to the floorboards and buckled his seatbelt. “What’s the plan? I thought you wanted me to procure housing in Venezuela.”

“Change of plans.” He couldn’t say anything more without ruining his poker face.

Claber glanced at him, his light green eyes trying to probe past the sunglasses. “What’s happened?”

Truman checked over his shoulder before merging with traffic. “We have the girls in custody. Grey and Rodriguez are doing surveillance on the police. Haven’t gotten much info yet.”

Claber gave a short laugh. “You have Boyscout on surveillance and you expect him to find something out? He’s more likely to join the force.”

Truman turned off the interstate into a rundown part of Kentucky. He noticed it on the drive as he crossed the border. Old factories framed forgotten railroads, rusted structures standing as reminders of what used to be.

Claber eyed the surroundings. “You have the girls hidden here somewhere?”

Truman parked the car and undid his seatbelt. “Somewhere. But I need you to come with me.”

He was playing it by ear, but Claber trusted him. Just like Truman had trusted Claber.

He ducked under a warping chain-linked fence and crunched across the gravel toward the railroad. Claber stayed close behind.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Right here.” Truman stopped and stared out over the old railroad spikes poking from the ground.
He could imagine Claber skewered on one, bleeding into the hard, cracked ground. He shook his head clearing the image.“I found the medical files on the girls from after they were taken into FBI custody.”

“Oh?” Claber stood at his side, also gazing out at the tracks. “Were they injured? Will that lower their price?”

Truman waited a heartbeat. He kept his face placid as he said, “Sara’s pregnant.” It took everything in him to resist turning to see Claber’s reaction.

“Oh. Oh! What does that mean for you? Has she told them that you...” he let his voice trail off.

Claber’s reaction didn’t make sense. And then it dawned on Truman. He turned slowly to face Claber. “I never touched her.”

Confusion furrowed Claber’s brow. “You never touched her? But you took her to your room.”

“Yes, I did,” Truman confirmed. “But nothing happened. How then can she be pregnant?”

Finally a note of alarm registered on Claber’s face. He blinked and took a small step backward. “
She's a slut, Truman. She was probably already knocked up when you kidnapped her.”

Truman stepped forward, lessening the distance between them. “You mean when you kidnapped her?”

Claber’s hand slid toward his pocket, stopping before it got there. Of course his gun was in his luggage. Airport security would never allow him to have it on his person. His eyes darted from left to right.

“Ah,” Truman whispered. He pulled his own weapon out and hefted it at Claber. “Nowhere to run?”

“Listen, Truman,” Claber said, his hands lifting in surrender. “Let’s talk this through. Whatever you think happened—”

“I know what happened,” Truman interrupted. “You thought I’d never find out. Maybe I wouldn’t have, except she got pregnant. And you’re the only one who had access to her. The one thing I was trying to keep her from—and you did it. You ruined her.”

“Is this about the money?” Claber sputtered. “You can’t sell her now? We can find a different market. Abort the baby. She’s still valuable—”

“Shut up!” Truman shouted. “This is about Sara! This is about what you took from her—something she can never get back. And she’ll blame me for it!”

“Let’s talk this through,” Claber pleaded.

Truman’s eyes burned, and he shook his head. “No. I’m done talking.”

“Truman,” Claber began, but Truman fired his gun before he could say anymore. One shot, and he stumbled backwards before falling.

Truman walked over the body and fired twice more. His hands shook and his chest ached. In many ways, Claber had been his closest friend. He would miss his advice, his company. But the man could not live after what he’d done to Sara.

Truman pocketed his weapon and left the scene before anyone found the body.