Justified Means (Book One) (The Agency Files) (31 page)

“Mark probably has a way of contacting. It’ll take longer, of course, but it’s just how it’s done. Don’t worry; Erika won’t be out there a day longer than necessary. Meanwhile, we’ve got someone taking care of your place for you.”

She flipped through several channels before shutting off the TV again. Helen only had one more question for him, but discovering how to ask it was tricky. One word out of place and they’d get suspicious.

Helen ate her salad, picking pieces out and drenching each in salad dressing before choosing her next bite as if creating the perfect forkful was her only concern in life. Her silence was bothering Anthony, and that was a very good thing. At last, she dropped her fork onto her plate, feigning the loss of a battle with self-will, and lifted tortured eyes to Anthony’s concerned ones. “Do you think—is it possible.” She swallowed hard. “I mean, I just wondered if maybe we should be off-grid too.”

“Oh,” Anthony assured her calmly, “don’t worry. We are. I only check in with Mark every three or four days. The way we have to go about it is so circuitous that no one can track us. The Agency doesn’t even know we’re in Florida.”

Genuine relief washed over Helen’s features as she picked up her fork once more. “Well, that makes me feel better anyway. I’d hate for my last expenditure to be an ineffectual protection detail—no offense.”

“What are you looking for?”

“Anything that looks out of place, no matter how small.” Keith hardly paused to answer as his hand scribbled another note onto the large legal pad.

“Are those the normal things or the anomalies?”

“Anomalies.” His forehead furrowed and his jaw set rigidly as he added another item.

Erika read the line and frowned. “The fact that I asked to talk to Mark is an anomaly?”

“Yep. Most people never do—not even in exasperation. I know it means nothing in regards to you, but I have to add it in case it triggered something in someone else.”

“Mark.” The name dropped from her lips like an anvil on stone.

“Well, not just him, no. But, it is another mark against him.”

Erika grinned. “Cute.”

Looking up from his files, Keith shook his head. “What?”

“A mark against Mark—I just thought it was kind of funny.”

There it was again—the terseness. It was back. She anticipated the tone of his response before he opened his mouth. “Yeah. Do you need something?”

“I need you to note that you’ve gotten grumpy again. This is the tenth time since you challenged me to note them.”

“Well, it’s duly noted.”

Erika glanced at Karen as if to say, “See, it’s not in my head.” The look on Karen’s face was priceless. When she said that it was out of character for him, she must have meant it.

Before Erika could ask another question, Keith whirled in his chair, seeking Karen. “Hey, this doesn’t say. When did Helen contact us? I need everything from the first call through the night we took Erika. Can you get that?”

“I could just drive to the office. Mark wouldn’t know if it’d been a few days drive or a few minutes.”

“If you did that, you couldn’t come back here. The risk—”

“Yeah. I was thinking about taking Claire too, but that’d leave you guys unprotected.”

“Why Claire?” Keith glanced toward the room where his cousin generally lay on the bed curled in fetal position waiting for the “nightmare” to end.

“She has knowledge of Anastas’ organization. She might see something that we don’t.”

“Take her. Just don’t bring her back. You’ll have to be vigilant, but maybe you can lose a tail. He flipped the pad to a new page, scribbled some directions, and pulled a key from his pocket. “I managed to find Uncle Ted’s spare key in the RV. Take her there if you manage to escape scrutiny. Otherwise, don’t risk it.”

“Are you sure?” Karen glanced at Erika who listened to the entire conversation with great interest.

“We need a break—fast. Every day that passes is a day these girls can’t get back. Every day that passes, gets the mole more information. We’ve got to stop this.”

“Are you ok with that, Erika?”

“Sure. I’ve put up with this grouch before.”

“I’m not a grouch!” Both women snickered at the growl in his voice. Keith glanced up, “What?”

“Let’s just say your voice belies your words.”

“Belies?”

Erika smirked and crossed her arms. “You know, makes a liar out of you?”

“Since when does Karen use words like ‘belies’?”

“Since you stuck her in a house with nothing but books from the nineteenth century.” Karen tossed a mock leather bound copy of
The Count of Monte
Cristo
onto the table, jarring Keith’s pen.

“Whatever. Just get going. Don’t change your clothes and rub the back of your hair on the headrest all the way there. Make sure you smooth your clothes as you get out of the car.”

“I know how to do this stuff, Keith. It’s not like I’m a trainee.” Karen’s voice trailed off as she wandered down the hall to give Claire the good news. Adventure awaited them in Rockland.

From her perch on the futon that was just as uncomfortable during the day as she was sure it was at night, Erika ignored her book in favor of watching Keith as he scribbled line after line of things that probably meant nothing. As the silence settled around him, she watched his features relax. It was hard to tell just what he was thinking. Unlike most people, his face gave away nothing.

Claire burst from her room, her duffel swinging over one shoulder, her purse in hand. “We’re going! I actually get to
do
something. I’m so excited. This is what I thought this job would be like, not sitting around here waiting to get our heads blown off if we glance out the wrong window.”

Keith’s grin was infectious. He jumped up, hugged his cousin, and glanced over her head at Karen. “Take care
, both of you. Neither of you is expendable.”

With a glance at Erika, Karen grabbed Keith’s pen from him, flipped the page up, and scribbled a note on it. Keith glanced toward Erika before looking at Karen. “What?”

“Just don’t forget.”

Keith pulled the sheet from the pad, crumbled it, and tossed it at the trashcan next to the garage door. It missed. He started to rise to toss it properly, but Karen shoved his shoulder back down. “I’ll get it. Take care, you guys. Don’t get lazy.”

Once the two women were gone, Keith slowly immersed himself in his work again, but the absentmindedness was gone. This Keith was driven, focused, and yet attuned to everything around him. A dog barked outside, and he shifted. A kid cried, and he jumped up, peeking out the curtain to make sure it was something he could continue to ignore. The work went slower, but Erika saw a new determination in him. It was almost as if now that he was without backup, he was even more determined to get her out of there.

He doesn
’t like me. I annoy him
, she thought as she watched the process
. I wonder why
.

Just as she was ready to go take a shower, Keith glanced up at her. “I’ve almost finished this. I want you to think of everything that happened from the minute you stepped into the airport until we came back for you. Everything. Think about who you worked with, who you talked to at work, who called your cell phone, your house phone, everything.”

Minutes later, he rose, shut the laptop, and ambled down the hall to the bathroom. The second the door shut, she jumped and raced across the kitchen. Unfolding the wadded yellow paper, she read Karen’s words.
Be nice to her. You’re like a different person around her, and it’s making it hard for her. Be nice.

It still made no sense. From that first day, he’d been stern, almost fierce at times. She could tell he had a sense of humor, but he never relaxed enough around her to show it. The only time he’d been nice was at the trailer and until Karen had joined them. Then, immediately it was as if a weight lifted—for about twenty-four hours. He’d be even less relaxed now that he was solely responsible for her safety.

She dashed back to the futon, and made sure she was dragging herself off it as he returned. “I’m going to take a shower and then I’ll give you a rundown of everything I can think of, ok?”

“Sure. I’m going to make a sandwich. Want one?”

There it was again—that infernal politeness that she knew was genuine but it had none of the warmth behind it that he showed Karen and Claire. “Yeah. That’d be great. Thanks.”

“You could have asked what was in the note. I’d have told you.”

Busted.

Keith felt immense satisfaction at the guilty look on Erika’s face. It’d been a guess—an intuitive one, perhaps, but a guess nevertheless. However, Karen’s admonitions lately had put him on edge. Erika hadn’t seemed to complain about him until after one of Karen’s visits. Apparently, she’d commented about some sort of difference she’d noticed. Whatever it was, he needed to be on his guard. He had no excuse for making Erika’s stay any more difficult than it already was. The girl had to be ready to scream with frustration.

As the water came on in the bathroom, he pulled out the lunchmeat, bread, lettuce, tomato, and mayo. They’d run out of mustard packets days ago. He liked mustard, but there was nothing he could do about it. As he worked, he considered the different cases he’d worked over the years. Erika really was a good sport. She didn’t freak, even when she wanted to.

The difference in his expectations now compared to the last time he’d guarded her glared—acutely. He’d been determined to keep her fighting—wanting her to push the envelope to stay antagonistic toward him. She’d needed that then, but, although she was still an abducted client, she worked with them to keep her safe. The stress level alone was different.

Terse, stern, scowl—those words made no sense. He’d never been what you’d call jolly, but Keith was a pleasant guy. No one had ever considered him anything but friendly and companionable. It seemed strange that anyone would say something like that about him, but even Karen had seen it. It wasn’t just Erika’s imagination

Before Keith could work through the accusation, Erika came out of the bathroom, towel drying her hair as she did. “Man, I love a good hot shower.”

“Me too. Your sandwich is there.” He pointed to a plate with the butter knife before digging it into the mayonnaise jar.

Erika stepped into the garage and tossed the towel into the dryer. She’d set it for five minutes on the highest heat. She did it every time. It was brilliant. She used the same towel every time she showered and hadn’t washed it yet. Keith had been tempted to sniff it to see if it’d gone sour, but the idea seemed a bit creepy—stalkerish in a not
-stalking sort of way.

“Ok, so what do you need to know?”

Her voice jerked him from his mildewing musings. “Oh, well, why don’t you try to tell me everyone you talked to, everyone you can think of, since you’ve been home. The mail you opened, the messages on machines, where you went after or before work—anything.”

“Well, I called my friend Yvonne from the airport. I knew she’d be ticked off that I hadn’t invited her on my ‘trip.’”

“And was she?”

“No, she thought I went with Brent and didn’t want to admit it or something.”

“Brent?” Keith assumed it was the man in the photos but waited for confirmation.

“A guy I met. Yvonne wouldn’t think twice about taking off for two weeks with a guy she hardly knows. I figure it’s a recipe for disaster. Can you imagine how miserable you’d be if you found out you hated him?”

“Yeah.” Keith took a swig of his tea and then grinned. “It’s much better to be chained up in a cabin in the middle of nowhere with a stranger.”

“Safer anyway.” Her smile seemed odd at a time like that. Who smiles at the memory of being shackled and locked in a room “for your own good?”

“I was really ticked at you.”

“I know. I was glad.”

“I still don’t get that.” She chewed slowly, thoughtfully. How did someone do that? Keith didn’t understand her.

“It sounds weirder than it is. The angrier you are, the more you’re likely to fight. You need to fight. The minute captivity seems like a reasonable ‘norm’ you’re already becoming a victim. It’s best if you fight.”