Pursuit (20 page)

C
rowded as usual
at headquarters, several cuffed and seated suspects were being questioned at multiple desks. Walker's office sported a huge glass partition where Julie observed a number of people, all of them on their feet. Most prominent in the group, her ex, dressed in a two-thousand-dollar suit. She took out her Sig and locked it safely in her desk drawer, not trusting that sixteen years down the line would be enough to cool her jets when it came to Captain America. She approached Walker's office and heard Bart.

“Where is she? We want answers.”

“Am I the ‘she' you're referring to, Barton?” Julie didn't wait for an answer but asked Walker permission. “May I come in, sir?”

Walker invited her around to his side of the desk, where he cleaned off a straight-back chair piled high with reading material. “The next person who raises his voice in this office is out of here! No exceptions.” He glanced around at the assembled group. “Sit.”

Bart Worth started pacing.

“I said sit, Mr. Worth, or leave.”

“You can't tell—”

“In my office, in my headquarters building, I damn sure can.” Walker waited until his command was understood by all. “First of all, my sympathy to you, sir, and your troubles at this time. Secondly, and maybe more important, what is it you hope to accomplish here?”

Worth put his hands on the arms of his chair as if to stand—until he caught Walker's eye. “I demand some answers, dammit. My child has been kidnapped. I've been getting the runaround.” His level of anger made saliva accompany his every word.

Walker listened, making light circles on top of his desk with his fingertips. “This abduction, Mr. Worth, is an ongoing investigation. You cannot storm in here and demand anything. Clear?” He didn't wait for a reply. “I've extended you the courtesy of my office because of the great respect I have for Sergeant Worth, your ex-wife.”

Julie's body shook as if trying to shed the relationship. She tried not to look at the narcissistic bastard, but inevitably the man's sheer gall dominated the room. She had slogged through academy training, fell in love—or, rather, lust—married, and separated all within two years, with Julie filing for divorce after Cheryl's birth. It seemed that Bart's busy schedule kept him from visiting Julie and his newborn.

On the rare occasions when they would speak, he reminded Julie of the trust fund he'd set up for Cheryl. “You don't like the idea of this fund assuring Cheryl's future?”

“I don't like the idea of you trying to justify your dick slinging by mentioning this fucking trust fund each time we speak. Got it, Mr. Wonderful?”

“You are one mean bitch, you know that?”

Lawyers' voices startled Julie, and she took a moment to catch up.

“Mr. Walker, uh, excuse me; Captain Walker, may I?”

“And you are?”

“Walt Abrams. Mr. Worth's attorney.”

“And may I ask why you are here, Mr. Abrams?”

The attorney attempted to make a grand show of moving his briefcase onto his lap as if the contents held the secrets of the lost Mayans. “Mr. Worth's concerns are well founded, Captain. His wife's—excuse me, ex's—lifestyle and dangerous work have precipitated this abduction.”

“Hold it, Abrams. You don't know that. You don't know Sergeant Worth's routine, her relationship to the work—and what does that mean, ‘lifestyle'? How can you come in here and say that Sergeant Worth's work caused this?”

“What has she been working on?” This question from the third man, who hadn't been introduced. A lanky, grey-haired fellow with mean, dark eyes. “By the way, Captain, I'm Mark Issen of Issen Security, recently hired by Mr. Worth to help in this investigation.”

Walker had a knowing smile as he stared down the private investigator. “What has she been working on, you ask? Do you honestly expect an answer to that question?” The captain scanned the room. “Do you folks have any idea how hard we're working to get this young lady back with her mother?”

“That brings up an interesting question.” This from lawyer Abrams. “We've been working with Child Services recently to reverse the divorce ruling on custody. Our initial responses are encouraging and forthcoming.”

“How long?” Julie inquired.

“How long what? How long are we going to sit here? How long before we see results from the police? How long before people stop stonewalling this distraught father?”

Julie edged forward in her seat. “How long have you been dealing with Child Services about custody?” She saw his eyes shifting, knowing it to be a sign of dissembling or outright lying.

He wrinkled his nose as if smelling something distasteful. “Sergeant Worth, I understand your anxiety. I know what you're going through.”

“You haven't any idea what I'm going through, so don't say you do.”

“You're being difficult, Sergeant.” Abrams raised his hands in protest. “Your manner, although somewhat understandable, is completely without merit and nonproductive. I, for one, think it might be beneficial if you would excuse yourself from this meeting.”

“Not going to happen,” Walker said. “Let's stick with topic A.”

Julie settled back in her chair, determined to stay calm. “And I, for one, would like an answer to my question.”

“Which was?”

“How long? When did you contact Child Services. When were you hired?” She noticed the PI, Issen, duck his head. An “Oh shit!” moment. “Both of you, when did you begin this long arduous quest for truth, justice, and custody?”

The attorney leaned over and whispered to Bart Worth.

Captain Walker rested his fists on the hard surface of his oak desk. “Okay folks, I'm going to call a halt to this. It's total bullshit. You come in here talking truth and visibility, and it devolves into a veil of accusations. Sergeant
Worth is not on trial, get it? Now answer her simple question if you expect cooperation from this department.”

Abrams fiddled with his briefcase at the side of his chair and then eased up from his seated position as if the universe were his. “I'll be in touch with my friend the district attorney, of course. And—”

Walker grabbed the sleeve of Abrams's suit coat and led him to the door of his office. “Get out. You dare come into my headquarters building and threaten me with your DA ‘friend.' We're investigating a murder and abduction, and you have the balls to hinder our time by jamming my office with this shit? This personal vendetta?” Walker opened the door.

“All right, all right, dammit.” Abrams shook Walker's hand from his sleeve. “It was this morning.”

“What? What happened this morning?” Julie was right on top of it.

“Our meeting with Judge Hancock on the custody issue. And your proximity to dangerous people.”

The captain dropped his arms to his sides, his neck stretching out from his collar. “She's a sergeant in the police force, for Christ's sake. Dammit. That's law enforcement.” Walker turned and shouted for the open squad room of eavesdroppers to “get back to work!” He returned to his office, signaling for the others to leave. He rattled the glass door as he slammed into his workplace.

Julie caught up with her ex in the hallway. “You must be proud of yourself, mister. Dragging in your minions, trying to portray yourself as the long-suffering parent, when, in fact, you've been absent for years.”

“Now, wait just a minute.” He reached out and waved a finger in her face.

Julie slapped away his hand.

“Bitch,” he hissed.

Bart, the lawyer, and Issen swept out of the building as she turned toward the ladies' room. After splashing water on her face and composing herself, she searched for Todd, who had already left.

The parking lot buzzed with groups of officers huddled in conspiratorial conversations. Julie ignored them and hurried toward her car. She saw Bart smoking a cigarette, leaning against it.

“Is this another of your ambushes, junior?”

“No, it's not, Miss Righteous. I wanted to explain to you my concern for Cheryl.”

Julie paced up and down the lot's driveway, her throat contracting almost to the point of strangulation. She stopped between two vehicles. “You were so concerned for her that it took hours and hours to hear from you.”

“I happened to be in New York on business.”

“No, you happened to be in Mexico with your secretary, you lying sack of shit! Doesn't that fancy resort in Cabo San Lucas have telephone service, Barton?” She knew he hated for her to use his full name. “I left a half dozen messages for you. The temp at your office here said you'd left word not to be disturbed. You'd think that after the fourth or fifth ‘Urgent, call home immediately' alert, you would respond.”

He showed Julie his woe-is-me, put-upon attitude. “The girl never said it was—”

“Oh, stop the bullshit. You come here with your yes-men proclaiming a long, drawn-out attempt to get custody of your daughter, when, in fact, it just happened this morning. That's when you made the initial inquiries.” She fought for self-control. “Rather than get in contact with me, you go the legal route. You are such an ass.”

“I visited her when I could. I provided her with a trust that was quite generous.”

“Who mentioned money, Barton? Why the lawyer and PI? Why didn't you at least call and inquire of any developments in the case?”

“I called. I was put on hold.”

“Oh, poor baby. Put on hold? How dare they! Didn't they know they were speaking to Barton Worth, the most powerfu—”

He stepped in close to Julie and slapped her face hard.

The blow spun her around and knocked her to her knees. She got right back up, covering her face, both arms up on either side of her head in a boxer's stance. She two-stepped in toward Bart. “You chickenshit piece of garbage.”

A number of shouts came from nearby officers. Julie made a show of her right hand and then kicked Bart's knee hard with her left foot. As he went down, she ran her knee hard into his groin and struck him with her elbow across his face. She reached for her handcuffs while several officers behind her asked if she needed help.

“I got it, guys.” Crowded between two parked cars, she cuffed Barton's right hand and twisted his elbow. She rolled him onto his stomach and gave him his “You have the right to remain silent” Miranda warning, and then added, “I've been wanting to say those words to you for years, Mr. Chickenshit. Get up.”

Julie's nose bled, and the left side of her face was red and swollen. Her leg felt heavy. But she felt good. Lately, getting the shit knocked out of her was becoming an occupational hazard. She heard more running footsteps and backed off as two officers dragged Bart between parked cars.

“Let me go, goddamn it! Don't you know what's going
on here? My girl's been kidnapped! Why are you doing this? I've got a lawyer!” Bart struggled as he was perp-walked back toward the station. He looked over his shoulder at Julie. “I've never been anything but a loving father, you rotten bit—”

“Shut your mouth.” The larger of the two officers spun Bart around into his face. “You assaulted an officer. You're under arrest.”

Julie massaged her thigh a bit while brushing off her slacks. The officers marched Captain America into the station. She was thankful that she'd left her 9-millimeter locked in her desk.

T
he streets were
deserted. The time of night when bar hoppers called it quits and working stiffs were an hour away from their rude awakenings.

A misty rain polished the pavement as Charles made his way west toward Bait Shack. The idea of his newest captive intrigued him. As always, he would proceed with caution, but he loved the possibilities. A teen would give rise to untold exploration and fun. He would go against his previous vows and make an exception in her case, wooing her with all the drama of a torrid high school tryst. It all seemed ideal, but for that three-letter word always getting in the way. Perhaps he would just frighten her, sticking closer to his promise of abstinence. His vow. Treat her rough but with the hope of—dare he imagine—romance.

His performances these past few years made him proud, but only when he was dominant; the subjects had to be his absolute captives. Depositing his guests hundreds of miles away after the honeymoon period seemed safe and provided entertainment.

Having done no real harm to most of his “girlfriends,” as he liked to refer to them, he would drive them the opposite
direction from where they were acquired, while being careful not to establish a pattern.

Leaving the city, the wet asphalt country road made his tires hum. He kept time, whistling through his teeth as the blacktop emitted its steady whistle.

He considered his present female houseguest to be his most daring to date. The exposure at the real estate development and the subsequent abduction became dodgy. When the older woman, Billie something or other, came waltzing into his coop where he had his little chickadee tied up, he didn't know how he would handle it. Her death solved that problem. He sped up, longing for the love and comfort of the young one. He would calm her fears with a bit of reason, assisted by a slight dose of sleepy time and his standard short lecture on reciprocity.
It will happen, my sweet. Relax. Let it wash over you
. If she turned out to be volatile or cocky, he would repay her in kind. In time, he felt she would take him as her prom escort. He thought of himself as an incurable romantic, not someone who could never be loved. A flower for her hair, their evening full of dance, laughter, and a wrestling match in the backseat of the car.