The Innocent: A Vanessa Michael Munroe Novel (19 page)

She shook her head. “Five hours is a good stretch for me,” she said. “I’ll save the bottle for when I really need it.”

She turned toward him and reached for his face, running her fingers along the side of it. His cheek was tender, and Bradford flinched.
She pushed slightly, turning his head so that the side of his face fully reflected the bedroom light.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He smirked. “I knew what I was getting myself into.”

Munroe returned a weak smile and sat up. And then, as if a switch had been thrown and the temper of the room altered, she said, “Come on, let’s go find Logan.” Her smile widened. “If things go well, I might even get to hit Gideon.”

Bradford chuckled at her joke, but he understood fully the wellspring from which it came.

Meeting with the trio was a necessary evil, one that Munroe would have preferred to postpone until she had determined with certainty whether or not Hannah was in the city. But the confrontation couldn’t wait. She knew Logan well, knew that he wouldn’t have even mentioned the issue of Gideon to Bradford had he not felt the situation slipping from his grasp. Gathering with the three was more than just a nod in Logan’s direction, it was a warning shot—a preemptive strike against stupidity.

The Chosen had kept Hannah on the move over the years, and if the girl was in Buenos Aires, it would take relatively little to spook them to take action once more. The pieces were currently in place, data beginning to pool, and Munroe didn’t need Gideon or Heidi screwing things up in pursuit of their own objectives, whatever they might be.

They were to meet at twelve on Logan’s side of town, the café chosen specifically for its proximity to the hostel. It would allow the others to get to it on short notice and provide Munroe enough traveling distance for her head to clear from the aftereffects of sleep.

They traveled first by city bus and then on foot, public transport always Munroe’s preferred mode of transportation when on assignment. To center oneself in the cadence of human activity was to absorb the essence of a place, like breathing air when underwater, and so
much better than the stifling confines of a taxi. Around her, conversations ebbed and flowed, the radio blared, street signage passed and blurred; the whole of the city’s chaotic fragrance filled her senses and she became one with it.

They arrived at the café five minutes before the agreed-upon hour, and there Logan sat waiting at a table near the window. He stood as they approached. His eyes were ringed with shadows of sleeplessness, and when Munroe reached to hug him, his body seemed to deflate, the rigid tension going out of him.

Both hands on his shoulders, she took a step back and scanned him. “You hanging in there okay?” she asked. He nodded, and as they sat, scooting chairs up to the table, his face remained wan.

“Where are Gideon and Heidi?” Munroe said.

“I asked them to give me a few minutes,” he replied, and then looked toward Bradford as if to beg for the same courtesy.

Bradford remained seated, face placid, arms crossed, and Munroe acknowledged his body language. He’d go if she asked, but she wouldn’t. Her decision to keep him close wasn’t personal, it was strategic. No matter how often Logan had watched her back, he couldn’t help her now, and with what she was preparing to do, she needed Bradford fully.

Munroe placed a hand on Logan’s knee and, as gently as she could, said, “There’s really nothing we have to offer, Logan, that can’t be said in front of the others.”

“I was just hoping that there might be something more,” he replied. “It’s difficult being out of the loop.”

“We’re moving as quickly as we can,” she added, “and you know as well as I do that to pinpoint three locations and set up surveillance in such a short time is pretty fast work.”

“I’m appreciative,” he said. “Please don’t think that I’m not.”

She said, “Signal the others, I know they’re watching.”

Logan, with his back to the window, stood and, no longer blocked by the signage, removed his jacket and placed it on his chair. When he sat, he was smiling. “I’m not that predictable, am I?” he asked.

“Gideon is,” she said, and then, in a show of normalcy, she motioned for the waitress and ordered coffee and
facturas
.

It took but a minute for Gideon and Heidi to enter the café. Gideon, in the lead, slowed when he caught sight of Bradford. The subtle pause was a good sign. That the others were, until now, unaware of Bradford’s involvement spoke volumes to the lengths Logan had gone to respect Munroe’s wishes.

As a matter of decorum, Munroe reintroduced Bradford to the group, although he already knew more about Gideon and Heidi than either could possibly imagine. The small talk was short. Perfunctory. The closest she would go to preliminaries and niceties.

Her primary purpose for coming had been simple: outline the progress, make sure they understood how easily it could be undone, reiterate that they needed to back off and let her do her job. As Bradford had done before, Munroe limited information to what was innocuous. She provided no locations and kept back the details of having entered the Haven Ranch.

In contrast to Logan and Heidi, who were by all appearances accepting, Gideon exuded aggression. He finally uncrossed his arms and, leaning forward, said, “Are you certain these places you’ve got under surveillance are really Havens?”

Munroe nodded. “One hundred percent.”

“You should let us be a part of this,” he said. “We’re insiders, we can verify what you can only guess, make sure you’re really on the right track. We know them, know the way they talk, know who these people are, and by not letting us be a part of this you’re taking a huge risk.”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” she said.

“It’s not your decision,” Gideon said. His tone remained calm, but his body language spoke to his anger. “This is our project. You work for us, not the other way around. We hired you, we’re paying you.”

“No,” she said. “I don’t, you didn’t, and you’re not.”

She paused for effect, continuing before Gideon could say more.

“I’m here for Logan,” she said, “end of story. You have no idea
what it takes to run a project like this, but I do. It’s what I do for a living. If you doubt me, ask Logan. Not only have I put more money into this than all of you combined, but it’s my neck on the line if something goes wrong.” She nodded toward Bradford. “At best, you’re paying for my rearguard, and good luck convincing
him
that he works for you. I’ve given you an overview. The play-by-play is provided on a need-to-know basis, and quite frankly, you don’t need to know.”

Gideon’s face reddened, but he said nothing. Munroe gauged him carefully. The provocation wasn’t meant as a way to establish rank or to throw her weight around—she didn’t need to waste words in order to achieve that—she was pushing in order to prove to Logan what she already knew.

Gideon wasn’t here for Hannah. He could claim it as much as he wanted, but she was merely a cover. Sure, getting the girl would be a huge upside, but there was more that he wanted, something that required access to the Havens, and Munroe had a pretty good guess as to what it was. Gideon, just like Logan, and possibly Heidi to a lesser degree, was using the others to get to what he was really after.

When this was all over she could sit back and reminisce over it, but at the moment Gideon was kindling to a fire, a match to gasoline, a danger to the assignment and, by implication, to her.

Munroe placed both hands on the table, shifted forward, and in a near whisper said, “Look, we’re all here to get a little girl back to her mother, right?”

The nods of agreement were reluctant, but there.

“Finding Hannah is why I’m here,” she said, “the
only
reason I am here.” She reached under her chair and retrieved a small envelope. She slid it across the table in Gideon’s direction. “This is me,” she said, “my professional life, facts that you won’t find in any Internet search.” She paused. “I deal in information. This is my area of expertise, and I have the backup manpower to get Hannah out once we find her.” Munroe paused and, with a hard stare in Gideon’s direction, said, “Provided she doesn’t disappear while we’re in the middle of this.”

Gideon took the envelope and stuffed it into a pocket. He stood. “I’ll read it when I have a chance,” he said, “but unless you have something further to add, I’m finished here.”

Munroe placed her hands on the table. Folded them. “It’s all I’ve got,” she said.

Leaving the table, Gideon passed Munroe, brushing close against her as he did. Too close. Her reaction came in a nanosecond of calculation. Instinct before thought. He was still in midstep when Munroe stood, caught him at the wrist, twisted so that she had the advantage of position, and yanked his pinkie back nearly hard enough to break it. It was a movement so sudden that Heidi jumped.

In a voice low enough that only those at the table could hear it, Munroe said, “You really have no fucking idea what you’re dealing with, do you?”

G
ideon’s mouth formed into the shape of an O, and he began to lower as a way to lessen the pain. She bent with him, her mouth following his ear, and she whispered so that only he would hear. “I don’t want to kill you,” she said. “I won’t kill you, but if you continue to fuck with me, you’ll wish I had.”

Munroe’s respect for Gideon had gone up a notch with his attempt at placement—he’d been swift and smooth, and had it been anyone else that he’d tried to mark, he would have surely succeeded. But professional admiration could never stand in the way of the need to assert dominance. Alpha to alpha, Gideon must never forget his place.

Logan and Bradford sat motionless, eyes wide, and it wasn’t until Munroe pried the tracking device from Gideon’s palm and slapped it on the table that the rest of them understood what had taken place in the space of those few seconds.

Gideon’s face was red, his jaw clenched, and Munroe readied for retaliation. Instead, he straightened, turned, and left the café.

There was silence as they watched him go.

“Many of us don’t take well to any form of imposed control,” Heidi said. “Ours was a totalitarian life, and we’re allergic to authority now.” She paused. “He’s a good person,” she added, “just thought you should know.”

“I’m in no position to judge,” Munroe said. “If circumstances were
different we’d probably get along fine, but right now my world revolves around getting to Hannah and defending the process. I do that by taking advantage of opportunities and protecting them from threats.”

Heidi nodded, and then paused in the slow hesitation of someone who wanted to say something but was worried about doing so.

Whatever tumbled inside Heidi’s head, Munroe needed to hear it, and with time at a premium, she needed it fast. In an immediate downshift and instant role change, Munroe dropped her shoulders, became visibly smaller, and followed this with a relaxation of facial muscles, all of it culminating in a wistful smile.

The response was as expected, a reciprocal relaxation on Heidi’s part, and with the easing of tension, Heidi’s struggle ebbed. “I was wondering,” she said, “if on any of the surveillance you’ve done, you’ve come across a guy named Malachi. Well, maybe it’s Malachi, maybe it’s Elijah.”

Munroe said, “Who?”

Heidi reached into her purse and pulled out an aged photo. She slid it across the table. “This guy,” she said. “I don’t know for certain what name he uses now, but the last time I saw him he’d just switched to Elijah.”

The photo showed an unmistakable blond, mustachioed, much younger, guitar-playing version of the Elijah that Munroe had spoken with yesterday at the Haven Ranch.

Munroe studied the photo and after a moment slid it back. “The information is still pooling,” she said. “I haven’t had a chance to go through it all yet.”

She’d given the truth, if not the answer.

Heidi put the photo back and nodded, disappointment written on her face. “He’s my dad,” she said. “I haven’t had any word from him in about six years. We used to be close. In spite of all of the insanity and the times we were kept away from each other, he always found a way to make sure that I knew he was there for me. He was a good dad. That’s probably the most painful thing in all of this—being cut off from my family. Not just my dad, you know. I used to take care of my
brothers and sisters—well, half brothers and sisters—I was more their mom than my stepmom was.”

Heidi paused, looked toward the table, and said, her voice lower this time, “I guess I hoped that maybe in the course of all of this, someone might spot him, might be able to tell me if he was still in Argentina. I’d really like to connect with him again, to see my brothers and sisters again.”

“What about your mom?” Munroe asked.

Heidi shrugged. “It wasn’t the same.”

Munroe understood the ache of separation and, with true compassion, said, “When all is said and done, if they’re here, I’ll let you know.”

Heidi’s return smile was warm and trusting, an almost childish acceptance that contrasted with her extreme intelligence and yet was completely sincere. It was difficult not to like Heidi, and the idea of being able to fulfill such a simple hope as a by-product of finding Hannah was a pleasant one.

“Will they let you in?” Munroe asked.

“Maybe,” Heidi said. “It’s worth a try.”

Munroe turned to Logan and said, “Walk with me for a moment, will you?”

Logan stood and grabbed his coat. To Bradford, Munroe said, “I’ll be back in ten.”

Outside the café, the sky was overcast and the humid chill of yesterday had taken on the aspect of a misty rain just wet enough to coat everything in a layer of teardrops, yet not quite enough for umbrellas.

Munroe took Logan’s hand and led him away from the entrance until they were out of sight, and there, under a storefront awning, she sank back against the wall. He followed suit, and together, in comfortable silence, they watched pedestrian traffic.

Finally she said, “Do you still think Gideon is here to help find Hannah?”