Gone in Seconds

by James, Ed

  She hits the start of their block just as a black sedan pulls up outside their home. She ducks behind a tree and acts like she’s doing a cooldown.

  Agent Dean Lewandowski steps out of the driver side onto the sidewalk, followed by another two agents. They sweep the area, scanning in a circle, then give each other the nod. Lewandowski walks back and opens the door.

  Xander Delgado gets out wearing sweat-stained jogging gear and pats Lewandowski on the arm. “Quick shower. Won’t be long.” He opens the gate and walks up the path to the door, flanked by the other two agents.

  Lewandowski gets back in the car, just like she expected.

  As Xander gets inside the home, Layla reaches into her holster for the Glock. She leans down and starts stretching her calves and hamstrings, ready to pounce.

  A call comes from behind her. “Luisa!” Tiny footsteps and a giant hug. Avery Holliday, staring up at her with those perfect blue eyes. “LUISA!”

  Layla’s heart melts, despite the frost she’s layered over it the last couple of years. “Hey, little girl.” She twists around and slips the Glock in her pants pocket.

  “I’ve missed you, Luisa.”

  Megan Holliday is walking their dog, a sour expression on her face. No surprise given what Layla and Mason had done to her. She holds out a hand. “Avery, come here.”

  Layla had hoped to avoid them, but her luck could only be so good when they were both living with Xander Delgado now.

  Avery skips over to her mom. “Can Luisa come in to play?”

  “I don’t know, honey.”

  “Hi, I’m Luisa Santiago.” Layla smiles at Megan. “I used to help out at Avery’s daycare.”

  “Oh?”

  “I was out for a jog. I just moved to the area. Didn’t know you guys lived here. Thought you lived in Madison Park?”

  “That house had too many bad memories.” Megan frowns at her, like she doesn’t seem to believe the story. “Do you want some coffee?”

  “That sounds good.” Layla gives her a polite smile. “I just need to make a call first?”

  “Sure. I’ll put a pot on.” Megan picks up Avery and takes her into the house.

  There’s a good chance Megan will tell the two Secret Service agents inside.

  Layla needs to act now. Or never.

  She gets out her cell and pretends to sift through her contacts, but all the time she’s scouting out the car. Just Lewandowski in there, alone. Not even looking at her now.

  The street is deserted—Layla can’t see any other cars full of Secret Service agents.

  Here goes.

  Heart in her mouth, she knocks on the window.

  Lewandowski rolls it down. His scowl is hidden by mirror shades but betrayed by his thick eyebrows. “What’s the matter, ma’am?”

  “Was that really Megan Holliday?”

  Lewandowski purses his lips, every inch the consummate professional. “Afraid I can’t comment, ma’am.”

  Layla pulls out the Glock and pushes it against his temple. “I’m getting in, and you’re going to drive off.”

  Forty-Six

  CARTER

  08:34

  * * *

  Carter plowed through the Capitol Hill traffic and hit dial. Same result. Voicemail. “David, it’s still Max Carter. I urgently need you to return my call.” He hung up and pulled out to pass a bus. This area seemed to get busier every year, as fast as it gentrified. Tap bars replacing dive bars. One advertised ax throwing. “I mean, when did ax throwing become a thing?”

  Elisha looked up from her laptop. “Say what?”

  “Over there.” Carter pointed across the road at the ax-throwing place. “Used to be a decent bar, and now…?”

  “Times change, Max.”

  “You getting anywhere?”

  “Kinda.” Elisha was scowling at her computer like it was an ax-throwing venue in her favorite uptown bar. “Trouble is, there aren’t any Kaitlyn Presswoods in Washington, Oregon, or Northern California. Idaho and Montana negative too.”

  “So what does that mean? That Kaitlyn Presswood is an assumed name?” Carter couldn’t buy it. “She passed the background checks. Lownds and Karevoll run a tough process.”

  “That’s why we need to speak to him, I guess.” Elisha looked up with a wry grin. “I’ve been trying to dig up information on the surrogacy agency, but… Well, they don’t seem to want to offer up too much info to the public. I’m struggling to even get an address or phone number.”

  “It’s kind of shady is why.” Carter took a right down the long straight toward the University of Washington. “What’s your take on surrogacy?”

  Elisha grinned at him. “This is a boomer asking a millennial because his attitude isn’t woke enough?”

  Carter laughed. “Come on, I’m not that much older than you.”

  “Older enough, though. Look, it’s maybe not shady, but it is murky. Legalizing it was supposed to protect the surrogate mothers. Financially, sure, but emotionally…? And legally it gives them nothing. Like in this case. What Kaitlyn’s gone through, just for fifty grand and a stipend?”

  “Stipend? Now who sounds old-fashioned”

  “Come on, Max… It’s enough to pay her way through school. And she probably sat down with a sheet of paper and did the sums, but her heart doesn’t work like that.”

  “So now she regrets it and wants to keep the baby?”

  “It fits.”

  “Trouble is, it’s not her baby. Genetically. She brought it to term, gave birth, but that kid is a mix of Landon and Jennifer. Not her.” Carter swallowed hard. And I tell you, they definitely shouldn’t let young kids like her do this. Their brains aren’t fully developed until they’re like twenty-one. Twenty-five for a male. Choosing a college is tough enough, giving yourself a lifetime of debt, but giving birth to a kid you can’t keep?”

  Elisha couldn’t argue with it. “At least they’re not being exploited anymore.”

  “Small beer.” Carter pulled up at the stoplight and grabbed his cell from the holder. He sifted through his contacts and found a number. He hit dial and it rang through the speakers.

  “Lownds and Karevoll, how may I help you?” Male voice, high-pitched. Not David Karevoll, not even him putting on a stupid voice.

  “Special Agent Max Carter, FBI. Been trying to call David Karevoll. Can you see if he’s there?”

  “Uh, sure.” A pause. “He just got back. Putting you through now.”

  A click, and distant electronic music pulsed out of the speaker.

  “Can’t get enough of me, huh, Max?”

  Just the sound of his voice was enough to set Carter’s teeth on edge. “You get any of my voicemails?”

  “Just got in and listened. So, Kaitlyn Presswood, huh? You guys must be drawing a blank if you’re calling me.”

  “What have you got on her?”

  “Max, Max, Max. Last I checked, this was a free country. I can’t just give out any information to the government like that.”

  “You ran a deep background on her.”

  “And I’m just going to dig out the file and pass it to you?”

  “We believe she took Ky Bartlett.” Carter played it like it was a mistake, but David Karevoll was a man who thrived on covert information. “You’ve got a habit of getting close to child abductors.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Layla al-Yasin worked for you.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “We know she’s been helping Kaitlyn.”

  “And why do you think she’s got anything to do with me?”

  “David, another of your voicemails should be Landon Bartlett clearing the release of any information.”

  “Okay. Well. I didn’t get much on her. Freshman at University of Washington. Studying biotech. Stayed on campus. Good grades. No flags came back on her background.”

  “You got a cell phone number for her?”

  “Lemme text it through. On one condition.�
� There it was again. The Karevoll quid pro quo. Always grifting away at something. “You want me to do some digging, it’s going to cost you.”

  “Go on.”

  “You could get Lori to return my calls.”

  “Can’t promise anything. Just pass on what you know about Kaitlyn Presswood. Thanks for your help, David.” Carter killed the call and kept on driving. He didn’t have a particular destination. “That’s a face I’d never tire of hitting with a baseball bat.”

  “He’s not that bad, is he?”

  “Yeah, but he’s not that good.”

  “What’s his deal with Lori?”

  “Lori Alves used to be Lori Karevoll.”

  “Oh.”

  “They’re on decent terms since their divorce, but…” Carter didn’t want to delve too far into somebody else’s trauma. He took another turn and his cell chimed with a text.

  “That worked. He gave us a cell number.” Elisha took the number and called someone on speaker. “Tyler, need you to run a number for me.”

  “You’ve got your laptop with you, right?”

  “I do, but you’re so much better at that sort of thing than I am.”

  “Fine, but have you got eyes on Carter?”

  “Peterson, you’re on with me and Elisha.”

  “Sir, I’ve just received a sighting of Layla al-Yasin.”

  * * *

  08:38

  Carter pulled off the freeway and powered down toward the coast, heading deep into Bellevue. “Delgado’s been dipping his toes into Ky’s disappearance.” He spun the wheel right onto their destination street and shot along the road, siren blaring. “I thought it was probably just him playing to the camera crews. Can’t put a price on that kind of news coverage in an election cycle. What if it’s something else?”

  “Is it?”

  Carter didn’t have anything.

  The house was a mid-century wooden thing on the right. Set back from the road, the large front yard was way bigger than a single guy needed. White picket fence. Real America and all that. Selling an image is how you get elected.

  A pair of black sedans sat on the street. Secret Service agents investigating the disappearance of one of their own. Agent Dean Lewandowski.

  It didn’t make any sense to take his security. Was Layla hunting down people who worked with Holliday? Surely you’d aim for people in his administration first.

  Carter pulled up out front and got out first.

  “I’ll speak to these guys, you hit the house.” Elisha walked off, smiling.

  Two Secret Service agents blocked Carter’s passage up to the house.

  Carter walked up, badge held out. “FBI.”

  The older-looking one took a look, then stepped back with narrowed eyes. “Why are the FBI here?”

  “Two reasons. Layla al-Yasin is on our most-wanted list, and she’s involved in an active child-abduction case.”

  “You’re good.”

  “Thanks.” Carter set off again and opened the gate with a sharp squeal. He knocked on the door and stood back.

  The door flew open and someone stood there who Carter didn’t expect to see. Megan Holliday, hair dyed mid-blonde, and about ten pounds lighter than the last time he’d seen her. “Oh.”

  “Mrs. Holliday, I’m—”

  “It’s Philips now. Megan Philips. I’m using my maiden name. My husband’s death last year was…” She gave a frosty smile. “Well.”

  “Is Congressman Delgado still here?”

  “He’s been taken to his office for security reasons.”

  Carter raised his eyebrows. “How you doing, Megan?”

  “Trying to move on with my life, trying to be a good mother to Avery. Xander and I, we’re engaged.”

  “Congratulations.” Carter’s smile seemed to have enough warmth for her to soften a bit. “Now, I need to know if it was definitely her.”

  “Absolutely. I’d know that face anywhere. She worked with the man who abducted my kids. She put me through—”

  “Mommy!” Avery raced in to hug her mother around her legs. Small, dark-haired, and infected with the same flavor of mischief as Kirsty. She looked up at them, all coy and shy, but interested. “Who are these people, Mommy?”

  “They’re here to help us catch that bad woman, Avery.”

  “Mommy, Luisa’s not bad. I told you!”

  “She’s not called—”

  “And you invited her in for coffee!”

  Megan sighed, deep and loud. “Her name isn’t Luisa and she’s a bad person, Avery. Now, why don’t you go get yourself a cookie and watch some TV. Mommy needs to speak to these people.”

  “O-kay.” Avery swung her pigtails from side to side then dashed off inside.

  Megan rubbed at her temples. “Luisa is the name Layla al-Yasin used when she took my daughter last year.” She gasped. “After you failed to rescue her and her brother.”

  Carter nodded along with her. “And I accept full responsibility, ma’am.”

  That seemed to disarm her. Her mouth hung open.

  “What did she mean about coffee?”

  “I invited Layla in to buy time. There were two Secret Service agents downstairs while Xander took a shower. When they went outside, she’d abducted Dean. His car was gone.”

  “You mean Agent Lewandowski, right?” Carter waited for the nod. “He used to be in your husband’s detail, right?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “He didn’t just drive off?”

  “Layla al-Yasin was here, right outside my home. You put two and two together.” Megan led him down the path out onto the street and pointed at a space now filled with a black sedan. “She was right here.” She waved back down the street. “Avery and I had been out with Dory—she’s our labradoodle—then Avery ran off and when I caught up she was speaking to this woman. It was definitely Layla al-Yasin.”

  “Okay.” Carter tried to play it through, but he couldn’t figure it out.

  Elisha charged over and leaned in to Carter. “They’ve got a trace on Lewandowski’s car.”

  * * *

  08:41

  “There!” Elisha pointed to the right. Two blocks away from Megan’s new home with Delgado, a black sedan sat at the side of the road.

  Four more identical sedans sat gleaming in the sun, a pair of gun-toting agents getting out of each one, earpieces wired into their jackets.

  Carter pulled in and jumped out onto the street, next to a small park. Kids screamed as they tore down a slide. No sign of anyone lurking around. He kept his distance.

  Elisha’s cell rang and she stepped away to answer it.

  The agent from the house was peering inside the vehicle, just an empty service car now. “My car wasn’t that clean when I bought it brand-new.” He tried the door and it was unlocked. He reached inside, his gloved fingers checking through the vehicle.

  Nothing. No sign the car had even been driven, let alone stolen with a Secret Service agent inside. No sign of Agent Lewandowski. No blood trails, no ransom notes.

  A colleague popped the trunk and shrugged. “The trunk’s empty. Not even a jack or a tire iron.” He spotted Carter and thumbed behind them. “Max, this is a Secret Service case. You need to get back.”

  Carter knew he was right, but he didn’t want to let Layla al-Yasin win again.

  Elisha grabbed him and walked him back to their Suburban. “I know you want to keep searching, Max, but the trail dies here. We need to find Ky Bartlett and Kaitlyn Presswood. This isn’t our wheelhouse.”

  Her use of jargon made him smile. It tore him from his obsession.

  “Leave it to the experts; let’s focus on what we’re good at.” A grin hit her face. “Tyler just called me back. Kaitlyn cell phone’s been off a couple days. And the address on file is the same as her driver’s license. The Bartletts’ home.”

  “Great.”

  “But…” Her grin widened. “Last location was University of Washington Campus, yesterday morning.”

&nbs
p; Carter tried to play it through, but nothing came up. “You think she’s really going to take the baby to a college campus?”

  “One way to find out.”

  Forty-Seven

  KAITLYN

  08:45

  Ky just won’t stop screaming. No matter what I do, he just won’t stop. I lift up my top again, but he doesn’t latch on. Just keeps screaming. Won’t take his pacifier. And my migraine isn’t getting any better.

  Duke is sitting there like he wants to jump in and help, but he looks so small, so sick.

  So I pull my top back down then get up and walk around the kitchen, jiggling Ky in my arms. Seems to make a little bit of difference—quiets him down enough to take his pacifier.

  Mom hurries in lugging a big medical bag. “Duke, how many times have I told you to clean your closet? It’s a goddamn disgrace.”

  “Got other things on my mind, Beverley.” Duke reaches out a bony hand for me, the skin thin like paper. “Can I have a look at him?”

  I pass Ky over. “Is it a bug?”

  Duke takes him in his arms. “Okay, let’s see what’s wrong with him. I’m worried it—” Duke shuts up.

  My blood starts burning in my veins. “What’s wrong?”

  “Give me a few seconds, okay?” Duke rests Ky on the kitchen table and keeps sticking his stethoscope to Ky’s chest, muttering something to himself like he’s fixing up my old bike or Mom’s car.

  But I can’t shift my focus from my son. I can’t help him, and Duke can’t. And what am I doing? What have I done?

  “Kaitlyn?” Duke’s looking up at me, seeming a little bit more annoyed than before. Maybe even worried. Scared.

  Enough to make my heart flutter again. “What’s up?”