by James, Ed
“Who?”
Carter’s back-up finally arrived, two local cruisers flying into the parking lot. “Need you to get out of the car, sir.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to take you into custody.”
“Son, I’m not a well man. Need my oxygen tank.”
“What?”
“I have lung cancer. Stage four. It’s spread to my lymph nodes, my liver. I’ve got weeks, at most.”
“So what are you doing out driving?”
Duke didn’t have an answer for that.
Carter grabbed Duke’s sleeve and pulled him to his feet, then folded his arms back. He let the local cops in then let go, holstering his gun. “Take him away.” Across the foaming water, the departing ferry set off across the Sound. Didn’t take a genius to work out what Duke had been doing.
A seasoned old beat cop helped Duke along, carrying him like he was a small child.
Carter walked lockstep with them. “Mr. Stretton, is Kaitlyn on the ferry?”
But Duke just shook his head. Then he stumbled over, landing on his knees and going down like a ton of rocks.
Carter played it all through. Duke at the ferry terminal. Kaitlyn missing. Fifty-minute crossing, straight in to downtown. She had to be on it, returning to Seattle, the place she’d run from, the last place they’d expect. While they were on this side of the Sound, following her trail through gas stations and Walmarts and her parents’ home, she’d go somewhere else. Even without crossing either border, it was still real easy to lose someone in America.
No other way to look at it—Kaitlyn was becoming another Layla al-Yasin.
His cell rang. Elisha. He answered it. “What’s up?”
“Max, someone just called in a sighting of a young woman with a babe in arms on the ferry.”
Fifty-Six
LAYLA
11:36
“Listen to me.” Lewandowski has the ax against her throat. “I took Faraj from Frank, but I didn’t kill him.”
“You’re lying.”
“It’s the truth.”
Layla lashes out with her free elbow and catches his ribs. Something thuds onto the floor. Another strike with the opposite side and she feels his jaw compact. He squeals and something else falls hard to the floor.
Layla swivels around.
Lewandowski lies on the concrete floor, groaning, his shirt open wide, a couple of buttons popped. His shaved chest is slicked with sweat.
She picks up the ax and presses it against his heart. “Tell me what happened to my son.”
“Your kid…” He coughs. “He’s still alive.”
“Where?”
“Zangiev.” Another cough and his eyes close.
She checks his pulse, but he’s still alive.
And it all hits her like a bomb to a bunker.
Whatever people think of her husband—what he did, what he represented—they killed a boy to get at him. They’d taken her life from her, killed her, just left her breathing, left her suffering.
She started this whole thing with her heart as frozen as Mason’s. Their only objective was learning the truth. Then her focus became taking revenge on the men who’d killed her family.
But now…
If they hadn’t killed Faraj, that means he’s still out there. Somewhere. Meaning she has to hope again. A way through this hell, some chink of light at the end. A different mission, but all of her training comes down to one thing now—finding her son, alive.
Is he telling the truth? She owes it to Faraj to find out.
Zangiev. She’s heard the name, knows he’s bad news.
She hits dial and puts the burner cell to her ears. It rings and rings.
He answers it. Out of breath, panicky almost. “Not a good time. Hey, do you still have a tracker on my friend?”
“I told you, I’m off the clock on that now.”
“I’ll pay whatever you need.”
“Chase, I need to speak to Zangiev.”
“No idea who that is. Have you still got the tracker?”
“No. I need to—”
Click. He’s already hung up.
Yesterday in the courthouse, seeing Mason… someone who’d sacrificed so much to help her, someone she wanted to show support to, to thank, but there’d been a distance between them. He’d crossed the line, murdering two men who’d been responsible for his son’s death. One might’ve been accidental, but the other was very deliberate.
All this time, all the things she’d done, the places she’d been, the horrors she’d witnessed, she hadn’t crossed the line. And she was going to.
Dean Lewandowski, the man who tortured her son, who was in her husband’s kill squad, who’d admitted that useless piece of trash was dead. But now she could kill him, become the same as Mason. A murderer.
She hefts the ax in her hands.
Fifty-Seven
CARTER
11:45
The ferry trundled off, now almost over the horizon and out of sight. Carter hopped up the terminal steps three at a time.
Elisha was inside, waving at him, eyes wide. “Max!” She set off inside the terminal.
Carter caught the door as it was halfway through closing.
Elisha was over by the ticket kiosk. She caught the attention of the ticket clerk with her badge. “Ma’am, I need to ask some urgent questions.”
The clerk seemed the kind to be unruffled by anything in her daily life, from handing out tickets to dealing with drunks screaming abuse at her. But the FBI turning up seemed to have rattled her. “How can I help you?”
Elisha held out her service cell phone. “Do you recognize this woman?”
The clerk looked at it for a few seconds, her face all twisted up. Then she nodded. “Had a baby with her? Girl, I think. Wearing a striped hoodie. Bought a ticket to Seattle.”
Carter felt a strange mix of relief and an aching at the pit of his gut. He needed to catch her and, no matter how close he was to achieving that, it could always go south. “Keep her there.” He took out his cell and called it in. “I need a chopper. Now.”
* * *
12:21
Across the Puget Sound, Carter couldn’t see the ferry down below in the foaming water, through the hissing rain. The helicopter blades were almost deafening, even through his hardcore ear defenders.
His cell blasted out and he answered it through the headset. “Carter.”
“Sir, it’s Tyler Peterson. Just to let you know that Duke Stretton arrived at the University of Washington. The paramedics stabilized him in the helicopter, but the prognosis is real bad.”
“Thanks for letting me know. Reckon we’ll be able to speak to him soon?”
“I’ll ask, but it’s not likely.”
“Thanks.” Carter looked out again. There, the ferry had docked at Seattle. Carter still hoped against hope that Kaitlyn was onboard. “The ferry’s arrived. Are you there yet?”
“Yes, sir. I’m at the terminal now. The port attendant’s team are searching the ferry right now and helping us check the passengers. Anyone meeting her description is going to be set aside at the other end. Nobody’s getting into Seattle without my say-so.”
“Good work. I’ll see you in a few.”
The chopper tore off across land now, homing in on the ferry terminal from the north, aiming for the large H on the roof. It touched down with a thunk that went right through him.
Carter tore off his headphones and jumped out. He raced down the staircase then pushed through the door out into the cold morning rain.
The ferry had docked, but his agents held up the hundred or so foot passengers. A bunch of cars sat idling, unable to trundle off into traffic.
Tyler walked over to him, a clipboard stuffed under his right arm, tugging at his half-ear. He didn’t have the air of the triumphant hero, more the quarterback who’d been sacked in the last minute instead of throwing a Hail Mary into the end zone. “I’ve checked foot passengers and all the cars, sir. Nobody
matching her description coming off the ferry.”
“Is she still on board?”
“The port attendant has a team of guys scouring the boat, sir, but it seems clean.”
No Kaitlyn Presswood. No Ky Bartlett.
The ferry wasn’t yet loading up with new passengers, and the line was getting restless. “What about the security video? I need to know if she was onboard. ASAP.”
“Sir.” Tyler flipped out his laptop and dropped some sheets of paper. “Goddamn it.”
“Do your job, Peterson!” Carter raced around, grabbing the stray pages. He held them out, grubby and rain-soaked.
Tyler looked up from his laptop. “She definitely got on at that end, sir. This is the Bremerton end about an hour ago.” He showed Carter the screen, a fish-eyed view across the terminal. Kaitlyn Presswood walked up the gangplank toward the boat. Blonde-haired, carrying a baby in a papoose. Tyler hit a key and the video progressed at three or four times normal, and Kaitlyn Presswood carried Ky Bartlett on board the ferry.
“Let me see if I can pull up something inside. Here we go.”
Carter squinted at the screen. It was terrible quality, grainy and smudged. Whatever money the Washington State Ferries spent every year, it was clearly not on their security system. But Kaitlyn sat at a table, one with a jigsaw set. Stared at a guy next to her. It matched the images they had of her, even the driver’s license. “Sure looks like her.”
There was someone next to her, just out of the shot, touching her shoulder. Wearing a suit, but it was hard to tell if they were together or it was some random guy.
“Who’s that with her?”
“Could be a crew member?”
“Any better images of him?”
“Not right now, sir. I’ll need to check with the port attendant.” Tyler took the sheets from Carter. “The problem is, I can’t find any obvious suspects getting off and joining the line.”
Carter noticed Nguyen walking over. “So she’s just disappeared?”
“We’re in the process of speaking to everyone, foot and car, but it’s not looking good. Sorry. I mean, I’ll go through the hours of video, but it’s going to take time.”
“I know that.” Carter felt a burning in his gut. “If she got on, she’s got to either still be on the ferry or she’s here in the line, right?”
“Correct.”
Carter scanned the crowd outside. A big guy was getting increasingly irate at the hold-up. No blonde heads immediately obvious, not that it wasn’t within the realms of possibility for someone to change their appearance during a ferry trip.
He grabbed Tyler’s laptop and hit play, staring hard at the screen as the noise engulfed him.
And there she was in black and white. Kaitlyn Presswood, sidling off the gangplank, back into the ferry terminal. Carrying Ky.
Carter tapped the screen. “Kaitlyn got off the goddamn ferry at the Bremerton side.”
Tyler grabbed it and did his own analysis.
Carter stared back across the sound to Bainbridge Island. Couldn’t even see Bremerton from here.
He’d lost her again, assumed she was on the ferry. That he’d find her.
Where was she? Heading out to the wilds of the Pacific coast? Losing herself and her kid in logging country, that part of rural Washington that felt a million miles from the city.
He’d lost Kaitlyn. Another child abductor slipping through his grip. Another failure.
Fifty-Eight
CHASE
12:48
The car in front was driven by an absolute moron. The stupid jerk-off kept stalling it. A German car, dirty diesel fumes, and he kept stalling it. How do you stall a diesel?
Chase tried to keep his breathing level, but he had limits.
Seattle climbed above them, the gleaming spires like some future city from a comic-book movie, now spreading down to the shoreline and over the water.
He sipped bitter coffee. Tasted like it’d been through the drip machine a couple times, but he didn’t mind. He let out a deep breath and looked at Kaitlyn in the back seat.
She was leaning her head against the cold window. Ky was in a car seat next to her, sleeping. Then he jolted awake and started screaming.
“Hey, little guy.” Kaitlyn reached over and unhooked him from his car seat.
Chase knew at the time when they pulled into the Walmart to pick it up that they were taking a risk, but Ky needed a seat. Legally, if nothing else.
Kaitlyn pecked Ky on the head, all natural, a clear bond between them as she put the pacifier between his lips.
Chase knew how much Kaitlyn would do for him, but it was the softer things that sometimes counted more. At least sometimes.
She glanced at him, then frowned. “What?”
“Nothing.”
She patted her head. “Is there something weird with my hair?”
“No, it’s fine.”
“Are you expecting me to thank you for saving me back there?”
“You shouldn’t need to be saved, Kaitlyn. You shouldn’t have taken him.”
“How can I just give him up?”
“You have to.”
Her eyebrows twitched. “Duke’s plan was so stupid. On a ferry, we only had one exit. We should’ve driven. Hit the coast, double around north or south. So stupid.”
“You’re not stupid, Kaitlyn. You’re desperate and vulnerable. But you have to return Ky. That’s non-negotiable. After that, I’ll help you. But a deal’s a deal.”
Kaitlyn turned away. “I don’t know if I can.”
“You need to, Kaitlyn. You know that. I’ve lied for you. Duke has too, your mom as well. This has to end, now.”
Kaitlyn sat back and held Ky while they idled there. To anyone else, she was like a mom with her baby. But that lie was getting weaker with each telling. “You know, being back home, after all that’s happened to me, I thought I’d found my place in the world. Never even thought about being a mom. That was something for my thirties. But now he’s here… I shouldn’t have gotten involved with Landon and Jennifer in the first place. Definitely shouldn’t have signed Ky over like that. Without any access? What was I thinking?”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You were desperate, and in a bad situation. Okay? The reason they kept this whole business illegal for so long is because it exploited desperate young women like you. Keeping it underground was to their advantage.”
“But now that it’s aboveground, I have no rights. Once you’ve signed the deal, that’s it.” Ky started gurgling and Kaitlyn reached down to tickle his chin. “You get your fee, but that’s it. You can’t see the kid. A lump sum for nine months of your life, but it comes at such a huge cost.” She supported his head. “I can’t do this.”
“It’s much better to return him than get caught and face twenty years inside.”
“You really think I can get away? You think I can stay free?”
Chase tried his best grin, the kind that’d melt the heart of a venture capital firm’s CEO, or a bartender who wouldn’t serve another martini to a drunk. An Amber Alert was out for them, and here they were out in public. Of course he wasn’t sure, and he needed to tell her. “I have no idea if you’re going to be okay, but whatever happens, I will help you. As long as your parents back up your story, then there’s a chance.”
“Right now, I have him.”
“Kaitlyn, you shouldn’t have taken him.” Chase saw the pain in her eyes.
The jackass in front did a wheel spin as he shot off, almost smashed into a Chevy on the road.
The traffic picked up and set off again.
“Buckle him up, please.” Chase waited for her to secure Ky before he pulled off. He hung a left onto the big road through Capitol Hill. Student area.
Kaitlyn was back to leaning against the glass. “I used to hang out here and have fun. Seems like so long ago now.”
His burner thrummed in his pocket. He got it out and peeked at it. Layla’s number, again. He didn’t see any strange movem
ents, any telltale spies. “Gotta take this call. You okay?”
Kaitlyn stared at him, stern-faced.
He answered and cradled the burner between his shoulder and his ear. “What’s up?”
“Chase, where can I find Zangiev?”
“Why do you think I know him?”
“I know you’ve done business with him.”
“What have you gotten yourself into?”
“Just tell me.”
“Pravda hotel. Upstairs. First corridor on the right.”
“Thanks.” Layla hung up.
Chase knew he needed to toss the burner, but he still needed to be able to call her.
Kaitlyn was sitting forward now. “That was Layla, right?”
“Right.”
“You paid for her to protect me, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“Why, Chase?”
“What, why help you?”
“Yeah. You barely know me.”
Other than “it’s the right thing,” Chase didn’t have much to offer. He could give her the truth, but why break the habit of a lifetime? “I thought she might be able to help you. She’s done this for a while.”
“Who is she?”
“A friend. We met at a grief group. She’d lost her son.” Glass smashed in Chase’s mind’s eye. Screams tore out. “I lost two kids in a car crash. Lost my whole life. I’d only recently came to terms with my grief, and that’s when I met her.”
“Must’ve been tough.”
“You have no idea.”
“I didn’t know she was back in the city until she called me yesterday morning, then I asked her to help you out.”
“She said I’m the same as her. What does she mean by that?”
“You remember that senator whose kids went missing last year?”
“Vaguely. Didn’t he die?”
“Right. She was involved in that. She—”
“She kidnapped those kids?”