Running Strong

by Christy Reece

  Carrying his equipment, he went about clearing the gravesites of overgrown weeds. He threw away dead flowers left by grieving loved ones and gently swept away dirt and moss that obscured names and epitaphs from the headstones. This was his ninth visit in as many days. The thought that he would once again leave empty-handed hounded his every step.

  It was coming on dusk now, and the storm clouds rolling in from the east made it even darker. Gloom was settling, turning the headstones into dark, indistinct forms. The larger ones loomed over him like giants. The thunder rumbling in the distance warned of the impending storm.

  The surroundings were eerie and creepy, reminiscent of a horror movie. He felt no fear. The dead couldn’t hurt him. Ghosts and goblins and things that go bump in the night were figments of an overactive imagination. Real monsters roamed among the living. Evil people with ulterior motives and no consciences preyed on the vulnerable and the innocent.

  He usually started his work about three rows from his ultimate destination, and while he wanted to get to that one particular grave with almost manic intensity, he forced himself to do the job. No one looking would ever suspect him of being anything other than a meticulous and competent employee hired to maintain the cemetery. A part of him actually found peace in his efforts. He hoped that when family members visited, they were comforted that the final resting place for their loved ones was being cared for so diligently. No one need know that he was never paid for the work he performed or that he’d never been hired to do this job.

  An hour later, he finally reached his destination. His breath coming in short spurts had nothing to do with his labors and everything to do with the anticipation of what he might find. What if there was nothing there once again? What if she’d told someone? What if she didn’t keep her word? Those questions hounded him every time he came.

  He pushed aside the panic. Before he searched the hiding place, his gaze made a casual sweep around the cemetery. He saw no one. Saying a prayer that there would be something for him this time, he pulled the loose brick from the crumbling tombstone and searched. His fingers touched something solid, and relief made him dizzy. Hanging on to the headstone with one hand, he pulled the treasure out with the other. A larger envelope than he had expected. Its heaviness gave an additional concern.

  There was no point in worrying and speculating. He couldn’t open the package here. He would need to be in his room, behind closed doors.

  Wrapping his arms around himself, he turned away from the headstone. The sound of gravel crunching beneath his feet barely penetrated his consciousness. The urgency to get to his vehicle and his hideaway was almost more than he could bear.

  As he loaded his tools in the trunk, he stayed alert, hyperaware of his surroundings. He might feel as though thousands of bees were inside him, urging him to flee, but he couldn’t break his routine. If anyone recognized him, they would kill him.

  Ten miles from the cemetery, he pulled into the small motel parking lot and drove to the back of the building. He had paid cash for the room and given a fake name. Even though he wanted to go inside and examine every morsel of information in the packet, he would allow himself only a brief review. When he got back to his apartment, he’d pore over everything. But for now, he needed to know what the packet held.

  Assured he was alone, he grabbed the envelope, stepped out of the car, and took a second for another sweeping gaze around. An icy, cold wind whipped out of the north, causing the rickety motel sign to swing back and forth, creating an eerie squeaking noise. No sane person was about. He laughed at the irony of the thought, the sound hollow and humorless.

  Hurrying to the motel door, he slid in the keycard. The light indicator clicked green, and he pushed the door open and closed it quickly behind him. Locks secured, he dashed to the small desk in the corner.

  Dumping the contents of the envelope onto the desk, he pulled the note from the small stack and read:

  Sorry for the delay. He had a visitor. Thought you would want to see.

  Taking his eyes from the words on the page, he glanced down at the desk. A few photographs lay on the surface. His heart lurched in his chest, and it took all his willpower not to sit down and exam each one, savoring them. His eyes shifted to something else that had fallen from the envelope. A USB drive. What could be on it? Had something happened? Who was the visitor?

  Grabbing his laptop from beneath the mattress of the bed, he opened it and inserted the drive. His heart pounding for whatever he was about to see, he clicked the icon. It was a recording. The room was a large, masculine office. The colors muted and austere, the room was easily identifiable as the home office of Daniel Fletcher. The older man sat at his desk, seemingly working.

  A knock sounded, and Daniel called out, “Enter.”

  A tall, well-built man walked inside and closed the door behind him. Inside the motel room, a small cry escaped the young man’s lips. He stopped breathing as myriad emotions swirled within him. Tears he didn’t know he could still shed flowed down his face.

  It took several moments to regain his composure enough to realize he’d missed half the conversation between the two men. Drawing in a breath, he restarted the recording and watched it from the beginning.

  Alarm mounted with every word he heard, and fury followed. The recording lasted about ten minutes, and with every moment that passed, the anger increased. The son of a bitch. How dare he!

  Slamming the laptop shut, he slid it into the small duffle bag holding his clothes. Grabbing the envelope and the bag, he marched to the door.

  He knew what he had to do. It had been inevitable, but these new circumstances made it more imperative than ever. The consequences he would face were unavoidable as well. That wouldn’t stop him.

  As he closed the door behind him, a hideous thought whirled around in his head, making his worry increase a thousandfold. After coming to see Daniel Fletcher, Raphael had no idea that he, too, was now marked for death.

  Chapter Nine

  St. Mary’s Hospital

  Raphael leaned against the back wall and waited for the meeting to start. Fully in charge, Noah stood at the front of the borrowed conference room. Except for the bruises on his forehead and both jaws, his face was colorless. Raphael knew that sheer will alone kept him on his feet. Just because the hospital had refused to release their patient didn’t mean they could keep him from doing what needed to be done.

  The conference table had been removed, and though the room was a good size, it was still standing room only. Every available operative wanted in on this mission. The mood was a hundred degrees past grim. Bishop and Maddox had called from the prison in Nebraska, where they had gone to interview Reddington. They had arrived to learn that Reddington had been released from prison. The day after Noah’s family was taken.

  How the hell a man serving life in prison without possibility of parole could be released was not yet clear. Everyone involved pointed a finger at someone else. Bottom line was Stanford Reddington was loose somewhere, and he had Noah’s family.

  It had been three days since Reddington had called. Three days and no demands. The theory that Reddington wanted to exchange his family for Noah’s was becoming less likely. No one had yet spoken of another reason for the abductions, but fear hung in the air like a bad stench. Could it be that Reddington would disappear completely and never return Noah’s family to him?

  The very idea of such a horrific event was almost too terrible to contemplate, but it was their job. Every person at LCR was determined that this would not be the outcome.

  Giselle’s death still hovered like a thick, dark cloud over Raphael’s consciousness, and he had been only partially successful in shoving back his grief. As fiercely as he wanted to know what had happened, nothing could be done about it right now. His total focus had to be on this mission. After that, he swore, he would dig all the way to hell to find the answers.

  Noah had been almost as disturbed as Raphael on learning about Giselle. LCR prided itself on keep
ing tabs on the people they rescued. Once Giselle and her family had gone into WITSEC, their information line had been cut off. Still, Raphael knew Noah felt a heavy responsibility. He would want to know all the details and facts, too.

  But first they would find Samara and the kids.

  “Here’s what we know,” Noah said. “Until a few days ago, Reddington was still in prison. He had no visitors the entire time of his incarceration. Not even Lancelot Reddington, the man’s oldest son, went to see him.”

  “Then how did he pull this off?” Raphael asked.

  Justin Kelly shrugged. “Getting a cellphone in prison isn’t difficult.”

  “True,” Raphael said, “but putting something of this magnitude together took some major planning. The number of people alone would make coordination a must.”

  “We’ve always figured he has money stashed that no one knew about,” Noah said.

  “Even if Lance didn’t visit his father in prison, I don’t see Reddington doing this without his son’s involvement,” Dylan said. “Lance is too much like his old man not to want to be in on it.”

  “I agree,” Raphael said. “But he’s also lazy. Lance was always more about the money than doing any actual work. There’s no way he could coordinate this on his own. Nor is he intelligent enough. ”

  “It’s not Lance,” Angela said. “Unless he has a doppelganger.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She looked up from the iPad she was holding. “According to one of my most reliable sources, Lancelot Reddington has been in jail in Frankfurt, Germany, for almost six months.”

  “For what?” Dylan asked.

  “Bar fight. Almost killed a man. I can dig some more, but it’s doubtful he could have helped his father pull this off while he’s incarcerated himself.”

  “I agree,” Raphael said.

  “So we know who isn’t involved,” Justin said. “And we know Reddington’s getting help from someone. Question is, what’s Reddington’s endgame? What does he want from you, McCall?”

  The room went quiet. That was everyone’s biggest question. How far was the bastard willing to go to get his revenge?

  “We’re going to work toward the idea that he’s going to want to negotiate a trade. His family for mine. If it’s otherwise…” Noah broke off, swallowed audibly. The room went silent. No one could bear to comprehend any other outcome.

  No. Raphael refused to believe taking McCall’s family and disappearing was the man’s endgame. He knew Stanford Reddington better than anyone. “It’s got to be about seeing his family again. The man’s too devious to want things to end quickly. If he had wanted that, he could have easily taken out your entire family without all the extra work. He’s going to want something for his trouble.”

  The cellphone lying on the table in front of Noah chimed. Grabbing it, he turned his back to the room, walked to a corner, listened intently to the caller.

  The longer Noah stayed on the call, the grimmer everyone’s expressions became. Anxiety and anger were living entities inside the room. LCR operatives were hard-core, tough as nails—the most disciplined and focused people Raphael had ever known. They didn’t flinch or overreact, and their success rate was off-the-charts crazy-good because of how they did their jobs. But this was different… way different. This was personal. There wasn’t a person in the room who didn’t look upon McCall’s family as their own.

  Noah ended his call and turned around. Raphael hadn’t believed his face could get any paler or any grimmer.

  “Noah? What’s happened?” Riley asked.

  “Reddington is dying. Has only a few months to live.”

  “So that means that either he’s wanting to see his family one last time and is planning an exchange. Or—” Eden broke off, obviously not wanting to say the words everyone was thinking.

  McCall finished for her, “Or he has nothing to lose and is planning to kill them as his last evil act.”

  ***

  His blond head covered with a Washington Nationals baseball cap, slender body hidden beneath a bulky army-green jacket, the young man shuffled into the hospital. A bouquet of flowers in his hand, he walked along with five other people as if he were part of the crowd. He had waited outside the hospital a few minutes until he saw a larger group getting ready to enter and had joined them.

  Once inside, the group of people disbursed in several directions. He had thought about coming in last night when there were fewer people around, but changed his mind. Security would be tight. Noah McCall wasn’t a celebrity, but he would no doubt have plenty of operatives on watch. Better to try to blend in with others who were visiting relatives and friends.

  Instead, he’d used his time last night to study the hospital. The noncritical patients were located on floors six and seven. He recalled from the recording of the meeting with Daniel Fletcher that Raphael had mentioned McCall’s injuries as serious but not life-threatening. A regular patient would likely stay on either of those floors. But Noah McCall wasn’t a regular patient. He had enemies. With so many politicians in this area, the odds were good that there was another floor for patients who needed extra privacy and protection. After looking at the blueprints and websites last night, he had determined that was the eighth floor. If he were wrong, he would search every nook and cranny of the hospital, but he would start on the eighth floor.

  He was unarmed and felt naked without at least one weapon. If he was caught, it would be a lot easier to explain he was lost if he wasn’t carrying. He had learned, though, that in a pinch the most innocuous items could be used to defend oneself. He vowed never to be caught off guard again.

  The elevator was already half full when he and a few others stepped inside. Noting that the button for the sixth floor was already highlighted, he placed himself in the center of the group, toward the back. He would get out on the sixth floor and take the stairs to the eighth.

  No one paid attention to him. He had gotten used to being ignored. Most people were so caught up in their own worries and problems, it was easy to disappear, blend into the background. A helpful talent, considering he was likely being hunted all over the world.

  The elevator dinged and then opened. Several people disembarked, and he slid out right along with them. Spotting the stairway door a few yards away, he headed toward it. Two flights later, he was at the eighth floor. It might take him a few minutes to determine the location of Noah McCall’s room, but he’d find it. There was no other option.

  His hand touched the door handle, and he clenched his fist when he noticed the trembling. He’d been doing so well, but now it was all hitting him. There would be no going back after this.

  Reminding himself how far he’d come, what he had overcome, and what he was working to achieve, he took one last shaky breath and opened the door to the eighth floor.

  ***

  Raphael paced up and down the small area of the hospital room. While others were running down leads and digging deep for information, he and Dylan had stayed back to talk with Noah. The three of them knew more about Reddington than anyone outside of law enforcement.

  “Okay, until we know different, we’re going with the scenario that he’ll want a trade. You think he’s going to want more than that?” Dylan asked.

  “Yeah, he’ll want my blood. And that of anyone else who gets in the way. We’ll play it his way for right now, but if he’s hurt Mara or one of my kids?” Noah shook his head. “All bets are off. The bastard is going down.”

  “Hurting them just doesn’t fit him,” Raphael said. “Women and children are nothing but a means to an end to Reddington. He’s going to ask for an exchange. He’ll never see what we’ve got planned coming.”

  “Eden and Jordan have already put together a list of operatives who could pass as his family. Amelia is about sixteen, and Eric is around eleven. There’s no way to know if he knows about Giselle, so we’ll have to be ready to make an adjustment.”

  Dylan turned to Raphael. “I was sorry to hear about Giselle.
”

  A deep stab went through his heart. Giving Dylan a nod of thanks, he returned his focus to Noah. “You don’t think Sarah would help if we found a way to contact her?”

  A flash of fire flared in McCall’s eyes. “Using a victim goes against everything LCR stands for. I’ll get my family back, but it won’t be by victimizing the victims. Neither Sarah nor her children need to be involved.”

  “What if one of them wants to be involved?”

  All three heads turned at the sound of a new voice in the room. A young man stood at the doorway, dressed in a light blue denim shirt, wrinkled khakis, and a battered-looking army jacket. A Washington Nationals baseball cap covered his longish bleach-blond hair. The black-rimmed round glasses made his brown eyes look large and gave him a serious, studious air. Slender to the point of being skinny, he was medium height and slouched with poor posture.

  There was something familiar about him, but Raphael couldn’t decide exactly what that something was.

  “Who are you?” Dylan asked.

  A slender hand pulled the ball cap from his head, revealing the messy blond cap of hair. His fingers tugged, and the blond hair slid off his head. Long, lustrous black hair fell in dark waves to his shoulders.

  Dark eyes swept over the room and then zeroed in on Raphael. “Giselle Reddington.”

  Chapter Ten

  Three stunned faces stared back at her. If she had any sense of humor left at all, she might have smiled at their reactions. They hadn’t had any idea. Even Raphael hadn’t recognized her.

  Raphael took a step toward her. “Giselle… How did…” He took a raspy breath, continued, “I thought you were dead.”