by Jan Thompson
Chapter Nineteen
After giving their statements to the Monroe County Sheriff, Martin was allowed to leave the side of the road, but he waited for Pilar, who stayed behind to talk to the law enforcement personnel.
Martin figured it would be a long night for them.
He texted Pete to come get them since both his car and Pilar’s SUV were out of commission. Pete gave him the number of a local tow truck and a mechanic in Miami who could repair his Shelby.
Martin didn’t want to call Dad and worry him. Besides, it was a long way to haul his car back to Savannah. At the very least, Pete’s friend could give him an estimate of the damage.
He didn’t want to leave his key in the ignition, so he waited for the tow truck, who came about the same time as Pete.
Martin prayed that the police would find Corinne. And that, in the meantime, God would keep her safe.
He wasn’t sure how he was going to handle it if he lost her a second time.
Pete took Martin and Pilar back to the hotel. It was convenient that both of them were staying in the same hotel.
After a quick shower, Martin couldn’t sleep. He felt restless. He called Corinne’s pastor from the phone number at the back of last Sunday’s church bulletin, and told him everything that had happened that night, remembering as hard as he could that Corinne went by Dinah now.
Still, when he reverted back to calling her Corinne enough times, Pastor Butler caught on. “No wonder we know so little about her past.”
“We’ll sort out names later. Right now, I need to find out where Co—Dinah—lives. Her daughter could be in danger.”
“And Wanda as well.” Butler gave Martin his home address, and Martin called Uber.
The painted house was nestled among many other nondescript coastal-style houses up and down the road. The pastor was waiting outside his front door.
Pastor Butler climbed into the backseat with Martin. He buckled in.
“Wanda lives five minutes from here.” Pastor Butler swiped his phone to get the address for the Uber driver.
“All we can do now is pray, really.” Pastor Butler moved on to the most important call to action.
Martin was reminded again that there were more critical matters than his muscle car. In fact, if he had to sell his muscle car and his hard-earned share of the family business, he would—if he could get Corinne back.
It wouldn’t be a fair trade, as Corinne was more precious than anything—or anyone else—in this world.
“I should have married her four years ago,” Martin blurted as the car backed out of the pastor’s driveway.
“We can’t go back, but you knew that. We just have to trust that Almighty God has a better plan than ours.” Pastor Butler turned up the sound on his phone so that Martin could hear the directions.
The driver drove within the speed limit, but Martin wished he could go faster.
“Sometimes God allows what He allows for a greater good.”
Martin grunted. “Like what? Corinne’s been through so much. I wasn’t there to protect her.”
“You are now.”
“Am I? We lost her tonight.”
“Have you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Exactly, Martin. Only God knows.”
“You’re saying…”
“Let this play out. We’ll see where it goes. We pray all the way that God will keep Corinne safe. She is praying too.”
Before they arrived, the entire street had been blocked off by police cars and fire trucks. Martin had no idea Key Largo had this many cops in town.
Before the Uber driver could find a place by the side of the road to let them off, a police officer stopped his car and approached the driver side. “No parking, sir. You’ll have to take another road.”
“We’re here to see Wanda Lewis,” Pastor Butler said from the backseat. “I’m Wanda’s pastor from her church.”
The officer paused for a second. “I’m sorry, Pastor. Miss Lewis is dead.”
Martin couldn’t breathe. “What about Corinne’s daughter, Dahlia?”
The office raised his eyebrows.
Martin suspected they had no idea anyone else was supposed to be in the house. He figured that after Corinne’s abduction, the Key Largo police went to her house and found Wanda dead.
Surely they could tell if there had been a child in the house. For example, when Martin went to see his sister Tina in Atlanta, her house was strewn with children’s toys and clothes.
If, in fact, the police could not tell that Dahlia had been in the house, it could mean that Corinne had been prepared to run.
Again.
“Dahlia is only three years old,” Martin added, trying to be helpful. “And Corinne’s pregnant.”
“Due in seven months.” Pastor Butler let out a grunt of some sort.
In seven months? Who’s the father? Martin played back his meeting with Corinne at the sidewalk bench, followed by the visitors to the chocolate shop. He wondered if he should tell the police about Corinne’s visitors, but he had sent those photos to Pilar, who had in turn sent them off to people she knew.
Martin had to find some way to help Corinne. He felt alone.
Please, God, let her live.
The officer kept his poker face, but Martin was sure he had provided the police with new information that they would have to process.
Martin turned to the Uber driver. “Could you wait for us?”
“It’s going to cost you,” he said.
“No problem. Read a book.” Martin smiled. “Thanks, man.”
As the officer led Martin and Pastor Butler to Wanda’s house, Martin saw the sidewalk stranger again. This time, she had a badge of some sort dangling over her belt.
She looked straight at Martin.
And Martin flinched.
She walked toward Martin.
Martin stepped back before he realized how dumb that was. He stepped forward again, but it was too late.
A little smile escaped her face. “FBI Special Agent Ruby Tanaka.”
At this point, Martin figured he had two options: reply in kind or play hostile witness.
He had never met an FBI agent before—
Well, I’ll take that back. Camden La Salle from Riverside Chapel still works for the FBI.
Martin extended his hand, but Tanaka didn’t shake it.
“I’m wearing examination gloves,” she said.
“Oh. Germs?”
“I don’t know what she sees in you.” Tanaka shook her head.
“You know who I am.”
“Your arrival in Key Largo is interfering with an ongoing operation.” Tanaka stared at him in the dim street lights above them on the cracked sidewalk.
Ongoing operation? What is Corinne knee-deep in? “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
“What can a long-lost boyfriend from another life do?”
Martin wondered if it was a rhetorical question or an insult.
“You and that private investigator.” Tanaka frowned. “Interfering.”
“I’m sorry for both of us. It’s my fault. I was the one who wanted to find Corinne.”
Tanaka didn’t correct him. To Martin, it meant that she knew Corinne was Dinah.
A sudden realization hit Martin. “Please don’t tell me I brought evil into town, that Corinne was abducted because of me.”
“Evil?” Tanaka tilted her head. “If you must know, it was already here. You walked into a viper’s nest.”
“God, please forgive me.” Martin closed his eyes. When he opened his eyes, Tanaka was walking away. Martin went after her. “Wait! Wait!”
Tanaka stopped.
“Aren’t you going to ask me questions?” Martin asked.
“What questions might I ask you?”
“I don’t know. I took those photos this afternoon that Pilar sent to your office.”
“I already know that.”
“Maybe if you ask me questions, I might prove usef
ul.”
“You’re desperate to help.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then go home to Savannah, Mr. MacFarland. If Dinah wants to see you, she will visit you. Don’t try to look for her again.”
In other words, stay away.
There was no way Martin could stay still. His mind churned through several ideas. He thought he might call Ming again for help. Then again, wasn’t Ming unavailable all week?
Tanaka turned and walked back to the crime scene, passing by Pastor Butler coming toward Martin.
“Let’s go home,” Butler said. “Then you go back to your hotel to get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”
“Is there any more we can do right now?” Martin walked with him to the car. When the Uber driver saw them coming, he put away his phone.
“I have to tell Pete that Wanda is dead,” Butler replied. “He would want to know right away.”
Martin’s watch said it was past midnight. “Won’t he be asleep?”
“Pete was going to ask Wanda to go out with him.”
“But he never got around to it,” Martin finished for him.
He didn’t know Pete from Adam, and he might be projecting his own failures on Pete. If he had somehow not lost Corinne four years before, none of this mess would have happened today.
Martin got into the passenger side. “I won’t be able to sleep tonight anyway. If you want us to go to Pete’s house, we could do that.” He turned to the Uber driver. “Yes?”
“At your service, sir.” The driver turned on the ignition.
“All right. Let’s go.” Butler got into the backseat. “I have to call my wife. She leads the Women’s Prayer Team, and they’d want to know too.”
“We need all the prayer we can get.” Martin held back his tears. “I just want Corinne and her daughter home safely.”
“That’s our priority prayer.”
Chapter Twenty
Corinne didn’t know how long she had been in the van, since she passed out when they took her away. They kept her wrists tied up behind her, and she was lying down on some musty-smelling sleeping bag. No pillow. No safety belts.
She finally woke up, thanks to the motion of the vehicle on bumpy roads. If she were to guess, she would say the road was probably not paved.
Her sense of time went out the window, and she closed her eyes to pray and rest. She would need all the strength and energy to get out of this.
With God’s power.
The two men in the driver’s and passenger seats didn’t talk to each other at all while Corinne was awake. She knew who they were, knew they worked for Nikos.
But why would Nikos abduct the mother of his unborn child?
Probably to get back at Flavian.
How Corinne hated to be in the middle of the crossfire between these two sworn enemies.
For the longest time, the FBI had tried to gather enough evidence against Flavian for his hand in money laundering activities for some criminal organization. It had turned out that the FBI only wanted to use Flavian as a stepping stone to some international terrorist.
After failing to make anyone turn against Flavian, the FBI got to Corinne.
As a mother of Dahlia—then only a year old and being weaned—Corinne had to do what was best for her.
Was Dahlia going to have a decent life living in the shadows of a father who had broken so many laws that he’d go to jail for a very long time—if caught?
All Corinne did for Flavian was bookkeeping.
Well, and dating him.
When the FBI special agent showed Corinne how awful that terrorist was, and how Flavian was responsible for converting stolen diamonds into money for arms in the black market, Corinne had enough. The agent said that the Department of Treasury was interested in the money laundering aspect of it, while the FBI wanted to go after the terrorist.
Once Corinne agreed to help, she suddenly had a fully grown best friend from college named Stephanie, who showed up at the Hawaiian vacation resort one day, and showed her more photos of Flavian in bed with the terrorist, a woman they called Molyneux.
That was all it took to turn Corinne. Flavian was sleeping around. He was never going to marry her.
After that mother-and-daughter vacation in Hawaii, Corinne did everything she could to help Stephanie, whom Corinne suspected was from the FBI. Months later, she had her opportunity when she memorized the combination to Flavian's private safe.
She took the pouch of diamonds from Flavian's private safe in his mansion, put Dahlia in the car seat, and some clothes in the trunk, left the diamonds in a drop box.
And vanished from Flavian's life.
The same way she had vanished from Martin’s life four years before.
Within the next six weeks, the FBI had given Corinne a new identity and a new start in sunny Florida, where she never expected to see Flavian or Nikos again.
Or Martin, for that matter.
Martin. Oh Martin.
A drop of tear trickled down the side of her face.
Why did you come to Key Largo, Martin?
Nothing good can come of this.
Now Corinne heard noise, like a garage door opening. The van slowed down, rolled forward, then stopped altogether.
The door opened.
“Let’s go.” It was a different person now. A woman, this time.
Corinne didn’t know whether that made any difference. She could take out that small petite woman if she wanted to, but not with both hands tied behind her back.
Besides, she didn’t want to hurt the baby in her belly.
Surely, Nikos had considered that too.
Corinne sat up as best she could, and scooted toward the door. The woman helped her out of the van onto the garage floor. The air was dusty and muggy, so they must still be in Florida somewhere. Or Alabama. Or South Georgia.
“How was your ride?” The woman didn’t smile. The perfunctory politeness ran counter to the flame of anger in her eyes.
“Long and bumpy,” Corinne said softly.
“Long? It’s only an hour and a half.”
“Oh? I thought I’ve been in the van for hours.”
“Darkness does that to you.” Then she clammed up.
An hour and a half. Where could they go in that amount of time? Key West to the south. Miami or Miami Beach to the north.
The woman didn’t give Corinne more time to think. She grasped her arm and led her across the garage floor to another van. There were several people at stations here and there. Corinne had never seen them before.
“Where are we going?” Corinne walked slowly, to give herself time to recover and think.
The woman did not reply.
“Who are you?” Corinne asked.
No answer either.
Corinne stopped at the van.
“Get in,” the woman said.
This time, Corinne decided enough was enough. “No.”
“Get in!” The woman’s voice turned harsh.
“Not until you tell me where we’re going.”
The woman motioned for a couple of people to come over. “We were going to do this when you’re on the boat, but this is fine too.”
“Boat? Where are we going?” Corinne felt a quick pinch on her upper arm.
And then her world faded to black.
Somewhere on the boat between the night sky and certain death, Corinne woke up to the smell of fuel and noisy engine. She found her hands tied behind her. She rolled over and tried to sit up.
Someone helped her up.
It was the same woman. Must be Corinne’s new handler.
Another handler.
In the last four years she had somehow found herself in the position of requiring handlers. First, it was a bodyguard—or so Flavian had called him—who followed her everywhere she went. That first FBI handler lasted for one year, until he was reassigned.
Then Corinne was passed on to her second FBI handler. After handing the bag of diamonds to her and telli
ng her about the assault, Corinne found her reprieve and retired from answering to anyone but God. She was happy that the FBI let her go. The US Marshals met her at an undisclosed location, and whisked her away across the country to a new place, a new identity, and a new life for her and her daughter.
Key Largo had been a hiding place for her.
Until now.
Only God can help me now.
The boat docked in the dark of night.
The woman with no name helped Corinne out of the boat. A small van came to get them.
Corinne felt carsick. She closed her eyes. Felt like throwing up.
Somehow the minutes passed, and the van dropped them off in some building that Corinne could not see.
The hallway was dark. Grime everywhere. Like it was part of a workshop or at the back of a building. Or someplace like that.
Corinne coughed softly at the dust.
The woman didn’t say a word.
She tightened her grip on Corinne’s arm as she helped her take the short steps up to another door, heavily guarded this time by armed men.
Pushing Corinne in, the woman followed with a serrated blade.
Corinne gasped.
“Turn around,” the woman ordered.
Corinne had no choice. She was facing a stark white wall. There was a steel single bed pushed up against the wall. Nothing else in the room. No table. No chair.
But then she felt her wrists go free. She massaged her wrists. “Thank you.”
“Thank you?” The woman’s eyebrows rose. “You’re thanking me?”
Corinne didn’t know how to respond, except to ask for her name.
“You can call me your executioner.” She laughed. “We’re not friends. You took my man. You took my future. I will take your life.”
“What life did I have with Flavian?” Corinne had no idea who this woman was.
Miss Executioner didn’t answer. She marched out of the room and slammed the door behind her.
Corinne heard the key turn on the other side.
Executioner.
Stunned, Corinne’s knees went weak.
Chapter Twenty-One
When Martin knocked on Pilar’s hotel room, no one replied. Of course, her SUV wasn’t parked outside because it had been towed the night before from downtown Key Largo—if the little peninsula had any downtown at all.