by Gary Corbin
Dawes practically danced in her chair, grinning. “I’d love to!” she said. “What can I do?”
“Don’t say yes just yet,” Jordan said, her heart pounding. Her plan carried significant risks—for Dawes, herself, the department, and perhaps most important, for Jada. “If I’m right, they’re likely to follow you again—and this time, make contact. I want us to be ready.”
“That makes perfect sense,” Dawes said. “What does that entail?”
Jordan surrendered a wan smile. “How do you feel,” she asked, “about setting yourself up as bait?”
The sparkle in Dawes’s eyes gave Jordan all the answer she needed.
THE OPERATION JORDAN suggested required approval of higher-ups and would take a few hours to set up. In the meantime, Val returned to campus for her 11:00 a.m. Spanish class. However, she hadn’t studied for the lesson, and couldn’t keep up with the instructor’s rapid-fire grammar and vocabulary drills. Not that she could have focused on it, anyway. Nothing could drive the worry about Jada from her mind—nor her excitement over Detective Jordan’s dangerous but enticing proposal.
Jordan’s strategy required Val to remain as visible as possible. She would continue to attend classes and soccer practice, eat at the dining hall, and study outdoors during the gaps in between. Jordan assigned a plain clothes patrol officer to follow her at a distance, ready to call in backup at a moment’s notice. Still, she’d remain at risk for at least a short while, particularly if Isaac, or whoever, spotted Val first. To stay safe during those brief moments, Val would rely on her own wits and athleticism.
She felt good about that.
Val remained so absorbed in her thoughts that the other students had cleared the room before she realized that class was over.
“Sigues dormido, Señorita Dawes?” the instructor said with a grin as she gathered up her teaching materials. When Val responded with a blank stare, the instructor added, “Shall I set a wake-up alarm for you?”
“Sorry,” Val said, stuffing books into her backpack. “I...have a lot going on.”
“Perhaps by Friday,” the teacher said, her grin disappearing, “Spanish vocabulary will be going on, no?” She hurried out of the room, speeding through a group of students already pushing their way in to assume their seats for the next class.
Val stumbled past them moments later and entered the bright sunshine of the hot summer afternoon, shading her eyes with her hand—she’d forgotten to bring sunglasses. After strolling to the dining hall, she took her lunch outside, munching a dry sandwich under the shade of an oak tree, keeping her eyes peeled for Isaac. No sign of him, or anyone suspicious-looking. She pulled her Spanish textbook out of her backpack and spread it open on her lap. With the little free time remaining before soccer practice, she might as well catch up on her studies.
Ten minutes later, she woke with a start, propped up against the tree trunk, the book open to a random, wind-blown page. Too many carbs, too much hot sun. Studies might need to wait. Besides, there was something else she needed to do.
She found her friend’s name in her contacts list and dialed.
Voice-mail.
“Rhonda,” she said, “I wanted to talk to you about this whole Child Services thing. Detective Jordan may have figured out who’s feeding her that bad information about you. Also, I was hoping we could talk about our Crim—oh, wait. Is that you calling me?” She checked Caller ID. Sure enough, “Rhonda LeMieux—Mobile” appeared on her screen. She switched to the live call. “Rhonda! Thanks for calling me back. I was just—”
“Wait, please,” Rhonda said. “I want to say something to you first.”
Val paused, her spirits lifting. No doubt she’d calmed down since the night before and reconsidered things. “No need to apologize,” Val said. “It’s all good. Things like this happen.”
“Apologize?” Rhonda’s voice betrayed surprise and anger, magnified by her Island accent. “Why would I apologize to you?”
“Uh...I’m sorry,” Val said. “I assumed that you—”
“You assume a lot, all the time!” Rhonda shouted. “Like what you know about me and what it means to be my friend. You’ve got some nerve, girl!”
Stunned, Val found herself unable to speak. Only a tiny choke emerged from her mouth.
“What I was calling to say is,” Rhonda said, “it’s best if we find other partners for our group project. Considering what’s happened.”
Another few seconds passed before Val could respond. “Okay, sure,” she said. “If that’s how you feel.”
“Keep the ‘Women in Crime’ topic,” Rhonda said. “I’ll pick something else. Okay, that’s all I wanted to say. Goodbye.”
“Rhonda, wait! I have something—”
But the line had already gone dead.
THE DAMNED. KID. WOULDN’T. Stop. Crying.
The squat, curly-haired man sat on the bed and covered his ears, pressing so tight he gave himself a headache. Even through two closed bedroom doors twenty feet apart, the kid’s high-pitched wail pierced his eardrums and shattered his concentration. He hadn’t slept in over 48 hours, which only made things worse.
“Shut that damned kid up!” he yelled.
The woman responded with a slew of muffled Creole invective. At least, he assumed so from her tone. He didn’t understand a word of it.
Still, he had to show her who was in charge. “Spare me the damned excuses!” he yelled at her. “Just make her stop crying!”
More high-speed Creole, even less comprehensible than before. The crying continued.
The man could take no more. He pounded across the apartment, his anger growing. The volume of the kid’s screams doubled. He pushed the door open to the kid’s room.
The woman flew by him, hands in the air, still cursing in Creole. A few of the words he understood, and his anger intensified. How dare she call him that! He followed, raging at her. “Where the hell are you going? How are you going to shut that brat up from down here?”
Pounding on the front door startled him. “Hey, keep it down in there!” a guy yelled from the corridor outside.
The woman shouted something and raced to the door. That bitch! If she let the guy in, he’d be done for. Catching up to her, he grabbed her arm and yanked her back. She screamed. Like, loud. Like bloody murder loud.
“What’s going on in there?” the guy in the hall yelled. “Ma’am, are you in trouble? Open up, or I’m calling the cops!”
The woman’s eyes met his, and they both froze. Good—she understood the situation. Maybe she’d shut up for a half-second and do something about the kid.
Her lips pursed, and a gob of wet, gooey spit landed on his face.
With his free hand, he wiped his face, but the Creole bitch chose that moment to shove him, and he tumbled backward, losing his grip on her arm. His full weight crashed onto the cheap wooden coffee table, smashing it to pieces. She yanked on the door handle. Two deadbolts stopped her. She wrestled with them, her movements rushed and awkward.
Squat Man lunged for the woman, got his arms wrapped around her knees, and her body smashed into the wall. A loud “oof!” escaped her lips and she swore at him again.
“Who’s in there?” the guy in the hall shouted. “You got illegals in there? I swear, if this door doesn’t open in five seconds, I’m calling Homeland Security!”
“Imigrasyon! Merde!” the woman said through clenched teeth. “Retire men ou, estipid!”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Squat said. “Just zip your lip. And shut that kid up, too!”
“That’s it, I’m calling the feds,” Hall Guy said. “You’re going to prison, jerk-off. I promise you that!” Footsteps pounded in the corridor, followed by a slamming door.
The squat man struggled to his feet, but a sharp pain in the shape of a foot split his buttocks. He howled and spun to face her. Mistake! A second kick crushed his testicles, and he sank to his knees, eyes watering. The woman unbolted the door and flew into the hallway, spewing more unin
telligible Creole invective.
He got her meaning, however. The woman was leaving and not coming back. He was stuck with a kid who never stopped crying, who probably needed her damned diaper changed, and food, and God knows what else. He had no idea how to take care of a child and didn’t care to learn.
But he couldn’t stay in the apartment—not with federal agents coming to haul the immigrant woman back to wherever she’d come from. And he couldn’t leave behind the crying brat—his meal ticket. He’d have to take her along and force his buyer’s hand.
They wouldn’t budge, however, until he got rid of the mother and her meddlesome friend.
A new idea formed in his mind. One that, he realized, would solve both problems.
Chapter Fourteen
The day grew blisteringly hot, and Val returned to her dorm room to change into shorts and a T-shirt. She loaded up her backpack for 3:00 soccer practice and headed back toward campus. She again took the back route between the chapels, across the cemetery, and down the steps among the cluster of science buildings. With over an hour to spare, she considered sprawling out on the green next to the Engineering building.
Val had just picked out a shady spot under a tree when a short, squat man appeared in the reflection of the windows of the Student Union.
Isaac!
Val checked her first impulse—Run! Jordan had prepared her for this, when fear triggered her survival instinct. But she followed the detective’s advice from that morning: Pause. Take a deep breath. Act as if nothing is wrong.
Glancing around, she spotted a bike rack and pretended to inspect one of the sturdy Schwinns locked to the metal frame. She kept her eye on Isaac’s reflection until he moved out of view, calculating his position while resisting the impulse to stare in his direction.
Then she realized: he didn’t have the baby.
Of course not, she scolded herself. Only an idiot would bring Jada along in public. But then, where had he left her?
She pretended to answer her phone, instead sending a brief text to Detective Jordan, and resumed her progress toward the sports complex. That meant moving closer to Isaac, but with the crowd of students bustling past in every direction, she felt safe from attack. Still, it took effort to resist the urge to press the button on another one of those blue emergency call towers as she passed. They needed to lure him in, not scare him away.
Sweat dripped down her back and shone on her arms. The day’s humidity made her breathing labored while she walked, even with the great shape she kept herself in. At the intersection she veered right, circling around the basketball pavilion where she’d first spotted him the day before. She crossed the street to take advantage of the shaded walkway along the campus bookstore. That, she hoped, would allow her to use the reflections in the building’s glass front to track Isaac’s movements. But that proved difficult with him trailing her. She stole a single glance over her shoulder, too quick to locate him in the broad array of windows. After facing forward again, a familiar voice interrupted her.
“Dawes! Wait up a sec!” The lanky figure of Robb McFarland stepped into her path, wearing a polo shirt, chino shorts, and a lazy smile. “Hey, I was just noticing that you hadn’t signed up for a research topic in Sociology, and your friend Rhonda chose a different partner. Any chance I can talk you into teaming up with me?”
Val’s gut turned, this time from exasperation rather than fear. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m kind of busy right now, though. Can’t we chat later?”
“You don’t look busy to me,” he said. “Anyway, the deadline for signing up is three o’clock today. From what I can tell, you and I are the only ones who haven’t chosen topics and partners.”
Val sighed. She’d hoped to convince Rhonda to change her mind. But if her friend had signed up with someone else already, Val might have no choice but to partner with the insufferable McFarland. “What topics do we have left to choose from?” she asked.
“Lots. That women-in-crime thing, for example. Which is kind of boring, if you ask me, but—”
“I didn’t,” she said. “Listen, I have to get going.” She strode down the sidewalk, stealing a glance in the reflection, again failing to spot Isaac. McFarland tagged along, keeping up with long strides and barely breaking a sweat.
“You really ought to consider my offer, Dawes. I don’t often give second chances,” he said. “But you’ve made a name for yourself, and you’re obviously smart for a woman, so—”
“Get the hell away from me,” she said, her tone half as sharp as she intended. Isaac remained at the top of her mind, diluting her frustration with McFarland. Plus, with Robb hanging by her side, Isaac might give up the chase, and she’d lose the opportunity to catch him quickly—and find Jada. “I don’t have time for this.”
“I’m happy to choose another topic,” he said, huffing a little as he tried to keep up. “Maybe ‘Poverty and Race as Predictors of Crime’? Or how about—”
“Do whatever you want,” Val said, quickening her pace. Guy could not take a hint.
“I’ll take that as meaning I should sign up for both of us.” Robb paused on the sidewalk. “How about we meet tonight at seven to go over our outline?”
Val shook her head, gazing up at the heavens and letting out a loud growl. Maybe she should drag him along. Knock him out, trade him to Isaac for the baby. His family had money. Surely he presented a more lucrative target.
“Text me your digits!” Robb shouted after her.
She sighed. So much for that plan. Nobody would pay a ransom for that idiot. Checking the reflections again, she spotted Isaac across the street, near the pavilion, still tagging along. Good. She faced forward and maintained a steady pace toward the athletic complex.
Her phone buzzed. Text message from Jordan: “Location?”
Val replied: “UC bkstr 2 scr fld.” Kept walking.
“Isaac?” came the reply.
“Y. On ft.” Val lost the shaded area of sidewalk and squinted into the sun.
“Be there in 5,” Jordan texted back. Still nothing from Rhonda.
Val reached the end of the parking garage and crossed to Isaac’s side of the street, toward the rear door of the natatorium. As she turned, she glimpsed Isaac, still following. Closer than expected—maybe only forty yards away—but distant enough that she could escape if needed.
“Dawes!”
Val turned. Her frustration reached the boiling point when she spied Robb McFarland, once again trailing behind.
“Robb!” she shouted. “Leave me alone right now. Please!”
“It’ll only take a second,” he said, turning on what passed for charm on his planet. “I need your student ID number to ‘prove’ that we’re research partners on Professor Hirsch’s website.” McFarland smiled and held up his phone, as if she could read it from twenty feet away.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Her shoulders sagged. “Can’t we do this later?”
“Then we’d miss the deadline,” he said. “I can’t afford anything less than an ‘A’ in this class. Come on, Dawes. Be a sport.”
Val rolled her eyes and scanned the horizon over his shoulder. No sign of Isaac. “Okay, here.” She met him halfway and held out her student ID. Robb tapped it into his phone and grinned. “Excellent! All set. I’m so looking forward to this. You won’t regret this, Dawes.”
“I already do,” she said in a low voice. “Now, please, excuse me. I need to change for soccer practice, or I’ll be late.”
Robb shaded his eyes and peered over her shoulder. “I don’t see any of your teammates out there,” he said. “Are you sure you have practice today, in this heat?”
“I’m sure!” She regretted the sharpness in her tone...a little. Her irritation had more to do with the possibility of spooking Isaac than with Robb’s annoying personality. “Now, please?...”
He cocked his head and smirked. “Am I stopping you, for reals?” He winked at her. “Or are you waiting for, say, an invitation to dinner? Because I
could totally make that work—”
“Good-bye, Robb.” Turning away, she spotted Isaac, peeking around the corner of the building.
“You know,” Robb said, “I don’t have a lot going on right now. Mind if I stay and watch you practice?”
“Yes, I mind!” This time she intended the forceful tone. “Please. Go. Away!”
Robb’s sly smile faded and he raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Jeez, you can’t blame a guy for trying.” He drifted away, keeping his eye on her for the first few seconds, then faced forward and traipsed off with a slight spring in his step.
Val headed toward the clubhouse entrance, but stopped at the door and slid back along the wall to the corner, listening for footsteps. Nothing. Had she scared Isaac off? Doubtful. She searched for Jordan’s Dodge Charger or a Mansfield police cruiser. None.
Sweat trickled down her face. She had to keep Isaac close, but not too close, until backup arrived. On this side of the building, nobody else lingered. Even the parking lot remained empty of people. She had to move.
In a moment, she found her solution. A red track circled the soccer field. She could run a few laps before practice. Slow ones, in this heat. Coach Hillebrand might think her crazy, but it would keep Val on the move, and Isaac close, and provide enough time for Jordan to arrive.
With a final glance Isaac’s way, she trotted toward the field.
ISAAC FOLLOWED THE young woman, staying close to the side of the building—an arena or practice facility, he couldn’t tell which. The closest he’d ever come to college sports had been watching basketball on TV. The amount of money spent on these athletes—
He shook his head. Can’t get distracted now. Focus on getting this woman alone, then take her out. Permanently. And fast. He’d left the kid unguarded for several minutes now. Can’t risk much longer. That made him sweat even more than the near-100-degree heat and humidity.
He peeked around the corner. The woman had company! Some skinny, pasty-faced white boy—from the looks of him, a rich kid. The kind that never seem to sweat, no matter how hot the day got. Had nothing to worry about, those kids. Everything handed to them. Never had to fight, to scrape, to take crazy chances and risk prison or death to keep from starving to death.