Distortion (Moonlighters Series)

by Terri Blackstock

  Amber didn’t answer for a long moment. Finally, she swiveled in her chair and looked at her. “He found out about the DEA probe and he wanted out. He threatened to burn the house down—close the accounts, give all that cash anonymously to some charity or something. He was going to cut his losses and dump everything.”,

  Juliet frowned at her. “There still would have been a paper trail.”

  “Right. We tried to tell him, but he was panicked. He was making bad decisions.”

  “Then why is there a delivery on its way?”

  Amber smiled. “So it was you. What did you do? Break into my car and steal my phone?”

  Juliet didn’t answer.

  “Doesn’t matter now,” Amber said. “Bob would have aborted that delivery, but we wanted to take it. Thanks to you, we had to abort anyway. But we’ve got all this.”

  Juliet fought against the hope that Bob had had a change of heart, but she couldn’t help herself. Maybe it was about repentance. Maybe he truly hadn’t meant for it to go this far.

  She thought back to his last days. He had been brooding, especially that Friday, but she’d thought it was about Holly moving again. Had there been a war going on in his mind? Had he been in over his head, fearing that there was no way out without going to prison?

  Somehow, that helped her. It brought back a little bit of the real Bob, the Bob she’d thought she knew. Maybe his conscience had plagued him. Maybe he’d realized what he was doing to his kids and his wife. Maybe he realized how wrong this whole situation was.

  Tears sprang to her eyes. That didn’t justify any of it. It didn’t make it easier to accept. But it was something she could tell Zach and Abe. That their father had cared about them. That he had tried to turn back.

  Since finding out what he’d done, she had wondered if any of his Christianity was true. Had it all been a cover? A way to network and look honest?

  Or had he truly loved Jesus, but found ways to compartmentalize the sin in his life as so many others did? Could he have been a Christian and still been involved in drug trafficking? Could he have truly loved God and still done something that would devastate so many lives?

  The corners of her mouth trembled. “Did he talk . . . about his faith?”

  Amber looked back at her, eyes narrowed. “Give me a break. What do you care? He cheated on you, lied to you.”

  “I care about his soul,” Juliet whispered.

  Amber laughed. “That’s priceless. So you’d rather he didn’t rot in hell?”

  Juliet thought that over for a moment. Did she want him punished eternally for his crimes? No, the truth was she didn’t. She still loved the part of him she knew.

  “I don’t want anybody to rot in hell. Even you. I just want to know what he chose. If he was backing out, maybe he’d come to the end of himself and realized he needed a Savior.”

  Amber gave a disgusted laugh. “He said you were a religious Pollyanna. It made him crazy.” She executed the transfer, left that bank’s website, and found the next one. “I swear,” she said as she typed, “ever since Joe Hogan’s death, Bob was the most miserable successful person I’ve ever seen.”

  Juliet couldn’t swallow. “Then . . . was he involved in Joe’s murder?”

  “No. He didn’t know about it until it was done. It all almost ended then, and he’d barely gotten started.”

  Relief flooded Juliet’s heart.

  “That whole belief system did a number on Bob’s mind. It almost ruined everything.”

  “It’s not just a belief system. It’s truth.”

  Amber shrugged and focused on the computer. “Truth is different depending on who you’re talking to.”

  “No, it’s not,” Juliet said. “There’s only one truth. You can disagree with the truth of gravity, but if you jump off a twenty-story building, you’ll find out real quick just how absolute gravity is.”

  Amber gave Juliet a mocking look. “So are you seriously trying to convert me? Trying to convince me to leave the money alone so God won’t zap me?”

  “God doesn’t zap people,” Juliet said. “He’s actually ready to forgive you. I don’t particularly like that aspect of God’s grace when it applies to someone like you, but I like that it applies to me.”

  Amber shook her head. “He told me you were like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “That you would try to convert a mouse you found in your attic.”

  So he’d mocked her. Why was she even surprised?

  “He said you had a rigid sense of right and wrong. It messed with his head. That was part of his downfall.”

  Maybe it was his salvation, Juliet thought. She realized she might never know in her lifetime if Bob was a true Christian or not—the evidence proved otherwise—or whether he’d repented and called out to Jesus to save him in those last days. But the possibility was something she could give her children.

  But Amber had told her too much. Why was she talking so freely, knowing that what she’d told Juliet could condemn her? There could only be one reason.

  Amber didn’t intend to give Juliet the chance to repeat what she’d said. They were planning to kill her and her children.

  CHAPTER 58

  Michael drove the van to the red mailbox, then pulled over and stuffed Miller’s mouth with a rag he found in the van, and duct taped his mouth. Miller’s eye was swelling and the skin of his face was scraped bloody. He seemed to have lost his fight, but Michael didn’t take his stillness for granted.

  Using his Bluetooth earpiece, he called Agent Blue, praying she would answer. Miraculously, she picked up the phone. “Special Agent Blue.”

  “This is Michael Hogan,” he said. “I have Leonard Miller, and he’s taking me to where Juliet is being held.”

  There was a pause. “What do you mean, you have him?”

  “We had an altercation,” he said in a level voice. “I wound up disarming him. Bottom line, I’ve got him bound. He’s leading me to where they are.”

  “Michael, stand down. Tell us where she is and we’ll assemble a SWAT team.”

  “The way you’re handling it, Juliet will be dead by then and so will her kids. I’ll do whatever I have to do to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  “Tell me where you are.”

  He gave her directions to where he’d left his car. “He said to turn at the red mailbox at the dirt road.”

  “Be careful. If they see you coming—”

  “I’m in his van. If they see me coming, they’ll think it’s him. But I plan to stay hidden if I can.”

  “Wait out of sight until we get there.”

  “How long will it take you to assemble a SWAT team?”

  “A little while,” she said.

  Of course. “Not good enough. If you don’t get here fast enough, I’ll have to do something. I’m not going to let them kill her.” He cut off the phone, looked at Miller. The arrogance in his eyes was maddening.

  Michael would have liked nothing better than to blow Miller’s head off, but he had to stay focused. He turned at the red mailbox, then pulled down the dirt road slowly until he saw the house through the trees. Then he backed up into the woods until he wasn’t visible anymore.

  Miller’s hands were still bound with plastic ties behind his back. Michael was sure he’d been working on them, trying to get his hands free, but Michael had bound him too tightly. He grabbed the roll of tape again and ripped off a long strip. Grabbing Miller’s hair, he pulled his head back against the headrest, then wrapped the strip of tape around Miller’s head and the headrest, rendering him immobile.

  Miller tried to protest, but with the rag in his mouth the sound was muffled. Michael stripped off more duct tape and wrapped it around Miller’s throat and around the bars of the headrest, around and around. Miller couldn’t move or speak, and if he tried to get away, he’d strangle himself.

  Michael got out of the car, quietly closing the door behind him. He made his way through the trees until he could see the house.
He raised his binoculars and studied each window. He could see movement beyond the glass, but he couldn’t make out any of it. He would have to get closer. He went from tree trunk to tree trunk, staying hidden until he was close to the house. Then he crossed the distance to the house and pressed himself flat against the wall in case anyone was looking out. He got under one of the windows and listened. He could hear voices, but they were muffled. No windows were open, and the air conditioner’s hum made it difficult to hear the people inside. He pulled out his phone, turned on the video camera, and raised it until the lens was slightly above the window ledge. He filmed for a few seconds, then brought the camera back down and played the footage. He saw Amber sitting at a computer and Juliet behind her, bound in a chair. Amber had a gun lying on the table next to her.

  He went to the next window and did the same thing. This time he saw a man in the kitchen. He’d seen him before—one of the Harper brothers. He was carrying a Glock .38.

  Michael checked his watch. Ten minutes had passed since he’d called Blue. Would the FBI be here soon, or would it take them as long as it took the police department to assemble a SWAT team? Surely the feds had men at the ready.

  He went around to the other windows but saw no one in the other rooms. The boys didn’t appear to be here.

  Ducked down and darting from tree to tree, Michael ran back into the woods, far enough away from the house that they couldn’t hear him. He called Cathy—listening through his earpiece—and she answered on the first ring.

  “Michael, where are you?”

  “I found Juliet,” he said in a low voice. “She’s in a house off Highway 64. I’ve got Miller tied up in the car.”

  “Is she all right? Have you seen her?”

  “Yes. She’s in the house. She’s with Amber and one of the Harper brothers. Steven, I think. They’re doing something on the computer, probably bank transactions.”

  “Are the children with her?”

  “I didn’t see them. I’m guessing they’re holding them in another location. I need you to get Max on the phone and tell him that the FBI says they’re getting a SWAT team together—”

  “Michael, I don’t think we can count on the FBI. Something’s not right.”

  “I agree, but Max thinks they’re legit. Tell him the FBI may be too late. Tell him we need backup now.”

  “Can you get into the house?” Cathy asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “Tell me where you are. Holly and I are on the way.”

  “No, stay where you are. I don’t want you anywhere near this place.”

  “Michael, that’s ridiculous. We can help you!”

  “I want Max and his people to help me. Tell him to come down Highway 64,” he said, and described the route he’d taken to the red mailbox and the driveway. “Halfway down the driveway, he’ll see Miller’s van. He’s in it, but he’s not going anywhere.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  “Michael, be careful.”

  “I will,” he said.

  “Don’t hang up! Leave the phone on so I can hear what’s happening. I’ll call Max from Holly’s phone.”

  “All right,” he said. Leaving his earpiece in, he slid his phone into his jeans pocket.

  He checked his watch again. How much longer? Suddenly something bumped the back of his head, and he froze. “Don’t move or I’ll kill you.” A man’s voice. “Drop the gun, right now.” Michael hesitated. If he swung around, knocked the gun from the man’s hand, kicked his groin . . . But he didn’t know how many people were back there. If it was just Steven, he could take him. But what if his brothers were there too? What if there were others?

  “Drop the gun now,” the man said, his voice rising in pitch.

  In the earpiece, Cathy said, “Michael, who is that?”

  Michael couldn’t answer. He tossed his gun to the side, out of the man’s reach, and slowly turned around. “Steven Harper,” he said.

  Steven nodded. “Now hand me the phone.”

  Michael pulled it out of his pocket, glanced down at it. The screen was black. It wasn’t obvious it was connected. He handed it to Steven. His Bluetooth had a thirty-foot range, so Cathy would still be able to hear. Steven didn’t take the Bluetooth.

  “Lean against that tree, hands over your head.”

  Michael did as he said, and Steven frisked him clumsily down his back, around to his chest, under his arms, down his legs.

  Satisfied, Steven backed up. “We’re going into the house now, nice and easy. And you’re going to tell us who you called. Who’s on their way?”

  Michael kept his hands in the air—and his Bluetooth in his ear—as he stepped slowly toward the door, eager to get inside.

  The door flew open, and Juliet gasped as Michael stepped in, hands over his head. Steven was behind him, prodding him inside with a gun.

  “Michael!”

  “Juliet! Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” she said. “My children . . . they kidnapped them!”

  Amber shot out of her chair. “How did he get here? How did he know where we are?”

  Steven shook his head and shoved Michael into a chair next to Juliet. “I don’t know, but he was talking on the phone.” He grabbed the Bluetooth out of Michael’s ear and tossed it onto the desk.

  Amber’s expression turned rabid. “Who did you tell?” she demanded. “How did you find us?”

  Michael’s jaw muscle popped. “You have a mole in your operation,” he said. “You can’t trust anybody, can you, Amber?”

  “Who knows?” she demanded.

  “The FBI, the police department—they’re on their way. If you want to leave, you better do it now.”

  Juliet breathed out relief. They were coming for her. They would rescue her and find her children, and Amber, Steven, Miller, and everyone else involved would be arrested and taken off the street. The nightmare would finally be over.

  But . . . would the FBI help her? Or were they working with Amber and the others?

  Enraged, Amber ran to the front door, still open, and looked out. From her chair, Juliet could see out too. She saw nothing but trees.

  Amber turned back, sweat glistening on her face. “I have to hurry. Steven, just kill him!”

  Steven hesitated.

  “You don’t want to do that, Steven,” Juliet said. “She’s going to take the money and run. Miller already has millions in cash, and what’ll you get? Life in prison?”

  She had hit home. Steven winced and wiped his face with his wrist.

  “Shut her up!” Amber said, going back to the computer and typing furiously.

  “That was cash in those boxes he put in his van,” Juliet said. “They’re using you to do their dirty work, but you’ll wind up like Henderson, taking the fall for murder.”

  Steven kept his gun trained on them, the one he’d taken from Michael tucked into his jeans. He craned his neck to see what was on the computer screen. Teeth gritted, Amber was working through another international bank’s website, typing the password into the box.

  Michael’s eyes met Juliet’s, and she understood his signal to get ready. She moved her feet under her, checked her hands. They were bound at the wrists in front of her, but she prepared to use them to clutch or scratch or swing. Anything she had to do.

  As Steven cocked his revolver, Michael flung himself out of the chair, knocking Steven back. As the man fell, Michael stayed on top of him, kneeing his groin until he let go of the gun and curled up in pain.

  Michael grabbed it, but Steven pulled the other one out of his waistband.

  “Kill him!” Amber shouted.

  Suddenly Juliet came off the floor, hands and feet bound, and hurled herself at Steven. He dropped his gun, and it slid across the floor. Amber dove for it. Juliet got her feet under her and hurled herself again, knocking Amber to the floor. The woman turned over and grabbed Juliet’s face, trying to gouge her long fingernails into Juliet’s eyes. Juliet turned her head and
opened her hands as far as she could—just far enough to get her fingers around Amber’s throat. The tape around her wrists cut into her skin, but she fought it, keeping Amber under control. As Amber’s face turned purple, she groped for the gun. Juliet flung Amber to the side, away from the gun, and dove for it herself. She grabbed it in both bound hands and rolled to her back, aiming it at Amber. “Don’t move!” she said. “I don’t need another excuse to kill you.”

  A table overturned, a vase crashed. Michael was rolling with Steven, both struggling for Michael’s gun. Juliet looked for a chance to shoot Steven, but he was too close to Michael.

  They rolled and struggled for the gun until they were outside on the porch, out of Juliet’s sight.

  “Put the gun down,” Amber told Juliet from the floor, mascara tears staining her sweating face. “You can’t kill the mother of a little baby. It would be on your conscience forever.”

  Juliet wiped the sweat from her forehead with her sleeve. “I don’t have to kill you,” she said. “If you tell me where my children are, we can all walk away from this. If not, I won’t have any trouble pulling this trigger.”

  Amber lay on the floor, her lips curling in a sneer. “Bob said you couldn’t hurt a fly. How would you explain murder to your church?”

  Something snapped in Juliet, and lifting the gun, she fired into the wall, making Amber jump and scream. Juliet brought the gun back down to Amber’s face. “Underestimating me will be the last mistake you ever make,” she said through her teeth. “Where are my children?”

  Just then she heard voices yelling out in the yard, and another gunshot fired. Amber looked toward the open door. Juliet’s heart sank. Had Michael been shot? Keeping her gun trained on Amber, she got to her feet and backed to the door to look out into the yard.

  The FBI had arrived, their guns fixed on Michael and Steven.

  She saw Blue and Darren in flak jackets, moving toward the house. Steven and Michael were still in a clinch on the ground, struggling for the gun.

  Her chest tightened. Could she trust Darren and his partner, or would they turn on her and Michael?