Mismatched

by Chautona Havig

  Something new and unexpected filled his heart. One word.

  Patience.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Ernie stepped into the bar and strode up to the counter. Mike’s eyes widened. “I thought Sam was the only one who made it! What took you so long to get back here?”

  “I kept driving around town, going into the coffee shop—everywhere. I thought maybe Trina or—” He glanced around the room before leaning close. “Who stepped up?”

  “Troy. He’s in the office trying to figure stuff out. I sure hope you have codes, because we have a mess on our hands.”

  He swallowed the shot of whiskey offered and took a deep breath. “I’d better go see if I can help then. As long as Jenk didn’t change anything after I left, we’re good for the basics until I can try to hack through.” Ernie forced himself to look disgusted. “Y’know, this is the problem with me setting up security. I tried to make it so no one—even me—could get through.”

  Mike jerked his head to the back of the building as Troy’s voice came roaring down the hallway. “Better hurry.”

  Ernie knocked on the door and tried to steady his nerves as he waited to see who answered it. Rob. An improvement in names, anyway. It sounded like a fraternity rather than a meth operation. And, depending on your opinion, an improvement in bodyguard. He might not be as big as Wentz, but he had the intelligence to know when to strike.

  “I hear you’re in charge now,” Ernie said, looking past Rob.

  “I thought they got you—hang on.” He punched a button on a cellphone and barked, “Call off Izzy. Tell her we’ll let her know if she continues or not later.” To Ernie, he said, “Can you get in your office?”

  “If Jenk didn’t change the code, sure.”

  “I started to have them rip off the door, but Mike said something about alarms. We were getting a specialist. Everything’s a mess—production, distribution, and cops drive by daily now.”

  “They want the whole operation, not a bust. You’re good, and we have Bachmann to warn us if they try a big bust.” Ernie jerked his thumb at his office door. “May I?”

  “Just get me whatever I need to see where we are.”

  Without a word, Ernie punched in his code and waited for the little green light. He opened the door and called out, “Access codes are the same. I’ll have them to you in five.”

  Shutting the door behind him, he turned the deadbolt—even before he flipped on the light. The laptop sat where it always did. He flipped the lid. Sixteen-character password—check.

  Ernie’s fingers flew across the keys. He pulled out the Linux CD, inserted it, and switched to it for his work. Troy wouldn’t know the difference—not yet. And if he discovered it, well, that’s why having Jenk in custody helped. He’d claim it was new protocol for the hit. Troy wouldn’t be the wiser.

  Bogus email accounts disappeared. New ones surfaced. He printed out half a ream of emails between him and Jenk, and then deleted the accounts. He’d burn the servers later. A page of passwords spit out into the printer tray. These he sealed in an envelope and slipped between the email pages. A sticky note went on top, warning of the list. He’d give the rest of them in a few days—after he let them think he killed himself hacking into his own system.

  Unlocking the door, he stepped across the hall, his arms full of paper. Troy opened the door himself. “What’s all that?”

  “Had to scrub the emails, so I printed them for you to read first.” His finger pointed to the sticky note. “Okay, I’ve got to go get a few things and be sure they’re inaccessible.” Ernie glanced around him before he added in a low whisper, “Wentz might need a close companion.”

  Troy nodded. “I’ll get on that. Sam, perhaps.”

  “If you sent him back for reconnaissance, he could slip up somehow… ‘accidentally’ let something slip to a local cop. Say something a citizen wouldn’t know or something.”

  “He’ll go back tonight.”

  He glanced at his watch. “Look, I’ve got to get those servers. I just had to get in here and get what we needed first.” He pointed to the green sheets he’d stuffed on the bottom of the pile. “Those are the latest reports. I suggest calling for a four-percent increase, and I think Jerry’s skimming. Someone might want to have a talk with him. I don’t think we put him on the benefits program yet.”

  With that, Ernie stepped across the hall, grabbed his laptop bag, locked the door behind him, and offered the bag to Troy. The man stared at it. “What?”

  “Check it?”

  “For what?”

  Ernie nearly groaned aloud. “To make sure I’m not stealing information.”

  “You’re not,” Troy insisted.

  “I’d rather you check. That way, everyone knows my fingers are clear. It’s best.” He leaned forward. “I recommend it for the runners too. You never know who is slipping what.”

  Troy flipped through the case, his hands running over the pockets and lining. He hesitated just where the Linux CD was hidden but seemed to be listening to something else. Just then, a roar went up in the bar. “Gotta go. You’re good.”

  “Guess that legendary hearing isn’t a joke,” Ernie muttered as he pushed his way out the back door.

  The warehouse looked like it held beer—private label, but large. Bottles upon bottles of beer filled heavy pallets stacked twelve feet high and wrapped in plastic. Ernie ignored it all and strode to a small office at the back corner. He punched in the key code. It failed. His eyes widened. He grew nervous as he punched in the number again. It would fail. That had been his idea. If the first failed, the second did automatically—even if it was right. Red light.

  He punched again, this time hitting each number slowly and deliberately. He waited. It seemed like an eternity before the green light glowed. “You’re losing your grip,” he muttered.

  Inside, he had to work fast. All four servers were online—not for long. He inserted a USB drive into each and began the download. It needed to be swift. It wouldn’t be. Perspiration beaded on his upper lip as he drummed his fingernails on the shelf. Thank God, I talked Jenk out of surveillance cameras. I’d be toast now.

  That thought brought new fears to mind. What if Jenk had done it anyway? It would make sense. But, that kind of evidence—too damning for them in a raid. At least his encryption software had made it possible to keep the police out of their files for a long time—possibly indefinitely. One camera tape, however. No, Jenk had listened. If only Troy would.

  The first server—newest one—finished first. He pulled out the black thumb drive, slid it into the lining of his sport coat, and shoved the red one into the port. As the software wiped the file clean, Ernie watched the other one, wondering if computers weren’t something like pots of water on a stove. At last, it too finished.

  One after another, the little black thumb drives downloaded their information and hid them in the jacket that the others made fun of, but he wore them for emergencies such as these. Once the last one finished, he hid it, and pulled the emergency first aid kit from the shelf above the desk. He pulled out the drill, tested it in the air, and began filling the first server with holes.

  A newscast filled the late-night TV. Ernie reached for the remote, but a name caught his attention. “—local acclaimed author, Warren Whitfield, returned from a book tour in British Colombia this week to find unusual messages on his answering machine.”

  Warren Whitfield, standing in front of his house, spoke to the reporter, the confusion still visible in his eyes. “I don’t really understand it. I mean, these people call, leave messages about things they think should make sense to me—appointments that I didn’t make with them.”

  “Locals say that they didn’t know the author had left town.” The reporter turned to a barista at the local coffee shop. “I didn’t know the man doing the book signing wasn’t Mr. Whitfield. I mean, he has books with his picture on them. It looked right. I mean, the guy had a new haircut, but he said a barber in another state just cut it too sho
rt.”

  “When asked, those who spoke to the impostor say he seemed to be legitimate.” The reporter thrust her microphone into the face of a man who looked miserable. “Mr. Whitfield is a private man. None of us know him that well. He’s not from around here, you know. So, if the man we saw wasn’t him, well, it looked like him anyway.”

  “Authorities say that neighbors saw the impostor coming and going from Whitfield’s home, but the author insists nothing is missing. While the investigation is ongoing, the local police don’t expect they’ll ever know exactly what happened. This is Lisa Fletcher, WTPB News.”

  Ernie’s car roared up HWY 24 out of Manitou Springs. At a turnout near Fountain Creek, he pulled over and found the number for JENk. He hesitated and then typed out a message.

  PHONE IS DYING. HAVE TO REPLACE.

  After prying open the back of the phone, he pulled the SIM card from it and opened the car door. The waste of a perfectly good phone never got easier. He threw it onto the pavement several times. Using his foot, he swept the pieces to the front of his rear tire and reached into the back seat for the cordless drill. In seconds, the SIM card was toast.

  That deed accomplished, Ernie drove back toward Manitou Springs. He pulled into a pancake house and parked. Pulling a new phone and SIM card from his pocket, Ernie assembled the phone. His fingers hovered over the address book before he typed the first name. tROY. With that settled, he typed out another message.

  HEAR YOU GOT A BAD HAIRCUT AND AREN’T VERY FRIENDLY WITH NEIGHBORS.

  Joe turned to watch the man as he strode back across the street—fourth time that morning. Adric passed in his Mustang and then turned around, parking in the closest spot. He jumped from the vehicle, but Joe pointed to the meter. “Don’t forget to pay the lady.”

  Adric stuffed a quarter in the machine before turning to Joe. “Do you know if Leo is okay?”

  “I don’t know anything except that the FBI hauled him away and there’s no record of him in custody anywhere.”

  “He didn’t do anything wrong, Joe. I know it. He wouldn’t.” Adric kicked a rock. “Did you hear the Wahls moved?”

  “After what those freaks did to their place, I don’t blame them.”

  “You’ll tell me if you can, right?” Adric shook his head. “You already would. I should know that. I just hate to think of him in trouble for something he didn’t do.”

  “I keep hoping this means he’s not—he’s finally protected like he should have been the first time,” Joe admitted. “I just can’t find anything that supports that idea.”

  Adric’s jaw worked and Joe tried to stifle his amusement at the man’s obvious attempt to control his temper. “Allison lit up around him. Did you ever see it? I mean, that month she spent with me was great—it was. I could have been happy with her, but there was no spark to her. With Leo… with him, she had it. And now he’s gone, and she won’t be able to find him.”

  A new idea hit Joe—one he couldn’t share but hoped was accurate. He started to suggest the simple but effective avenue of prayer when the same man ducked between The Pettler and The Grind. He pulled out his radio and turned to Adric. “Sorry, gotta go. Just pray for them. God’s got it handled already.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Three weeks. Leo had spent three weeks resting, recovering, helping to turn the so-called cabin into a home, and chickening out every time he decided he wanted to ask Allison to marry him. It seemed fast—too fast. But who decided how fast or slow relationships should take? Since when did it matter?

  He glanced out the window as she walked to the mailbox. Her hair swayed with each step. The serenity had returned within days of his arrival. She peeked in the box, closed it, and returned without even the hint of dejection in her shoulders. Did she do it to keep up appearances? Who would watch? Cars drove by—often much too fast—but they saw few people. Most they did see stopped for directions—directions none of the Watson-Donatos could help with.

  A truck pulled up, and Allison turned to answer a question. The boy inside pulled out a gun. Leo’s throat went dry as the kid aimed it directly at Allison. She screamed. Rod, Eva, and Leo fought to get out the door first, but not before they saw her turn and chase after the vehicle. As she turned, he snickered.

  “What?” Eva stared at him.

  “They pulled a gun on her. I thought she was a dead woman. When she ran, they squirted her. They must have painted the things to look real.”

  Allison threw up her hands as she neared the house. “Look at me! What kind of stupid kids—” At the sight of Leo laughing, she charged after him. He ran. His feet flew through the house, out the back door, and down the deck steps. As he rushed toward the trees, a new idea hit him and he kicked up the pace.

  At the second tree, he flattened himself against it and listened. Her footsteps grew louder, occasionally muffled by her threats. Those threats worked equally well in apprising him of her location. The moment she stepped past the tree where he hid, Leo reached out and grabbed her arm. His plan failed. Rather than pulling her to him, they both crashed to the ground, and he landed on a rock. “Oof.”

  “What—” she gasped. “Are you nuts?”

  “Are you hurt?” Leo brushed a leaf from her hair.

  “No.” She stood, brushing dirt from her shorts and cringing at the mud she swore she could feel on her back. Leo didn’t argue.

  The scene replayed itself in his mind. The truck, the boy, the gun, Allison’s scream. He stood and pulled her to him, burying his face in her hair. “I thought you were going to die. When I saw that stream of water, I think I almost lost it.”

  “I did too until I saw a dribble of water.” She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his neck.

  “You would have died without knowing…”

  “Knowing what?” She leaned back and gazed into his eyes. Understanding dawned. “I know, Le—vi. I know.”

  “Okay, then without hearing me say it. I love you.”

  Her eyes closed. “Mind saying it again?”

  “I love you.”

  “One more time?” An eyelid opened. “Please?”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  Leo sighed. “I was beginning to wonder…”

  A giggle tickled his ear. She didn’t giggle much, but the rare times she did amused rather than annoyed him. Rod had said it was because it was so rare. “After I practically threw myself at you, I’m sure you had lots of doubts.”

  “I wanted to hear it.” Leo brushed her cheek with his lips. “And yes, I had my doubts. Who wouldn’t? It’s human nature, isn’t it?”

  “Unless you’re Chuck Majors…”

  “Who’s that?”

  Allison laughed. “Someone that I’m very sorry to say you’ll never get to meet now. Chuck would have no doubt of my absolute undying love for him.”

  “Really…” Leo stood back and crossed his arms.

  “Yep, say hello to him, give him the time of day, even hint that you might go out with him, and bam. You’re in love. No doubt about it.” She dropped her forehead to his shoulder. “Then again, I did hear that Chad’s sister had tamed him some.”

  Gathering every ounce of his courage, Leo shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out the ring he’d been carrying. “I got this for you the day they discharged me from the hospital.” He held it up, allowing the faint sunlight through the trees to hit the stone and make it sparkle. “I’ve tried to give it to you every day—sometimes a dozen times a day—since then.”

  “It’s beautiful.” Her eyes sought his. “What’s it for?”

  Leo smiled and this time kissing her didn’t seem premature, inappropriate, or self-serving.

  Voices called to them from the deck. “Levi! Bethany!”

  He took her hand, pressing the ring into it. “I know it’s not much—certainly not all you deserve—but it’s all I had in my account. When Sean liquidated it, he cashed the check and took me to a pawnshop.” Leo sighed. “I wanted som
ething nicer, but…”

  “You still haven’t told me what it’s for.”

  “Bethany! He shouldn’t be running around like that. Get back here!”

  They giggled at Eva’s admonitions. Leo hesitated. Should he kneel? Did guys do that still? Would she think him stupid or would it mean something to her?

  “C’mon,” she said, slipping her hand into his. “Tell me about this on the way back to the house. Otherwise, you’re going to have three people to explain it to.”

  He took a deep breath as they stepped from the trees. “Will you marry me Allison and be my Bethany?”

  “Bethany Donato. I like it.”

  “I know.”

  She glanced at him sharply. “What do you mean you know?”

  “I heard you the day I told you. You tried it on for size, so to speak.”

  She nudged him. “I should be mad.”

  “So should I.”

  “Why?” Allison took her hand from his and slid the ring onto her finger, examining it in the light.

  “Because you’re torturing me here.”

  Allison stood, still examining her ring, and exclaimed, “What!”

  “You never answered the question.”

  They discovered that a WITSEC wedding wasn’t as easy as they expected. It couldn’t be performed in a church or by a minister, Leo’s tattoo and ear holes being the primary objection. A photographer was out of the question—or he was until Eva pointed out that people would find it very strange that there were no pictures of a wedding that occurred after the “house fire.” Sean tried to argue that they could fudge on dates of fire, but the license would contradict.

  While Eva and Allison spent several days shopping for dresses and suits for the men, Leo and Rod worked with Sean to arrange for an officiate and a photographer. Both of whom, Sean insisted, must be marshals.

  A judge provided Sean with a one-day license to perform the ceremony. A marshal, Jane Hughes, arrived on the date with a camera and laptop with Photoshop installed—no tattooed or holey Leo in any photo when she finished with them.