Wrong Number

by Rachelle Christensen

  “You won’t be alone. This is all going to be over soon. I just know it.” Madeline stuffed her notebook inside a bag with a few other belongings for Aubree. “Go use the bathroom before you leave, and I’ll put some snacks in here for you.”

  Aubree hurried into the bathroom and tried to calm her racing heart. She could feel the blood pulsing in her neck, and she took a couple deep breaths. She grabbed the few toiletry items she’d been given and scanned the sterile bathroom, then hurried out the door and grabbed her purse from the bedside table. It was the only thing that was really hers.

  “What’s going to happen to all of my things and to my house?”

  Madeline handed Aubree a tissue. “I spoke to someone yesterday. We’re packing everything up, and you’re moving. The FBI is taking care of everything. I’m having them put your things in storage.”

  Tears trickled down Aubree’s cheek, and she wiped at them angrily. “I’m going to lose everything.” She thought about her photo albums, pictures of Devin, her journals—it felt like her whole life was being taken from her.

  “No, it will be here when you get back,” Madeline said. “You won’t lose Devin’s things.”

  Aubree hugged her mom. It was wonderful how her mom always knew what she was thinking. “Mom, I’m going to do everything I can to stay in touch with you.”

  “Be safe, Aubree. That’s the only thing that matters. Be safe and be smart and take care of yourself and my grandbaby.” She hugged her. “I love you.”

  The door opened, and Edwards stepped inside. Aubree saw the worry lines creasing his face.

  “I love you too, Mom.” Aubree squeezed Madeline’s hand and headed for the door.

  Edwards picked up the bag and shook Madeline’s hand. “I’ll keep her safe,” he said.

  “I know you will.” Madeline wiped at the tears running down her cheeks.

  “This way.” He motioned for Aubree to come with him. She kept her head down and swallowed the tears stuck in her throat, following Edwards’ quick strides out of the facility in silence. He helped her into a dark sedan and closed the door. Aubree felt he was closing the door on her life.

  His cell phone rang, and he answered it as he put the car into drive. He cursed and then hung up. “Secretary Walden didn’t make it.”

  “They killed him?”

  Edwards nodded and turned on the radio as they drove away from the facility. All the stations were broadcasting news about the attempted assassination on the USS Midway; they didn’t know yet that it was more than just an attempt.

  “How did that man get past your checkpoints?” Aubree asked. “I thought nobody got assassinated anymore.”

  Edwards breathed heavily, and his lips protruded as he moved his tongue over his teeth. “I’m not sure how to handle this situation. I don’t want to scare you, but, then again, I do because I want you to see how serious this is.” He glanced at her and continued, “No one knew we had found the bomb on the Midway, but the gunman was sent to kill Secretary Walden because they knew.”

  “Who is they?” Aubree whispered.

  “I don’t know, but whoever they are, they had help on the inside today. Somehow the information about the bomb was leaked to them, and they sent someone to do damage control.” He stopped at a red light and turned to Aubree. “They wanted the secretary of defense dead, and they didn’t care how many casualties piled up in the process. I don’t know if you’re still a threat to them, but we can’t take any chances.”

  “But do you really think they’d come after me now? Secretary Walden is dead, and I can’t identify anyone.”

  Aubree saw Edwards’ muscles tense, and the tattoo on his arm rippled with the movement. “I’m taking you to a special FBI house that is deep undercover. I’m hoping we’ll be able to decipher what kind of a threat you are to these people while you’re there.”

  “How long will I have to stay there?” Aubree clasped her hands together.

  “As long as we need to make sure you’re safe.” Edwards glanced at her hands on her stomach. “You might want to rest for a bit. We’ll be driving for a few more hours.”

  “How far are we going?”

  Edwards shook his head, and she slumped back into the seat and closed her eyes. She wanted to ask more questions, but doubted he would answer. She felt overwhelmed with the information he’d already given her. If only she could figure out what someone thought she knew, some piece of information that was worth killing for.

  “Let me know if you need anything,” Edwards whispered.

  Edwards watched Aubree settle into her seat and shift her growing pregnancy to a more comfortable position. His eyes were moist with the concern he felt for her. She was only a couple months from delivering her first baby, and here she was entering protective custody. He gritted his teeth.

  As he drove, he wished he could get inside her head and hear a recording of the voice that started all the chaos. He couldn’t help but wonder if the voice would belong to someone who had a high profile— someone with a lot of money to lose if anyone ever connected him to this case. Someone who had also infiltrated the highest area of law enforcement—the FBI.

  EIGHT

  WHEN AUBREE WOKE, SHE felt disoriented, but it only took her a second to remember why she was riding in a car with an FBI agent. She squeezed her eyes shut again and thought about Devin. She felt the baby moving and mouthed the names Devin had circled in the newspaper—Joshua and Scarlett. She opened her eyes again and adjusted her seat so she could see out the window.

  “Do you need anything?” Edwards asked.

  Aubree shook her head. “Where are we?” The noise of traffic was a dull roar outside of the car, and red taillights dotted the horizon, glaring at her through the blackness of the night.

  “We’re almost there. We’re on the outskirts of Los Angeles.”

  Aubree saw the green numbers on the dashboard clock change to 9:07. They had been driving for nearly three hours. She stretched her legs as best she could and sat up straighter in her seat. “Agent Edwards, I need to use the bathroom.”

  “Why don’t you call me Jason? Looks like we’re going to be spending some time together,” he said. “Only about fifteen more minutes. I’m sorry. I’m sure you’re uncomfortable.”

  “Well, hopefully in about eight weeks, I won’t be so uncomfortable anymore.”

  He chuckled. “We’ll have a doctor come to the house for your checkups. It’s too risky to go to your regular doctor.”

  Aubree tried not to think how it was just one more bit of normalcy gone from her life. She squinted to view her surroundings out the window, but it was too dark. Then they turned into a neighborhood with street lamps on every corner that illuminated three-story, picturesque houses with neatly manicured lawns. Within a few minutes, she felt the car slow down, and Jason pulled into a circular driveway in front of a two-story rambler.

  “Hold on a minute,” he said and jumped out of the car.

  Aubree watched him punch in numbers on a keypad, which opened the double garage door. He hurried back and pulled the car in slowly. “Let me close the garage before you get out.” She pulled her hand back from the door and waited. A few seconds later, he opened her door, and she followed him into the house.

  Once inside, they stopped again as he entered a code into another keypad and slid some kind of card through a slot on a thick steel door. The keypad beeped, and Jason turned the handle. Aubree felt nervous as she followed him inside the spacious home. Right beside the kitchen, a small office filled with various kinds of electronic equipment caught her eye, and then her heart jumped as a huge man walked around the corner.

  “Hey, Sanderson. Glad to see you again.” Jason shook the hand of a man who had to be at least six and a half feet tall. He wore dark blue jeans and a white polo shirt, which contrasted with the dark skin on his shaved head. Aubree could see tufts of curly black hair escaping from the opening on his shirt.

  He smiled broadly and held out a large hand. “Garre
tt Sanderson, FBI.”

  She reached a trembling hand forward, all the time cursing herself for being such a scaredy-cat. “I’m Aubree Stewart.”

  “So, it’s the informant on the Walden case.” A tall brunette walked into the kitchen. “I’m Miranda Olsen.”

  “I didn’t know you were on shift here,” Jason said. Aubree noticed a bit of impatience in his voice.

  “For the rest of the month.” Miranda winked and opened the fridge. “Are you hungry, Aubree?”

  “A little.”

  “We don’t cook a lot, but I made some chicken stir-fry earlier, if you’d like some.” Miranda pulled out a covered dish and set it on the counter.

  “That would be fine.” Aubree felt completely out of place among all the FBI agents.

  “Why don’t you come this way while Agent Olsen gets that ready, and I’ll show you around.” Jason carried her bag down a hallway that opened up to two large bedrooms. “This is a master bed and bath.”

  The oversized room held a huge cherry wood sleigh bed and was decorated in shades of blue matching the plush azure carpet. The bathroom adjoining it was also enormous, with a Jacuzzi tub, a separate shower, and a walk-in closet. “It’s nice,” she said, as she ran her hand along a sleek cherry wood desk. There was a television, a radio, and a computer set up in the room.

  “I hope you’ll be comfortable here. Tomorrow I’ll show you the garden out back. It’s all enclosed and really beautiful.” Jason paused in the doorway. “Everyone is working around the clock—this case just moved to the number one position. We’re trying to get your life back.”

  She slipped off her sandals, and her toes sank into the carpet. Looking at her feet, Aubree murmured, “I know.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot.” Jason pulled something out of his briefcase. “This was from the funeral today.” He handed her a picture frame. “I thought you might want it.”

  She reached out for the silver frame, which held an enlarged photo of Devin. Her breath caught in her throat when she looked at his carefree smile. She met Jason’s eyes and nodded, then turned away before the tears escaped down her cheeks.

  NINE

  SIX WEEKS LATER IN early November, a light breeze ruffled the edge of Aubree’s yellow maternity shirt. She was anything but comfortable as she sat in a deck chair with her hands resting on her swollen stomach, but the gardens were beautiful.

  The backyard of the safe house was completely enclosed by a fence covered in flowering vines and also by a canopy of mature trees. Every day, Aubree spent a few hours outside reading and resting amid the gorgeous landscaping that was complete with a gurgling stream and Koi fish. She enjoyed listening to the running water, allowing it to fill her head and block out the painful memories that were still too fresh.

  The face of her husband surfaced in her dreams each night, but during the day she had to look at his picture several times to remind herself of the fine details. She wrote in her journal, I don’t want to forget Devin. I just want to forget the secrets he kept from me. It was difficult to feel the pain of losing her husband at the same time she had to deal with the confusion of his deceit.

  After she discovered the truth about his gambling addiction, Aubree had hoped his death was related to his problem, but the FBI continued to assure her there was no connection. It would’ve been a much simpler case to solve. Instead, she was forced to wait as the FBI checked the validity of every new lead and tip on the assassination of Secretary Walden.

  A pile of papers held down by a large rock fluttered in the breeze. They were notes Aubree had written of every scrap of memory she could come up with about the wrong number she’d received a call from. It drove her crazy that there were parts of the conversation she couldn’t remember.

  Sketches of the inside of her car did nothing to restore her memory. Picking up the pages, she glanced over her notes again, the ones she’d written about the sensory details of that brief phone call. The hum of her car idling at the stoplight, the radio playing softly, a clicking noise from inside one of the air vents—all of these sounds set the stage and increased her blood pressure.

  She closed her eyes and put herself back in the car. Tidmore did the job, and the body is hidden in the manhole on 32nd Street . . . , and then he’d said something about the Intruder. She squeezed her eyes tight and remembered the car behind her at the stoplight; the bass had been turned up so loud it reverberated in her chest. A horn blared, but that was later after he said, Hey, don’t I at least get a congrats? What’s up with you? I even kept his uniform for you. Aubree exhaled slowly and whispered, “What else did he say?”

  “Aubree, I told you to quit beating yourself up over that,” Jason said.

  Her eyes flew open. “You scared me!” she shrieked.

  “Sorry.” Jason plopped in a deck chair and tossed an orange up and down in the air. “You’re scaring me. You’re stressing out over that conversation too much.”

  Aubree raised her eyebrows. “So first you guys drive me crazy trying to get me to remember every detail, and then you tell me I’m stressing out over it.”

  He ran a hand over his buzz cut. “I think it’s time for you to take a break. Give it a rest and concentrate on getting that baby here.” Jason handed her the orange. “We’ll take care of your case.”

  She brought the orange to her nose and sniffed it. “Hmm, I wish I could give it a rest.” The juice ran down her fingers as she peeled the orange. “I wish I could rest. The nightmares make it so I don’t want to fall asleep.”

  Jason leaned forward in his chair. “I’m sorry, but I really want you to give it a rest for now. Please, don’t worry about this anymore until after the baby is born.”

  “But I want to help so you can solve my case.”

  “We’re going to solve your case.” He covered her hand with his. “You’ve done great. I don’t want you to worry anymore right now.”

  Aubree nodded and looked down at Jason’s hand. “I’ll try to rest.”

  “That’s my girl.” He patted her hand. “I’d better get back to work.”

  Chewing slowly on an orange slice, Aubree watched Jason reenter the house and tried to quiet the voices in her head. She didn’t want to rest anymore. She wanted to get on with her life and leave the horrible feelings surrounding Devin’s murder behind, but she couldn’t do that until the FBI said she was safe.

  The notebook from her mother lay open on the picnic table. Madeline had written several notes and cheerful letters including some of her favorite thoughts and snippets of poems. Aubree flipped through the pages to find one of the letters in order to get her mind off of unpleasant thoughts. Madeline encouraged Aubree to fill a journal with good things about Devin and advised her, Forgive Devin his past and prepare to live a life that isn’t empty because of the loss of your husband but full because of the child yet to come.

  It was easier said than done, but she knew her mom spoke from experience. She stood and walked toward the shade of a nearby tree.

  Adjusting her sunglasses against the California sun, Aubree thought about her doctor’s appointment a few days ago. Over the past week, she’d been having Braxton Hicks contractions, and her abdomen felt sore from all the cramping.

  “I’m tired of all these false alarms,” Aubree complained to the doctor.

  He chuckled and wrote a few notes in her chart. “Braxton Hicks are pretty common. Don’t worry, you have two weeks left, but you’re looking good, and the baby could come any time.”

  Time. The only sure way she could measure her life right now was by the amount of time she spent in hiding. Six weeks already, and no end in sight. The fish drifted up and down the little stream feeding into the larger pond, and Aubree thought she knew what they felt like. They could swim all day, but they weren’t getting anywhere.

  On his way to grab supplies, Jason stopped by the patio window and watched Aubree walk slowly around the garden area, the growing life within her evident in each step. He knew she struggled with the secrets surr
ounding her husband’s death and wondered how anyone could throw their life away for gambling—games on the Internet that meant nothing. If he’d had someone like Aubree, he would’ve treasured every moment and saved every penny for a home with a white picket fence.

  Jason had assisted the FBI techs in running a search on every combination of phone number similar to Devin’s cell phone. They were attempting to find the number the man tried to call that day. They highlighted any person of interest connected to these numbers, but the list was exhausting. Because the original call Aubree received was placed using a disposable cell phone, the trace didn’t give them any more information.

  Jason kept hoping they would get a break and find that one piece of evidence they needed to corner a suspect, but nothing surfaced. He leaned toward the window, wishing there was a way to shelter Aubree from the world.

  Aubree looked up and waved at him. Jason felt his cheeks grow warm, and he waved back. On his way out of the house, he vowed to himself to keep her safe and hoped someday he would see a smile on her beautiful face again.

  Aubree dipped a toe in the cool water of the stream and thought about Jason. The worry lines in his forehead were constantly creased, and she knew he was doing his best to solve her case and keep her safe. The search for details seemed endless.

  Everything was coming to a dead end, yet Aubree was still in protective custody—a point she’d argued many times with Jason. The last argument had taken place only yesterday.

  “I don’t understand how I could be a threat to anyone. I never saw the man who called,” she said. “They killed the secretary of defense. That’s what they wanted to do, right?”

  Jason massaged his temples in the familiar pattern that showed his frustration. “Aubree, we haven’t identified any type of connection between the shooter we apprehended aboard the Midway and Tidmore, who was killed the same day as your husband. We’re working with the San Diego chief of police and questioning everyone on duty that day, but we don’t have solid leads.”