The Shadow Tracer

by Mg Gardiner

  “How the hell are you going to do that?” The look on his face said: Unless you hand her over to them and satisfy their craving.

  “I have to convince the bosses of the family she’s no longer useful to them. If I can do that, they’ll give up on pursuing her.”

  He looked at her askance.

  “Isom,” she said.

  She would never have the time or ability to bring down the entire Worthe clan. But she didn’t need to.

  “Isom controls the clan’s day-to-day operations. Your father’s in prison so Isom’s the de facto family manager. If I convince him that Zoe is of no value to the family, he’ll stop hunting her. He has the authority to call off the search.”

  Nolan seemed uncertain, but said, “Go on.”

  “Three. I get the FBI off my back.”

  “You get it off both our backs. Agree with you totally there.”

  She bet he did. They reached the bottom of the arroyo. Beneath the shade of the cottonwoods, the truck remained cool. Inside, snuggled on the back seat, Zoe had balled up like a little rabbit. Soon she’d stir.

  They continued out of earshot to the bottom of the arroyo where a thin stream shimmered over rocks.

  Nolan said, “So how you gonna light this multistage rocket?”

  “I implicate the trio in a betrayal and lay it all at Isom’s feet.”

  “Implicate? Wait, what …”

  “The people who care about getting hold of Zoe are Isom and the trio. Isom runs operations—he has to be the one who gave the order to capture her. Grissom and the women are the ones under orders to do it. Hell, they’re having the time of their lives. They think they’re on a treasure hunt,” she said. “The point is, those four constitute the clan’s power structure and center of violence. Nobody else has the knowledge or incentive or homicidal mania they do.”

  “I have to agree with you there.” He looked, for a brief moment, isolated and afraid. “How are you planning on doing that?”

  “I have to get rid of the money in the clan’s secret account—in a way that convinces Eldrick the trio has stolen it.”

  He gaped. “You’re nuts.”

  She shook her head. “It’s the only way.”

  “No it’s not. There’s another way—keep running.”

  “Not going to do that anymore. That way leads to a dead end, with me and Zoe and probably you getting run down. Nolan, you know this. We have to take another path.”

  “We.”

  “I need your help.” She bent and picked up a rock from the stream. “You have the name of the bank.”

  He clenched his jaw. His lips were pressed together, pale.

  “That’s what I lack. Not to mention the FBI,” she said.

  “The microchip.” He glanced at the truck. “It has an account number. But not the name of the bank.”

  She nodded. “That’s part of the reason Harker wanted to draw you out of hiding. To get the name of the bank, so he could track the money.”

  “Jesus.”

  “What I need is the bank, the account number, and the name of the account holder. Or is it a numbered account?”

  He hesitated. Bright thoughts seemed to flicker behind his eyes. He was calculating. The money. All that money. Or what he thought was all that money.

  “Nolan. I need the name of the bank so we can commence wiring and transfer instructions. And if it’s not a numbered account, I’ll need the name of the person who is authorizing the transfer.” She frowned. “You want a percentage?”

  “No, I …”

  “Finder’s fee? Maybe we can arrange that. But you’ll get stiffed, or get a bullet in your head, unless you tell me the name of the bank. Don’t you get this? Your family is all about blood and money. And you’re already a turncoat. If you take any part of the cash, they’ll treat you like an accountant who has stolen from the mob.”

  He opened his mouth to talk. She shook her head. “We need to use the money to screw them, badly, permanently. It’s our only chance, Nolan.”

  As though pulling his own tooth with a rusty pair of pliers, he said, “All right.”

  “Okay then. What we have to do is make it look like one of the trio has taken it.”

  “Or all three.”

  “Or all three. But I suspect we’ll do better if we turn them against each other.”

  “They’re solid.”

  “Really? There are no cracks? In that threesome? Come on. Not between the sisters who are expected to take turns in Grissom’s bed?”

  He thought about it. She raised an eyebrow. “What?”

  “Maybe … but I wouldn’t count on it.”

  “Spill.”

  “Fell—her dad got on Eldrick’s blacklist over money. It put an invisible mark on her. Nobody was to trust her. Nobody was to play with her. At recess one day our cousins threw fruit at her. I told them to knock it off and she got away, but …”

  “What godly little assholes.”

  “Don’t feel sorry for her. That was the last time she cried. After that she learned to fight like a velociraptor,” he said. “Point is, the mark of distrust can never fade.” He glanced at the stream, as though the rocks had ears. “The other thing is, Reavy has always wanted Grissom. Top dog, bad boy, fresh set of genes, don’t ask me why. But she does, and he knows it. And he’ll use it to get what he wants out of her and Fell.”

  She threw the rock upstream, thinking.

  “What do you have in mind?” Nolan said.

  “Turnabout. They obviously stole my mail and pretexted my bank card company to find out where I’d withdrawn cash. That’s how they tracked me to Roswell.”

  “Pretexted?” he said.

  “Spoofed my identity. Pretended to be me. They lied,” she said. “It’s time to repay the favor. What’s the name of the bank?”

  “First Royal Bank of Antigua.”

  Offshore. In a time zone a couple of hours ahead. But in a country that might have lenient banking regulations—and where it wasn’t a holiday.

  “There’s a branch in Houston,” Nolan said. “That’s how the family opened it. They don’t have passports, you know. Mark of the Beast and all.”

  “Passwords?”

  Nolan hesitated. His shoulders dropped, seemingly with resignation. “You’re right. It’s the only path for me now. I won’t go back into WITSec after this. The Feds won’t want to protect me on the same terms as before—I ran off with a fugitive.” His smile was wan, but had a bit of grit in it. “This is for Beth. And for you.”

  He pulled his Grateful Dead T-shirt over his head.

  Sarah had seen his tattoos before. They were a cross between Manga and DC Comics. A sleek school of fish gliding across his shoulder. A flock of birds diving along his ribs. Vivid reds and blues, yellows and a deep green, etched with black, work that she’d rarely seen done so well outside of Japanese art magazines. It must have made it difficult for him to stay subterranean—no beach parties if he wanted his identifying marks to stay hidden.

  He turned around.

  “Oh,” she said.

  On his back, rising along his spine and spreading toward each shoulder, was a tree. Wound in among the branches were lines from scripture—or so it seemed from a glance.

  “I am the password,” he said.

  “Your family arranged for you to get this one?” she said.

  “They called it my homecoming ceremony. Had a tat artist from Phoenix come up when I returned to the compound with Zoe. They were trusting me.”

  She scanned the tattoo. It was darker than the others, stark, words sharp and black.

  “Which one’s the password?”

  He turned back around. “They didn’t tell me.”

  So they didn’t trust him all that much.

  “Security measure,” he said. “I couldn’t blurt it out inadvertently.”

  But somebody with time and patience and the skill to kidnap him could figure it out.

  She read the verses. “Any clues? They tell you
anything?”

  “No. But seven is their lucky number. Presume the password’s seven characters. Can you take it from there?”

  “Maybe.”

  She snapped photos of the tattoo. He put his shirt back on.

  “What’s the plan?” he said.

  Her stomach tightened. She would be leaping into the deep. “I call the bank. When I do, I presume it’ll send up a red flag. The family must have automatic alerts when somebody accesses an account. Or am I wrong?”

  “They never trusted me with that level of information.”

  But the Worthes were as careful with money as they were insane with scripture.

  “If the bank pings them that somebody is trying to siphon money from the account, I imagine they’ll go to battle stations. And if the evidence indicates that it’s the trio trying to steal everything …”

  “That would not go down well.”

  Sarah’s head buzzed. Hunger and nerves were working on her. She had to think this through, had to be convincing.

  “Give me a few minutes. Let me work on the password.”

  She stuck her hands in her jeans pockets. He nodded and ambled toward the shade. She pinched the bridge of her nose.

  “Nolan, wait.” She took a beat. “One more thing.” Last item on the list, and most important. “Zoe.”

  Nolan’s gaze broke from hers. He stared up the arroyo, his eyes pained.

  He said, “I made a mistake five years ago. I need to rectify it.”

  Her nerves spun like a turbine. He looked like he had grown taller in the last five years. He looked tougher than the frightened, fawn-eyed boy she’d met in California.

  He walked back to her. “I know I need to stand up.”

  She saw it on his face: He knew he could give Sarah her life back. She could free herself with a single nod. She could slip away and retrace her steps to the bright stream of plans she had laid out for herself before Nolan ever met her sister. Round-the-world trip. Working for Past Link or a similar software firm, keeping up with Mesoamerican archaeology as a hobby. Filling in the blanks in her family’s history. She could reset the game.

  If she gave Zoe to Nolan.

  As she stared at him, she realized that it had been years since she’d thought of her ruined dreams. Teresa’s question had reminded her about her girlhood idea of becoming a Secret Service agent. If she gave in to fantasy, she might entice herself with it again. But she realized that she no longer thought of her former wishes as ruined dreams.

  She looked at the truck, where Zoe slept. She had her dream.

  “What would you do, if …” she said.

  “Return to Witness Security, if I have to. She’d be safe with me. The Marshals Service would create a new, bulletproof identity for her.”

  Sarah nodded. Her heart seemed ready to rupture from pain.

  She tried to see the truth of it in his eyes. He looked solid. He wasn’t wavering.

  Nolan was Zoe’s father. If they got out of this alive, later they would have the time to think about legal papers and adoption or visitation or absence.

  She said, “If you can get her out, and keep her safe, and there’s no other way …”

  He looked like he was on a high wire, trying to stay upright, about to get shoved off.

  “If it’s her life, take her,” Sarah said.

  He looked tough for one second longer. Then his jaw trembled. His eyes filled. He nodded and looked away, inhaled, and finally stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her.

  “You’re a champ,” he said. “Beth was right about you.”

  She stood rigidly. “Nolan.”

  He stepped back. “I can’t … she’s …”

  “Please, what?”

  “If it comes to that—I’m here,” he said. “But you’ve become her mother.”

  He turned and walked off, running the back of a hand across his eyes.

  After a long, frozen second, she walked to one of the cottonwoods and leaned her forehead against the trunk. The leaves shivered all around her. She put a hand against the bark and stood still.

  “Mommy?”

  Zoe stood in the doorway of the truck. Sarah blinked and smiled. Zoe hopped down and shuffled over to her. Sarah sat and pulled Zoe onto her lap. She held her close and rested her cheek against the top of Zoe’s head.

  Cuddled against her, Zoe said, “Are you going back to sleep? It’s breakfast time.”

  “Then we’ll get you some breakfast.”

  “Mommy?”

  “In a sec.” Wiping her eyes, she lifted Zoe off her lap. “Granola bars are on the dashboard.”

  Zoe scooted back to the truck. Sarah sat and waited until she stopped shaking.

  She took out her burn phone and sent a text to Danisha. Then she closed her eyes. She only had to wait a minute before her phone buzzed. It had been getting calls all night from Lawless. And it was ringing now.

  She opened her eyes and answered it. She said, “Get here.”

  Lawless hung up the phone. Ninety seconds later he was headed west, spitting dust from beneath the wheels.

  59

  They heard it long before they saw it coming up the arroyo: a big-ass four-wheel drive that could knock a longhorn twenty feet into the air. They were camped in a ravine two miles off the highway, in a county where the population density was less than ten people per square mile. Aside from the squeal of hawks, the rumble of the 5.7-liter engine was the only sound they’d heard for the last hour. Sarah walked out from under the cottonwoods. The rental tank bumped into sight, suspension shuddering, and stopped by the glittering stream. Danisha hopped down from the cab.

  She set her cowboy hat on her head and sidled toward Sarah.

  Smiling, Sarah jogged over, grabbed her friend, and hugged her. “I am so …” She choked up.

  “Grateful is the word you’re looking for.”

  “I was going to say sorry. But that doesn’t even begin to cover it.” She shook her head. “I really can’t believe you’re here. It’s …”

  “Get over it. And get over yourself,” Danisha said, and smiled.

  Sarah hugged her again. Danisha was wearing a sleeveless buckskin vest and boots so worn down at the heel she might have pulled them off a rider from the Seventh Cavalry. She looked like she should be carrying a saber and a six-shooter.

  Zoe skipped up. “Hi, Danisha.”

  “Hey, rugrat.” She ruffled Zoe’s hair and shook her head at Sarah. “I was hanging around downtown Roswell sending you text messages, when I overheard people talking about a wild-ass Road Warrior car chase. Where’s this baby I hear you were beating people around the head with?”

  “The doll’s up the highway in your pickup, parked outside an abandoned barn. Unless she was summoned by her coven of reborns and drove away.”

  Zoe said, “Mommy painted your truck.”

  Danisha did a double take. “Woman?”

  “Temporary.” Sarah pressed a hand to Danisha’s shoulder. “I should have known you’d be close. But why …”

  “I’m here for you, and for me.” She raised her eyebrows. “You understand? They came after me and mine. They put my mom in the hospital. They destroyed the office. And they’ll mow me down to get to you. So I can’t step aside. The Worthes are going to keep coming back. I have to help take them down. Else I won’t be safe.”

  “I understand.”

  “And I am also your friend. I don’t want you to handle this alone. I see where it got you.”

  Sarah inhaled. “Got everything?”

  Danisha took two bags from the rental. “Everything you asked for.” She took out the radio mike and transmitter. “Including the wire.”

  Sarah played with it. “It’ll fit under my shirt.”

  “You aren’t worried about getting frisked?”

  “By an FBI agent? Normally, yes. But not in this situation.”

  Harker had only touched her once, when he took her by the arm after he placed her under arrest. He barely even look
ed at her when she was in his presence. She was little more than an object to him. An annoying, slippery object, something to pin to the ground.

  She said, “Ready to make the call?”

  “Say the word.”

  Danisha looked up the arroyo. Under the trees Nolan was hanging back. He raised his chin in greeting. Danisha stared at him with open curiosity.

  Sarah said, “It was even more of a surprise to me, believe it.”

  “How …”

  “Harker. And the U.S. Marshals. But now”—she smiled at Nolan, feeling like a shark—“he’s helping us.”

  Outside the diner in Rio Sacado, Harker paced, waiting for the Albuquerque agents to make their calls. His own phone rang.

  “Special Agent Harker? Detective Fred Dos Santos, in Oklahoma City.”

  “Detective,” Harker said.

  “I have Danisha Helms on the line. She wants to talk to you.”

  He stopped. My, oh my. “Conference her in.”

  A moment later, with a click, Helms came on the line. “Harker? Sarah Keller wants to talk to you.”

  He felt amazement—and doubt. “About what?”

  “Coming in. If you can guarantee her safety.”

  “She wants to surrender herself? Tell her to come to Rio Sacado. Immediately.”

  “Not so fast,” Helms said. “She needs guarantees. Last night she was in Rio Sacado, and she was far from safe.”

  “Her safety, and Zoe’s, are my paramount concern, I assure you.”

  “Hasn’t looked that way,” she said.

  He heard the anger in her voice, and the strain. He wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her. “Every minute Sarah delays makes things worse. The people who are pursuing her will show no mercy or remorse.”

  “You don’t need to educate me about the Worthe clan, Agent Harker.”

  “Then let me be blunt. On her own, Sarah has no chance to make it out alive. She either surrenders herself at the nearest police station, or you tell me where I can find her in the next half-hour, or she’s dead by sundown.”

  Helms paused. And sighed. That was good.

  It didn’t really matter whether Sarah Keller agreed to come in—if she used her cell phone, he could pinpoint her location.

  “What’s Sarah’s number?” he said. “I’ll call her personally.”