by Michael Todd
“Well, these parents probably don’t mind paying a little extra so the school can afford enough security that Mommy and Daddy don’t have to worry about their kids. It must be a relief to them while they’re off doing whatever it is they do to earn the money to pay for it in the first place.” His tone sounded more than a little snarky but he ignored his slight resentment, donned a pair of sunglasses, and ruffled his hair a little. He didn’t think Abby would recognize him, mostly because she wouldn’t look for her dead father at soccer practice, but there was no point in taking chances. If she saw him—even if he managed to get away before she could actually confirm it—she would probably tell Jules about it. That would open all kinds of worm cans he wanted to leave unopened.
“So, what are we looking at here?” Anja asked and drew him away from that unpleasant thought.
“Middle school league soccer.” He moved in close enough to see the activity on the field. “It’s merely the first step in athleticism where various middle schools are probably already scouting talent that can be turned over to the high schools and then college. You’ll find the school system in the US is actually something of an assembly line for all kinds of sports, from baseball, basketball, hockey, football, Olympic sports and, in more recent years, even soccer. That last one is thanks to Beckham showing up and making the sport somewhat popular in this country.”
Savage located his gum in his pocket and popped a strip into his mouth as he watched the practice with little enthusiasm. He wasn’t keen on the sport itself, but thanks to Abby’s interest, he’d acquainted himself with the rules and the more famous characters of the sport. He hadn’t managed to keep up with her for long, but the lessons seemed to stick. From what he remembered, he could deduce that the kids on the team—which was co-ed, probably due to the low interest in the sport—played what looked like a game. Half wore red vests and the other half wore blue. They all raced around with the ball, except for two who were dressed in individual uniforms with longer sleeves and gloves. The goalkeepers, if he remembered correctly.
There was no mistaking Abby, though. She wore one of the blue vests and was the only kid on the field with bright red hair. As always, it was long—the way Jules insisted on despite his protests—and held in a ponytail. Of course, he hadn’t been Jeremiah Savage in those days and had the time to complain about a little girl’s hair length.
And damned if she wasn’t good at the game too, he thought with a small smile. She streaked across the side of the field and handled the ball deftly until she reached the chalk marking of the big area in front of the goal. Still in motion, she cut one of the kids away from the ball, and as the goalkeeper rushed out to try to take it from her, she darted back and chipped it over the taller, burlier opponent’s head to nestle it in the back of the net. The other kids cheered as she celebrated what was apparently a very nice goal.
“Now there’s a part of you that I’m not used to seeing,” Anja said with a chuckle.
He looked around hastily and wondered how she could see him but also realized there was a silly grin plastered across his face that he couldn’t seem to remove.
“Like I said,” she responded and seemed amused at his effort to see how she had a visual on him, “these people are ridiculously paranoid about their security, ironically enough. Most of the school is covered by cameras.”
Savage nodded. “Do you think you can take a look around to make sure there’s nothing to indicate that someone of Carlson’s ilk is stalking the grounds?”
“Like I said, I have eyes all around the damn school, Jer,” she retorted briskly. “I already have a couple of searches running and I’ll let you know if I find anything. You know, for a place with this much digital security, you’d think that they’d want to keep it off the grid. But no, simply plug into the Wi-Fi, and voilà, I have access to all the damn security cameras. Someone needs to rethink this place.”
“After we’re gone,” he quipped and drew back a couple of steps into a small grove of trees when the soccer coach blew a whistle, which brought both teams to a halt. They didn’t look like they were finished with the game, so maybe it was halftime. He didn’t know and couldn’t tell, at this point.
He kept his eye on Abby as she rushed over to the water fountain, shouldered and elbowed her way past some of the other kids to get there first, and gulped the icy water like it owed her money. She walked away and wiped her mouth with the back of her arm.
Savage narrowed his eyes as the goalie she had scored against marched over to her. The kid had about ten pounds and a few inches on her, although Savage couldn’t tell if it was a boy or a girl. They were all kids, none of them older than ten, and this one had long, wavy hair.
“It’s nice that you can play like that with your feet, Devers,” the kid said and sounded distinctly masculine despite the distance of about thirty yards the operative maintained between them. “I guess you have something to rely on since your brains and hands don’t work right.”
Savage narrowed his eyes. Devers? Since when did fiancés get to add their name to the kids of their spouses?
“Shove off, Walo,” Abby retorted and attempted to circle him, but he moved faster, grabbed her by the shoulders, and shoved her hard onto the ground.
Something clicked in Savage and he started to take a step forward, spurred on by the sudden need to feed the boy a few of his own teeth. He stepped out from under the trees and started to make his way over to where some of the kids began to gather to watch the show.
Abby pushed herself up, her face red.
“What’s the matter, Devers?” Her tormentor laughed. “Are you going to cry? Do you need Coach to get your daddy for you again?”
Abby wiped her forearm across her cheek again and brushed the dirt off her freckled cheeks. “No, Walo. My dad—my real dad—always told me I should never start a fight, but I should make sure I end one.”
Walo looked a little confused for a second as she advanced on him, her clenched fists at her sides. Her father had been in enough fights to know what was coming, even when it was little kids who did it.
She ducked under a heavy haymaker from her adversary and pounded her fist into his gut. When he doubled over, she took a step back and stamped her cleated foot on his instep. He gasped and tried to back away but doubled over as he was, she had time to step in and punch him firmly in the jaw, which tumbled him effectively into an awkward heap. The kids around them cheered and jeered as she stepped closer. Savage began to wonder if he would have to keep her from killing the kid.
“Savage, remember what you said?” Anja reminded him. “You know, about not letting your kid see you?”
In that moment, he simply didn’t care. He couldn’t stand around while his baby was involved in a fight.
But Abby didn’t continue her attack. She looked at Walo, who still struggled to regain his breath as he rolled and groaned dramatically.
“You shouldn’t have said anything about my father, Walo,” she said, closer now because he had moved from his previous position. “You should be glad he wasn’t here to hear you. He’d make sure you didn’t talk for a month.”
Well, maybe not a month, Savage thought and backed slowly toward the trees again. He hadn’t thought clearly at all. Hell, he’d been about to charge in there and drag her away from a bully she apparently had dealt with for a while. Understandably, his first instinct was to be there with her and for her, but there were serious implications to his precipitous response. It wasn’t the wisest move to reveal to a ten-year-old kid that her assumedly dead father was alive and well and had appeared from nowhere to rescue her from a fight. That would take more time and therapy to heal than the altercation would.
He couldn’t help a smirk, though, as he watched the teams run onto the field. They looked like they were having fun. All except Walo, of course, who still hadn’t found his feet. He wiped dirt from his knees and scowled when Abby seemed to forget all about him and rushed away to start the game again. The players switched side
s and formed up. Everyone seemed to have forgotten about the boy until the coach noticed he had a goalie missing as the game started again. He turned to see the kid still on the ground outside the chalk lines of the field and jogged over to see what had happened.
Walo shook his head. For whatever reason, he refused to snitch on Abby, but the coach appeared to know they had some kind of feud as he turned to look where she waited for the ball to be passed to her.
Savage jogged over to him as he put the whistle to his lips. He dragged him around to face him and conveniently pulled the taller, more corpulent man between him and where Abby stood.
“Hey,” he said with a grin.
“What the f…fudge do you think you’re doing here, pal?” the coach snapped and took a step forward. He didn’t bother to give the man the satisfaction of taking a step back like he was intimidated.
“I know what you’re about to do, but I think you should give the kid a break, don’t you?” he said with his most charming smile.
“You know…what…who the f— Who are you?” he demanded and looked and sounded flustered as Walo rushed past them and jogged to where his goal stood open. The players continued with the game.
“Oh, did I forget to say?” Savage asked and chuckled. “That’s my bad.” He pulled his fake badge from inside his coat pocket and flipped it open for the coach to see the bronze shield as well as the nametag that showed him to be a member of the local police force. “Detective Jackson. I’m actually here to see Abigail Devers’ father. I don’t suppose you’d know when he’s coming to pick her up, would you?”
The sight of the badge apparently calmed the coach down a little, although he took it to inspect it more closely. It was all for show, of course, as he doubted the man knew what to look for to identify a fake badge. It was an excellent fake anyway, so would have passed more stringent scrutiny. After a moment, he handed the badge back.
“Oh… Right. The practice goes on for another half hour,” he said with a firm nod and looked around instinctively for a higher authority. “If you like, you can wait inside the school building until he comes. I can tell him you’re looking for him, Detective…”
“Jackson,” Savage said with a smile and patted the larger man on the shoulder. “Brian Jackson. You do that. I’ll be waiting inside…where, exactly?”
“There’s a visitor’s room,” the coach said. “Ask the people at reception and they’ll show you where.”
“I appreciate it, Coach,” he said, patted the man’s shoulder once more for good measure, and turned to head quickly to the building before any of the players noticed his presence.
Chapter Fourteen
The two young women at reception seemed uncertain how to react when he flashed his badge. After a little gentle prodding from Savage, they were able to direct him toward a small room, isolated from the rest of the building by one-way glass, with a few tables, chairs, and a handful of vending machines. It actually looked like a teachers’ break room, but it seemed classes were over for the rest of the day, and as such, it was empty for the moment. He settled himself in his seat, made sure to look busy on his phone, and even enlisted Anja’s help to hold some official-sounding conversations.
After about a half-hour of waiting, movement from outside the room caught his attention. The coach guided Abby to one of the couches outside in the lobby. He couldn’t tell what was said, but he could guess from the way she had her chin jutted out like she dared the man to do something. It was what she always did when she knew she had done something wrong but wasn’t ready to admit it—a habit she had acquired from her mother, along with her freckles and fiery red hair.
A few minutes later, a blue Mercedes SUV pulled up outside and a face that had Savage already on edge stepped out. Andy looked like he’d come directly from work, although he couldn’t tell if that was how he dressed for business or if the suit and tie were merely his general look. The coach was outside to greet him. Devers looked angry at first and then confused as he looked inside. He had obviously been told there was a member of the police force waiting who had asked to talk to him.
A couple more words were exchanged that he couldn’t make out, but they looked like they had something to do with why this detective had come to his daughter’s school instead of to his place of business.
Stepdaughter, he reminded him mentally as he adjusted his clothes, and without thinking, brushed his hair quickly into place from when he’d ruffled it before. He needed to look good in front of the ex’s new man. It was simply something he needed to do.
Andy followed the coach inside and told Abby to sit when she stood as he needed to do something really quickly before they could leave. It looked like there might be some bribery involved—probably ice-cream—that kept her in her seat as he followed the coach into the waiting room where the operative was still seated.
Savage still had his sunglasses on as the two men entered and closed the door behind them.
“Mr. Devers, this is Detective…what was it again?” the coach asked.
“Brian Jackson,” Savage said and painted on his most charming smile as he removed his sunglasses and offered Andy his hand to shake. The lawyer’s face paled immediately and his eyes widened when he realized who he was about to shake hands with.
The coach noted the sudden shift in his face, but his expression clearly indicated that the tall, thick-set man had no desire to be caught in the middle of anything complicated. This was between the cop and the parent, and he didn’t want anything to do with it.
“Mr. Devers, I’m sorry I had to reach you through your daughter’s school, but after I share what I came here to say, I’m sure you’ll understand,” Savage said quickly and tightened his grip on Andy’s hand to convey a subtle warning. “Do you mind if we take a minute to talk? Alone?”
The last word was directed indirectly at the coach to encourage him to leave the room. He looked around a little helplessly. “I’ll make sure Abby has some water. She played her heart out in practice today.”
“Of course,” the lawyer said. He still looked more than a little stunned as the other man made his way out to check on the child who waited outside.
“Please, take a seat,” Savage insisted and pointed toward the chair opposite the one he had claimed for himself. His choice would allow him to keep an eye on his daughter.
Andy looked like he was in the process of working through shock, but he recovered quickly enough that he already had questions lined up when Savage took his seat across from him.
“H…how?” Devers asked and leaned forward in his seat. “How…the fuck are you here? You’re supposed to be dead. As a doornail. As in I went to your fucking funeral.”
“Reports of my death were greatly exaggerated,” he responded with a polite smile and offered his fake badge to Andy, who took it numbly and shook his head like he couldn’t believe what he was looking at.
“Don’t worry,” Anja said into his earpiece. “I’ve made sure none of the microphones or the cameras in the room are working.”
He nodded his thanks subtly while the other man continued to shake his head.
“What…what are you doing here? Are you here for Abby? Is this some kind of threat? Do you want to be with your daughter again?” He rambled a little as if the filter between his head and his mouth had suddenly gone missing. Openly anxious, he ran his fingers through his thick black hair.
“Don’t worry, Andy,” Savage said and tried to keep his voice as calm as possible. “I’m not here to stage any kind of…to take my family back. Abby doesn’t know I’m here. She can’t know I’m here.”
“I…don’t understand.” The man blinked slowly and looked like he still tried to decide whether his visitor was a ghost or not. “You’re supposed to be in a military graveyard in Maryland. I went to your funeral.”
“That’s really not important right now, Andy.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” the lawyer asked quickly, then paused when he remembered he’d been a
ssured this wasn’t an attempt to reclaim his family. “I mean…how can you keep your death a secret? Jules still cares for you, obviously, and hell—Abby spent three or four months after your funeral saying you faked your death. How fucking ironic is that?”
“They can’t know I’m still around,” he insisted, but the other man shook his head sharply.
“Who gets to decide that?” Andy snapped. “You? They were hurting for months after news of your death reached them. I remember that because I was here to make sure they both stayed in one piece.”
“The US government decided that.” He deliberately made his voice hard. “The biggest killer of them all decided it needed me to retire and faked my death to cover their asses. The last thing I want to do is hurt Jules and Abby by getting you all in their crosshairs, do you understand?”
“Wait, aren’t you putting me in danger by talking to me like this?” the lawyer asked.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but are you really surprised that I don’t really give a shit about what happens to you?” Savage demanded, spurred on by a hint of annoyance. It was a lie, but it seemed plausible enough that he didn’t question it.
The man paused, nodded, and shrugged. “Fair enough. So…why are you talking to me?”
“Because I need help.” He leaned forward and propped his elbows on the table between them. “I can’t go into too many details about it, but the long and the short of it is that I’ve done covert work since my death, working undercover to eliminate some really shady motherfuckers. As it turns out, those shady motherfuckers realized who I am, put the pieces of my life before death together, and found out I have a family that might be used as leverage against me.”
Andy narrowed his eyes, and Savage lowered his head.
“I know,” he said and raised his hands. “I know, this is all my fault. This is my business, and I have no right to endanger you three because of my actions, but the fact of the matter is that it happened. They are in danger because of me, and I’ll do everything I can to keep them safe, but…” He paused and closed his eyes, hating the fact that he was about to say this. “I need your help to make it right.”