by Angi Morgan
Did she look guilty? Look as though she’d stolen money and had her hand on a gun under the blanket?
“Can’t believe it’s eleven in the morning. Practically dark outside,” Cap said from the front seat. “Hope you don’t mind, but we’ve got one more rescue to make before I can get you to the Red Cross. Old Mrs. Walters couldn’t get back to get her pet Genevieve. She’s the next house up the road. After that, Llano’s ’bout twenty miles, but in this rain, it’ll seem more like forty.”
Steve didn’t answer. Cap droned on, and Jane stopped hearing his words. Thoughts of possible scenarios involving Rory’s abductors spun through her mind, making it difficult to think of anything else.
The noise level in the van tripled when they began moving. The potholed dirt road they followed to pick up Genevieve created lots of noise and unrest among the animals. And each bump sent a small wave of musty odors Jane’s direction until she covered her nose with the blanket. But the results weren’t much better, since the damp cover had been in the muggy van a while.
Steve put his arm around her, but she pulled away. She’d rather get a knot on her head from bumping against the side of the van than be unable to concentrate.
The van stopped. “This won’t take but a minute. You two try to keep warm.”
“We need to talk,” Steve said as soon as the door closed.
His brows were drawn together in thought. His dark eyes made darker because of the low light and his longish hair drying close to his head caused him to look much younger than his thirty-two years. She pushed his looks aside and concentrated on his words.
“Won’t I just have to repeat everything to the cops or will your FBI friends be waiting at the Red Cross center?”
“What?”
“You told that police officer—”
“I asked the sheriff about transportation to San Antonio and what the roads were like.”
She gulped back the rest of her accusation. “You did?”
“Yes, I did.”
Steve watched the shadows lift from her eyes with, what, hope? He deliberately knocked his head on the panel behind him. What was another lump on his tough skull?
Doesn’t she know she can trust me with her life? He wouldn’t just hand her to a cop.
But what about the phone call to George? There was a logical reason for that. His team needed the information that Jane supplied in order to find the kidnappers.
So why not tell her about it? He should. But would she understand? They couldn’t go to San Antonio blind. They needed control of the situation. They could only gain that through his team. He wouldn’t feel guilty for doing his job.
“Why didn’t you call me, Steve?”
Because wanting to scared me to death.
He couldn’t tell her that. Not in the back of a panel van surrounded by wet, stinky animals. Not with her son missing. Not without his arms around her.
Every unspoken word caused the rift between them to widen. She drew her knees close to her chest, visibly withdrawing further from him. He wanted to explain, but the words caught in his throat.
“Never mind. It doesn’t matter,” she said.
“Of course it matters.”
As they raised their voices, so did the tension among the animals. They circled or squirmed in their cages, causing all kinds of racket. Just like the dive-bombing butterflies in Steve’s stomach. He swallowed hard.
It didn’t matter where they were. Just like his grandpop always said, “Saddle up, cowboy, time to ride.” Now he knew what that meant.
The back door flew open. Steve’s floundering for the right words stopped when Cap handed him a heavy sack.
“Don’t have any more cages, and Genevieve’s glass was just too heavy to move. Mind keeping a hold on her?” Cap asked.
He didn’t give Steve a chance to answer, just slammed the door and got in the front, humming. Jane’s eyes opened wide and she shrugged.
“Don’t sneak a peek at her now,” Cap said. “She’s a little upset.”
Holding the dingy slithering bag as far away from his body as possible, Steve asked, “What kind of snake is she?”
“Baby python.”
“Great.” Steve swallowed the lump in his throat. He’d wanted something to occupy his hands, but this went too far.
From the reaction of the other animals, they didn’t care much for the idea of traveling with the reptile, either. Between their restlessness, the pounding rain and just the general road noise of a metal van, it was nearly impossible to hold any type of discussion. Let alone a private one.
“I’ll hold it if you’d like,” Jane raised her voice to say. “I remember how much you hate snakes.”
“It’s okay as long as it stays in the sack.”
A light airy laugh filled his ears, but didn’t last long enough. Amusement was soon replaced by a look of forlorn longing. He recognized it easily enough. The look of a mother wondering where her child was. The look of a parent who realized they might never see their child again.
Damn the criminals for involving Jane and her son.
Damn them for doing this to anyone.
“SOMETHIN’ MUST HAVE happened to somebody important,” the driver shouted over the animals. “There’s a chopper in the middle of the baseball field.”
Steve shot up to his knees, rocking back and forth with the motion of the van as they turned into the school’s dirt parking lot. White-hot anger shot through him like a speeding bullet. “Son of a… I told them not to come!”
“What? You’re turning me in?”
Her hurt sliced through him. He saw every millisecond of his world—the possible world with Jane and Rory—falling apart.
Steve’s mouth went dry. He reached for her, but she pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders.
As if in slow motion, George, McCaffrey and Stubblefield rushed from the building with guns drawn. The sheriff had obviously notified them that they were in this van.
The doors slowly opened. The rain drizzled inside at his knees. His hands automatically went above his head, one still holding the sack containing Genevieve. The blanket fell away from one of Jane’s shoulders, and he caught sight of the black canvas of his pack.
Unzipped. His boots lay on the metal floor next to it.
The barrel of his gun pointed toward his coworkers.
No way. She had to be bluffing. He had to stop things before they got more out of hand.
Jane couldn’t pull the trigger. He knew that. Right? But his team didn’t know. Had they seen the gun yet? No, it was still blocked from their view by the blanket. Jane was desperate. She couldn’t know what she was doing.
Genevieve the snake fell to the top of the armadillo’s cage as Steve pretended to slip on the wet floor. He aimed his body for Jane’s lap and the gun. She tried to move out of his way, and they dropped into the muddy parking lot.
As they fell, he searched Jane’s eyes, seeing the surprise and betrayal.
“Don’t pull the trigger, Jane.”
Chapter Five
Rope and hog-tie someone. That was what Steve would do to the next person through that door. If he had his .45, he just might shoot them. Lucky for him they’d taken it as evidence before bringing him to the San Antonio FBI building.
While he’d been shuffled from one room to another being debriefed, his FBI comrades had managed three rounds of interrogation with Jane. They’d been picked up eight hours ago and had been drilling her hard. The last round led by his partner and friend, George Lanning.
Stuck alone in this observation room for the past forty-seven minutes, he knew every inch of the monitor in the corner. The black-and-white image of Jane was burned into his memory. He’d never forget.
And she’d never forgive.
One delicate hand propped up her chin. The other was cuffed to a metal ring, keeping her from moving around the room. It was absurd to actually think she might attack one of the two-hundred-pound men in there with her.
Ge
orge rapidly fired off question after question. Steve knew the drill. Try to trip up the suspect. Make it hard to keep up with the individual items being asked. Attempt to get the real, unplanned answers by not allowing time for thought.
As fast as events had happened in the past twenty-four hours, Jane should have been physically exhausted and emotionally empty. But she calmly and methodically answered each question presented. She only broke eye contact when George wouldn’t answer whether she would be allowed to meet the kidnappers in the morning.
Each time her story had been the same—a frustrating tale of events that were incredible, but true. They were back at the beginning.
The door behind Steve opened. He turned to see a white tissue waving through the crack. George entered, staying close to the door. Steve smirked. “You really think I’ll launch myself across the room at you?”
“Wouldn’t put it past you.”
Good. He should understand that he was pissed at him. George was the only person who could have informed the team where to pick Jane up. Why hadn’t he trusted Steve?
“At least uncuff her.” He slammed his palm against the wall, causing a faded watercolor as old as the building to tilt lopsided near George. How could he help Jane? He felt as guilty as original sin and as helpless as a newborn colt.
“Get a grip, man. You’re so close to this, you aren’t thinking straight.” His partner leveled the frame. “Proven by the fact that you withheld information, that you—”
“Jane’s son has been kidnapped.” Somehow his mouth didn’t trip over the words. “Jane is… God, George, what are you guys doing to her? Why hasn’t she at least been allowed to clean up? At least give her some pants.”
Mud still clung to her T-shirt from their fall in the dirt lot. Her hair had dried in the ringlets she hated, making her look young and innocent. She was innocent. And naive. His gut wrenched.
This was all his fault. He shouldn’t have contacted the Bureau. He should have listened to Jane.
“It isn’t my call, Steve,” George answered, turning away and avoiding eye contact.
If Steve gritted his teeth any harder, he’d break a tooth. “Where’s McCaffrey?”
“That’s Special Agent McCaffrey to you, Woods.” The door clicked shut behind the older agent who stood rigid in his customary black suit reeking of Old Spice.
“Why is Jane still cuffed? She’s not a suspect. Haven’t you heard a word of her explanation?” He was tired of waiting and wanted answers. Now. “This case doesn’t fit any of the profiles. Whatever you believe, Jane is the key. I need to stick by her like glue. That’s the only way to get Rory and the Brant kid back.”
“Have a seat, Woods.”
Steve glanced again at the screen. Jane must be as frustrated as he was at the lack of information. Her head rested on her free arm, her face hidden from the camera. How would he ever make this right with her?
They hadn’t been allowed to talk. He’d been cooped up with agent after agent, but no one would tell him anything. A red-hot resentment seeped through him. George. His partner. His Judas.
He’d never forgive himself if something happened to Jane or her son because of his obligatory sense of duty to report in. His anger toward George for letting McCaffrey know where they were going tore at his gut. If he experienced this toward his partner, how deep was the betrayal Jane suffered toward him?
He took a deep breath and tried a calmer voice. “Why is she still cuffed?”
“We take threatening federal agents with a deadly weapon very seriously around here.” McCaffrey shrugged and placed a manila folder on a side table.
“I told you. My gun, my fault.” Steve shrugged and hoped the lie held water. “I slipped and it fell from the back of my jeans.”
“And I replied I didn’t believe you. Now sit down.”
His voice was forceful, but Steve was ready to go over McCaffrey’s head—or ready to take it off. He didn’t care which.
“Sit down, buddy.” George patted him on the shoulder and Steve stiffened.
He flipped a chair around and straddled the seat. It wasn’t very professional, but he’d been relieved from duty. His partner continued to avoid eye contact. And the constant thorn in his side, Special Agent Roger McCaffrey, stood across the room tapping his fingers on his crossed arms.
“What’s going on?” Steve asked.
Seconds crawled while George shifted uneasily and McCaffrey watched him like a spider ready to drop from his web.
At first he’d thought his team acted awkward because McCaffrey had taken over. It wasn’t the first time Steve’s methods had been questioned, and it wasn’t the first time McCaffrey had relieved him of duty. They seemed to butt heads more often than a pair of randy rams.
But this was different.
“Would one of you just spill it?”
McCaffrey opened his mouth, but George shook his head. His partner paused and looked at the screen, bringing Steve’s gaze back to it. Jane hadn’t moved.
“We checked out Dr. Palmer’s story. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, man, but Rory… Well, he died three months ago.”
Shock was a word he thought he understood. Especially after the day he’d just lived.
Jane had a son.
Now she didn’t?
What was the proper response to something like that? No. Jane wouldn’t have lied. Something was wrong. Were they trying to run something on him? “Are…” He cleared the lump from his throat, playing their game. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Stubblefield ran it three times. Rory Palmer died from complications of pneumonia.”
“It’s a mistake.” Steve scrubbed his face to hide his expression. For an instant, pain hit him hard. His eyes clouded so he covered them, pretending they ached, hiding the fact he wanted to rip someone’s head off for suggesting this to him.
“The company shrink says it makes sense. You rescue kids, Steve,” George explained. “She came to you with this problem. She might have arrived at a point where she couldn’t separate reality from what she wanted to be true.”
“You’re wrong.” God, did they really believe that psycho-babble? Jane wasn’t lying.
“She’s been on antipsychotic drugs. There’s no Mrs. Newinsky in her building. I’m sorry for her loss, but Palmer is our kidnapper.” McCaffrey stood straight and looked smug, not sympathetic. “All we need now is the accomplice, Brant’s location and the money. We think you can get that information for us.”
“You’re saying she’s crazy?” Steve stood, knocking the chair to the floor in his haste. They better not be telling Jane any of this.
“We’re stating facts,” McCaffrey confirmed flatly, but took a step back.
“Facts? This is ridiculous. Jane isn’t insane or delusional or any other crackpot name you want to call her. Just how she fits into all this bull I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”
“Calm down, Woods,” McCaffrey said.
“Does that look like a crazy person to you?” Steve pointed at the monitor, to a perfectly calm woman.
“Does that look like a mother frantic for her kidnapped son?” McCaffrey threw back at him. “Don’t you think she’d be a bit more desperate if she didn’t know where her kid was?”
Steve could only shake his head. “You don’t know her. Jane isn’t lying. Give her a poly.”
“You’re right, man.” George finally looked directly at him. “We already did. She doesn’t think she’s lying. That’s why the shrink said she passed.”
“I’m ordering you to obtain the whereabouts of the Brant child.” McCaffrey stood his ground, his face unchanging. It was just another case to him. He didn’t care if one of his agents was personally involved or not.
“You’ve been working abductions for a long time, Steve. Why would someone go to the trouble of forging a death certificate?” George asked.
“I don’t believe it. Jane isn’t a kidnapper.” This case was one complicated circumstance after another. “Jus
t have the locals in Baltimore verify her story.”
George couldn’t meet his eyes. “This is a mistake.”
“Just talk to her, Steve,” George prodded.
“What if I believe her?”
McCaffrey handed him the folder from the table, and George set the chair to rights. Steve flipped through the papers until he turned to the death certificate.
Time. He needed to think, analyze. Whoever was behind this was extremely thorough. But why? Why make it look like Jane was crazy?
One million individual reasons, he reminded himself. That was why it would be worth it to frame Jane and keep the FBI from looking somewhere else. At least long enough to get out of the country.
“There’s a simple way to prove Jane’s telling the truth. Interview her neighbors, coworkers at Johns Hopkins. Wait, she said that job didn’t work out.”
“Stubblefield’s coordinating with the Baltimore police, but it’s a holiday weekend.” George’s body language and attitude were the same Steve had when others questioned his capability.
“We can’t wait any longer,” McCaffrey said from somewhere behind Steve. “It’s been two days and we need the location where the boy’s being held. Now.”
He had to find some way to function. Some way out of this.
Seconds ticked by on his watch. Somewhere it registered that they waited for an answer, but what could he say? He caught McCaffrey’s impatient stance, the shifting of weight, the tapping of fingers on his expensive suit.
The unfeeling bastard.
“Uncuff her and get us some sodas.”
“Good choice, Woods.” McCaffrey held out his hand.
Steve gave him the folder, shrugging off the pat on the back the special agent in charge awkwardly gave. “I’m not doing this for you.” He filtered the four-letter words he wanted to spew along with the look of don’t ever touch me again.
“I don’t care what your personal reasons are. Just get it done.”
“No cameras, no recordings. What I have to say is private.”
“Absolutely not,” McCaffrey stated.
“Find the Brant kid on your own.” Steve leaned back and tucked his shaking hands in his armpits. He would lose his job, but that wasn’t why he was unsteady. If he didn’t get back on this case, he might be throwing away his only chance to find Jane’s son. Because he believed her.