Connections: Conexiones (Mercenaries Book 3)

by Tony Lavely

  “And you’re hoping Dylan comes over early, right?”

  Amy had the grace to blush as she pressed the shirt against her body, looking at the floor. “Not… not exactly… but…”

  “But you’d try to survive the embarrassment,” Beckie said with a laugh. “Get in there and put something over… Get dressed!”

  On the way, Amy turned back. “I thought we’d run after breakfast. I was hungry, and…” She disappeared behind the bathroom door.

  Beckie laughed and cracked eggs into a bowl.

  Eilís’ Jaguar was in the parking place when they returned from the run. She was sitting in the kitchen with a cup of coffee. Greetings complete, she said, “Update on the Goldfarb front. He told me Flores got back to New York with minimal problems.” She shook her head. “Drunks and idiots, I guess.”

  “Huh? What’s that mean?”

  Eilís handed Beckie a mug of coffee and pointed Amy toward the hot chocolate. She sat and looked at the two girls. “God protects…” Beckie nodded. “You remember when we sent him back. No one would acknowledge him?” Beckie nodded. “Well, Goldfarb is now willing to remember him. He’s one of Donato’s kids. The younger one. Like I said, he’s working for Goldfarb.” She drank from her cup. “But that’s not the interesting news.” She got up and walked to the sink, rinsing her cup and placing it in the dishwasher. She leaned against the counter. “While he would have been happy to abscond with you two—either one of you—he had been sent to get Jo. Abby.”

  Beckie froze, her cup between the table and her mouth.

  “But…” Amy spluttered.

  “It’s a good thing I was on the phone and not a teleconference. Or in his office. I think I managed to cover my shock.”

  Beckie had set her drink down. “Of course. Just like Ian said, there’d be no way for him to know, would there? We said nothing about it, and since she had no family…”

  “I didn’t tell anyone,” Eilís confirmed. “No reason to.”

  “So, why?” Amy asked. “Why’s he looking for… for Abby?”

  “Same reason they took you… Donato still thinks she can free him by recanting her testimony. Right, Eilís?”

  Eilís returned to her chair. “We didn’t discuss it, but… almost certainly, that’s where Donato’s head’s at. Or maybe, some of his family—”

  “Not his brother! I’m sure of that… Well, as sure as I can be. We met him, in Brewster.”

  “You did? Emidio? How?”

  “Tell you later. As a story, it deserves a drink, and I’m not ready, yet.”

  Eilís gave her a look she then transferred to Amy, who blushed and paid a great deal of attention to the inside of her mug. “Well trained, I guess. Anyway, as I was about to say, possibly some of his family or his troops who may still want him out.”

  “Any reason to think they know anyone who worked with Abby? Like…” She turned to look at Amy.

  Eilís followed her eyes. “Not that I know of.”

  “But they do know,” Amy protested. “They found me, didn’t they?” She buried her face in her hands. “So, if they know about me, and the Nest, they know about the team. They have to!”

  “Knowing who the team is isn’t the same as knowing who the members of the team are,” Beckie said. “I could guess they don’t know anyone’s name besides you and Abby. Unless they were coming to snatch you off the island, there’d be no reason.”

  Amy looked up. “That note I got. It had Mr. Go’s name on it.”

  “We can check, but if I remember, he’s the one with all the contacts with the government. He’d be the exception.”

  “I can tell you for sure Goldfarb never mentioned anyone’s name except Jolene. Abby.”

  Beckie took her cup to the dishwasher. Staring out the side window, she said, “Since Flores came back with nothing, are they still looking?”

  “Flores isn’t, according to Goldfarb. While he didn’t say, I had the impression they were cooling their jets, at least for now.” Eilís leaned toward Beckie and whispered, “He also said Abby… terminated, I guess, five of Donato’s men, and injured a couple more.”

  “There were five of them on the tape. The four I saw matched.” Beckie stood up and walked to the fridge. “What’s for lunch, anyway?” She ignored Amy’s quick gasp.

  Mid-afternoon Sunday, Dylan knocked on the door. A few minutes later, Millie returned Beckie’s call to discuss an assignment list for Amy. Dylan wasn’t able to disguise his smirk in time to prevent Amy smacking his arm, but when the call was over, he said, “Why doesn’t she… Sorry…” He turned to Amy. “Why don’t you come with me tomorrow? To my school?”

  Amy gave him a look, then transferred it to Beckie. “What do you think, Mom?”

  “Let me think about it… Okay, but there are conditions.

  “Dylan should check tomorrow that a visitor is actually okay with them. Then, you could go on Tuesday, as long as you will always stay together… Girls’ room breaks excepted.” She fixed Dylan with a stern look. “I’m telling you both this, so you can’t play one off against the other. If plans change, you will let me know first. No looking for forgiveness instead of permission, understand?”

  Tuesday morning, Dylan arrived at seven to collect Amy. He agreed that, as a guest, her jeans and Oxford shirt would be okay. Beckie called Ian once she’d finished her first coffee; it was time for an update, both ways.

  The situation in Peru was “fluid,” he said. When she asked what that meant, he said it was difficult to explain, but safe. Mamani was hosting meetings in Lima while the team, except Willie, was still at her base, working with the local security forces. Willie remained undercover with the group he had infiltrated.

  Elena hadn’t finished translating the tape, but even what she had done would have been devastating to Talos’ attempts to have his sentence reduced. What does it say? Beckie wondered. When she asked, Ian agreed they’d discuss it when they were next together, which would be Thanksgiving. Beckie added the little information Eilís had provided about Flores and the detail he’d been after Abby. Then, after a weighty pause even Ian remarked on, she described her failure to pay attention in Talos’ kitchen, and the result: Amy’s getting beaten-up.

  “Amy Rose has recovered, correct?” When she made a noise of assent, wondering where he would go, he continued, “There is nothing I can add, Rebecca, beyond take care. You have identified the cause and lived the result. She holds no grudge?”

  “Not exactly, but some of my… techniques, I guess, upset her. We can talk about that Thanksgiving, too, but I think we’re okay, now.”

  Additional mutual exhortations for care ended that call. A few more minutes with the phone and she’d checked in with Boynton, Shalin and Shen; the Nest would be there when they returned.

  The situation in Brewster hadn’t changed at all, especially since Beckie’d left. Based on Rosa Simmons’ updates, the closing would occur as scheduled.

  Last call for today, she thought, as she scrolled to Sandy’s number and tapped Call. “Hola!” she responded to her University of Miami roommate. “We’ll be headed your way in about a week.”

  “Oh, so you’re still alive? What are you doing about classes?”

  “I’ll explain when I get there. Tell Greg Amy’s coming after we stop in Orlando for a couple of days. So I’m hoping you didn’t rent my room!”

  Sandy laughed. “Not likely.”

  “Cool. Oh, yeah. Will it be a problem to leave another car there?”

  “Not for me. Greg and Marla won’t care, either. Plenty of room down there. You buy another one to keep your Miata company? They won’t have little ones, you know.”

  It was Beckie’s turn to laugh. “No. We’ll explain when we get there, too. Oh, before I forget again, all three of you are coming to the Nest for Thanksgiving. No excuses, hear!”

  “That sounds great. I’ll let the lovers know they’ll have to be satisfied with the beach.”

  While she waited for Amy and Dylan’s
return, Beckie sunned herself in the surprisingly pleasant air, and worked on the look she wanted for the Brewster house, once it was hers.

  At five past three, her phone rang; the display read Amy.

  “Hello. You guys—”

  “Hi!” Amy’s voice sounded full of happiness. “We’re gonna take a ten minute side trip to the Coast Guard Beach. Dylan wants to show it off. Okay?”

  “Sure. Ten minutes is fine. Have fun.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Amy called again. This time, Beckie barely got “Hello” out before she heard a squeal and a gasp, cut off. “We’re being chased!” Amy screamed. “Help!”

  “Okay. Stay with me, okay?” She tried to keep her voice calm; Amy needed no more reason to stress. “Where—”

  Another squeal. Crashing, thumping sounds… Silence.

  Beckie pushed the speaker icon, then grabbed her laptop and clicked the Find My Phone app, all the while shouting at the phone in case Amy, or Dylan, picked it up. A few seconds was all it took; the phone was in Eastham, along Doane Road near Ocean View Drive. Close to the Coast Guard Beach. While it meant nothing to her, she loaded the coordinates in her GPS and ran out the door, still listening.

  Beckie followed the GPS voice with half an ear, focusing on the road and other traffic while hoping to hear something from the phone. As she drove east on Doane Road, flashing lights atop a police car stopped her. Bet that’s it, she thought as she pulled off the road.

  “You’ll have to go back, Miss. Take the first—”

  “You have an accident up there, right? And a girl with blue hair? She’s mine and I’ve come to collect her. Please.” Beckie was hurrying toward the officer.

  “How’d—”

  “She called me as it was happening.” Beckie looked at the phone. “Twenty-six minutes ago, now. May I go on?”

  He made a notation on his clipboard, nodding. “Yes. Talk to Officer Westen. She can help you.”

  Beckie ran toward the ocean until she saw in quick succession, a police car across the road ahead, a car in a ditch to her right, a tow truck maneuvering toward the car, and as it backed, a police officer and Amy. Amy was sitting on the road with the officer kneeling beside her. No blood, but where’s Dylan?

  The woman officer heard the slapping of Beckie’s shoes on the asphalt and stood and faced her as she slid to a stop, panting.

  “What are you—”

  “Amy! Are you okay?” Damn, I didn’t want to sound so fear-struck. A little more calmly, she continued past the policewoman, “Where’s Dylan? Is he—”

  “Just a minute! What are you doing here?”

  Beckie pushed the woman’s arm aside to reach for Amy. As she did, she turned her head toward the officer. “Sorry. You’re Officer Westen? I’ve come to collect my ward, Amy Arden.” She pulled Amy to stand and then into a hug. With her other hand, Beckie dug in her pants pocket for the letter awarding Amy’s short-term guardianship. “That should be sufficient, I think.”

  Closer, Amy’s pale blue shirt had several buttons missing and Beckie observed splashes of drying blood decorating it. Beckie clutched the shaking girl close again and whispered, “It’ll be okay, Amy. Just relax.”

  “This does look to be in order, Miss—”

  “Sverdupe,” Beckie completed while the officer was searching the letter.

  “Sverdupe, yes. Thank you.” She returned the document. “Do you have one for the young man, too?”

  “No. I can get him home, since he’s a friend of the family, but he’s not my responsibility in that sense.” Beckie turned to survey the scene. “Where is he, anyway?”

  “Sitting in the squad.” Westen pointed toward the cruiser. “He was dazed when I got on scene, so I had him sit down while I talked to him. The girl, Amy, she was out of the car and I saw her trying to use a piece of glass to hurt herself.” She gingerly unwrapped Amy’s left arm and held it where Beckie could see shallow cuts along the wrist.

  “She said they were after her, trying to snatch her again?”

  “Amy had a bad experience about a month ago. She’s not fully over it yet. You sound like you doubt either Amy or Dylan was a target?”

  With a wave, Westen led them to her car. Dylan gave her a weak salute as they approached. She smiled back.

  Westen opened her door but remained outside. The radio provided an undercurrent of calls and signals, but she didn’t pay them much attention. “Dylan made them a target by pulling out of the Coast Guard Beach road onto Doane Road.” She pointed toward the coastline. “He saw them coming down Ocean View Drive, but misjudged their speed. As something near the speed limit,” she said dryly. “Anyway, he was directly ahead of them, and he said she…” pointing to Amy, “… screamed about them being after her, so he took off instead of slowing to let them by. Their car forced him off the road…” She gestured at two ruts across the road from Dylan’s car. “… and his car crossed the road and ended up where it is.

  “I’m pretty sure the guys in that car weren’t interested in two kids on their way home, since I was chasing them from the scene of an armed robbery up toward P-town. I wasn’t in high speed pursuit, because there are too many driveways, and I didn’t want this to happen. But I’m sure…”

  “Yeah. Thanks for the background. I appreciate it.” Amy was still quaking, but not as much as she had been. “Hey. You feeling better, now?”

  Amy nodded, little jerky motions up and down.

  “Can I take them both home? And…” Beckie lifted Amy’s head to talk to her. “… what happened to your phone? Still in the car?”

  “I think it got thrown when we hit. I’m sorry.” She began to cry.

  “Hey, no big deal. Stay here while I go talk to the tow truck driver and see if I can find it.”

  In seven minutes, Beckie returned to the police car holding Amy’s sandy, pine needle covered phone. “Victory. At least, we won’t have to load everything in a new one.”

  Amy and Dylan were both inside the cruiser, holding each other more or less vertical.

  Westen put down her own phone. “Dylan’s mother would be happy if you could bring him back. She’s making an appointment to see his doctor to check for concussion, and that would be the other direction. The car will be at the impound yard.” She handed Beckie a card. “Address and phone number’s there. It’ll be a couple of days since it looks like Dylan didn’t lose control so much as he was pushed. We’ll be taking paint samples off the fresh dent in the left quarter panel.” She looked around. “How far back is your car?”

  “Back where…” She waved. “I’ll run back and get it.”

  In another hour, they had dropped Dylan off, after telling him to come over when he got back from the doctor’s. On their arrival, Beckie had pushed Amy toward the bathroom, saying, “Get a shower and relax, okay?” While Amy was washing her fears down the drain, or trying to, Beckie confiscated Amy’s ceramic knives, the ones she had kept from Abby’s bag. No need to give her the implements, if she’s still unsure about what life had in store.

  Amy’d had no resistance to offer when Beckie pushed her toward the bathroom, saying, “Get a shower and relax, okay?”

  Sure. Relax. Easy for her to say. Amy stripped and stepped into the shower. She turned the water as hot as she could stand and leaned against the wall, letting the spray beat her skin. As she turned pink, she thought about Dylan and the kiss they’d shared on the beach, before… Before those bastards came after her again. No, no, no! Not going to think about that.

  She grabbed the bottle of shampoo and squeezed a handful out. When she worked it into her now far shorter hair, the bubbles almost smothered her. Quickly she rinsed, then used the bar of soap to scrub the rest of her body. One towel took care of her hair, with enough dry spots to dry herself, too. She had pitched her clothes where the shower had soaked them; with a mumbled curse about open doors and clothes and what will I wear, she bundled them to drop in the sink.

  On the towel rack next to the door, she found the terry cloth
robe she’d been using; with a silent “thank you” to Beckie, she pulled it on and belted it. Covered, she pushed the sleeve up to look at the cuts. A little blood showed, but she was sure it was from being rubbed. In the medicine chest, she found a bottle of antiseptic and daubed the broken skin. She drew both sleeves down to cover her hands and opened the door.

  She stared at Beckie, waiting a foot away. With an arm around her waist, Beckie led her to a chair under the skylight. No, Amy thought, I don’t want…

  Beckie tolerated her resistance, token as it was, for barely a minute. Then she snorted and snatched the neck of the robe to yank it off. Nude, Amy squealed as she tried to grab it back, but Beckie threw it out of reach. Thwarted, Amy held her hands where Beckie could hold them for examination. The cuts weren’t deep enough to worry her, though the symbolism surely did. “Stay there while I get some… stuff.”

  “I put antiseptic on them already.”

  Beckie sat down, hard. If she’s trying to kill herself… why’s she taking care—

  “I know, stupid, right? Maybe you should check, make sure I did it right?”

  That sounds like a plea for help. “Just to make sure you got all of them.” In a few seconds, Beckie reseated herself. “Put the robe on.” Once Amy had done so, Beckie slid the sleeves up to expose the injuries and with a will, daubed the disinfectant every place the skin had been broken. She set the plastic bottle on the table and checked the wrists again. “I don’t think you’ll need bandages.”

  “No, they stopped bleeding before I got in the shower. I think washing opened them up.”

  Beckie kept Amy’s hands in hers. “Want to tell me about it?”

  “Can we wait… wait till Dylan gets here?”

  “For the things he can talk about, sure. I’d like to hear… God, Amy, I’m becoming my mother! But I want to help. I can guess why you might think those guys were after you. It’s a reach, but you’re pretty sensitive to things. What we need to work on is why you thought… cutting yourself would help.”