by Amy Faye
Chapter Eleven
Anna Witt was trying to sleep for the fourth time when her phone finally rang at four past midnight. It was almost a Godsend, because at least it finally meant that she had a reason that she couldn't get to sleep.
She pushed her hair back out of her face in an attempt to try to sound as awake and alert as possible, and then answered the phone.
"Hello?"
A familiar, low voice answered on the other end of the line. "Miss Witt? Are you up?"
"Detective. Yes. I'm up."
"Good. I'm coming over. We need to talk."
That seemed awfully late. How long were his hours? "Okay."
He hung up first. Anna let herself lay back down, let her eyes droop shut for a minute. It felt, every time, like she was only moments away from the sweet embrace of sleep, and yet… every time, she lay awake for thirty or forty minutes, her mind completely alert even as her body was exhausted.
Anna buzzed him in when the ringer went off, and a minute later, a knock came at the door. Mom and Dad probably wouldn't mind that much, right?
Mitch had always come by, all hours of the night. It wouldn't be that weird for them, probably. She hoped. At least this was for something important, so she could tell them she had to do it, if they were mad about it. Hopefully, though, they wouldn't be.
"Sorry about the late hour, Miss Witt."
"No, it's fine. Come in." Anna feels tired, but part of her still screams to make sure that the door is locked when he comes inside. She fights it for as long as she can before turning the bolt closed.
"Sit down, please."
Anna does what she's told. She likes it when people are easy to understand, and when they're direct. It makes life easier. She waits for him to say something.
He wouldn't have come over for nothing. Not that she would mind him coming over outside the case, but he's never given any indication that he thought about it.
"We just got off the phone with the kidnappers."
That got Anna's attention. "What did they say?"
"They demanded a million dollars' ransom, to be delivered tomorrow evening."
"Well—they're gonna pay it, right? I mean, a million, that's not so much. But like. If they're not—could I talk to them? The kidnappers, I mean?"
She wanted to believe that Mitch would pay. That his father would pay. Someone there would have real human decency and wouldn't let her daughter die. But if they didn't…
Then it would have been all her own stupid fault somehow. It seemed so real in her mind, that she definitely locked the door. And they'd have to have a key to get in the outside door.
But what if she'd made a mistake? What if she remembered wrong? What if, when she thought she went and checked on the door, she was remembering the night before, or the night before that?
What if… Jesus. It didn't seem right. She didn't think that she forgot. But what if she did, and all of this was because she didn't do enough to keep her daughter safe?
She'd never be able to forgive herself. Never mind being forgiven by anyone else, she'd blame herself forever and that would be exactly what she deserved.
Mitchell was right about her. She was an idiot. She was just too dumb to be left on her own, and that's why she had to have someone there to tell her, when she was, you know... messing up.
"Anna? I need you to focus. Look at me."
Anna blinked. What? Oh. She'd lost herself in thought for a minute. "I was listening—I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it," he says. He doesn't look angry. Not right now. After seeing him so upset before, it's a strange reminder that he didn't look like that in the beginning. "The instructions are very specific. You're going to be the one carrying the money."
"Me? What? Why?"
Detective Meadows's eyebrows furrow together. "I don't know. You take the money, you go to the park. A car will come by, they'll pick up the money, and they'll go. Then they'll call, and they'll give Ava's location."
"But why do they want me? I might screw it up somehow."
"We're not going to let that happen, Anna, but you shouldn't be so down on yourself. You're plenty smart. Just hold yourself together, keep your head straight, and you're going to be fine. We'll get you prepped tomorrow. You'll be fine, okay?"
Detective Meadows stood up. "I'll let you get back to bed."
He makes it most of the way to the door by the time Anna decides to speak. "I can't fall asleep."
"I'm sorry?" The detective stops and turns.
"I can't fall asleep. I've been trying for hours. And I just can't."
"Try to sleep."
"Do you have anything that helps you sleep? Not like. Medicine or something, just. Advice, maybe. My head feels like it's racing."
Detective Meadows looks at her flatly for a minute. "You're real upset about this, aren't you?"
The question is fairly innocent, but it hits in a way that Anna isn't expecting, and all of a sudden she's crying without really knowing for even an instant why.
"I'm sorry, I don't know what I did, but I'm really sorry about it. I didn't mean to screw everything up, I promise. Please, just get Ava back. Please? I'll do whatever you want. I'll say whatever. I don't know what I did but it's my fault and—"
She doesn't see him walking closer, and she doesn't hear anything over the sound of her sobs. Anna doesn't realize anything's changed until his arms circle around her shoulders and pull her in tight.
"You're doing fine, okay? You're doing just fine. Nobody's upset with you. Calm down, and everything is going to be alright."
Anna's head hurts. She wants to sleep, but she just… can't. She wants to stop crying, but every time the tears slow down for a moment, she can hear her own voice in her head, a voice that's telling her that she's a terrible mother.
A voice that tells her that it's her fault someone took Anna. And it's her fault that Mitchell left. And as much as she was finally starting to feel really comfortable with Ava, with the weekly appointments, with everything…
She didn't deserve to feel that way. She didn't deserve to be happy. She's suffering right now because she deserves to suffer. Detective Mitchell's hands start brushing through her hair, pushing it out of her face.
"Everything's going to be alright, Anna. Don't worry." His voice is soft, only a little above a whisper. "Don't cry. It's all going to be alright."
His arms feel strong and warm and comforting, and Anna wants nothing more than to stay there forever. She pushes him back, and he steps away like he was spring-loaded. She doesn't deserve strong and warm and comforting. The tears, which had abated for a moment, start up again, renewed at the thought.
Anna fell back into the couch, her hands pressed into her eyes. "I'll do my best tomorrow, okay?"
Detective Meadows doesn't answer right away. He sounds a little sad when he finally does. "I know you will, Miss Witt. I'll call you tomorrow, around noon."
She rubs her eyes and watches him open the bolt and head out the door. She can just barely hear the door below closing as well. It usually slams hard enough that you can hear it through the whole complex.
Anna takes a deep breath. In one, hold. Out two. Hold. In three, hold. Out four, hold.
She's going to be okay. She has to be okay. Because tomorrow evening she's going to do something very important to save her baby, and she's got to do it exactly right, or she's never going to see Ava again.
So she's not going to get another chance.
Chapter Twelve
He shouldn't have touched her. There were plenty of good reasons he shouldn't have. Plenty of reasons like professional standards, ethics, potential lawsuits. Conflicts of interest.
Things that could be the first big stain on a case that had, up til now, gone pretty well.
None of those things had stopped Detective Meadows up until now, and they hadn't stopped him this time, either.
He might feel bad about it, one day, but the one thing he didn't was hate himself for it. Because she needed
it. And the second that she'd given a sign that she didn't want it, he'd backed off.
He ran through the whole logical strain in his head again before he turned the ignition and the car jumped to life. He'd done it because it was the right thing to do, and ethics and best practice be damned. It needed to be done.
That didn't make him feel as much better as he'd hoped, though. Didn't help much at all, to be perfectly honest.
Part of what was eating at him, though, was that he couldn't answer the one valid concern she'd had. Anna Witt was a woman who constantly seemed to be convinced that she'd done something wrong.
He didn't doubt for a moment where that little concern had come from, but as much as he wanted it to be, it wasn't Josh Meadows's job to fix that problem, and it was especially not his job to fix it after they've already split up.
He swallows his concerns about her relationships. That's her life, not his. He's not supposed to be worried about her. After all, for all he knows, she's a suspect. That could all have been, in some weird way, a confession.
It assumed a cunning on her part that she hadn't shown, and a wickedness that Josh didn't want to imagine could exist in this world.
Ten years on the force, climbing up to Detective, had taught him that there was a lot more wrong with the world than he'd like to imagine, so he'd better just as well get used to the idea. He hadn't yet, and the day that he did was the day he would quit. Become a construction worker or something.
Why her? Why not someone else? Was there some kind of concern that someone else might not go through with it? Why not have Al Queen himself walk the money out? They could even have tried to go for some kind of double-cross and pulled the old man into the van.
They could have gotten way more than a million for Al or Mitch Queen, if they'd been grabbed. And this would be a golden opportunity to grab one of them. But they didn't give themselves that opportunity.
Instead, they'd asked to have a woman that was, speaking for the wider world, nobody at all. They'd demanded she come alone. No police escort, nothing like that.
Well, hell. Meeting in a public park, you weren't exactly going to avoid the cops perfectly, but they'd stay at a distance. A big enough distance that they wouldn't be noticed even by keen and cautious eyes.
The problem, the thing that concerned Josh, was that there must have been some reason. A reason for choosing her.
It was easy enough to say, she's the mother, she's the least likely to screw something up. But that would be assuming that they didn't know anything about her.
They'd found a woman who'd been tied, previously, to Mitch Queen and her child, in spite of her name never appearing in full in any of the papers—Josh had checked.
They'd come in while she was asleep. They'd known that she wasn't awake, because if she was, then the whole thing would be in trouble. Hell, if she'd even woken up when they were inside…
Which means that they didn't pick her randomly out of a hat. They knew plenty about Anna Witt, and they knew full well that whether she was capable or not, she didn't think she was. She thought she was a real fuck-up.
Why would you pick someone like that to do your drop-off? Someone who would come right out and tell you that they'd probably just screw it up if you left it to them?
Why would you pick someone like that?
The idea occurs to him like a punch in the gut and it's hard to convince himself not to turn around and find someone else to tell it to. It's hard to keep fresh in his mind that he'll have plenty of time in the morning to tell someone.
Because the idea that they wanted someone who might screw it up, or wouldn't be confident that they hadn't screwed it up, isn't an idea that just goes away.
Because if that's what you wanted out of your drop person, there are only so many reasons. Almost all of them end up at the intersection of "take the money" and "run" before too long.
He eases his foot off the gas. No choice but to wait and see what happens. After all, they've got nothing to go on but a menacing—and distinctly male—voice on the other end of a telephone line.
They traced the number, of course. They weren't idiots. They found the phone in a trash-can right on Eight, ten miles east of Anna Witt's place. Right where they said it would be, when the call had ended.
The next call would be from a totally different phone. And, if a third had to be made—it wouldn't, they'd been very careful to assure—then they would be making it from yet another phone altogether.
These were some cautious fuckin' guys. These were guys who thought things through, who made decisions that wouldn't end up being big damn mistakes.
And more than that, they had chosen to do all of this in a way that Anna Witt would be in a solid position to take a big fall if things didn't come through.
Josh's stomach twists. Who would do something like that? He doesn't need to think long or hard about it. Someone who wanted to punish Anna, punish her in a way that wasn't ever going to go away?
The list of suspects was real short, and he'd best keep his suspicions to himself until he was real confident in them, because you don't go around accusing Congressmen's sons of things like that.
Not without solid proof.
That thought doesn't put him off the way that he thinks it probably should have. There's a little voice in the back of his mind, a voice that reminds him that he better be careful.
Josh Meadows ignores it. He's never been careful before in his life, and he's not planning to start now. Especially not when the stakes are as high as they are. But for all that he doesn't like being careful, he'll take his time.
Something like this, even if it all goes according to plan, doesn't make careers. It breaks them just fine if it goes wrong, but when you rat out a boy like that… all it makes you is right. It doesn't make you rich and it sure as hell doesn't help you out.
All you'll be, the rest of your career, is the guy who fucked over a Congressman. The guy who is never going to be promoted again, no matter how well he does.
That suits Josh just fine. Because he didn't get into this job to be promoted, to get a big fat paycheck, or even to get his name in the papers—though his name had been in the papers, and it would be a hell of a lot more if his hunch turned into anything.
He did it because he wasn't going to see people get hurt again, not if he could help it. And this time, he could help it.
Chapter Thirteen
The little speaker in her ear crackles a little bit with electro-magnetic interference in the microphone on the other side. They're supposed to be up pretty high, and pretty far away.
She doesn't turn to look. If she does, maybe someone will see. Maybe the wrong sort of person. So she just holds the suitcase and sits on the bench and waits for someone to come along who looks like they're signaling her.
She waits a long time. The first minute or two, she thought that she would be seeing something any second. Then she thought, any minute now.
Thirty minutes later, she doesn't see a convincing-looking black sedan, with dark-colored windows. They're late. They're past late, and now she's started worrying.
Worrying was normal for Anna, but worrying this much isn't pleasant. It's past the normal. She does her breathing exercises as best she can. In, one two three, out, two three four. In, two two three, out, two three four.
Nothing. Nobody's coming. Is she in the wrong place? Did she screw something up already? What could she have gotten wrong?
"We've got something." A woman's voice says into her ear. Just quiet enough to hear. They look like a pair of iPhone headphones. "Coming your way, Anna. Headphones off. We see you. You're clear. Wait for the signal."
Anna pulls the headphones out and slips them into the pocket of her dress. The car slows down and stops. Dark windows. Dark car. The front passenger-side window rolls down slowly.
"Anna Witt?" The voice inside isn't one she recognizes. He's got an unremarkable voice. One that's neither high-pitched nor low, one without a remarkable accent. Midwester
n, she figures. Maybe from upstate.
She pushes herself up from the bench.
"Am I supposed to give you—"
The guy inside has dark glasses on, and a ski mask. She can't make out anything except for glimpses of the color of his skin. It's not overly pale. Definitely white, or possibly a very light-skinned Latino.
"Shh—Open up the door, and slide the suitcase on the seat. You aren't here with anyone, are you?"
Anna stands up and looks around. "I don't think so."
"Good. Now do what I said. Open the door, slide the suitcase onto the seat, and close the door again. Real easy."
She does so. The car door opens easily. It's not locked. She picks up the suitcase. She'd expected it to be heavy, as full as it was, but she can lift it easily if she uses two hands. With some difficulty if she only uses one. It slides comfortably onto the seat.
"Like that? Am I doing this right?"
"Shut up," he says. His voice sounds hard now. Angry.
"Okay, sorry. Just close the door, and then you'll call Mitch and tell him where Ava is?"
"Stop asking questions, bitch. Close the door. Quit stalling."
She closed the door. She hadn't meant to stall. But it was just so hard to be sure that she was doing everything right. She'd never been in a situation like this one before, where it was all on her shoulders.
The weight that's been on her chest since last night doesn't pull off just yet. It won't until Mitchell's phone rings and they've got Ava back safe.
She watches the car pull away, until she loses him in traffic. That was all she could do. There's nothing else she can do now but wait and hope that she didn't screw something up.
She walks back to her bench and sits down. She slips the ear-phone back in.
"Did I do alright?"
The woman's voice is soothing. "You did great, sweetheart. Great job. You're a pro."
Anna's chest tightens. They're being too nice. Whatever comes next, they're trying to soften it for her, so that she won't get too upset when they tell her where she screwed up. That's how it always goes.