by Amy Faye
He'd already been lucky—more than lucky—once. They'd decided, he guessed, to take a little bit of mercy on him. But there wasn't going to be a second time. Mitchell Queen might know when he deserved to take a beating. His lawyers might, too.
But the man's got a mean streak in him a mile wide, and he's not going to let two go by unchecked.
It occurs to him that there's a good chance that there's a good chance that Mitch had all of this planned when he'd demanded the apology. He'd probably known full well what was going to happen the whole time.
Which means that in the end, he'd known that it was going to be a hell of a lot harder to give that apology than it looked like.
The fact that he'd still have to give it if he wanted a place on the force might have been planned from the start. To give Mitchell a big ol' hard-on of suffering and anger. It wasn't hard to imagine that he'd do something like that.
Josh loosens his grip. He's not going to give that son of a bitch any sort of satisfaction. Not if he can help it. A second outburst would ruin Josh's career, but it wouldn't do a hell of a lot to a Congressman's son.
Every little ache and pain would just be a reminder that, in the end, he'd outsmarted Josh and the entire God damned police force. He'd outmaneuvered them all, forced Josh into a position where he had to solve the problem with his fists.
But he hadn't. Punching his way out of problems was how Josh Meadows had solved his problems before he became a cop. Before he became a valued member of society. When he was just a scrap on the street and doing what he had to do.
Now he solves his problems like an adult. He thinks things through and makes decisions that were the right thing, not just the easy thing. Not just the way that he naturally wanted to do it, not just the way that felt good.
He moves around the couch and pulls Anna close into his arms. She leans her head into him, her body racking with sobs.
"It's going to be alright. We'll figure this out."
"It's Mitch, I know it's Mitch. He's doing this."
She's not wrong, but Josh doesn't want to admit to it. There's nothing to be gained from assigning blame, no matter how much he wants to. They've got to do something smarter than that. They've got to figure out some way to just… deal with it, for now.
In a while, they'll have time to decide what to do next.
"It's fine. We'll get through this, Anna. Don't worry. We'll figure it out. Don't worry, okay? Just stay calm. You can cry all you want. You're not in any trouble, okay? You're not an unfit mother. You're a good mom."
"No, I'm not," she says softly into his chest. "How many good moms have their daughters kidnapped?"
Not many, but it's the wrong question in the first place. "Hey. Don't beat up on yourself. You did the best you could. There are bad people out there. That doesn't mean that you're bad, or stupid, or anything like that, just because they hurt you."
"But I am bad and stupid."
"No way."
"I'm sorry I got you into this."
"Don't be sorry, babe. It's fine." She presses her head deeper into his shoulder for a minute, and then pulls back out and sits back.
"It's my fault, but I know how to fix it."
Josh sits back. What is that supposed to mean? How exactly is that? "Oh?"
She reaches down into her pocket and pulls out a cell phone.
"I'll just. I'll." She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes and when she lets the breath out again, she's looking a little more focused. "I'll just call him, and see what he wants from me. Then we'll give him whatever he wants to just. Go away."
"I'm not sure that's such a good idea, Anna. Maybe you shouldn't."
She's already tapping away at the screen, though. She's already decided to make the call, regardless of whether or not it's a good idea.
She puts the phone up to her ear. A second later, the faint sound of ringing can be heard even from where Josh is sitting. Mitch's voice on the other line causes the detective's jaw to tighten.
"What do you want, Josh?"
He says something that sounds like 'I don't know what you're talking about.' The way his voice sounds over the phone doesn't leave any question that he certainly knows exactly what she's talking about and why she's calling.
"I just want my daughter back, Josh. Why are you doing this?"
Josh hears, though he still is trying not to listen. He's trying to work up the guts to just leave the room. He shouldn't eavesdrop, but worse than that, the call's just going to get his blood up. His hands sting where the skin is split, and yet he balls them up into tight fists that just makes the skin hurt more.
On the other end of the line, Mitchell asks if Josh is there. She's always, he says, had a thing for the tall-dark-and-handsome types. Have they slept together yet?
Josh takes a deep breath and stands up.
"You didn't want Ava. I just want her back, Josh. Why are you doing this to me?"
His response is loud enough that Josh hears it loud and clear, even from this far away. 'You took my father away.' He ends it by calling her a rude name that Josh decides he didn't hear, because his hands are already burning to get around that weasel's throat enough.
There's something funny about the whole situation. The whole thing feels odd. Something that Josh can't quite put his finger on.
The response from the elder Queen. They had the money. They had it in cash. All there, ready to be paid out. It hurt, no doubt about it. Four million in cash is a lot of money to find in just a few days.
And yet, they'd managed to do it somehow. It was also an odd number to pick. Why four?
Why not five? Why not ten? Why not three?
The answer seems obvious, but it's not something he can say for sure. After all, he hadn't been able to say any of it for sure.
Because they had four million. Al Queen had four million in cash on hand, so they took him for four million. If they could have strung it out, maybe they'd have gotten more. But then again, the chance to grab the elder Queen had opened up the opportunity to grab him.
There's more than four lousy million in it, now. So they took the four, and now they're triple-dipping. The F.B.I. isn't going to look kindly on that, but it's out of his hands.
The question still burns in his mind, though, as tears start falling down Anna's face. Why four million? How could they have known?
If they knew in advance, someone must have told them. It's the only answer.
But who was the one to have done it? And why?
Josh's gut tells him who would have had the gall to do it. And it tells him that he'd better not go around making those kinds of accusations lightly.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Josh looks at her like he's not happy with her. Anna understands why he's not. If there was one thing that she knows he doesn't like, it's relying on Mitch's good will.
After all, Detective Meadows never saw his good side. The past few years, he's seemed different. Everything seemed to be about how mad he was about… everything. He's mad all the time, it seems like.
But that's how he acts. That's not who he is. That's not who he is underneath, and if Anna can just talk to him again, as a human being… if she can just reach in and get to the person who he always was.
The person who built half the furniture in that house, for Pete's sake. Who enjoyed his life. She'll be able to make him see what he's become. She doesn't need him to be with her any more. She doesn't even want him any more.
But seeing the way he's been, the past few days… it's been upsetting, to say the least. Whatever it is that's gotten to him, he's not happy. Anyone can see that.
"What's that look for?"
Josh lets out a long sigh. "Nothing. I'm just worried about you, is all."
Anna slides down into the sofa until the arm of it cradles her head. Her body is sore from all the panic. But now they're going to go talk to Mitch. They're going to talk all of this over like grown ups.
That will clear the whole thing up. No problems. They'
ll just be talking, and there won't be any problems. She'll get Ava back, and he'll get… whatever the hell he's looking for. Closure, or something. As long as she gets Ava back, none of it really matters.
"Well, thank you. I appreciate it. But you don't need to worry about me."
"I'm worried anyways."
Anna can't help smiling a little bit. It's nice to be worried about, sometimes, too. Even if she'd rather that he didn't worry about anything at all.
"Good. But sit down. Please? I'm nervous. You're making me nervous. So just. Can you sit down?"
"Yes, ma'am," he says. He's trying to hide his bad mood, but Anna can see it.
He's not happy about any of this, and she doesn't blame him. In a few hours, she'll head to bed. Whether he stays or goes, that's up to him. She knows what she hopes, but that doesn't mean she'll get what she wants.
Then, tomorrow, she'll get up, and they'll go to meet him at lunchtime. He'll say his piece, she'll say hers, and they'll separate on good terms. Everything on the table.
Easy. She moves to the bedroom. Josh follows. It's been a long time since she slept in a man's arms. His are strong and thick and his chest makes a good pillow. It's been a long time since she felt like this.
Luckily for her, it's not going to have to be a long time again. She's got a future. She's got a beautiful baby girl. Tomorrow, she'll have that beautiful baby girl back for good.
Josh isn't guaranteed. Nothing is, in this life. But she's got him for as long as she's got him, and she's happy with that.
She wakes up a little sore. Her body still hurts from all the panicking that she did the night before. The other side of the bed, on the other hand, is empty. It's almost nerve-wracking. Light spills in at the edge of the window, and the bedroom door is shut tight.
As she gets out of bed, she can hear, ever so softly, the sound of voices in the front room. She opens the door and the voices get louder.
Underneath them is a soft sizzling noise, the occasional pop of fat cooking. Josh reaches over and taps his phone. The voices stop.
"Morning," he says. He's got a smile on his face. It's not clear whether he's decided to ignore the meeting with Mitch later, or he's just putting on a happy face for her, but she appreciates it.
Anna rubs the sleep out of her eyes. Her hair must be a mess. But she plods across the room and wraps her arms around his chest anyways.
"You smell good."
"That's the bacon, babe."
"No. I mean, that smells good, too. But I'm talking about you."
He presses a kiss down onto the top of her head. "Well, thank you. But I don't know if you should be this close to me right now. I don't think we have time to calm him down before I have to pull these eggs off the skillet."
Anna smiles at him and rolls her eyes, but she lets him go. "Do you know what time it is?"
Josh looks over at the microwave clock. "Yeah. It's… eight minutes until I pull the bacon out of the oven."
Anna rolls her eyes. Today's the day that she's finally going to put all of the trouble with Ava behind her. When she finally gets to say, there's nothing else that can possibly go wrong. So she's not going to let herself get down on herself.
First, because there's nothing else to worry about. It's all been taken care of and she's completely on top of everything.
Second, and more important, because she can't afford to let her panic get on top of her right now. She needs to be completely in control of herself, regardless of whether it's easy or not.
"How did you sleep?"
Josh's voice calls over from the Kitchen area. She strips her clothes off and leans out. A soft grin spreads across his face at the sight of her without her clothes on. "Great. You?"
"I was going to say 'great,' too, but now I feel like I'm just copying you. You stole my answer." Anna hears the click of a stove top turning off. "We've got a couple hours before the meeting with your ex, so don't rush."
Plates clatter together in the other room as she pulls another shirt on. Her body's starting to almost feel normal again, and she's almost ready to start wearing her regular clothes again. Maybe, soon.
"Okay."
A minute or two later, she's pulling her hair back into a ponytail right in time to hear the timer going off. He pulls the oven open and grabs the pan out of it, the bacon grease still sizzling loudly.
"One moment, and breakfast will be served."
Anna takes a seat at the table. It's small, but for two, it's more than big enough. A few more hours. Just a couple of short hours. Then they'll be meeting Mitch, he'll call off this whole crazy thing with Child Protective Services, and it'll all be taken care of.
She can't keep the smile off her face. So easy. Nothing can go wrong.
Someone lets the front door slam. On their way out to work, no doubt. It's the first time in a long time that the noise hasn't been just a little bit scary. It's so loud that it wakes Ava, some days.
Feet outside. No, then. Someone on the night shift. By the time she hears the key entering the lock, it's too late to know how mistaken she was, and a moment later the door is opening.
No knock, no call out, and then a trio of men the size of bears pressing through the door all at once, with masks covering their faces.
Something's gone very wrong indeed.
Chapter Twenty-Six
There wasn't a worse time imaginable not to have a gun than when a bunch of thugs come busting through the front door. Not in the world God damn world. So it's with a unique sense of irony that Josh Meadows watches all of this unfold.
He'd left the backup in the car. Didn't want to freak her out. So he'd left the gun in the car. It had caused all of a thirty second delay, and everything. One that he'd been more than a little embarrassed by.
Josh curses and put his hands up. A big mother-fucker with a mask over his face points a big gun in his face. It would do the job, all right. No problem making it so his head wasn't where it used to be.
But something in his gut told him that they were big for a reason, and not for the reasons that might make sense. They'd brought them for show—which didn't mean that they weren't planning to use them if things got hairy.
It does, more or less, suggest that they might not plan on using them if things didn't get hairy. Which is just one of the several reasons that Josh doesn't try to pull out some crazy karate moves.
Another stand-out being that he doesn't have anything to pull out, so he'd be making things up as he goes. History, recent history in particular, has shown that making things up hasn't worked out for him.
"Sit your ass down," the guy growls. His voice is uncomfortably nasally. Like he's got a bad cold. But in the middle of September, most people wouldn't.
The detective might go so far as to guess that only a couple dozen people in the city might have a cold. That, by itself, would be an identifying factor if he had a damn cold. Just find out who's been sneezing a lot lately, and there you go. You got your guy.
He figures it's just another part of the disguise. To disguise his voice. Which means that there's more behind the mask than just someone they could identify later. It's someone that, if they wanted to, they could identify right god damn now.
Josh sits where they tell him to. Nobody wants to get their head blown off for no reason. Then, his hands still above his shoulders, he tries to start getting them back out of this mess.
"What do you want?"
"We want the fuckin' money."
Josh does his absolute best not to look over at Anna. He can imagine the look of sheer confusion on her face, though. It probably looks a lot like his own.
"What money?"
"The money you didn't fuckin' pay us. We know the bitch has it, now where the fuck is it?"
This time Josh can't resist. "A dozen different cops I know and trust can tell you, we paid the money. It's gone. She only had it for about 45 minutes on Tuesday afternoon."
"Stop fuckin' lying to me, asshole." The big god damn gun is in Josh's face
again. He closes his eyes and tries to slow his heartbeat by holding off on taking another breath.
"I don't know what to tell you then, man."
Two of the guys in masks look at each other, for all the good it'll do them. They don't speak. Maybe they haven't figured out the nose-hole-plugging trick, or maybe they're pretty sure that we'd figure it out anyways.
Maybe the other guy should have been worried about that, too. It's hard to say. Josh doesn't know anyone who sounds like that, but then again he's got a long list of acquaintances, and few of them have memorable voices. Hard to tell one from the other.
Anna Witt, with only a handful of people she's close enough to to remember their names, she might recognize something. But if she's smart, she's not going to just blurt it the hell out.
"I don't know what to tell you. The instructions we got were, wait at the park. A black, late model four-door sedan comes to get the money. Anna Witt comes alone, delivers it. Cash. The late-model black four-door drives away, and then the call comes in.
"Black, 2013 Subaru Impreza drives up with the plates covered up. Very convenient, very smart, and it didn't matter in the end because the car was left smoking on the side of the interstate.
"They call to Anna, by name, she goes to the car. Instructed to put the money on the front seat. She does so. Car drives away. Like I said—side of the interstate a few hours later, and it's a towering inferno. No bag, no money, nothing in the front seat.
"So we paid."
"Then someone fucked us."
"That's not my problem."
"I can make it a big fuckin' problem for you," the guy says. He pulls the hammer back for effect, and grinds the barrel into my forehead, as if I hadn't gotten what he meant. The oil it leaves behind makes my head itch, but I'm not in a position to scratch it.
"I just don't know what you're expecting us to do. There's not a whole hell of a lot we can do from here, is there?"
"Yeah, so fuckin' what?"
"So, I don't know what you're expecting. You want a million dollars? It's not going to happen. First, you three are easily the most wanted sons of bitches on the face of the planet. A congressman? Really?