by Gina Conroy
After the crowd dispersed, Nick approached Samantha.
“Channel Four wants to interview me for the six o’clock news.” Samantha avoided his eyes.
“That’s great.”
“You don’t sound thrilled.”
“I’m about to break this case. We don’t need extra people around.” She didn’t need to know his meeting with Timmons had bombed.
Cody called Samantha.
Maybe Nick should back down and give Samantha her shot at happiness. His suspicions of Cody had been fueled by jealousy and tainted his judgment. Time to give the guy a break. Give Samantha a break. “Sparky needs you. I’ve got an investigation to wrap up.”
“Wait.” Samantha grabbed his wrist, then released. “I overheard Timmons talking on the phone about wanting out.”
The warmth from her touch lingered. “Stay away from Timmons. You don’t want to be around when cleanup starts.”
Nick glanced at Cody, arms crossed. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
Samantha’s shoulders slumped, but she didn’t argue as she walked away.
Defeat dug its claws in as Nick’s heavy heart pulled him down. His grip released as he slipped back into the darkness Samantha had helped him escape.
Chapter 9
Nick paced the orientation center waiting for his buddy Jack Courtland. It’d been awhile since they talked, but with no concrete evidence on any suspect, it was time to relinquish the investigation to the Feds and turn in his badge for good.
Jack sauntered over in his raid jacket and khakis like he was on top of the Washington Monument. With a fiancée and new career at the FBI, he was.
“Hi Jack, it’s been awhile.” Jack shook Nick’s hand. “Too long. But glad you called. You were vague on the phone—mind filling me in?”
Nick divulged everything, including the discovery of the new cuff link.
“Why didn’t you call sooner?”
“I screwed up, I know. I should stop playing hero.”
“Let it go. Let them go. God doesn’t want you living like this.”
Pressure built in Nick’s head. “What does He want? Nothing I do is ever enough.”
“Nothing will be… until you surrender.”
“It’s mine, I tells ya.” Althea Washington broke from the crowd as Lydia Taylor finished her interview with Samantha.
Out of nowhere, Nick appeared and restrained her. Agent Jack Courtland, Tara Whitley’s fiancé, stood by his side. Guess the forgery wasn’t a secret anymore.
“Let me go. It belongs to me.” Althea pulled something from her pocket as she struggled with Nick. “Here’s proof.” She handed over a cuff link.
Samantha examined it. “Looks like the match.”
Nick released Althea as Lydia Taylor pointed to her crew.
“Roll it. An identical cuff link to the one excavated at Mount Vernon has been found by…” She glanced at Althea’s name tag. “Althea Washington. Though this one appears to be in remarkable condition. Ms. Washington, where did you find this?”
“Masta Washington gave it to me. Said one day everything’ll be mine”—she spread her arms—” ‘cause I’m his blood.”
Samantha’s mouth gaped.
“You’re claiming you’re Washington’s heir, and he personally gave you this cuff link, when history records President Washington had no biological children?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Lydia Taylor waved for Nick to escort her away, then strolled so the camera didn’t catch Nick dragging Althea off.
What could make her delusional today when Saturday she’d acted normal?
“New discoveries. New mysteries. Who exactly is Althea Washington, and why does she have the cuff link marked with President Washington’s initials? Is she heir to Washington’s estate or a delusional employee?” She eyed Samantha. “Maybe there’s more to dig up at Mount Vernon.”
Nick closed the passenger door with Althea inside.
“Thanks for calling, Mr. Porter.” Custis Washington, Althea’s son, shook Nick’s hand. “I’m sorry.” His husky voice softened. “We’ve tried to regulate her medication, but Mom’s stubborn. Doesn’t like doctors.”
“How long has she been like this?”
“Years. It’s been harmless, until now.” Custis rubbed his forehead. “We have a family history of schizophrenia. Doctors diagnosed delusional disorder when her symptoms first appeared.” He looked at Althea, rocking. “Time for more tests.”
“Does she have a history of stealing?”
“Not that I know of. Why?”
“I’m curious where she got the antique book dated before the Revolutionary War.” Nick hoped he wouldn’t ask how he knew about it.
“That’s a family heirloom detailing life with the Washingtons. Mama’s proud of her heritage.”
“Is there any truth to her claim about being related to Washington?”
“None. If our ancestors had his children, it’d be in there.”
Nick recalled the research he found on the other book in Althea’s room, documenting West Ford’s claim he was a descendant of Washington from an affair with a slave girl. It was never proven, but that book probably fueled Althea’s delusions of being Washington’s heir.
“Thanks for your time.” Nick handed him a card with his cell number. “If she mentions anything, please call.”
No chance she pulled off the theft and forgery. That left Timmons, Sparks, and Newberg.
“He said no harm would come to me,” Althea chanted.
“Who, Mama?” Custis leaned in the window.
She squinted at Nick. “Masta?”
“I’m Nick Porter. The security guard.”
“Where’s Masta Washington? He gave me a gift. Said no harm would come to me.”
Could the answers to the forgery be buried in Althea’s mind? Nick looked at Custis. “Can I ask her a few questions?”
“Sure.”
“You’re talking about the cuff link?”
Althea nodded.
“Who gave it to you?”
“Found it in my apron. I know it was from him.”
Nick flipped through the photos in his cell. “Recognize anyone?” She didn’t flinch at the first two. Her face lit at the third. “There you are, Masta.”
Samantha hurried to her car. She’d told Jack Courtland everything she knew about the telescope and her suspicions that more items in the study could be forged. Now things would return to normal. All she wanted to do was get the children, go for ice cream, and call an impromptu movie night with her girlfriends. Something light like The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer.
Searching for her keys, Samantha noticed a paper under her wiper. She’d forgotten about Nick. Probably best if he canceled tonight. She opened the note, her heart crumbling.
You should’ve stayed away. Now your children will pay.
With shaky hands, she fumbled the door open and the key into the ignition. She found her phone and hesitated. Who should she call? She didn’t have Jack Courtland’s number. She scrolled her recent calls. Nick?
Jack had assured her Nick wasn’t involved in the forgery and had kicked his addiction. She believed him. Nick could’ve hurt her or the children anytime. He hadn’t. She needed to trust him.
Again.
She dialed. The phone died. Dear God, let them be okay. Of course they’d be okay. Camp Summerwood wouldn’t release them without her consent. Whoever wrote the note only meant to scare her. She breathed deep and pulled onto Route 1.
God, I beg You, don’t take my kids from me. I can’t go through this again.
Running to the dig site, Nick tried Samantha’s cell again. Voice mail. The site, deserted. He hustled to the lab. Banged on the door, then peered through the windows. Dark. Empty.
Where are you?
He raced to the parking lot. Her vehicle, gone.
He climbed in his Jeep, found his laptop, and Googled Kyle Timmons and Cody Sparks. On his initial search, he couldn’t
find their connection. What was he missing? He scrolled the links, stopping on an article.
BU Student Killed in Car Accident. Nick clicked and searched. Kyle Timmons, graduate student at BU, came upon the burning vehicle of Arthur Bundrum, BU undergraduate. He almost clicked the next link, but the following paragraph caught his attention. Arthur Bundrum was charged with forging paintings and selling them as originals. He was set for trial until his death.
Could Timmons have been involved in art forgery in college with Arthur Bundrum? He tried Samantha’s phone again. Voice mail.
Nick’s cell buzzed. Tony. “Whatcha got for me?”
“Timmons is clean, but I dug deeper into Sparks’s past like you asked.”
Nick mentally pistol-whipped himself for not doing it sooner. “Tell me.”
“Still no record, but Cody Sparks goes back thirty-five years to Washington State. Same address for a year, then no record until fifteen years ago when he reappears.”
Nick’s gut churned. Identity theft. The only explanation. “One more favor. Run Arthur Bundrum, and quick.” Though Nick didn’t need a report to know Arthur’d stolen some dead kid’s identity fifteen years ago and was working at Mount Vernon now. He had to find Samantha. He couldn’t let another woman he loved die because of his mistakes. “Get ahold of Courtland. Tell him what you found and get me a safe house. The thing I was working on just blew up in my face.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Steele. They’ve been collected.”
Samantha’s breath choked. “By who?”
Mr. Kingsley, the camp director, pointed to the name on the list. “I’m sorry. The kids knew him.”
Samantha’s hands shook as she read the name. Kyle Timmons? The same handwriting as the note.
Chapter 10
Samantha leapt from her car to make a call at a gas station pay phone. With shaking hands, she deposited coins, misdialed twice. Please. Her chest loosened when Nick answered.
“Samantha, are you okay?”
“Timmons took Callie and Alex.” Sobs erupted.
“I’ll find them. Where are you?”
“A gas station.” Samantha located a street sign.
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Samantha’s hands shook. “I can’t sit here. What can I do?”
Silence. “Pray. You can pray.”
Had Nick told Samantha to pray? Where’d that come from? Desperation? Definitely. A dormant seed of faith waiting for the right moment to sprout? He hoped so. He’d spent too long in the pit he dug. He was ready to climb out for good and ask God for help.
Those kids… if anything happened to them… He choked back emotion. Swiped tears. When you’re weak, you’re strong.
He couldn’t find them on his own. He needed to surrender.
Telling Samantha he’d find her children had been easy on the phone; seeing her glassy-eyed in his passenger seat nearly destroyed him.
“Where are we going?” Samantha’s voice sounded robotic.
“To a safe house. It’s not far.”
“What about Callie? Alex?”
Thunder boomed in the distance, storm clouds stealing daylight. He needed to move fast.
“They put an APB on Timmons. We’ll find them.” And Arthur, but now wasn’t the time to tell her.
She grabbed Nick’s arm. “They’re all I have.”
Dread rose. He punched it down. He couldn’t lose another child. Nick prayed. Another grain of pressure lifted. Two prayers in one day.
Two more than he’d prayed in a long time.
Approaching the safe house, Samantha wanted to scream at God. Bang her fists on His holy chest and holler, “Why, God, why again?” Why was she safe? What had her children done to deserve this fate? Yet only a pathetic, whispered prayer escaped.
The door opened. Someone helped her to the couch.
“Keep the shades closed.”
Nick. He went to the kitchen, then returned. “See if one of these phone chargers works.”
She clutched them, letting the numbness shroud her.
“I’ll find them.” His lips brushed hers.
She didn’t feel a thing.
“Lock the dead bolt. Don’t answer for anyone but me.”
She stared past him and didn’t hear him leave.
When she couldn’t sit any longer, Samantha rose to use the restroom. Nick? She searched the house. When did he leave? She filled a glass with water, guzzled it. Setting it in the sink, she noticed a small box on the counter. She opened it.
A gold rose pin? From Nick? If her children weren’t in the hands of a madman, if she wasn’t drowning in despair, she might’ve allowed her excitement at the gift to rise. But she couldn’t. She squelched thoughts of Nick, of Cody, of everyone but her children, and wished she had died instead of Jim.
Then her children would be safe.
Samantha wept until her tears dried up, then removed the pin and attached it to her shirt. She was ready to swallow her stubbornness and admit she needed Nick and the hope he brought to her life. Standing alone, she finally admitted she needed God.
Samantha moved to the couch and waited for her cell to charge.
Waited for Nick to call.
Waited for her kids to come home.
The waiting gnawed a hole in her gut.
She switched on the television. “Breaking news from the Smithsonian, where a murder…”
Samantha’s mind jolted. She raised the volume.
Next to a green car stood a reporter. Flashing lights in the background. “Kyle Timmons found dead in his car with a single gunshot wound to the head. Police say a suicide note has been found with a signed confession to a forgery at Mount Vernon and the murder of two children.”
Life drained from Samantha’s body. No, God. Not my babies. Air whooshed in and out, but she couldn’t breathe. She ran to the kitchen, splashed water on her face, sucked in air, choking, choking, choking.
Hunched over the sink, she vomited. Wiped her mouth, then spewed again. Screaming in her head. Ringing in her ears.
Ringing.
Ringing.
Ringing… Her cell phone? She answered.
“Did you see the news?” The voice unnerved her.
“Who is this?”
“You should’ve stayed away.”
Her body shook with rage. “What’ve you done to my babies?”
“Nothing… yet.”
“The news said—“
“Reporters are so unreliable.”
“Mom!” Alex’s cry ripped through her heart.
“I’m coming, baby.”
“Come alone or your kids’ll drop like flies.”
Nick drove toward Camp Summerwood, his knuckles white as he gripped the wheel. How’d Timmons’s name get on the list? Why’d the kids go with him?
He clicked on the GPS transponder website. Stupid! He forgot to pin the tracker—that darn rose pin—on Samantha. He grabbed the phone, but didn’t know the safe house number. Idiot! Maybe Samantha had charged her phone. He dialed. Voice mail. His fists slammed the steering wheel.
“God, if it’s true I’m strong when I’m weak, then I’m Hercules, ‘cause I got nothing left.”
Nick’s cell buzzed. “Tell me something good, Tony. I’m losing it.”
Tony relayed the news about Timmons and the children.
“Are you sure?” Rage and helplessness battled for control inside of Nick. He encouraged the inferno within, so he could finish what some maniac started.
“No bodies yet. So sorry, man.”
Nick threw the phone on the seat. Timmons killed the kids, then himself? Something smelled fishy. Like the Capolinis. If Timmons’s death wasn’t suicide, the kids might be alive. But where did Arthur Bundrum fit into all this? Was he another pawn in this twisted game of Italian roulette?
Chapter 11
Samantha entered the Metro, beating the downpour. Almost six o’clock, yet the sky darkened like midnight. Thunder clapped. Her mind cleared. Her children
were alive.
She slid into a seat and swallowed her pride. Instead of prayers of desperation, she cried prayers of defeat.
Nothing felt better.
Hope she hadn’t experienced in years brightened before her. She replayed the man’s words in her mind.
“Dropping like flies.”
Understanding illuminated in a flash of lightning. She found her phone, praying it had enough charge. Nick needed to know where her children were. He needed to know she trusted him. She dialed Nick’s number. The screen went blank. Her spirit sank.
No one to rely on except God.
Nick jammed the horn. “Move it!” If he was a cop, he’d throw up his lights and be through the intersection. He checked the tracking transponder. It had moved from the house, continuing at a steady pace. Had Samantha pinned it on?
Where are you going? He followed her. Thunder clapped. The transponder faded. Ominous clouds rolled in. He floored the pedal, hoping to beat the storm.
A steady drizzle fell as Samantha hurried through Christ Church’s arch. The once-busy street was now deserted as people dodged rain, seeking refuge. Quickening her pace, Samantha shivered. The sky had grown black, too quick. The church building and courtyard dark, empty, but she wasn’t alone.
The rain pelted. A hand clamped her mouth from behind. Dragged her across the wet lawn. She gagged at garlic breath as he threw her down. Fear strangled. Lightning flashed.
Her children were near. Rags in their mouths, hands bound. Then darkness. She heard whimpering and pulled them close.
Another flash of lightning illuminated eyes. Once attracted to them, now she was repulsed. “You don’t look surprised.”
Where was the cowboy lilt that had her swooning? Gone. Never was. His carefully planned deception buried deep beneath lies. “I’m not surprised.”
He squatted, gun in hand. “I thought we had a future. I planted that cuff link hoping you’d give up, so we could be together.” He stroked her cheek. Samantha jerked away.