Misplaced Innocence

by Veronica Morneaux

  Fact. You couldn’t argue with that.

  “It’s him. Can I go to the phone?” she asked tentatively.

  They untied her hands and tossed her a cell phone, leaving her feet neatly tied. She redialed the number, and for the first time in a long time things were going well. Or what could be called well, all things considered.

  Charisma pressed the button and held her breath. The phone rang, once, twice. Each unanswered ring left her breath coming faster, terrified that she might go to voicemail. On the fifth ring, Jared’s familiar voice came through the receiver. She almost sobbed.

  “Hello?” His voice was strained, tense. She wondered where he was right now, at his table eating dinner or lying in his warm bed, where she wished more than ever she could be.

  “John.” She said the words emphatically, as if she could say it with enough conviction to make him suddenly believe his name was, in fact, John. “It’s me, Candy.” She wanted to say things quickly enough that he didn’t have time to interrupt her, to correct her in front of the others, but slowly enough that he would understand what she was asking. She held her breath, praying that he would play along and not tell her she had the wrong number, or do any of the million different things that would be perfectly reasonable responses to this bizarre call. And even though she was moments away from having her last breath, hearing his voice brought a wave of comfort crashing through her body.

  ~*~

  “It’s her; it’s the same area code!” Jared’s voice rose with anxiety as he recognized the number on his caller ID. Was it possible that Charisma had gotten back to a phone? After the deadening silence that had followed her last, brief phone call he had lost hope for her safe return.

  “Answer it. Put it on speaker,” Alex directed, “everyone out of the room, close the door!” Jared thanked his lucky stars that he happened to be with the detectives when the phone rang. He knew there was a purpose to his annoying persistence.

  Jared answered the phone and immediately put it on speaker.

  “John. It’s me, Candy.” Jared shot a totally confused look at Alex, who was nodding and scribbling the words “Go with it” on paper in front of him.

  “Hey, what’s… what’s going on?” he grimaced at his poor acting skills and tried not to notice that Alex frowned in his direction.

  “Hey, how are you? It’s been a long time”

  “I’m alright. How are you?” he asked, “It has been a while. I’ve missed the sound of your voice” he added reading more of Alex’s scribbles, and slipping comfortably into the conversation. It was just Charisma on the other end. And he had missed her voice more than he thought possible.

  She sighed into the phone, as if those were the words she had been wanting to hear. “Oh, John,” she said the name again, trying her best to convince the men in the room that this was John Daniels on the other end of the phone. “I was thinking maybe we should meet up. I miss you.” Her voice sounded bold, and a little too aggressive. He had never heard Charisma speak that way. Was she setting him up, or just found a way to call out for help?

  “I’d like that very much. I’d love to see you too.” He was pretty sure his voice sounded sincere now. He wanted nothing more in the world than to see her.

  “Could you meet me tonight, I mean,” she paused, “Sorry, tomorrow night, on the corner of 5th and Clayton?”

  “I’ll see you there. Seven sound good?”

  “Later is better for me. Can we do nine-thirty? I can’t wait.” And then the line went dead, and Jared closed his phone slowly. His face laced with confusion. He wanted to throw the damn thing across the room. He wanted to call her back. He wanted to cling to the phone in case the next call would be from her. Instead he just stood there.

  “You’re going to have to explain what just happened here,” he said, turning to Alex with a scowl that said there were no other options.

  “How much do you know?” Alex asked, after a moment of hesitation.

  “Considering that I firmly believe I’m about to have a dirty run-in with the mob, I think I deserve the full disclosure.”

  Alex pursed his lips. “I’d like to do that for you, but I can’t tell you everything. I can tell you that they think you are John Daniels.”

  “Because I hadn’t figured that part out. Who is he and why do they think I am?” Alex had hoped Jared had heard of the man. If he had, it was possible that Jared could have put together more than Alex was entitled to share.

  “He was a member of congress for New Jersey. He stepped down when he became implicated with the New Jersey mob during one of the bigger scandals of the decade.”

  “So the mob is looking for this John Daniels.” Step one of the puzzle complete. Why do they need Charisma to find him?”

  Alex let his eyes fall to the ground, as though he were suddenly interested in studying each and every scuff mark on the toe of his shoes. It was pretty clear the next tidbit would be an unwelcome one. “He was her boyfriend.”

  Jared sank slowly into the chair behind him. Everything was sliding into place. The mob wanted Daniels for something. He must owe them somehow, probably skimming cash or drugs or double crossing them. When they were unable to find him, they came after her looking for information or even, he thought with horror, a way to draw Daniels out with a public murder. And now he was in the position of pretending to be this John Daniels. It didn’t take a lot to figure out that he was going to be traded for her, if the mob had their way.

  “We are going to come up with a protocol,” Alex said, reading the expression on his face, “so that you both come home from tomorrow night safely. I promise that.” He smiled. It was almost enough to make Jared believe Alex actually thought his words were true.

  “Just get her home,” Jared’s voice was tired and worn, and held more firmness than he thought it would.

  “You must really care for her,” Marguerite said.

  “I’m sorry. What?” He took a moment to recover and then mumbled something even he couldn’t understand.

  “Well, since they have your cell number, we’re going to have protection on you twenty-four/seven. I need to get my team together and figure things out.” He sounded more confident than he looked, which wasn’t exactly what Jared would call reassuring. Jared stood up and they made their way towards the door.

  “Where is John Daniels?” Jared asked as they reached the door frame.

  “We aren’t sure. We haven’t been able to track him down. We think he left for Europe, or somewhere essentially inaccessible to us. There have been no major transactions from any banks or any clues to suggest where he is. He just disappeared and we, and the mob, have been trying to find him.”

  “You know I’m willing to do whatever it takes, but for the meeting shouldn’t an agent be John Daniels? Maybe someone with a license to shoot a gun?”

  Alex turned to him with a compassionate smile, and chuckled at his words. “Unfortunately, you’re meeting on a street corner. She has to recognize you, otherwise she might ruin the set up. And trust me, that is the last thing we want to happen for Charisma.”

  Jared didn’t need to ask what Alex meant by that. His face was grim. Tomorrow would bring whatever it would bring. They could only do their best to prepare for any type of scenario that might unfold.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Jared pulled his trench coat more tightly around his middle, crossed his arms over his chest and tucked his hands beneath them. He looked up, trying to establish the time from the sky’s rapidly changing gradient, framed by the two brick buildings overhead. The smell of rotting food and refuse wafted over from the dumpster next to him. He could only imagine how it might smell when the lid was open. Despite the odor, he pressed closer to its cool sides, the chipped paint and steel reassuring and grounding. He had been ordered to stand behind it and against the brick wall, protected from the street and potential drive-by shootings, sheltered from view.

  The FBI had swarmed this area, moved in and out of all the doors that li
ned the alleyway, tested every grate, and sniffed out every possible hiding spot. He took a rueful look around. You wouldn’t know it now, by looking at the wrappers that fluttered across the scarred blacktop, and the overpowering stench that hovered throughout the street, but the men had gutted this block. They had popped in receivers, mirrors, technologically advanced creations Jared supposed had received more of an education than he had. Even now he was sure there were half a dozen men studying him from every conceivable angle. Once the FBI had swept through and made the specified alterations – they had been uncomfortable with the exposure to the street – they settled on this particular dumpster as the dumpster Jared would be slated to spend the evening behind. He wasn’t quite clear on the specifics, but there had been some additional lining added, presumably to help stop bullets, and then, Jared supposed, the garbage had been reinstalled into its dumping ground. The extent of the precautions sent his stomach lurching and he shook his head, wondering at the strange and sudden turns his life had been taking.

  Certainly, he had never thought his return to Carlton would escalate to this moment: Jared, the former Big City Vet, turned Family Bait. They had decided to show five minutes late. They had wanted the others there first, wanted to know where they had positioned themselves and make changes accordingly. Nothing had been overlooked. Every possible twist had been considered and explored. Jared hadn’t decided if that was comforting, or intimidating. Either way, he was ready for this whole thing to be over.

  Even though they had deliberately arrived fashionably late, no one else was on scene. Worse, he wasn’t allowed to be with or see the detectives and agents, in case he was under sophisticated surveillance. He was just there, hanging out by the dumpster, feeling increasingly like the proverbial sitting duck.

  A cool wind swept over the alley and Jared fought a shiver. “What if they don’t show?” he mumbled beneath his breath, resisting the urge to press his ear piece further into the cavity of his ear.

  “Hold position,” the voice came back into his brain, loud and crisp. So loud and clear he wondered for a moment if someone near him would be able to hear any exchanges that might take place.

  He practiced the pre-established script in his head for what must have been the millionth time. He knew the words inside and out, exactly which line followed what, but even so, he wasn’t sure he could pull this off. His mind began to drift into the “what ifs.” What if it didn’t work? What if Charisma weren’t who she was, if she were someone else, would he be willing to do this at all? But the questions were too distracting, too telling, and he shook them violently from his mind, afraid for a moment he would dislodge the ear piece.

  As prepared as he was, the arrival of a windowless, charcoal-colored van surprised him. It rolled slowly to a stop at the mouth of the alley. For a moment he thought the car had stopped entirely, wondered if he ought to make himself visible in the hopes that the car might continue coming toward him. He hesitated just long enough to see that the car hadn’t stopped at all. It inched forward slowly, and Jared had the sneaking suspicion that he had been spotted and was being canvassed, much the same way the car was being. When whatever criteria the driver was following had been completed, the car swung backward and effectively blocked the entrance to the alleyway. Jared swallowed hard. This was as final as it got. There would be no last minute escape or unplanned route for avoiding the inevitable unpleasantness. Not that he wanted to run, or ever would, but the sudden loss of the option made him appreciate how comforting the possibility had been. Then again, he reasoned, if he were to run, he would most certainly become the target of the moment, and he wouldn’t bet against their marksmanship. Even reaching the lights of the cross street would be nearly impossible. The FBI had warned him of that, and not with the most tactful bedside manner. Knowing the FBI was also aware of his current caged status was in no way comforting. Not even moderately close.

  As he peered out from behind the dumpster, two men appeared on either side of the van. They stepped out away from the shadowy vehicle and became looming, dark objects. He heard the too-familiar click of the gun as the safety slid back and the weapon settled into its patient wait. The soft sound echoed against the brick walls lining the alley, much louder than he would have imagined the sound could be. He suddenly felt very claustrophobic, trapped as he was between the old brick, the rusted metal of the dumpsters and an encroaching circle of guns. There was the whisper of the van door as it slid open and three more men jumped down from the rear door, one clutching the slight form of what could have been a woman, by the look of the shoulders. Jared's breath caught. From this distance he couldn't even guarantee it was more than a teenager, let alone absolutely identify it as being Charisma. The lack of light didn't help the situation any. But even those facts didn't make his heartbeat slow or his breath come at a more reasonable speed. Everything in him told him that shapeless angular thing had to be Charisma. He wasn't willing to entertain any alternate possibilities. The form stumbled and was yanked viciously back to her feet, the smallest of sounds escaping in the process.

  That whimper worried him more than anything else had. Where was the witty retort he would have expected from Charisma? Where was that accusing, flashing look of defiance in her eyes he had come to want to see. The one he provoked just because?

  Then she was pushed into a brief flood of streetlight glow, her eyes up and searching in the dark, the skin of her face shockingly pale, the blackest of smudges beneath her eyes and raised red marks marring the arch of her cheek. Even from where he stood, he could make out the unmistakable relief and the twinkle of hope settle in the depths of her dark eyes. He swallowed hard, blinked at the sudden burn and fought to clear his blurred vision. Every muscle was wrapped tight with tension, with the effort not to cross the few feet that separated them and sweep her into his arms. She was achingly close, and still too far away to reach. It just about killed him. There was a palpable tension between them, and Jared hoped that would lend reality to their act, not that he could have stopped it from happening, even if he wanted; it was shockingly apparent now why only he could have played this part, why no other agent would have been an acceptable replacement.

  “Charisma,” he whispered, allowing his feet to make the smallest move toward her. It wasn't anything close to what he wanted to do, but he hoped it would satisfy the incessant urge to be closer. He longed to sweep her up in his arms and hold her, tell her he was so sorry, to move his hands over every inch of damaged skin and fix everything that had happened, to swear that he would never let her leave him again.

  “Don’t move,” the command came from what could have only been the leader, the tone stopping Jared in his tracks. He stood apart from the others, his voice low and quiet, yet somehow booming in its command. The other men seemed to keep half of their attention on him, the other half trained on Jared. Charisma was a negligible pawn, long broken and nothing more than the weakest part of the equation. He had never thought he was the kind of person to wish ill on others, or to actually be capable of hate, but watching the way they jerked her to and from now, with no regard for her person, an angry fire welled within his depths. There was nothing else to call it but hate.

  “John,” Charisma cried in a low tone, just enough of a warning resounding in its raspiness to remind him of who he should be, and not who he actually was. Apparently, she'd managed to pull herself together before he did. “I can't believe it's you; it’s been so long.” She struggled against her captor to get to him. A wry smile tugged at his mouth. That, he was quite sure, wasn't feigned at all.

  “Quiet, bitch.” The man holding her gave a sharp tug on her shoulders that yanked her body up against his and elicited a gasp, her resistance simmering in the harshness of the gesture. A solid testimony to her condition, since the man gripping her shoulder didn’t look all that strong.

  “Lay off her,” he growled, unable to let it pass without comment.

  “And just who the hell do you think you are?” The man snapped back.<
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  Jared regained his composure, reining everything in, and changed tactics, making his first scripted move, imploring with concern and longing he did not need to fake, “Please, just let me see her. I need to touch her.”

  The leader grunted in response, his unfeeling tone a sharp contrast to Jared’s own, laced with emotion. “If you cooperate.” There was a hollowness to the words that spoke of what would happen if he were unwilling to bend to them.

  “Anything,” Jared said. “Candy,” he winced at the sound of the name; it did not belong to the woman he knew, and it was awkward to say. It got stuck in his throat, was heavy in his mouth, and he had to force it out. “I’m so sorry, I, I didn’t know it would come to this.” The script filtered in and out of his memory. He couldn't recall what came next, but the words kept coming from his mouth, and he recognized them as the words he was expected to say. This was what it was to act.

  “Just please,” she begged, “give them what they want!”

  “What is it you want?” he asked, turning to the man who oozed control.

  “Glad you asked.” Jared could hear the smirk in his voice, his confidence overly abundant, tangible. Charisma stole a glance at Dom, her stomach lurching in her torso when she saw the look etched in his face. Stone cold. She tore her eyes away and let them rest on Frankie, then Freddie, who was hovering to her left, his fingers clamping down into the tender skin of her shoulder. They were as expressionless as Dom, brandishing their ruthlessness, more intimidating than she could have ever imagined. “You stole from us. Now, with interest you owe us quite a bit of money.” His voice plummeted to an evil growl. “I trust you will be able to come up with a satisfactory amount. Don't worry though; I'll let you know if it isn't.”