Deadly Disclosure

by Meghan Carver

  “Life is a little hectic right now. And more than a little confusing.” She cut her eyes toward Derek. All that was certainly true enough.

  Tallulah stared at her for a long moment. “All right. But whatever is going on, don’t forget to lean on God. Trust Him, for He will take care of you. Both of you.”

  “I know. But thanks for the reminder.”

  “I’ll pray for the two of you to find God’s way through whatever it is.”

  “Thank you.”

  With a few quick instructions, Tallulah left them to their research. Hannah looked around the basement. No one else was around, and surely there was no way they could be found down there. It was a terrific hiding spot. As Derek shuffled through film on his reader a few feet away, she studied articles from around the time of her birth.

  What would have been the circumstances where her safety, as a baby, was in jeopardy? What kind of a man was her birth father if he truly had wanted to harm her? Or did he want to harm her mother? It seemed that all the answers rested on finding the woman who had given her life.

  “So what exactly do you think we’re looking for?” She half turned in her chair to direct the question to Derek.

  “Like you said, anything from the time you were born through toddlerhood. That’s our best window, considering the dates on your birth certificate.” He didn’t look up from his papers.

  Hannah scrolled through articles, pausing to skim the most promising ones, but came up empty for the first several months after her birth. Perhaps it was a ridiculous quest. Was it foolish even to think that whatever had put her in danger as a baby would have made the news? It could have been a secret endeavor at the time, or something that the head honchos at the newspaper didn’t think was worthy of paper and ink. Derek had indicated that her birth father was part of an organized crime family, and certainly a connection with the mob could prove deadly, both then and now. Perhaps she should focus on headlines that concerned the Mafia, except those were few and far between.

  As she scanned through headlines from nine months after her birth, one about an organized crime arrest caught her attention. She pulled up the entire article on the screen and was immediately assaulted by a photo of a woman who was almost the exact image of herself, holding a child with a doll just like the one that had been her childhood favorite. Was this her mother? “Derek.” A hoarse whisper was all she could muster.

  He instantly appeared at her side, one hand on the back of her chair and the other on the table as he leaned in to look closely at the photo. His strong jaw was just inches away, and she struggled to remove her stare from the photo on the computer screen and focus on something else, like Derek’s solid, reassuring presence. But she couldn’t do it.

  “I think that’s my mother.”

  “Looks like it. Then that’s you she’s holding. What does the article say?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t read it yet.” She shook her head to force her eyes away from the image, but she couldn’t. She started to skim the story.

  When she tried to read it, though, the words swam on the screen. She squeezed her eyes shut, and a tear pushed out. “Can you tell me what it says, please?”

  “Of course.” Derek laid a comforting hand on her shoulder then returned it to the back of the chair.

  For that brief moment when she’d felt his touch, peace and calm had enveloped her. Now the void overwhelmed her. She leaned back, seeking his hand again, and closed her eyes.

  “It’s about the arrest of a Mafia enforcer. Police happened upon what looked like a murder scene but there was no body.” He paused as he read further. “It wasn’t far outside Chicago. A vehicle crashed down an embankment. The authorities suspected foul play since they found blood and hair in the car. DNA was matched to a woman.”

  “What was her name?” Was it Susan?

  “No name was released. The police were holding the suspect, a white male.”

  “Is there a photo of him?”

  “No.”

  She felt Derek move his hand from the back of her chair and lean toward the mouse as she watched lights flicker and flash across the insides of her eyelids.

  “There’s just one more article, a short piece toward the bottom of the page that was published a couple of days later.”

  “And?” She fluttered her eyes open only to see the light from the screen shining on her, and then closed them again.

  “The suspect was released due to lack of evidence. Apparently, no body had been found. No body means they can’t prove murder.” He paused again. When he spoke, his voice was hesitant. “Hannah, there’s a picture.”

  She popped her eyes open. A man stared back at her. His sullen expression didn’t look anything like the image she saw in the mirror every morning. His hair was the same dark brown, but that was all the similarity she could see. It didn’t seem likely that he was her father. But if the danger was enough that her mother felt forced to give her up for adoption, then wasn’t it logical that this man was her father?

  “Sean O’Shea? That’s his name?” She squinted at the words under the photo.

  “Yeah, that’s the name the FBI has on record. But he’s not the man who shot at us at your parents’ house.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Most likely, Sean O’Shea is the mastermind behind all this, and the thug who’s been after us is working with him or for him.”

  “We need to keep looking. Keep digging.”

  The woman who looked like her, who had disappeared, was unknown to her. How should she feel about it all? Of course she was sad that perhaps the woman had died. The loss of human life should always carry some weight of sorrow. But she didn’t know her. The woman was probably her birth mother, and the man was supposed to be her birth father, but she didn’t know beyond a reasonable doubt. There was no relationship with either of them for the possibility of their deaths to feel like a true personal loss to her. That thought alone deepened the sadness.

  “So this is why your biological father kept looking for your birth mother.” Derek pulled up a chair and sat next to her. “From what is stated in this article, it isn’t clear that she died. Her body was never found. It looks like a classic maneuver to make everyone think she’s dead when she really just escaped.”

  Hannah’s heart pounded as she gripped the chair’s armrests. “You said earlier that she’s alive and my birth father had found her.”

  “Yes. But a lot could have happened since we acquired that information. Things that would never make the news and that would take us time to discover.”

  “Right. But what about the adoption registry? She could have registered in that online database, putting her information out there for her daughter—for me—to find her someday.” Was it possible that it would be that easy?

  “That’s doubtful. I know you want information, but think about it from a lawyer’s perspective. Not as her probable daughter. Wouldn’t registering in a public forum like that expose her identity and possible location to whomever she was escaping?”

  “Couldn’t I register, then? She could see it and contact me through private channels.”

  “Hannah.” He took her hand, the lines around his eyes creased with empathy and concern. “Remember the letter from your birth mother? She instructed you not to search for her. And now someone is after you. You would be exposing yourself as well. We’ve done what we can here, and it’s been helpful. But you can’t open yourself up to all those creeps who lurk online.”

  Shoulders slumped, she pulled her hand out from underneath Derek’s and stood. It was time to go. She wasn’t sure where, but she couldn’t find any more information now.

  They replaced their chairs and made their way back through the empty basement toward the stairs. The library would be closing soon, and it seemed that most of the patrons had gone.
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  As they passed the last of the stacks, a man stepped out of the shadows. The barrel of his gun pressed against Hannah’s ribs. She gasped, her body tensing, and she fisted her hands at her sides. Derek turned toward him, his face hardened, as if he was in attack mode.

  “Don’t even,” the man growled near her ear and jabbed his gun deeper into her side. “Reach for your weapon and she’s dead.” She arched toward Derek, wincing from the pain and pressure, but the man grabbed her opposite arm and held her close. Derek’s face contorted with his fury at being ambushed, but she couldn’t even manage a whisper to him. “I’m going to take you both out of here nice and quiet. I have my orders, but this isn’t the place for it. Head for the stairs, and walk out like all is normal.”

  Derek slowly turned toward the steps, his back almost completely toward her. She couldn’t see his face or read his expressions, so there was no hope of picking up on any indicators of what he had planned. Surely, he had something in mind. He would get them out of this...or die trying.

  A couple of feet from the bottom of the stairs, they passed a reading table with a large stack of books on it that hadn’t been shelved yet. One step past the books, Derek twisted his upper body and jerked his elbow out toward the books. He hit them off the table with the back of his arm. The books flew off the desk and landed at the feet of Hannah and the gunman, who held her in a vise grip.

  The man stumbled on the books and let loose a few choice words at Derek. He lost his hold on Hannah as the gun swung away from her in his effort to keep his balance. She jerked free and lunged toward a thick dictionary on a nearby stand. Grasping it firmly, she swung back around toward the assailant. The dictionary connected with his head. A crack resounded throughout the basement as the man crumpled to the floor.

  She dropped the dictionary on the table as Derek grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the man now lying still on the floor. She heaved out a breath and her stomach churned, but she managed to stay upright.

  * * *

  Derek grabbed the man’s gun and placed it on the table, keeping his own SIG trained on the attacker, then stepped in front of Hannah in a protective stance. As soon as she stilled behind him, he kneeled beside the man and pressed his first and second fingers to the man’s throat. Hannah’s attacker was still alive with a strong heartbeat, but he seemed to be out cold.

  He quickly dialed Square and reported the incident. With instructions to hold the man until local law enforcement arrived, he quickly surveyed the immediate area of the basement for something with which to tie up the man.

  But there was nothing. And his handcuffs had remained on the goon that had attacked them at the McClarnons’. At least the librarians and other patrons weren’t in danger. Considering the modus operandi of the thugs so far, Derek surmised that this man wouldn’t want to do anything to draw the attention of law enforcement to himself. Covert attacks were the method. That meant that Derek needed to heighten his alert. He would not fail in his first assignment. He would protect Hannah to the best of his ability, hopefully receive a pat on the back from his supervising agent and move on to the next assignment.

  The air conditioning kicked on and blew wisps of Hannah’s hair across her face as he stood and turned back to her. He itched to tuck it behind her ears, to gently brush the back of his hand against her cheek. Her resiliency and quick thinking surprised him. He had completed training at the FBI academy to improve his response time, but she was going on instinct. Her maneuver had been well-executed and definitely successful.

  He glanced at the heavy dictionary on the table. It appeared to be undamaged, despite its use as a bludgeon. Words had power. Too many times, words failed him, and he felt like he was going to choke just trying to communicate what was in his mind. But if he could wield a dictionary that well to verbalize, well, things might be different between him and Hannah. If he could have been well-spoken and confident with her father back in high school, perhaps life would have taken a different course.

  Derek sighed. It wouldn’t do to dwell on regret now. Nothing would change the past, and the future seemed to be set as well. His position with the FBI was secure. It would be lonely, a job on the go, devoid of romantic relationships. But it was the least he could do for his parents. To honor both their lives and their deaths.

  “You did well, Hannah.” His voice sounded stiff and formal to his ears, but that seemed the best way to handle a woman whose very presence threatened to distract him from his work. “I can’t leave him—” he nodded toward the man still lying motionless on the floor “—and I don’t want to send you upstairs alone. But the library staff needs to know the police are coming. Do you have a phone number for your librarian friend?”

  “I can get one.” She worked her phone and was soon informing Tallulah of the events that had unfolded in the lower level. As she talked, Derek kept his hand on her elbow to help her stay calm and reassured of their safety. If the photos in the newspaper on the microfilm had been what they seemed, and there was no reason to doubt their authenticity, Hannah’s birth father was most definitely dangerous. Most likely, he was even the one who made her birth mother feel so unsafe she had to put her little girl up for adoption. Was he the one behind these attacks?

  That twist of maliciousness in the man’s expression was the same brand of evil that haunted his memories. Derek rubbed his forehead as if that could dispel the reminder of his parents and the horrific images that seemed always to hover at the edge of his consciousness. No matter what happened next, he would keep Hannah safe from her own father, a man who didn’t deserve that label.

  “Derek?” Hannah nudged him to get his attention. “I told Tallulah that she’ll be safe. Right? The police are on their way.” She held her phone up and indicated that it was on speaker.

  He pictured the librarian’s kind face as Hannah’s soft voice wrapped around him. “Yes. I hear the sirens.”

  “I do as well.” Tallulah’s voice came through the phone loud and clear. “My prayers for your safety and well-being go with you. Remember the promise in Psalm 121. ‘The Lord shall preserve you from all evil; He shall preserve your soul. The Lord shall preserve your going out and your coming in from this time forth, and even forevermore.’ May it be as the Lord has promised.”

  “Thank you.” Derek appreciated the prayer, but he hadn’t closed his eyes. He was sure the Lord understood his need to keep a close watch on the man on the floor.

  “Amen,” Hannah whispered.

  He checked the time on her phone as she ended the call. The library would be closing in a few minutes and, most likely, nearly all the patrons would be gone. He exhaled his first breath of relief since he’d protected Hannah at the Callahans’ office building earlier. A moan escaped from the thug lying on the floor. Derek glanced at Hannah, who was looking nervously back at her attacker.

  “IMPD!” The shout preceded the police officers down the stairs, and soon the gunman was handcuffed.

  Derek holstered his SIG and handed over the man’s weapon, then spent the next several minutes briefing the officers. As soon as the goon regained consciousness, the officers placed him under arrest and hauled him up the stairs. Derek steered Hannah, with her armful of books and her tote, toward the elevator back to the parking garage. Perhaps now they could find rest and a place to lie low until the danger was over.

  Before he allowed Hannah into the elevator, he stepped one foot in and checked the ceiling tiles. With no sign of tampering, he ushered her in. In the couple of minutes it would take to get to the garage, he called his supervising special agent to let him know the attacker was in custody.

  His supervisor’s voice filled his ear. “Good work. There are officers on the street around the parking garage to stop anyone suspicious who may be leaving. You’ve seen two different men already. No telling how many more there might be, so be careful.”

  “If it’s the same v
ehicle that was tailing us before, it’s a dark-colored truck with a star-shaped police organization sticker on the front windshield. We’re now in a blue Corolla.”

  With one more instruction from his supervisor to keep in touch and maintain a low profile, Derek reholstered his cell.

  The elevator doors opened and Derek put a protective arm across Hannah as he peered out into the garage. All seemed still, but he laid a hand on his SIG Sauer just in case.

  As they exited the elevator, Hannah shuddered. “I know we got the guy, but I always have the willies in a parking lot after dark. Parking garages are even worse.” She huddled closer to Derek.

  Florescent lights flickered overhead, but it wasn’t enough for safety. The red and blue of law enforcement vehicles flashed dimly up the exit ramp.

  As they headed toward the Corolla, Derek scanned the parking garage. A few cars were still there, probably belonging to library employees. All seemed well, until Hannah wobbled in her footing and leaned heavily into his side.

  Memories of their Friday nights here assailed him. One night in particular permeated his mind, the Friday right before Mr. McClarnon had ordered him to end the relationship.

  “What is it?” Hannah asked, her arm tense against his, as if she feared more trouble.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You shivered. Did you see something? Is someone here?”

  He had shivered? That was the power of memories, Derek supposed. “Do you remember the very last time we were here together? In this parking garage?”

  In the flickering lights, he could see a grin creep across her lips. “Yes. We parked over there.” She nodded to a far corner, and the grin disappeared. “It was dark like this, and you were holding my hand.”

  “We took our time because we knew we had to part ways and go home.”

  “And when we got to the car, you took my books in one arm, put the other arm around me...”