“I’ve learned a long time ago not to take pain medication on an empty stomach. I assure you, the prescription is quite legal. There’s no need to shoot.”
Andrews regarded Brewster for a moment, while holstering his revolver. If eyes could talk, his said: See what you’ve done, Brewster? You knocked a cripple on the floor and now he’s in pain.
“Go ahead and slice yourself some bread,” Brewster said, and expelled a heavy sigh of disgust.
<<>>
Valerie paused just before reaching the dining room. The voice she heard startled her. Someone was here. A man. John's voice was easy to tell. He had a funny way of sounding out his words that made him seem different. The man she heard now sounded different, too. But he wasn't John.
Valerie went back up the hallway, bare feet silently crossing the stone floor. She went to the doorway of the big bedroom, the room where she was supposed to sleep, and stood looking into the hallway with a handful of cotton T-shirt clutched in her fist. She had to hide. And she couldn't get to the secret room without being seen. She turned towards the bed, eyes momentarily glued to the crawl space between the frame and the floor. She spun back to face the hallway. Scared. Wondering where her mother was. Hoping the other man was a friend of John's and not one of the bad people.
<<>>
From the kitchen, all three men passed through the dining room and into the guest bedroom. Though relieved the moment he flipped on the light, he failed to sigh or give his feelings away. The search was on. The closet. The bathroom. Behind the drapes. Under the bed.
Each man took a couple glances into the hallway bathroom. No shower. Just a sink and toilet. Brewster opened the hallway closet, moved a few linen sheets and blankets, frowned, then started for the next room.
"The master suite," John said as he stepped inside. He paused for a second or two before flipping on the light. He'd fully expected to see her there, but the bed stood empty. Valerie had to be someplace within his home, and he realized time worked steadily against him. It was like reliving the helicopter accident all over again. He still had hope that the two people he loved would make it through this alive. But it became more and more unlikely; he was sure they were closing in on the child. John could do little about it, as the shotgun remained in the kitchen, unloaded.
All three men were now in the master bedroom, Andrews sticking his head into the adjoining bathroom before walking to the shower and sliding back the glass door. Brewster started poking through the closet. John felt as if his heart was about to explode. And he thought about Jillian, a badly frightened woman sitting in a dark room, dying inside due to the uncertainty she now faced regarding her daughter.
Andrews knelt down at the edge of the bed, cocking his head to the side to get a good view of what might be hiding beneath. John could see the man reaching for something.
CHAPTER 21
Valerie stood behind the open library door, peering through the crack. She wasn't able to see anyone going into the big bedroom, but she'd heard their footfalls and knew their whereabouts. She stepped out from behind the door, poking her head into the hall, which was when Bear found her.
He padded up slowly then nuzzled her hand. She wanted to throw her arms around Bear's neck, but instead took a couple small steps into the hallway, staring in the direction of the big bedroom. No voices were heard. Not a whisper. Valerie stepped softly, feeling the urge to pee. But other than the one in the big bedroom, there were no bathrooms at this end of the hallway. She'd have to go through the living room, and make her way back around to the other end of the hall. The bathroom, though, wasn't safe. Neither was going all the way through the living room, through the dining room, kitchen, and pantry to the secret room. She had a choice to make. She didn't like it at all. But she couldn't stay here, or they might find her. She edged along the wall, moving closer to the big bedroom, wanting to get a peek of the men inside.
<<>>
John stepped into the hallway first, saw the child standing less than two feet away, and he quickly turned around in the doorway, feeling sick in the pit of his stomach. “How many homes are you searching, tonight?” he asked the two men, knowing the child couldn’t help but overhear.
“Six,” Brewster replied. “Just one more after yours.”
“If you find the woman, I’d be interested in knowing, as it would put my mind at ease.”
Brewster pushed right past him, stepping into the hall. “No problem,” Brewster replied. “We’ll let you know.”
The library required little more than a few quick glances, as the shelves were lined up against the walls. Brewster lifted the lace from the small table then went on to the next room, the laundry room. The inspection in there was brief. Andrews opened a door, a bit surprised to see several rows of black batteries. Other than that, he found nothing of interest.
Brewster’s face remained flushed. The pain had eased, but the humiliation hadn’t. Now, anger began to add color to his face. They were almost through with the search. More and more, it looked liked Barnes’ plan was a complete waste of time. After this, they had only one more house to investigate. And it didn’t look promising.
One last room. Brewster entered it at a brisk pace, more determined than ever.
There were cardboard boxes and a complete set of luggage, all of which they pulled out of the closet and inspected. They’d found two wooden crates, each large enough to hold three or four tightly squeezed people. And two large cardboard boxes. John fetched a hammer from the laundry room and dismantled the crates one by one, stacking the contents – hundreds upon hundreds of paperback books – on and beneath the weight bench. Removing every book seemed senseless. And yet he complied without complaint, not wanting to heighten the agents’ suspicion. They took longer in the storage room than in the kitchen and pantry. Half an hour must have passed before Brewster finally came straight out and admitted they had wasted valuable time.
All three men then went into the living room. Brewster went to the fireplace. The transponder he had given John stood centered on the sculptured mantle, between two miniature brass cannons, exactly where John had set it just before he had gone to the door.
“I’d like to check the garage. When was the last time you were out there?”
Despite the fact that they’d yet to find Valerie’s latest hiding place, John felt little relief. He wouldn’t feel safe until Andrews and Brewster were gone, and Valerie was found…in that order.
“Yesterday,” John replied. “That’s where I store the firewood.”
Brewster cocked his head to one side, smiling smugly. “Do you have any valuable antiques in there?”
“A garage is hardly the proper storage facility for precious valuables.”
“Is it locked?”
“No.”
Brewster threw a glance at his watch then placed the two shotgun shells on the mantle. “Andrews and I will check the garage on our way out. Hope we didn’t inconvenience you too much.”
Andrews walked over to John, extending a hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Mills. Sorry it couldn’t have been under different circumstances.”
John shook the man’s hand and walked the men to the door. He stood there in the foyer, watching Brewster and Andrews trudge their way through the snow. Seeing them leave, John closed his eyes and whispered a “thank-you” to the Man upstairs. But the night wasn’t over yet. Though he’d seen the child earlier, she was loose somewhere on the property, unaccounted for, and the men still had the garage to check. Unless the child had gone to the garage, they wouldn’t find any incriminating evidence in there. One of them, however, might try to stay behind. So John stood in the doorway, chilled to the bone, making sure that when the helicopter took off, both men went with it.
<<>>
When John finally closed the door, he leaned his back to it, sighing at the ceiling. Warrant or no, Brewster had been bent on searching the premises. He could think of only five reasons a man like Brewster had agreed to the stipulation John
had set forth. Those five reasons were hanging on his bedroom wall, encased in glass. They equaled clout, respectability, and intimidation. If a man with five platinum albums went to the media over the abuse he'd endured at the hands of the FBI, the story would be nationwide. Never before had being a celebrity been more beneficial. And still, it bothered him: Despite the intimidation, Brewster, for reasons John could not fathom, had kicked the cane out from under him as if it were every day's business.
"Bear," John called. When the old chow appeared, tail wagging, John said, "Where's Valerie?"
Bear looked towards the dining room, whining. And John's shoulders felt much lighter. All throughout the horrible ordeal, he'd been thinking of Valerie as if she were a normal five-year-old child, instead of the resourceful munchkin that circumstances and fear had obviously created.
<<>>
Although it seemed unlikely that bugs had been planted in his home, John didn’t want to take any chances. He hurried through the dining room, knowing it and the living room would be off limits to Jillian and Valerie. Conversation, even in other parts of the house, would have to done quietly. Valerie wasn’t what he’d consider a loud child. She was, however, something of a chatterbox. She couldn’t go outside and play like other children her age. Now, making matters worse, she would have to be confined to the bedroom. Having no toys, nothing to keep her occupied except learning to read, the child would grow antsy within a few hours, stir‑crazy by the end of the first full day.
John went into the pantry, pushed the six high stack of canned tuna aside, and hit the button beneath the shelf. The door slid open, and both mother and daughter brought a hand up to shield their squinting eyes. John found himself smiling as he lifted a finger to his lips, indicating that maintaining silence was still important.
Awkwardly, he hunkered down, relieving Jill of the child. Valerie’s legs wrapped around his waist, her arms around his neck, her head dropped on his shoulder. He held on tightly, trying to convince himself it was finally over and the little girl was safe. John had the feeling he had just wakened the child from a nap. He hadn’t a clue as to how long the child had been in there, but it was obviously long enough for her to get sleepy. Still sitting, Jill stretched her legs, knees popping, first one then the other. She straightened her back, rolling the discomfort from her shoulders, and dropped her head forward then back.
He nodded as if to say: Let’s go. But Jill just sat there. Her predicament was obvious. Certain key parts of her anatomy had fallen asleep. While Jill let the flow of blood revive her legs, John went down the hallway to put the child to bed.
He had a question or two to ask of the child. And yet, they were questions that could wait until morning. “The bad people are gone,” John whispered as he pulled the covers up to her neck. “But we have to be quiet.”
She regarded him with half hooded eyes and spoke in a whisper. “That was a good hiding place. But it was so dark, I couldn’t see.”
“I’ll put a flashlight in there in case they come back. All right?”
“All right. But how come we hafta talk in whispers?”
“Those men may have left something behind, a tiny listening device. There may be one in the living room, perhaps in the dining room, too, which means they’ll be able to hear everything we say in those rooms. So, when you wake up in the morning, stay in here. Either your mother or I will bring you breakfast.”
“Do I hafta stay in here all day?”
“Yes.”
Valerie’s eyes opened wide. “All day?”
“Shh,” he said, laying a gentle finger across her lips. “As soon as I can get to town, I’ll hire someone to come out here and check for listening devices. After that, you’ll have a free run of the house again.”
He started for the door, when Valerie whispered, “John?”
“Yes?”
There was a brief hesitation on her part. Then: “That sure was a good hiding place.”
He smiled half a smile, trying to remember what it was like to be so young and so resilient. “Yes. It was at that.”
<<>>
It was nearly one o'clock in the morning, when he walked Jillian to the guest room. They both went inside, John last, quietly closing the door behind him. A large white moon stood behind the window, casting a pale light into an otherwise dark room. When he reached out to turn on the nightstand lamp, she stayed his hand with a lingering touch.
"John...you don't have to sleep in the living room." She smiled tensely, rolling her eyes up. "God that sounded cheap. I'm not very good at this. I'm not even sure what I'm doing."
"You're tense."
"Yes."
"And vulnerable."
"You say that as if it were a disease."
"It is. One of the main symptoms is saying things you'll regret later." He dropped his gaze, unable to spend another moment looking at her wounded expression.
Her eyes glimmered in the darkness. "I've met a lot of people in my lifetime, but never have I met a man as attractive as you."
"Attractive?" he repeated, raising a brow.
"Very attractive."
He unbuttoned his shirt and let it fall to the floor, with no intentions of seduction. If anything, he thought the scars would make her turn away with disgust. Her eyes fell to the silvery scar tissue that started just beneath his ribs and slashed downward, disappearing under the waistband of his trousers. Another scar, this one jagged, ran across his upper arm. Another one, curved, was directly over his heart.
Self‑conscious of his own imperfections, he dropped his gaze and said: "Not a pretty sight."
"'What is beautiful is good and who is good will soon also be beautiful.'"
"You're quoting Sappho," he said with mild surprise.
"It seemed appropriate. I said I find you attractive."
"Very attractive."
"Very attractive," she agreed and smiled. "Even more so now."
He did what seemed to be the right thing at the moment, but knew he'd regret it later. He lightly caressed the side of her face. And when she closed her eyes, he brushed a kiss against her forehead and bid her goodnight.
CHAPTER 22
In the living room, the grandfather clock struck the hour. Outside, the crusted snow glistened beneath a nearly full moon. And three miles away, in what was once an abandoned shack, two men sat listening to utter silence, sipping black coffee from Styrofoam cups, fighting sleep.
<<>>
Brewster read and reread Laurel’s notes. Foreman, Greck and Garcia were practically tied for having the most entries. The Grecks had the sick kid. Their son, the one-year-old, screamed the entire time Brewster and Andrews searched the house. The mother said she thought it was an ear infection. Brewster had it figured different. He’d seen the bottle half filled with coagulated milk that the kid was sucking on. He’d seen the filth in that house, a week’s worth of dirty dishes strewn about the kitchen, the stench of urine combined with cigarette smoke. If that kid was sick of anything, he was sick of being in that nasty house.
It appeared as though all the transmitters were in working order. Even those from the five homes they had not visited tonight had picked up bits and pieces of conversation, television broadcasts, and music. He ran a finger down the listings on each tablet, until he got to tablet number eleven, which corresponded with house number eleven, the Mills’ residence.
“Andrews.”
“Yeah?”
“Come here a minute, will you?”
Andrews, who’d been sitting on the floor in the corner of the room, got up and brushed off the seat of his pants. He went to the table, Styrofoam cup in hand. “Yeah?”
Brewster dropped tablet number eleven on the table and said: “What do you make of that?”
Andrews read: “Eleven twenty‑five. Eleven thirty. Eleven forty‑two. Eleven forty-four. Twelve-twenty.”
“Doesn’t it strike you as odd that the only logs we have on Mills, are the ones just prior to and during our visit?”
&nbs
p; “He’s single. He has no one to talk to.”
“He has a dog. Dogs go outside. And how does a dog let the master know it needs to go outside?”
“It barks,” Andrews replied.
“Exactly. So why is it that we’ve heard nothing until these five entries?”
“What you’re implying is ludicrous. Mills has no way of knowing the transmitter you gave him is a bug. He’s a musician, not a detective.”
“Maybe the woman told him.”
“Yeah. And maybe his dog only barks when strangers show up on the doorstep. Mills struck me as the kind of guy who’d keep to a regular routine. He gets up in the morning, lets the dog out. Before lunch, he lets the dog out again. Just before going to bed, the dog goes out, does its business. And the next day it starts all over again.”
“Maybe.”
Andrews pushed the writing tablet aside and took a seat on the edge of the table. “Kevin, only a drowning man grasps at straws. We’re not drowning yet. That woman leaves an easy trail to follow everywhere she goes. Now that we know exactly what to look for, she’ll give herself away. All we have to do is keep an ear tuned.”
“Yeah,” Brewster said and sighed. He was still angry. “She’ll do one trick too many then we’ll have her.”
Andrews got up, took a sip of lukewarm coffee then headed off to one corner of the room. He knew Brewster was right. They had every reason to be suspicious of the quiet at the Mills’ residence. The man was a musician. Andrews believed it wasn’t uncommon for Mills to sit down at the piano and play a tune or two. Also, the part about the dog disturbed him. Yes, dogs bark. But something else was missing.
Andrews couldn’t remember whether or not he himself had ever owned a pet, although, under the circumstances, he thought it highly unlikely. When it came right down to it, he couldn’t remember much of anything. Regardless, when a person lives alone with a dog, there is conversation. One sided – yes. But people do talk to animals. So, there was reason to believe Mills had known about the “transponder” being voice-activated. And, reason for Mills to worry about it. Andrews wouldn’t have been at all surprised to learn that the transponder had been kept in a locked room up until the moment Mills first heard the helicopter landing in the yard. And maybe, had they gone there in broad daylight, they’d have found the woman. Chances were, she and the little girl ran out the back door and hid outside in the darkness while the house was searched.
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