Betrayed by Trust

by Frankie Robertson

  Thanks to Kincaid, I couldn’t talk to her when I needed her most.

  Maybe, if I’d accepted Kincaid’s offer of protective custody, he wouldn’t have tried to have Dan killed. But Kincaid had wanted to do more than protect us. He’d wanted to take my child, and that would never have been acceptable.

  Could I have persuaded the director that giving up Evan wasn’t necessary to protect him? I hadn’t even tried. Maybe I could have made him see that Evan would be safer with me.

  A bitter laugh escaped my lips, and Maisie looked up at me. This was Kincaid I was thinking about. He was not a man who was open to changing course once he’d made up his mind.

  But maybe it hadn’t really been necessary to run. What if Dan’s hit-and-run had really been just an accident? Kincaid might even be thinking that the Path had kidnapped us. As much of a prick as Barry had been at the beginning, his change of heart seemed to be genuine. I was sure he wouldn’t tell Kincaid we’d run. The other people Kincaid sent after us might actually think they were trying to rescue us.

  What if it wasn’t really necessary for us to cut ourselves off from everybody? What if we were worrying our families and friends for nothing? If we were wrong, there would be no reason for me not to call Mom, and Janna, and Jill. There’d be no reason not to go home, where the doctor I’d been seeing for the last eight months could deliver my child at the hospital I was familiar with.

  I came to a stop, standing beside the road, staring between two big houses out at the lake beyond them. “I want us to be wrong about all of this, Maisie.” I looked down at the buff and white dog. She cocked her head and looked up, swiveling her radar dish ears at me. “If we’re wrong, we won’t have to live our lives cut off from family and constantly looking over our shoulders. That’s no life for a child.”

  I took a deep breath and sighed. Wishing wouldn’t make it true.

  Kincaid had made it clear he wanted our child. Barry had crawled out on a limb to warn Dan and me about the team sent after us. He wouldn’t have done that if the threat wasn’t real. And if Kincaid could arrange Foxworth’s murder, there was no reason he wouldn’t kill both Dan and me to clean up loose ends, once he had Evan.

  I sighed again, then Maisie and I waddled back to the house.

  The next day, on Sunday, Ringo exchanged his leather vest for a western-style long-sleeved shirt and a bolo tie and took us to a small church a few miles from the house. He obviously attended services there whenever he was in town, because the congregants greeted him like a familiar friend. The women all fussed over me, and a few worried that I was taking a risk traveling so close to my due date. They asked if I was moving to the area, and more than one offered the use of their old baby things. I felt as welcome as if I’d been dropped into an episode of the Waltons. They didn’t seem to need the message of the sermon, “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”

  I wondered if Mom and Dad were at church, and if they were singing the same familiar hymns that we were.

  After the service we picked up a pizza and the guys settled in to watch football again. I decided to take yet another nap. I hadn’t slept so much in the middle of the day since I was five, but my body had its own agenda. Maisie looked from Ringo, to me, and back to Dan, clearly undecided about whether to stay with them or go with me.

  I made it easy for her. “Stay here, Maisie. The food’s better.”

  The dog seemed to nod and lay down beside Ringo, who was closest to the chips.

  I slept longer than I expected to. By the time I emerged from my hibernation, the game was over and the news had already started. Tension crackled through the air as I entered the living room. On the television, a film clip showed an unruly mob of dark haired men shouting in a street. Walter Cronkite’s distinctive voice intoned that little was known about the situation of the hostages being held in the American embassy in Iran, but that the Iranian government said that all were safe and guests of the Islamic Republic of Iran.

  When Cronkite moved on to other news, Dan turned off the TV. “Fuck.”

  Ringo shook his head. “Stupid bastards. We’ll never recognize their government now.”

  “You think they care?” Dan asked.

  “Isn’t it just a bunch of students who did this?” I asked. “The Iranian government will get control of the situation in a day or so, release the hostages, and make points with the US.”

  “I hope so,” Ringo said. “But I doubt the students acted without permission.”

  “And they won’t let the hostages go unless it’s what Altesse and the Path wants,” Dan said.

  “Altesse?” I asked. “You think he’s behind this?”

  “I’m not saying the Shah didn’t deserve to be tossed out on his ear, but the whole revolution? It looks like the kind of pie the Path would have a finger in.”

  I cradled my belly. “Kincaid …”

  Dan nodded. “He’ll see this as a sign that the Path is growing stronger and bolder. He’ll want to control Evan more than ever. He’ll never stop looking for us.”

  I met his grim gaze with my own. “What are we going to do?”

  Before Dan could answer, a wave of dread poured over me. For a second I couldn’t breathe, and I pressed a fist against my chest.

  Dan pushed himself to his feet, alarm widening his eyes. “Marianne?”

  “I think they’ve found us,” I whispered.

  “Get the bug-out bags,” Dan ordered Ringo. “We’ll take the boat. We have to go.”

  “Just like that?” Ringo asked. “On her say so?”

  “Just like that.” Dan answered sharply. “I told you she’s psychic, and what happened at TMI. I’m not second guessing her now.”

  He’d told Ringo I had premonitions? What else did they talk about while I was napping?

  The foreboding sensation abruptly intensified, as if a lead apron had been dropped on my shoulders. I groaned at the pressure. “No. We’re out of time.”

  My heart pounded with fear and I wrapped my arms around my belly. The danger was here, almost on our doorstep. Kincaid was going to take my baby.

  Out of nowhere, a feeling of peace enveloped me.

  From a distance I heard Dan ask Ringo, “Do you have any weapons?” and then closer, in my inner ear, an intimate whisper told me what we needed to do.

  “Hide us,” I interrupted the men’s discussion. “Behind the wine cellar.”

  Ringo’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

  Dan looked from me to Ringo.

  I didn’t waste time explaining. I led the way to the overlarge pantry and pointed to the massive wine rack on the back wall. “I think it slides open that way, like a secret panel.”

  “No way!” Ringo protested, but he grasped the wooden rack and pushed. Half of the bottles disappeared behind the right hand wall, silently revealing a narrow metal panel with a keypad like a pay phone. He punched in some numbers, but nothing happened. “Fuck! It’s not the same as the front door. I don’t know the code!”

  Irritation flared, and a Braxton Hicks contraction gripped my belly. Not now! Why the hell would my intuition, or whatever it was, tell me about a hidden room and then not give me what I needed to get in?

  Because Ringo knows. The thought came, as distinct as if someone has spoken in my ear.

  “Yes. You do.” I looked up into Ringo’s grim expression. “Think. A birthday. Or an anniversary.”

  Ringo pressed the buttons deftly with his huge fingers, but again nothing happened. He tried another sequence with the same results, and he growled with frustration.

  Heavy knocking echoed down the hallway.

  I looked at the keypad again. It had letters on it, as well as numbers. “A name.”

  Ringo pressed several keys. I heard a soft click, then he pulled on the recessed handle. The panel slid open, revealing what appeared to be a well-stocked shelter.

  “Damn,” Ringo muttered. “How did you know this wa
s here?”

  Powerful blows reverberated through the house as someone pounded on the front door. “Federal Marshals! We have a warrant to search the premises!”

  I couldn’t hold back a gasp. “Kincaid has Marshals on the payroll?”

  Dan shook his head. “I don’t think so. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t send operatives with fake badges to bully their way in.” He looked at Ringo. “Or that they won’t use deadly force if you give them reason. Let them in, but be careful.”

  Ringo’s grin was feral. “Of course, man. Careful is my middle name.” Then he ushered me into the long narrow room beyond with a wave of his hand. Storage benches lined the walls on either side and two narrow cots with bundled bedrolls were in the back.

  The door closed behind us with a light snick of the lock. I knew Ringo must have returned the wine rack to its previous position covering the entrance, but its movement was smooth and silent. I tried to picture where the room was from the outside of the house, and realized it must be tucked between the living room and the garage. No one who didn’t know the measurements of the house would suspect this room even existed.

  Dan surveyed our accommodations and whistled softly. “Uncle Bert is a bit of a paranoid, I’d say, but right now I could kiss him.”

  “Me, too.”

  He reached past me and flipped a switch underneath a small monitor set in the wall. It flickered to life. The grainy, panoramic black and white view showed the entire front walk, all the way up to the door, where three men in dark suits stood. We didn’t have sound, but we didn’t need it. Ringo’s tall, broad body filled the doorframe. The man in front held up a leather wallet, with his badge and ID. Ringo peered at it closely and frowned. A second man thrust a folded paper at Ringo. He frowned at that, too, then sneered and thrust it back at the first guy’s chest.

  “No!” Dan exclaimed. “Don’t be stupid! Cooperate with them!”

  Behind the first two, the third man reached under his jacket, as if going for his gun.

  The first man said something else. Ringo’s lips formed the word, “No.” Then he stepped aside. The third man relaxed and they entered the house.

  Dan pushed a labeled button under the monitor, and the view flipped to the living room. Another button, and the scene switched to the hallway. The three supposed Marshals quickly went in and out of the five bedrooms, then past the kitchen and into the garage before returning to the living room. Dan changed the view again. Two more men stood on the dock, watching the rear of the house.

  “We would have walked right into them if you hadn’t warned us,” Dan murmured.

  “If I’d felt the warning earlier, we might have gotten away,” I complained. “We barely had time to get in here.”

  Dan put an arm around me. “We had as much time as we needed.”

  I looked back at the monitor. The three men were surrounding Ringo in the living room, and their body language was not friendly.

  “Where are the cameras hidden?” I asked. “I never saw them.”

  “That’s the advantage of having a house designed and built to conceal them.”

  On the screen, Ringo shook his head, and shrugged, stepping back so no one was behind him. One of the men started to reposition himself, but then the first guy said something. The faux marshals moved to the foyer. Dan pushed another button, and an instant later we watched the three men walk away, leaving Ringo to shut and lock the door.

  I drew a deep breath. “Is it over?”

  “For now.” Dan wrapped his arms around me, and I realized I was trembling.

  The monitors remained empty, but Dan said we should stay put until Ringo gave the all clear. “Always trust your point man,” he said.

  Thirty minutes later, Ringo opened the room where we hid. “Sorry I made you wait, but I wanted to make sure all the drapes were closed and that they weren’t coming back for ‘just one more thing.’ I told them you went to L.A., but I’m pretty sure they’re still watching the house. I would.”

  “How long do you think they’ll stay out there?” I asked. I hated that my voice came out a little too shrill.

  Dan and Ringo exchanged a look. Then Dan said, “Let’s not worry about that for now.”

  “Don’t patronize me! Kincaid won’t wait forever. He knows we’re here. And how did he find us in the first place? Even if we can get away with those guys watching the house, they’ll just find us again, won’t they?”

  Ringo clucked his tongue. “Damn, Danny. You’re screwed. You went and married a smart woman.”

  I turned to glare up at him, and saw amused approval twinkling in his eyes.

  That just made me more angry. It shouldn’t be a shock to them that a woman, even a pregnant woman, could see how boxed-in we were.

  I wished the guys could pull a miracle out of their butts, but I already knew the answer to my questions. Assuming Dan and I could even get away, we’d have to run, and keep running, for the rest of our lives. And Ringo, too. I didn’t think Kincaid would leave him alone after having helped us, and how would someone his size manage to disappear?

  Dan frowned, as if he didn’t like what he was about to say. “I have some contacts I trust at a couple of the other chapters. We might be able to get help from one of the other directors.”

  “But in the hospital you said we couldn’t trust them. That the more people who knew about Evan, the more risk he’d be in.”

  Dan ran both hands through his hair, wincing as he raised his arms. “I know! I know. But I don’t know who else would have enough power to keep Kincaid off our backs.”

  “Pitting one dog against another is only a temporary solution. One or the other will eventually bite, and if you’re not careful, they’ll turn on you together,” Ringo said. “Let’s pray about it.”

  Dan and I both looked at the big man. Praying wasn’t first on my list of solutions.

  “Have you got a better idea?” Ringo asked. When we shook our heads, he reached for our hands. Mine felt tiny in his huge, warm grasp. Dan clasped my free hand with his, completing the circle.

  Instead of bowing his head, Ringo lifted his face. “Lord, the forces of evil are arrayed against us, threatening an innocent. We can’t fight them alone. We’d be mighty grateful if You’d lend us a hand down here. May Your will be done. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Dan and I both echoed. Ringo squeezed my fingers gently before he let go.

  Short and succinct. I liked it.

  “I have an idea,” Ringo said. “You remember Marve? He owns a plane. Flies charters down to Mexico.”

  “You mean he’s a smuggler,” Dan said.

  I’d never heard him sound so cynical.

  Ringo shrugged. “Tomayto, tomahto.”

  Dan grimaced. “He also thinks we got Johnson killed.”

  “He thinks you got Johnson killed. Me, he likes. And I’m sure I can talk him into flying me and my pregnant girlfriend down to Mexico.”

  Mexico? I’d been there a few times, but only just across the border to shop. My Spanish was minimal. I was being pulled farther and farther away from my family and friends. “What about Dan?” I asked.

  “If we pay him enough, Marve will fly anyone, even Dan.”

  “We don’t have that kind of money,” I said.

  Ringo pursed his lips, clearly weighing options. “Wait here a sec.” He disappeared quickly in the direction of the wine cellar. The only sound was Maisie’s nails clicking on the tile floor as she followed him. It was a little creepy how quietly the big man could move.

  A few moments later he reappeared with a grin. One big hand held a thick stack of fifties, the other a heavy looking bank pouch which he dropped into my hand. Curious, I looked inside. I gasped and scooped out several gold coins. I lifted my brows, amazed.

  “Uncle Bert is prepared for any emergency,” Ringo answered my unspoken question. “This is an emergency.”

  “Now all we have to do is figure out how we’ll get to the airstrip without Kincaid’s guys stopping us.” D
an said.

  Ringo grinned. “Leave that to me.”

  The delivery truck from Andy’s Appliance arrived early the next morning, and the drivers unloaded a refrigerator and a freezer. Uncle Bertie’s dough, and my chocolate chip cookies, persuaded them to wait around while Dan and Ringo made some modifications to the Sub-Zero combo. Then Ringo and the delivery men re-crated the appliances with Dan and me inside.

  Dan had put a linen closet’s worth of towels in the interior to make a nest for me, so I would be as comfortable as a person could be, perched on top of our bags and stuffed into a coffin sized box.

  “Just breathe normally through the tube. You’ll have plenty of air,” he said as he helped me scrunch into the narrow space.

  Fortunately, I wasn’t claustrophobic. “I’ll be fine. I just hope you can still walk after squeezing that tall body of yours into a mere twenty cubic feet.”

  He gave me wink, but I could tell he was worried.

  “This will work,” I told him.

  “Take this,” he said, pressing his pistol into my hands.

  I shook my head. He’d taken me to the firing range several months ago, and I’d done pretty well, but I didn’t like it. “We’ve been over this.” I wouldn’t use a gun where I might accidentally hit him.

  The muscles in his jaw jumped.

  “Don’t give me that look. You know I’m right. Besides, a person with a gun is more likely to draw fire. Isn’t that what you told me once?”

  “Quoting my own words back at me is playing dirty.”

  I gave him my best innocent smile and batted my eyelashes at him. He shut the refrigerator door in my face with a solid thunk and the world went black.

  The insulated walls of the fridge muted the sound of the drivers resealing the crates. The inky dark and the quiet pressed as tightly as the narrow capsule surrounding me. It was how I imagined being buried alive would feel. With the refrigerator sealed inside the crate I’d never get out without help.