Justified Means (Book One) (The Agency Files)

by Chautona Havig

  “She’s too young for me. I’m more comfortable with women who—with other types of women.”

  Something in his voice made Karen snap her head up and draw her eyebrows together. The words were innocuous enough, but the tone—the tone was something else—almost hinting. Mark’s eyes never wavered. Not ready to face the possibility of disappointment or worse, the mortification of revealing interest she’d kept so carefully hidden, she shrugged. “Aren’t we all?” She choked a bit as she realized how her words sounded. “Interested in other—anyway. Did you say there was something else?”

  Clearly ready to change the subject, Mark passed a dossier across the desk. “I got a call from a DA in Colorado. He says this man, Leo Hasaert, is likely going to need an extraction. He’ll resist.”

  “The DA or Leo?”

  “Leo.”

  Karen picked up the dossier. “He’s one scary looking dude. He’s the one we need to protect?”

  “Possibly. We have to be ready. I’ll have to go in with you if we go. Brian is on the Devore case and Keith is in jail. Anthony is dead and well, need I go on?”

  “Yeah, with a man,” Karen agreed, “I’m gonna need help. I can’t possibly do that by myself—not with a man that built.” She read farther. “Whoa. Bike gang? Murder?”

  “He’s not a threat. From what I’ve gathered from his boss, his preacher—”

  “Preacher! Oh, don’t tell me, he gets caught, pretends to get religion—”

  “No, Karen.” Mark’s interruption normally would have annoyed her, but there was that tone again—the one that caught her unaware every time. “He became a Christian, spoke to his pastor or minister or whatever, and upon the advice the man gave, went to the DA with his information. He gave it freely. The appointed lawyer got him probation and community service for turning evidence.”

  “Well, it’d be awfully convenient if whoever wants him dead would wait to move until we’ve taken care of Helen Franklin.”

  “Don’t want to have to rely on me for backup, eh?”

  Karen shook her head. “Quite the contrary. You don’t want to have to rely on me. One look at that spider web in person and I might just run.”

  The concrete slab wasn’t much more comfortable with the addition of the thin mattress. Keith shuddered at the thought of all the bacteria and the probable critters living in it. He spent most of his time standing or leaning against the wall, but at last was forced to sit. Desperate to avoid the probability of lice or bedbugs, he folded the thin mat in half and shoved it to one end of the “bed.”

  Prayer was his only comfort. This was the worst part of the plan—the hours that he couldn’t see, hear, or even ask if Erika was all right. Keith tried to trust that she was protected in a building surrounded by policemen, but people died in custody every year; why not her?

  A drunk in the next cell railed out against the police, his girlfriend, and God—not necessarily in that order. For a while, the temptation to start singing “Amazing Grace” or “It Is Well with My Soul” niggled at him, but Keith resisted. There was no reason to torture anyone, even a mean drunk, with his voice. Had he thought he could get away with it, he’d have whistled, but it seemed like a great way to irritate the guard, so he didn’t.

  As the night wore on, the cells filled. Domestic violence, a few more drunks, a few assaults, and an attempted murder all filed in and occupied cells on the small block. If they filled too quickly, he could be let go with just an order to appear. That would be terrible. He’d have to throw a punch or something if that happened.

  How was Erika doing? Was she as terrified as he imagined, or had she moved into fury? He hoped she was good and ticked. It’d get her through the next few hours. Leaving was the worst part of the ordeal. Once they got past getting out of the courthouse where Mark and Karen would be waiting, they’d be good, but getting to there wasn’t as easy as it looked.

  He’d made it sound so simple—almost as if it were failsafe. Keith felt like a liar. He had no scruples about telling a client anything he had to say to keep the person trusting and listening, but this time it felt wrong. She’d gone from being an abductee to a willing participant in their charade to capture her pursuer. It wasn’t the same.

  Had Mark been able to arrange for Judge Bleakman to preside over the hearing? With Bleakman, they’d get off with a fine and community service, which Bleakman would sign off on thirty days later. It’d be simple. Mark had considered bringing Constance Jamison into the loop. She was known to be hard on prostitution, so this might be the case to do that if she was on the bench, but anyone else would mean trouble. He doubted he’d be sentenced to jail. Anthony had once. He swallowed hard at the memory of teasing Anthony. That would never happen again.

  Erika had managed to kick one of the more easily influenced men on the force. Karen would be able to convince him that it had been the flail of a struggling, terrified woman rather than a deliberate connection of foot to shin.

  The walls seemed to close in on him the longer he sat there. Tired, miserable, and concerned for Erika’s safety, Keith just wanted the ordeal to end so they could get onto more important things. They had Helen to stop on several fronts—starting with Erika, of course.

  Being arrested was truly the most humiliating experience of Erika’s life. The search was mortifying, the photographing and fingerprinting degrading, but nothing felt worse than hearing the clink of the metal bars connecting with the latch on the other side. She was alone in her block of cells.

  The room was narrow with only a nod at privacy for the toilet. Painted cinderblocks and a concrete ledge that masqueraded as a bed meant it was easy to hose down to clean. One look at the thin mat on the ledge and she shuddered. She’d always had a hard enough time relaxing in a hotel room; this was ten times worse—a hundred.

  I wonder what he’s doing. Is his block empty too? Her thoughts ran wild with ideas. What if Helen got herself locked up too? Could she somehow kill Erika as she passed to her own cell? Did she want her dead enough to make it obvious that she’d been the killer, or did it have to be covert? What have I done anyway? I’ve never given her any reason to see me as a threat!

  She discarded her ideas nearly as quickly as they flitted through her mind. Each seemed more ludicrous than the last. It had to be drugs or stolen art. Nothing else made any sense. Erika tried to picture the plants in the back yard, but she didn’t remember any of dubious origins. The house seemed free of anything of real value. The art on the walls were cheap posters framed at a craft store. There were no vases, no sculptures—nothing that would make someone suspicious.

  It seemed insane that now that she knew who wanted her dead, she couldn’t know why, but Keith had been adamant. If anyone suspected, she could be a target of a faceless foe. The whole thing seemed so melodramatic, but no one could doubt the seriousness on Karen’s and Keith’s faces. She even tried not to think about it as a gesture of trust and respect, but her naturally curious nature refused to be so easily appeased.

  Just as she draped her mat over the half wall that semi-hid the toilet bowl, a new, terrifying thought came to her. Her picture was likely plastered all over the news—first as the kidnapped daughter of Tom Polowski, and possibly as the woman who had fled the scene of the accident. She’d given her name as Erin Polk, but how long would it be before they found that her fingerprints matched the driver’s license of Erika Polowski? This was very bad. Giving a fake name had seemed smart at the time, but now...

  Less than two hours after she’d been locked into the cell, Erika found herself led from it and into an interrogation room. Her hands shook, her knees wobbled, but at the sight of her parents, she threw herself into her father’s arms. “Daddy!”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Voices, all speaking at once, rose to such a crescendo that Erika found herself whistling to silence everyone. “Officer, can I speak to my father for five minutes alone?”

  It took some convincing, but at last, the room emptied of all but Erika and
her father. The moment the door shut behind the officer, Tom spoke. “Are you all right? When we got the news—”

  The word news was all she needed. Pulling him close, she whispered in his ear. “Don’t talk out loud, just listen. The guy I came in with—he isn’t the one who kidnapped me. You’ve got to help me get him out, and we can’t let it get on the news that I’ve been found or the real kidnappers will find me and kill both of us—maybe even you and mom.”

  “What are you talk—”

  She clamped her hand over her father’s mouth and used her eyes to try to impart some sense of the seriousness of the situation. “Shh! I’m not being dramatic, Dad. I’m serious. We’ve got to do something.”

  “Is this some kind of Stockholm thing?”

  Erika sighed in relief. At least he was whispering. That could mean he was also listening. “No, Dad. I gave them a fake name and refused to talk. I bet Keith did too. Just help us, or someone else is going to get hurt.” Then, as if they hadn’t spent the last minute in hushed whispers that she hoped couldn’t be recorded and amplified, Erika spoke aloud. “So what happens next?”

  “Well, they said you assaulted an officer. Considering the circumstances, I think the judge will dismiss the charges, but you have to see him.”

  She nodded, mouthing the word “good.” “What about Keith?”

  “Well, he tried to evade the police, and he did have you in the car. You’ve been reported as kidnapped.”

  “I figured you’d do that.”

  “So, did he take you or someone else?”

  Her mind whirled. Should she name the real villain, or was that too dangerous? She opted for ambiguity. “I didn’t see who kidnapped me. Keith helped me escape at a gas station and we hid for a few days, working our way back to Rockland.”

  “Where were you?”

  “Somewhere around Chicago, I think.” The ease with which she lied unnerved her a bit. Was this what it was like to be Keith? She knew he wouldn’t lie about some things, but if it kept someone safe, he had no qualms at all. That seemed odd, but necessary. However, she’d never been accustomed to lying so freely.

  “I’ll go talk to the officer. Your mom wants to see you, of course. She’s being a bit emotional about all this.”

  “Dad, her daughter was kidnapped. It’s ok for mom to be emotional about that. Cut her some slack.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Dad…” she repeated warningly.

  “Perhaps you’re right. I don’t see the point to it, but—”

  “The point is that most people have emotions about startling events like this whether they want them or not. You always forget that you’re the unnatural one, not everyone else. Just deal with it.”

  “Hugs and holding and…”

  “And listening without trying to fix it. She’ll be ok. She always is.” Erika kissed her father’s cheek. “You love her.”

  “Endorphins.”

  “Fine. You endorphin her. Go prove it.”

  Tom shrugged. “After the police. Your mom wants you anyway.”

  It took hours to convince everyone from her mother to the captain that Keith was not the enemy and that she needed five minutes alone with him. Even as it was, an officer stayed just inside the door, watching—protecting. One look at the suspicious expression on the woman’s face, and Keith decided to try an unusual approach. The second he was within feet of Erika, he wrapped his arms around her, kissing her as if he’d been separated for months. “I was so worried!”

  How Erika managed to recover quickly enough, neither seemed to know, but she did. As she hugged him again, she whispered, “You rescued me from a gas station near Chicago and we’ve been traveling for two days. I’ve begged them not to leak the news that I’ve been found. I said that the kidnappers would find me and kill us if it happened.”

  Keith pulled away slightly nodding. He mouthed, “Good job,” before saying, “You’re ok? They didn’t hurt you?”

  “They’re the police. They’re not going to hurt me.”

  He allowed himself to brush a thumb across her cheek, hoping he looked like the deeply in love man he tried to pretend to be. “You kicked the one guy. I know they don’t take that kind of thing well.”

  “You’re so cute!” Erika made an exaggerated roll of her eyes at the officer. “He’s convinced you guys are going to pull a Rodney King on me just because I freaked a bit when they stopped us, and I kicked that guy.”

  “We don’t assault citizens—even if they attack us. We’ll fight you off if necessary, but a kick doesn’t require that kind of force.”

  “Yeah. He’s just a little paranoid.”

  “How long have you two been together?” The officer tried to act casual, and it was working with Erika, but Keith knew better.

  He waited, unwilling to answer on the off chance that she’d told someone they were strangers. What he didn’t know could kill their credibility. Erika shrugged. “We met on my vacation a few weeks back. When they dragged me to that dumb station the third day in a row, I just begged a gal in the bathroom to let me use her cell phone. Keith came the next day and helped me get out of there.”

  “Sloppy.”

  “Yeah, it wasn’t anything like you see on TV. Those guys on TV are always on the ball, y’know? These idiots didn’t seem to know what they were doing. I think they really thought Dad would pay up if they kept me long enough or something.” She winked at Keith. “They don’t know my dad. He’s not the paying up type.”

  “Nah. Men talk like that, but when it comes down to their little girls being scared at a gun at their heads…”

  “Have you ever met a man who didn’t handle emotional females well?”

  The woman nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Now, add a man without normal emotions, and that’s my dad. See what I mean?”

  The door opened and another officer’s face peeked in the door. “Look, we’ve got to get them in for more questioning. Are they done yet?”

  “We’re ready,” Keith agreed. As they moved toward the door, he whispered, “Let me try to answer what happened from the station. You answer before.”

  The questioning went on for what seemed like hours. Any time they asked Keith a question about her captivity, he shrugged. “You’d have to ask her. She didn’t tell me.”

  Each time they asked about a location, Erika shook her head. “I don’t know. I was all turned around. Keith should know, though. He found me. I know I was close to Chicago though. They said something about that.”

  A few things didn’t line up, but rather than making the officers come down harder, they seemed to take it in stride. They examined and cross-examined until both Keith and Erika were ready to collapse, but it worked.

  “So, you ran from us so that you would get caught and have police protection?”

  “Yes. It sounds weird, but we were afraid they might be watching police stations.”

  “Do you know how unlikely that is?” The officer shook his head. “There are too many stations between here and Chicago—”

  “Look, we were scared. What do we know about it? All we could think of was to get caught so that we’d have police protection.” Keith stammered and bumbled, trying to appear to have confused bravado. It was an Oscar performance. “Hey, can I make a phone call now?”

  “Mark? It’s Keith. Yeah, I’m in a bit of trouble.” Keith listened for a moment and then continued. “Well, I’m going to need bail probably. The hearing is at nine o’clock in the morning. Can you set that up? Yeah, I know it’s technically morning now, but hey.”

  Anyone listening to both sides of the conversation would be utterly confused. As Keith talked about the charges and the guestimate at bail, Mark informed him how they’d play out the capture. The effort it took to listen and comprehend the critical information Mark passed to him, maintaining a coherent one-sided conversation, all while trying to make it look natural and as if nothing were amiss nearly made him come undone.

  It was time to sound des
perate. “Mark, come on, you’ve gotta help me! I can’t spend the rest of the week here until my arraignment!” He listened to Mark tell him to be ready to follow Erika to wherever Helen planned to take her and give instructions as to where they’d meet.

  The walk back to his cell was awkward. He was used to people who expected him to talk, but the officer had no interest in carrying on a conversation. Instead, he started several awkward sentences and then muttered something about uppity cops who couldn’t give anyone the time of day before he pretended to drop to the bed. The officer hardly noticed.

  So, everything was in motion. In twenty-four hours, Erika’s nightmare would be over, and the biggest name in human trafficking in the United States would be behind bars. Mark had enough evidence against her and the Anastas syndicate to put them away indefinitely. It wouldn’t bring back Jill and Tony, but at least they’d get some justice, and their families could have some closure.

  Alone, with the lights dimmed as low as a holding tank can be, Keith wrestled with his thoughts. He needed mentally to prepare himself for the following morning. There’d be no margin for error. Every word, every response, everything must be calculated to perfection. Even the slightest mistake could spell disaster, but his mind refused to cooperate. As he tried to reason out every possible scenario, the memory of his impulsive kiss assaulted him. He shoved the recollection aside for a later date, but when his next scenario failed, leaving Erika wounded or dying, that moment flashed before him again.

  Um, Lord, a little help here? The thought was chased from his mind faster than he’d imagined possible. Had she responded out of interest or because she was that sharp on the uptake? He didn’t know. Furthermore, he needed not to care. His job was to get this assignment complete without any more casualties, and that wasn’t going to happen if he sat around his cell daydreaming like a teenager.