The Keres Case (Heartfelt Cases Book 4)

by Gilbert,Julie C.

  “No!” cried Rebecca, remembering the man’s warning. Choices and consequences filled her mind. “We can’t let anybody know she’s back yet. He’ll be upset.”

  “Becky, what are you talking about? That man could already be dead. We can’t leave him across our doorway. That’s crazy.”

  “I’m not saying we leave him there,” snapped Rebecca.

  “No fight!” Ellie commanded. She stood next to Karen’s chair and hugged her protectively.

  Modifying her voice, Rebecca tugged her husband close and whispered in his ear.

  “The kidnapper called yesterday and said we’d get Karen back soon, but we can’t let the police know. If we call an ambulance, the police will come.”

  “The police must know,” Zachary argued, pulling away.

  “You don’t understand!” Rebecca hissed. “He threatened Ellie!”

  Half a dozen emotions flitted across Zachary’s face. He settled on annoyed.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I couldn’t. What was I supposed to do? He still had Karen!”

  Zachary’s annoyance disappeared, replaced by concern. He glanced at Karen, then Ellie, and finally back to Rebecca.

  “Help me bring the man inside. We’ll decide what to do about him later.”

  After dragging the man inside and locking the front door, Zachary and Rebecca bustled about fixing a hearty breakfast for Karen who seemed upset. Not even blueberry pancakes with sticky syrup smiles could put a spark of joy in Karen’s eyes.

  It’ll take time.

  Rebecca hoped she was correct, but she also knew nothing would ever be right again until the man who’d taken Karen was caught or killed. This conviction stood in stark contrast to Rebecca’s need to protect Ellie. Now she actually had good reason to call Agent Baker. A quick clock check said he would arrive in about an hour.

  How will we ever explain the unconscious man?

  The internal battle didn’t have a resolution, but Rebecca decided that Ellie needed to go to Mrs. Yancy’s again. A quick call brought the kindly neighbor rushing over. Rebecca had Ellie standing by the door so she wouldn’t have to invite Mrs. Yancy in and explain the body stretched out in her dining room.

  “Wanna stay with Kare-Kare!” Ellie declared.

  Rebecca winced. She should have known sweet Ellie, incapable of guile, would never be able to keep a secret like her sister’s return.

  “She’s back?” Mrs. Yancy asked, completely bewildered.

  Thinking fast, Rebecca said, “Yes, that’s part of the reason I need you to take Ellie for a few hours. We need to take care of Karen.” Kissing Ellie’s indignant face, she added, “You can see Kare-Kare later. Mrs. Yancy’s going to watch you for a little while.”

  “Did you call the police?” demanded Mrs. Yancy.

  “One of the FBI agents is coming over soon,” Rebecca said. Her conscience balked at the twisted truth, but she ignored it.

  “Oh, good,” said Mrs. Yancy.

  “He’s bringing bagels. Shall I send some over? We had an early breakfast, but I’m sure Ellie will want one for lunch.”

  “Yay, bagels!” said Ellie.

  “Send some over for Fred and Ellie, but none for me, dearie. Bagels go right here.” Mrs. Yancy patted her pleasantly plump midsection. “It’ll take me a whole block’s walk to work off the thought of a bagel.” Waving cheerfully, Mrs. Yancy picked up Ellie’s hand and led her across the lawn toward her house.

  Once they were gone, Rebecca drew a hot bath for Karen, complete with bubbles and lavender oil. She told her daughter to take her time and set out Karen’s favorite sweat pants and a comfortable T-shirt. Then, she went to her room, put on real clothes, and took three of her sleeping pills from the prescription bottle in her medicine cabinet. Finally, she dug out the old air mattress from under her bed.

  Zachary reluctantly agreed to set up the air mattress on the far side of the dining room while Rebecca cleaned up tape fragments from the front stoop. Afterward, he helped her move the unconscious man onto the air mattress. Slightly breathless, Rebecca got a wet wash cloth and placed it over the man’s forehead. Zachary gently chafed the man’s wrists, but neither effort woke the man. Rebecca left Zachary to continue reviving the man while she cleaned up breakfast. She went upstairs to check on Karen and told her to go straight to sleep as soon as she finished with the bath.

  When she went back downstairs, she found Zachary settled in his favorite chair in the family room pretending to read a magazine. He stared at it not really seeing anything. His expression and gently pulsing jaw said he wanted to say something.

  Rebecca waited in the threshold between the kitchen and family room for Zachary to speak his mind.

  “That man needs to go to the hospital,” Zachary said at last. “Agent Baker will say the same, and I am going to tell him about the threat to Ellie. It’s too big a secret to keep.”

  They argued back and forth until the doorbell announced Agent Baker’s arrival.

  “Just wait,” Rebecca pleaded one last time. “We’ve got a lot to tell him. Let him come in and get settled.”

  Zachary shot her an impatient look.

  “If you don’t tell him in the next ten minutes, I will.” He rushed to let the FBI man in.

  Do not do this.

  Shaking off the incredibly realistic manifestation of her conscience, Rebecca turned the heater on under the pot of coffee she’d made for breakfast. Apparently, her conscience had suddenly gotten a British accent.

  Please be a coffee drinker, she silently pleaded.

  It would be much easier to hide the sleeping powder in a dark substance.

  “Come in!” Zachary said, a little too enthusiastically.

  “Good morning, Mr. Tyler. Sorry for being late. The bagel place was mobbed,” said Agent Baker, crossing the threshold.

  Rebecca swooped in and hustled him to the kitchen before he could see the man lying on the air mattress.

  “I’m sorry, Agent Baker. There was a slight change of plans. Our daughter, Ellie, woke us early this morning. She’s with Mrs. Yancy right now. I said I’d send her bagel and a few extras over, if that’s all right with you.”

  “Absolutely. There’s plenty to share. Would you like me to run them over now?”

  “Zachary can handle that, thank you,” Rebecca said sweetly, taking the bag from Agent Baker and handing it to her husband. Ignoring Zachary’s glare, she ushered the agent into the kitchen. “I’m making some coffee, would you like some? How do you take it?”

  “Yes, please. Black with a little sugar.”

  “Have a seat. I’ll have it ready soon.” Blowing out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, Rebecca palmed two of the sleeping pills and poured coffee into a fresh mug, relieved the agent took sugar in his coffee. Turning her back, she added the sugar then broke the pills over the hot liquid and poured in the powder, stirring to mix the contents.

  “Is everything all right, ma’am?” inquired Agent Baker.

  “Yes! Why wouldn’t it be?” Rebecca knew she sounded nervous. She shoved the mug toward Agent Baker, willing him to drink it and shut up.

  Tell him the truth.

  The FBI man nodded thanks for the coffee.

  “I realize this has been a very stressful week, and you said you had something to share with me today. Did the kidnapper contact you again?” He put the coffee mug down on the table and watched her, his expression radiating concern.

  Withering under the attention, Rebecca sat down heavily in one of the kitchen chairs.

  “I … have some news.”

  “What news?”

  “Karen’s home,” Zachary announced from the doorway.

  The FBI man’s eyes darted from Zachary to Rebecca. He beamed.

  “That’s wonderful. Where is she? May I speak with her? This could be the best chance we have to catch the people who took her.” He reached for his coffee mug.

  Agent Baker is a good man. He will help you if you let him
.

  “Stop!” Rebecca cried. Her heart broke with terror and guilt. “Don’t drink that!” She leapt across the table, yanked the mug from the man’s hand, pivoted, and tossed the mug into the sink where it crashed against the stacked breakfast plates. When she turned around again, Rebecca saw the FBI man and Zachary staring at her like she had gone stark raving mad. She couldn’t really blame them. “I … have a confession to make.”

  Chapter 34:

  For the Children

  Davidson Residence

  Fairview, Pennsylvania

  When Ann Duncan’s phone alarm sounded, she shot out a hand to silence it but only managed to knock it to the floor where it continued emitting teeth-jarring noises. Thinking how much she’d like to use the phone for target practice, Ann moaned at the unfairness of it being morning already and leaned down to pluck the blaring alarm off the floor. She leaned too far and fell out of the chair, landing on top of the phone. She fumbled with it for several seconds before managing to silence the alarm. Once merciful quiet had been restored, Ann used the chair to haul herself to a standing position before the urge to curl up on the floor defeated her responsible side.

  “Coffee’s on,” her father called through the door.

  “Thanks, Dad.” The sound of his retreating footsteps, told Ann that she didn’t have to answer, but manners kicked in.

  Resigned to starting the new day, Ann hurried upstairs to shower, change, and put on her morning face. The shower woke her up nicely. She chose a light blue blouse to go with the navy suit jacket and sensible pants. If this were a social call, she would wear modest pumps with the outfit, but common sense made her choose flats.

  No sense looking like you got three-ish hours of sleep, Ann thought, as she deftly applied her standard battery of makeup.

  Dressed and beautified, Ann rushed downstairs to eat, arm, and leave for the park rendezvous.

  “You’re up early,” Able Davidson commented. “What do you have planned for the day?”

  Throwing some bread in the toaster oven, Ann said, “The usual. Secret meetings, paperwork wars, daring rescues … stuff like that.” She tried to sound lighthearted, but her voice hitched when she thought about the Parkers and the early morning conversation with the crazy guy who held the strings to their lives like the Greek Fates.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I don’t even want to think about it.

  Ann set her jaw and shook her head. She poured a cup of coffee and focused on adding cream and sugar. She felt her father’s eyes track every move, patiently waiting for a verbal answer. Once certain her voice wouldn’t fail, she spoke.

  “The Parkers are missing.” The toaster oven clicked, sparing her the sympathy in her father’s expression. “I need to call my boss.” Ann pulled out the toast and set it on a plate to cool before retreating to her father’s office.

  Ann picked up her phone, snapped it into the clip, and attached the clip to her waistband. Next, she dug her essentials-only wallet and ID out of her purse and slipped them into convenient pockets. Purses could be cumbersome during mysterious meetings. She found her gun in the locked bottom right drawer of her father’s desk where she’d stashed it the previous night. Ann felt slightly better once she strapped on her shoulder holster and her gun’s reassuring weight rested against her ribs.

  As she leaned over to close the drawer, she spotted her father’s Bible. Curious to see what he was reading, she flipped to the bookmark and found herself in Psalms. Midway down the leftmost column an underlined verse caught her attention. She murmured the words to Psalm 18:17 and let them drive off the cold fear.

  “He rescued me from my powerful enemy, from my foes, who were too strong for me.”

  Father, give us the strength, courage, and wisdom we need to defeat Damien and those who help him.

  Ann returned the Bible to the drawer and shut it again, leaving the key in the lock. She called her boss and gave him the quick version of her findings.

  Morgan promised to have agents continue her research and warned her to be careful during the meeting.

  “You sense anything wrong, you get out. Take no chances.”

  “I will,” Ann promised. “I mean I’ll be careful and not take chances. Has Patrick checked in from Florida yet?”

  “He called when his flight landed, but I haven’t heard from him since.”

  The news hurt. Ann honestly hadn’t expected anything significant to have happened in the hours since she’d spoken to Patrick, but she couldn’t help feeling disappointed anyway.

  “Go to your meeting then touch base with Baker. He’s headed to the Tyler place this morning. Try to get to the Edinboro police station by noon. I want to hold a conference call with the teams in Florida. Hopefully, they’ll have good news by then.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ann let the conversation reach its inevitable conclusion and considered whether or not she should take the tracer locator, her handcuffs, and the kidnapper’s phone.

  You’re already carrying enough, she reminded herself, taking only the handcuffs and tucking the key into the zippered pocket of her suit jacket.

  Grabbing a sticky note, Ann wrote: Check Malia’s locator. Her eyes brushed over her watch.

  Yikes!

  She would have to hurry to get to the meeting. She dashed off a quick text to Baker to let him know about her morning meeting and the conference call at noon.

  As Ann sailed through the kitchen, her father met her with a brown paper bag and a To-Go coffee container.

  “Toast with cream cheese and strawberry preserves. I cut the sandwich into quarters for your convenience.”

  “You know me too well,” Ann said, kissing his cheek. She chuckled at her predictability.

  “It’s a parent thing,” her father said with a shrug.

  After thanking him, Ann traded the note for the food and extracted a promise to turn the locator checking duty over to her mother before heading off to work.

  “Go get ’em, sweetie.” Her father kissed her forehead. His statement had a double meaning, as in “catch the bad guys” and “rescue your friends,” but he kept his tone light enough to let Ann’s emotions stay level.

  Feeling like she’d been packed off for school, Ann rushed to her car. Pulling out of the driveway, she spotted her son standing in the front doorway, jumping up and down and waving madly for her attention. Waving, Ann forced down the impulse to rush back for a hug.

  You’re late enough as it is.

  ***

  Jefferson Township Peninsula Park

  Edinboro, Pennsylvania

  Google maps did her proud, and the drive to the park took about twenty minutes, making Ann only about ten minutes late. She’d consumed the cream cheese and strawberry preserves sandwich and about half the coffee on the way. She considered lugging the mug around, but decided against it. Sometimes small sacrifices had to be made. This morning, it was her coffee.

  A quick scan of the tent camping sites on the drive in showed that seven of them were occupied but only one showed signs of life, a man heating something on a grill. A woman waved at Ann from a trailhead several hundred feet away. Once certain she had Ann’s attention, she took off down the trail. Senses on high alert, Ann parked and followed the woman for several minutes.

  We’re getting awfully far away from people.

  The realization made Ann uneasy, but if the woman truly had something to fear, it might explain the need for secrecy.

  Ann’s quarry stopped on the far edge of a tiny clearing and spun to face her. The small, thin woman looked familiar, but Ann couldn’t place her until she noticed the white bandage wrapped around her right wrist.

  “Mrs. Carver?” Ann called, taking a few steps into the clearing.

  The woman flinched at her name and said something so softly that Ann had to strain to hear it.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Instinct had Ann moving before conscious thought caught up. She threw herself into a forward dive and rolled onto her ba
ck, drawing her gun. The soggy ground soaked her back instantly, but she didn’t have time to mourn the mud. A bat swished down diagonally through the space she’d vacated and thudded into the ground. The man wielding the bat reversed his grip and prepared to swing it down on her from the other direction. The appearance of Ann’s gun made him pause without the order that followed milliseconds later.

  “FBI. Drop the bat!” Ann shouted, using both hands to hold the weapon steady. Shooting from a prone position wasn’t ideal, but her training had covered such scenarios. She dashed off a silent blessing for the paranoid shooting instructors the FBI employed to keep its agents in top form. Tucking her left leg underneath her body, Ann did an awkward sit-up into a kneeling position then regained her feet. “Drop the weapon!” she repeated. She edged a few steps to the right, cast a glance back toward where she’d last seen the woman, and kept the man at bay with her gun.

  The woman wasn’t there.

  Ann backed up slowly and widened her search for the woman. Sensing a presence behind her and slightly to the right, Ann ducked into a crouch as a hissing stream of pepper spray shot her way. Holding her breath, Ann spun away from the new attack and scrambled to find a position that would allow her to address both threats. Her throat itched and her eyes stung from the glancing brush with the liquid pain.

  The man hadn’t moved. He simply stood with the bat resting across his shoulders.

  The woman looked stunned her attack had failed.

  “Drop those weapons and place your hands on your heads!” Ann ordered, referring to the bat and pepper spray.

  “No,” answered the man with contempt. “You can’t shoot us if we’re not threatening you.”

  You just swung a bat at me, fool. That counts as a threat.

  “You’ll be a lot less threatening without the bat,” Ann pointed out.

  And a lot less likely to get shot.

  Ann kept her gun trained on the man, but spoke to his partner.

  “Mrs. Carver, put down the pepper spray. Tell me what’s going on.” She wanted to show some sympathy to the woman who looked ready to cry, but being wet and muddy made her grumpy enough to fight off the sympathy.