The secretary must have informed her who was calling because she opened with a question.
“Baker, where is Agent Lawson?”
Caught off guard, Baker answered honestly.
“I don’t know, ma’am. I haven’t worked with him this week. He’s off the Tyler case.”
“Yes, I know,” said Taggert, exasperated. “He took a few personal days, claimed an emergency, and flew to Florida.”
“Then he must be in Florida, ma’am.”
“Why is he in Florida?”
“I don’t know,” Baker repeated, slightly less than honestly. He suspected it might have something to do with the Parker troubles.
“If I find out he lied, I’ll have his badge,” Taggert vowed. “If I find out you covered for him, I’ll have yours. He’s supposed to be gathering evidence against Kyle Cameron. What do you want?”
“Has Agent Duncan contacted you this morning?” asked Baker, hoping the worried feeling in his gut was just an overactive imagination. “Mrs. Duncan, I mean.”
“I received a text message from Julie Ann Duncan this morning, yes, why?”
“I meant did she call,” Baker continued.
“Why would she call me?” Taggert asked impatiently.
“No reason,” Baker mumbled.
Oh, man, I should call Patrick.
“Speak up!”
“I caught a man at the Tyler place this morning. I’m about to hand him over to the Edinboro PD for questioning.”
“What was he doing?”
“He wanted to shoot a man who was dropped off with Karen.”
“Karen’s back!” Taggert shouted. Her tone demanded to know why he hadn’t opened with that sentence.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Did you question her?”
“Not thoroughly.”
“Well, get to it,” barked Taggert, hanging up.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Baker to the dead phone.
He tried calling Ann’s cell again. It went straight to voicemail. He didn’t bother leaving another message. As he hooked his phone back to his belt it rang. Checking the display, his heart soared.
“Hey, Ann, you had me worried.”
“Hello?” said a child’s voice.
Baker heard the sound of running feet.
A woman’s voice came through faintly.
“What’s that?”
“Phone,” said the kid.
“Is it on?” asked the woman. A moment later, her voice came through clearer. “Hello? Can I help you?”
“Who is this? Where is the owner of the phone you’re using?” Baker’s questions came out hostile.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know. My son found the phone here in the park.”
“Where? What park?”
“Jefferson Township Peninsula Park.”
“Thanks.” Baker disconnected as his spirits crashed again.
Longhue leaned back against the front stoop, trying to appear at ease. He smiled cruelly.
“I’d place long odds on seeing her alive again.”
Baker squelched the urge to kick Longhue in the face.
“What do you know about it?”
The only reply was deranged laughter.
Chapter 36:
Beacon
Ryker’s Base of Operations
Elk County, Pennsylvania
Wake up, Malia. Please activate the tracer. Should all go well, you will be back with the Davidson family this afternoon.
Malia Ayers used her Gift to neutralize the camera peering down on the cell from one corner. She did the same for every other camera in the entire prison. Finally, she peeled the tracer from the place along her upper right arm, where she had secured it long ago. Her left arm ached with each tiny movement, reminding her why she needed to complete her mission. Ryker couldn’t be allowed to continue buying and selling children.
She currently wore a lime green T-shirt and some khaki shorts that Nadia’s friend—whoever he was—had left out for her after cleaning and tending to the worst of her Ryker encounter. Her right arm felt strange without the tracer affixed to it. Malia held the small object in her palm and marveled at its eloquent design. The urge to ask Mr. Parker a thousand questions swept over her.
Admire the design later. Please activate it.
Smiling at Nadia’s impatience, Malia gingerly held the tracer between two fingers with her left hand and activated it by flipping a switch with the nail of her right pointer finger. The slight movement caused some discomfort in Malia’s wounded forearm. Had that been an exercise at one of her father’s compounds, she might have healed herself already, but for now, she had to let the healing happen naturally.
“Who were you talking to before?” Malia whispered to Nadia. She kept her voice low so she wouldn’t draw any attention from the children in nearby cells. Sometime during the night, she had been moved back to the middle holding cell.
It is best that you do not know that right now, though I can promise he is there to aid you.
“Why aren’t you scared?” demanded a young voice behind her.
Slipping the tracer into a pocket, Malia shifted around on the cot so she could face the speaker. The boy’s intense dark brown eyes again called Malia out on her lack of fear. Black hair framed his face, starting midway up his ears and flowing thickly over his entire head, stopping just short of his neat eyebrows. He kept his face inches from the bars separating them, as if he’d been watching her. His brother, who looked identical in all but expression, sat on the cot pressed against the cell’s far side.
“Maybe she’s like the other girl,” said the twin.
“What other girl?” Malia asked quietly, though she could guess.
“Why do you care?” demanded the first boy.
“She said her name was Karen,” said the calm boy. His expression turned sad. “She’s not here any more.”
She is safe, Nadia promised.
“She went home,” Malia said, throwing out a silent query to Nadia for confirmation.
“You’re just saying that,” grumbled the first boy. “You think we’re stupid little kids who need to be comforted.”
“Everybody needs to be comforted,” said Malia. After a pause, she added, “Especially in a place like this.”
“You’re not normal,” said the first boy. His voice held less hostility than it did before. “Girls should be afraid.”
“Was Karen afraid?” asked Malia.
The first boy shrugged.
“She was almost a grown up. That doesn’t count.”
“My name is Malia. May I know yours?”
The boy studied her then nodded.
“Peter Kyte,” he said, sticking his right hand through the bars. “That’s my brother, Nathan, and you still didn’t answer my question. Why aren’t you scared? Most of the other girls cry.”
Malia looked at the other children. Most were sleeping. Some cried quietly. A few simply stared into space.
“I have spent my share of tears,” Malia replied, shaking Peter’s hand. “They are useful at times, but I need to think right now.”
“What’s going to happen to us?” asked Nathan.
“Why are you asking her? She doesn’t know anything more than we do.” Peter didn’t say it in a mean way, just as a fact.
Perhaps you can convince Peter Kyte that goodness still exists in the world.
“She’s not like the others,” said Nathan, unfazed by his brother’s scorn. “Neither are we. It doesn’t hurt to ask.”
Nathan Kyte is simply clinging to hope. He has no special insight into who you are. Nadia sent Malia the facts she knew about the Kyte boys, including the trap laid for Agent Duncan.
“You will go home today,” said Malia.
“We will?” Hope brightened Nathan’s dark eyes.
“Stop it!” shouted Peter, glaring at Malia. “Why would you do that to him?” He gripped the bars between them.
Malia wanted to reach out with her Gift and soothe the
boy, but she decided to try words first.
“I have summoned help with this.” She took the tracer out of her pocket and held it near the bars so Peter could see it but not so near that he could take it from her.
“What is it?” The question came from Nathan who covered the span of the cell in a few quick steps.
“It will draw the people looking for me to this place.” Malia returned the tracer to her pocket.
“That’s a lie,” accused Peter. “It’s probably a piece of garbage you found. Help’s not coming. We have to help ourselves.”
The boy’s continued pessimism puzzled Malia.
It is safer to believe the worst and be pleasantly surprised than to hold high expectations and have circumstances fail you, Nadia explained.
“Will they save us too?” asked Nathan.
Reaching through the bars with her right hand, Malia gently touched Nathan’s arm and strengthened his hope.
“I won’t let them forget you.”
“What happened to your arm?” wondered Nathan.
“Same thing that happened to the rest of her,” said Peter. “The man hurt her.” His eyes questioned Malia for several seconds before he voiced another question. “Is he your father?”
Be cautious when you answer that question. These boys might be only a few years younger than you, but they have grown up in a different world than we have.
Noticing the faint, yellowing bruises around Peter’s neckline, Malia knew where the question had come from.
“He is not my father. He is a slaver.”
“Where are you from? How did you get here?” asked Nathan.
“How do you know that?” demanded Peter, defensive again. His eyes flashed with the message: I don’t want to be a slave!
“You won’t be a slave,” Malia said. “That was never his intent.” She sat in the center of her bed and scooted closer to her pillow so she could look back and forth between the cell to her right crowded with other children and the cell to her left which held the twins. “They will not be slaves either,” she added, more to herself than the boys. Malia asked Nadia what she should do.
Wait.
Malia spent the down time imagining various scenarios and planning how to handle them. A moral dilemma presented itself, so she wrestled with it. Seeing her withdraw, the boys retreated to their cot to talk about the strange girl. Used to such reactions, Malia didn’t mind much. A short while later, her senses sharpened as Ryker came to collect the Kyte boys. She sat up to watch him.
“Come along, boys, time for a road trip,” said Ryker. His voice took on a higher pitch as he continued, “Road trips are so much fun!” He threw a pair of handcuffs through the bars at Peter Kyte.
“Peter, don’t!” cried Malia, sensing what he would do before he did it.
The boy snatched up the metal cuffs and flung them back at Ryker. They bounced off the cell bars with a nerve-jangling clang.
Malia felt Ryker’s flash of anger like an explosion against her senses as she struggled to siphon it away so he wouldn’t hurt Peter.
Even with her efforts, Ryker’s face paled. He kicked the cuffs toward Peter.
“Put them on your brother, or I’ll shoot him.”
“Better do it, Pete,” said the sensible one.
***
Davidson Residence
Fairview, Pennsylvania
When the locator started blinking, Carol Davidson nearly threw the thing in her excitement.
“Nicholas! Joy!” she cried, scrambling out of the easy chair she had been reading in. “Somebody! Something’s happening!”
The racket woke up Carol’s granddaughter who screeched a high-pitched protest.
Joseph ran over to Carol to investigate the fuss.
“Me see, Gamma, me see.” He tugged at her skirt.
Joy, who had been in the kitchen baking a pie, rushed in with a rolling pin poised like a fencing sword.
“What happened?”
Seconds later, Nicholas Davidson rushed in from outside, looking ready to punch out a bad guy. Seeing nothing amiss, he straightened and looked to his mother.
“What’s wrong?”
Carol waved the tiny black box, too flustered to even explain.
“Malia’s locator!” Joy exclaimed.
“It’s on!” shouted Nicholas.
“I’ll call Ann,” said Joy, throwing the rolling pin onto the table and reaching for the phone.
“Me see!” Joseph pleaded.
To save her legs from tiny fists, Carol bent down and showed Joseph the black box with its blinking lights.
“Oh, okay.” With that, the boy ran back to his blocks and crashed into the lot of them, flinging them everywhere.
Carol ran over to check for injuries and calm the boy down.
“Guess I’m on Mandy duty,” said Nicholas. He cautiously approached the cradle where his niece vocalized her displeasure with the world. Growing up with two older sisters then being pressed into service as a babysitter for Joseph, Nicholas could hold his own against a child’s stubborn will, but he still cringed at the ear-splitting noise Amanda projected. He picked up the bawling baby and tried to quiet her.
“Hey, save some for your mommy. Uncle Nicky’s an innocent bystander here.”
“Mom,” called Joy, dragging out the name.
“Yes, dear?”
“We need to talk.” Joy’s tone added: away from the children.
“Will you watch the children for a moment, Nicholas?” Carol asked.
Her son frowned but nodded, put on guard by his sister’s nervous demeanor. Carol’s heart nearly stopped. Joy wasn’t the flighty sort, not any more anyway. She wasn’t a worry-wart either. Both of Carol’s daughters had inherited their father’s sense of reality and easy going nature, so it took a lot to rattle them. Carol let Joy grab a hand and drag her into Able’s office.
As soon as the door shut, Joy spun and stated the situation.
“I called Ann’s phone but it went to voicemail. A woman returned the call a few seconds later saying her son found the phone in a park in Edinboro.”
Carol’s hands flew to her chest.
“She had a meeting there.”
“That phone’s like an extension of her body. There’s no way she just lost it,” Joy said grimly.
“Did you call the police?”
“I called George. He said he’d do it.”
The note Joy ended on told Carol there was more.
“What is it, dear?”
Joy’s breaths got heavier, but she managed to control her emotions.
“I think he already knew.” Anger flashed in her bright blue eyes. “Why wouldn’t he tell us? Why wouldn’t he tell me?”
Carol placed a calming hand on her daughter’s arm.
“You can ask him later, but right now we should call Patrick. Perhaps we’re overreacting.” She didn’t think so, but for once, she had to be the strong one. “Did you tell George about the locator activating?”
Joy nodded.
“He said someone from the task force would come by to pick it up as soon as possible.”
“I’ll take it to him,” said Nicholas bursting through the office door. He held a subdued Amanda in one arm and walked with Joseph wrapped around his right leg. His eyes said he’d go crazy if he had to sit home and wait.
Carol opened her mouth to scold him for eavesdropping, but Joy snatched the locator from her hand and thrust it at Nicholas.
“I’ll let him know you’re coming,” said Joy, trading the box for the baby and prying Joseph off of Nicholas’s leg. “Goodbye, Nick.” She shoved her brother toward the door.
Chapter 37:
Two Ways to Truth
Allegheny National Forest
Forest County, Pennsylvania
Wishing she could summon a park ranger or two, Ann stumbled out of Jack Carver’s white pickup truck. Though she would never admit it, her knees trembled with relief at the opportunity to stretch. Spending well over an hour sha
ring the cramped backseat with Rita Carver hadn’t exactly been a relaxing experience, especially wearing handcuffs. Rita spent at least half the long trip berating Jack. It was almost a relief when Jack pulled over long enough to give the woman a sedative.
The upside of Rita’s ravings and Jack’s angry responses was that it filled in some gaps for Ann. She now understood what had prompted the park setup. Rita and Jack’s son, Silas, had been kidnapped by Ryker, a.k.a. Damien Caldwell, as a diversion to launch a search wide enough to provide plenty of targets. Ryker had chosen Karen Tyler for her clean-cut innocence.
Ann suspected part of Ryker’s motive was to challenge the law enforcement world to a game. Frank Kyte’s twins had been kidnapped to turn him into one of Ryker’s minions. Merely the threat of further violence against Silas had temporarily purchased Rita’s unwilling help, but she seemed to really regret it.
Seems like an awfully elaborate scheme to trap lil’ old me. I hope Patrick, Baker, and the Parkers are having a better day.
Kyte interrupted Ann’s fretting by wrapping his left arm around her shoulders. His right hand pushed her gun into her ribs.
A flash of anger drove off the pain of being poked by the business end of a gun. Ann craned her neck so she could hiss a question at Kyte.
“Is this really how you want your kids to see you?” Aside from meaning that no kid should ever see their dad point a gun at somebody, Ann noted that the footing here was uncertain. Her situation might be grim, but getting shot because Kyte tripped on a tree root would be insulting.
Kyte grunted but concealed the weapon. He gripped both of Ann’s arms and moved her far enough back to close the door.
The sound of more slamming doors broke the peaceful midmorning air. For a moment, Ann enjoyed the sense of beauty and life as the sun beams scattered and shifted when wind moved through tree canopies far above her head.
“Dad!”
The child’s shout pulled Ann back to the present. She looked toward the voice and spotted two handsome boys about Jason Parker’s age. They certainly didn’t get their gorgeous dark hair from their father, but they shared enough of his features to convince her that these must be Kyte’s twins. Both youths wore handcuffs, but only one of them had a piece of duct tape over his mouth. The one with the tape stood stock still, his eyes absorbing everything. The other one waved furiously at Kyte.
The Keres Case (Heartfelt Cases Book 4) Page 26