by Jamie Hill
He smiled sheepishly and shrugged. “Maybe it’s time somebody did. I’m going to take off now. I want to get your file from the office and make sure I know all there is to know about Russo and his syndicate.”
“Some light reading for a Sunday afternoon.” Her expression was grim.
Doug smiled and squeezed her hand before letting go. “You’re going to be fine. I’ll make sure the TPD is on duty, keeping an eye out for the white sedan. I’ll check in with you later and let you know the game plan for tomorrow. Business as usual, or not.”
“Okay. Thank you.” She nodded and turned away as he walked down the hall to the front door.
Doug had one hand on the doorknob when he heard an unfamiliar voice behind him. “Is Jordan really okay?” He turned to face the girl on the stairs, the spitting image of her mother with long brown hair and deep-set eyes.
“She’s got a broken ankle but it’ll heal. She’ll be back to normal before we know it.”
“But she’s not on our case anymore?”
“Sure she is. You just get me temporarily.”
Peyton smiled. “Not a bad trade.” She moved down the stairs gracefully, pausing on the bottom step. “I mean, I’m sorry she got hurt and all. But I think if someone’s going to protect us, a man might be the smarter choice.” She batted her lashes.
Doug forced back a groan. Teenage girls are the worst witnesses. They were generally a mix of moodiness and attempted sultriness that was nothing but a pain to deal with. “Oh, I don’t know.” He raised his brows. “Jordan’s been my partner for five years. I wouldn’t want anyone else watching my back.”
“That’s good to know.” She folded her arms across her chest. “So what did you mean—‘business as usual or not’?”
She’d been listening. He sighed. “Why don’t you not worry about that right now? Maybe you could go help your mom with lunch or something. She’d probably appreciate that.”
Peyton smiled, a half-hearted gesture that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “She lied to you, you know.”
“Excuse me?”
“My dad called her Chris all the time.”
Explains that. Doug nodded. “Point taken. I’ll see you later, Peyton.” He reached for the knob again.
“I’ll be looking forward to it.”
His shoulders stiffened but he forced himself to walk out without turning around. What the hell am I supposed to say to that?
Chapter Three
Gold Coast Historic District
Chicago, Illinois
The swimming pool water felt cool and refreshing on such a hot day. Sal Russo almost didn’t hear his cell phone ringing until his assistant, Moyers, held it up and motioned to him. He raised his head from the water and nodded.
His aide pushed a button on the phone. “Yes?” He listened for a moment then added, “One moment.” Nodding, Moyers held the phone and a towel out near the edge of the pool.
Making his way to the stairs on that side, Russo rested on the uppermost step and reached for the towel. After drying his hands and face, he tossed the plush terrycloth on the concrete and took the phone. “What did you find?”
“I’ve got them. In Kansas, if you can believe that. Topeka. The mom and two kids are living in a nice little suburban neighborhood.”
He mulled the information over. “One of my ex-wives was from Kansas, or maybe it was Nebraska. I can never remember the difference. It was one of those fly-over states. At any rate, monitor their comings and goings for now. I’ve got men on the inside trying to determine exactly how Larry Stewart is going to testify. He can throw Newsome under the bus all he wants. That loathsome man deserves to rot in prison. But if Stewart mentions me or my organization, he’ll need to be taught a lesson. I know my friends in the Columbian Cartel feel the same way. If Stewart brings them into this in any way, shape or form, his family is toast.”
“I don’t understand why they don’t just knock off Stewart? Surely they have the capabilities to do that, even if he is in prison.”
“Of course they do, and that may very well happen. The problem is, we’ve yet to determine where the slick bastard deposited the money he skimmed. Some of it was in his personal account, but the majority is missing. Once we find it, Stewart becomes a lot less useful.”
“Ah, gotcha. I’ll keep up my surveillance and wait for further instructions. Hotter than hell in Kansas, I have to tell you.”
Russo gazed at the sun reflecting off the water in his pool. “Too bad you can’t go for a swim.”
“I went swimming just yesterday, as a matter of fact. Then I enjoyed a nice pizza pie at a local spot. Not Chicago style, but it wasn’t bad. All in the line of duty, of course.”
Russo chuckled. “Keep me informed.” He disconnected the call, and set his phone poolside.
Moyers held out a fresh towel. “Getting out?”
“Not yet.” He shoved off from the side and began swimming laps. The exercise kept him in shape and gave him time to think.
After nearly a year of postponements and delays, Newsome’s trial was coming up. His contacts in the pen had been ineffective, to say the least. He needed to up the pressure. The stakes were high, for Larry Stewart and for him.
* * * *
Topeka, Kansas
Christine had a hard time focusing on medical reports Monday. She worked in the office of a busy clinic and enjoyed it very much. Her co-workers were great and the job was interesting. Entering charges on the computer was an important task but one that could be done on a flexible schedule, which she appreciated. On a normal day, she dropped the kids off at school and worked until it was time to pick them up again.
She finished what she needed to get done by noon, but was so uneasy she couldn’t stay there any longer. Even though Doug had called the night before and reaffirmed that everything seemed normal, it still didn’t feel right. He insisted the white sedan was nowhere to be seen, and the TPD would continue to patrol the area, remaining on alert. Still Christine couldn’t shake the nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach, and was glad when she finally arrived home.
She grabbed the mail and tossed it on the table then went to change clothes after work. In her comfy jeans and T-shirt, she returned to the kitchen for a bite to eat when something in the mail caught her eye.
A college brochure from The University of Illinois at Chicago. One of the finest medical schools Illinois had to offer, it was Peyton’s first choice since she’d decided as a teenager that she wanted to become a physician’s assistant.
Christine flipped through the mail to see if there were other brochures. She found a bill from the trash service and a restaurant flyer, nothing else. She took the UIC information and scanned it. College brochures were common mail for most high school seniors, but this particular school was too much of a coincidence. It was addressed to Peyton, no doubt about that. Had her daughter requested it? That was the question, and one which couldn’t be answered until three p.m.
Uneasiness niggled at her for the rest of the afternoon. She left early to get the kids and spent half an hour in Ethan’s parking lot watching everyone who came and went before she finally spotted her son. Smiling, happy as ever, he waved to some boys before he crossed the lot and climbed in the back seat of the car.
“Hey,” he shoved his backpack in before him.
“Hi sweetie. How was your day?” Christine glanced over her shoulder.
He shrugged. “Same as always, except Trent Brockston threw up in the lunch room. That was pretty cool.”
“Lovely.” She watched traffic as she pulled out and headed to the high school, a couple miles down the road. “I was looking for more like, ‘I got an A on my math test’ type of report.”
“Oh! I got an A on my spelling test from Friday.” He smiled at her in the rearview mirror.
“Excellent. You still haven’t mentioned math.”
“That didn’t go so well.” He was granted a reprieve while they parked at the high school and his sister entered
the car.
“Hey,” she slid into the front seat.
“Hi Peyton.” Christine glanced around carefully. “Everything okay today?”
“Yes, Mom. It was a normal day. You don’t have to seem so worried all the time.”
“Part of my job.” She forced a smile as she pointed the car toward home. “Just curious, you got a college brochure in the mail today…from UIC. Did you send for that?”
“UIC?” Peyton blinked, surprise evident on her face. “Of course not. Why would I do that?”
Christine shrugged.
“I mean, when Grandpa used to take me up there for different events, I picked up all the brochures they had to offer. Everything’s available online these days anyway. I don’t need to send for information.”
Pulling into their garage, Christine parked and looked at the girl. She could see Peyton was telling the truth. Christine’s parents had both been University of Illinois graduates, and never hesitated to take the grandkids to the campus for anything interesting that might be going on. Even when they moved to Topeka and found a highly rated medical school less than thirty minutes away in Lawrence, Kansas, Peyton hadn’t changed her mind. She intended to study at UIC. “Okay, just checking.”
The kids hoisted their backpacks and they all entered the house together. Peyton immediately picked up the brochure. “This is really strange, Mom.”
Ethan piped up, “Can I have a snack?”
The doorbell rang.
Christine inhaled and let the breath out slowly. “Yes, it is,” she said to her daughter. To Ethan she said, “I sliced up some cheese and apples in the fridge for you. Crackers on the counter. Milk or juice.” She headed to the front door.
“Oh my god!” Peyton called from the kitchen.
“Language!” she yelled back as she opened the door. A delivery man stood on the step, holding a vase full of yellow roses.
“Christine Stewart?” he asked.
“No,” she replied immediately, knowing something was very wrong.
Peyton stepped up behind her. “Mom, look!” She shoved the college brochure in Christine’s face. It was addressed to Peyton Stewart. The name looked so natural, she hadn’t caught it earlier.
“Christine Stewart?” the delivery man repeated.
“Yes,” Peyton replied, reaching for the roses. “Oh my God! He remembered!”
The man in the green uniform stood waiting expectantly, but it was all Christine could do to remain standing.
“Thank you.” Peyton tugged her out of the way and closed the door in the man’s face. “Wow, check this out.” She held up the vase. A ‘Happy Anniversary’ card was nestled among the fragrant yellow buds. “August twenty-second. He remembered!”
Ethan emerged from the kitchen, cracker crumbs on his face. “Mom got flowers?”
“Yep. Daddy always sends mom yellow roses on their anniversary.” Pride oozed from Peyton’s voice.
“Mom?” Ethan looked at her, but his face was a blur.
Christine swooned and her world went black.
* * * *
Doug didn’t bother to knock. When Peyton phoned he knew the situation was serious. He raced to their house and bounded inside where he found Christine on the sofa, a bag of frozen peas pressed to her head. “Are you all right?” He pulled the bag away so he could see the swollen red bump on her forehead.
“Come right on in.” Peyton’s voice was tinged with sarcasm.
He pressed the cold pack into place and turned to look at the girl. “If you didn’t want me to come in, you should have locked the door.” Glancing back at Christine he asked, “Is everyone okay?”
“I’m fine. Ethan’s a bit shaken, but we’re all good.” She nodded toward the flowers on the coffee table. “Well, as good as we can be under the circumstances. Someone has found us. Peyton, show him the flyer.”
He took the college brochure from the girl and examined it.
“See who it’s addressed to,” Christine urged.
“Peyton Stewart. Damn.” He flicked it back and forth against his leg.
“And just when we noticed that, the doorbell rang. A flower delivery guy, with flowers for Christine Stewart. At first I said no, it wasn’t me. Then I realized the significance and I guess I lost it.”
“Significance?” He looked at her.
She was trembling. “Today would have been our nineteenth wedding anniversary.”
“Daddy always sends Mom yellow roses on their anniversary,” Peyton informed him.
Christine looked at her daughter. “Would you please stop saying that? We aren’t married anymore.”
Doug paced the room. “And Daddy doesn’t know where you are. But someone does. Well, my friends, it’s time to go.”
“Go?” Peyton bristled. “What do you mean, go?”
Doug faced her. “I mean, go upstairs, pack what you can fit in two bags, and make sure you’ve got the important stuff. We won’t be coming back here for a while.” If ever, he thought to himself, but didn’t say it. The family was nervous enough.
Peyton stood and planted her hands on her hips. “We can still go to school, right? I have a project due tomorrow. And there’s a dance Friday night after the football game.”
He tried to pass off an easy-going smile, but wasn’t sure it worked. “Looks like a few days reprieve on the project. You won’t be going to school tomorrow. We’ll worry about Friday later.”
“But—”
Christine cut the girl off. “Please do what he says, Peyton. It’s not safe here anymore. We’re not safe. We need to get going right away.”
“Actually,” Doug peered between drapery panels out the front window, “I’d like you all to get packed and be ready. But if everything stays quiet, we won’t leave until dark.”
“Is that a good idea?” Christine’s voice cracked.
His heart lurched. He sensed her fright, and hated to see her so upset. But he was doing what needed to be done. “It’ll be fine,” he assured as he pulled out his phone. “I’ll make certain the TPD stays in place until we go. It’s always better to move under the cover of darkness in case someone is watching.”
“Where will we go?”
He glanced around, aware that the house could potentially be bugged. Placing one finger to his lips he whispered “Shh,” and shook his head.
Her eyes widened. “Do you think—?”
“Shh,” he repeated, then shrugged to indicate he really didn’t know, but wasn’t taking any chances.
“This sucks!” Peyton stormed across the room. “I want to talk to Jordan. She’ll know what to do.”
Doug gazed at her calmly. “Jordan is out of commission. I know what to do. Getting you to do it seems to be the hard part.”
“It’s only her ankle, you said so yourself. I think she can still use a phone.”
“She probably could, but I happen to know she’s heavily medicated at the moment to keep the pain under control until the surgery. She won’t be thinking clearly, and I’m not going to put her in that position. You need to have a little faith in me, and do as I ask.”
“Like that’s going to happen.” Peyton pulled a cell phone from her pocket and began punching numbers.
“Give it.” Doug held his empty hand out.
“Peyton, do what he says,” Christine demanded.
“No, Mom! We don’t know this guy. I’m not going anywhere with him and you shouldn’t either.” She continued to poke at her phone.
Doug sighed. Yesterday she’d been too friendly, and today not friendly enough. Teenagers. He moved his sports coat aside so his Glock 27 .40 caliber pistol was visible in the holster. “I wouldn’t do that.”
Peyton froze at the same time Christine gasped.
“Hate to be a bully about this, but you’ve got to understand. We can do this the hard way, or the easy way. Both options works for me, but I suspect your mom would prefer your cooperation.”
“You can’t threaten me!” The words were spunky but the gi
rl’s voice wavered.
“I’m not threatening you, just pointing out who’s in charge at this particular moment.” He motioned to the marshal badge clipped to his belt. “This badge says it’s me. I don’t like playing it tough, but this is too important. I won’t have you endangering your mom and your brother.”
Peyton burst into tears.
Christine sprang from the sofa and pulled her daughter into her arms. She stared at Doug accusingly. “Was that really necessary?”
He shrugged. He didn’t like the show of force either, but the girl wasn’t cooperating, and this was serious business.
Peyton sniffled. “We can’t leave again, Mom. I’m finally making friends, and Ryan…what am I supposed to tell Ryan?”
They both gazed up at Doug. “What are we supposed to tell everyone?” Christine asked.
“We’re going to get our story straight and then you’ll need to make some calls. For now,” he held his hand out to Peyton, “your phone, please.”
She placed it in his palm then returned her face to the crook in her mother’s neck.
He continued, “I’ve got some calls to make myself. I’d like you both to get packed, and someone needs to help Ethan. Take what you can fit into two suitcases each. The kids should bring whatever school books they have here. We’re going to be cooped up and bored, they can study at least some of the time. Ethan will want to bring that handheld game of his.”
“He doesn’t go many places without it.” Christine sniffed and dabbed her eyes before doing the same to her daughter’s. “Come on, now. You heard what he said. Let’s get packed. We’ll make our calls after.”
“Oh, Mom!” Peyton moaned as Christine led her from the room.
“It’s all going to work out,” her mother reassured. “We’ll be okay.” Christine glanced back over her shoulder at Doug questioningly.
He offered a small smile and a nod. “You’re all going to be just fine.” He watched them walk up the stairs then returned to his post at the front window. He truly believed that’s how it would end up. What happened in the short term remained to be seen. For now, the street appeared quiet.