by Jamie Hill
“I’m sorry.” He knew the words were hollow but he had to say them. “That has to be the worst thing a parent can survive.”
“It was.” She glanced around. “But so is this. I live in constant fear that my two remaining children are in danger. There are times I wonder if any of us will make it through.” Burying her face in her hands, Christine sobbed.
Doug did the one thing he’d wanted to do for days. The one thing he swore to himself he would not do. He knelt in front of Christine and drew her into his arms.
She didn’t resist. Her arms slid around his neck and she cried into his shoulder.
“Shh,” he patted her back. “It’s going to be fine. I can’t do anything about Rusty, of course, and I’m so damn sorry for you about that. But Christi, I promise you, nothing is going to happen to you or these children.”
She turned her head and spoke softly in his ear. “Promise me this. If you have to make a choice between the kids and me, save the kids. Take them to my parents when it’s all over. Will you do that?”
He tightened his grip. “Nothing’s going to happen to you.”
“Doug, say it. Give me your word.”
He breathed in the aroma of her tantalizing cologne, and buried his face in the fresh, clean scent of her hair. The fragrances were heady. He could have stayed in that position forever. “Whatever you want,” he finally agreed. “I’ll say it to make you happy. But Christi, you’re going to be fine. You all are.” He’d do whatever it took to make it so.
“Thank you.” She rested her head on his shoulder, and neither of them moved for a long time.
* * * *
Christine set a plate of hamburgers on the kitchen table. “Ethan, call your sister for dinner, please.”
Peyton had been scarce all day. They hadn’t forced her to come out for lunch, but it had been hours and she needed to eat.
He poked his head around the corner. “Where is she?”
“In her room.”
“No she’s not.”
Doug had been pouring milk into their glasses, and stopped. “You check the bathroom?”
“Door’s open.” Ethan raised his hands in a shrug.
Christine and Doug exchanged glances. She rushed to the back of the house, with him on her heels. “Peyton?”
Her daughter’s bedroom window was open a crack. “Someone’s taken her!” she cried out.
Doug placed a hand on the small of her back. “Slow down. That’s not possible. Let’s look around.”
“What do you mean it’s not possible? Her window is open! She’s gone!” Christine knew she needed to remain rational, but fear engulfed her like fingers closing in around her throat. She turned on Doug. “How could the service let this happen? These windows should have been more secure. I don’t understand—”
He grasped her shoulders and turned her around so they both faced the window. Speaking quietly in her ear, he said, “Christi, look. Each window has a lock here on top. Then they were nailed shut. See the nails on this one?” He pointed to the second window.
Two large nails had been hammered into the frame so the window couldn’t be opened.
She gasped. “Then how—?” She could see wood shards on the window frame. The nails had been removed from the top of the open window.
“The only way someone’s getting in is by breaking the glass, which we would have heard. And it’s obviously not broken. This wasn’t done by someone trying to get in.”
“Someone trying to get out.” The meaning dawned on her. She spun around and flew into his arms. “Oh, Doug! What are we going to do?”
He held her for a moment then they pulled apart. “Stay here. I’m going to check outside.” He raced out and she heard the front door slam.
Ethan moved toward her and she drew him into a hug.
“Where’d she go, Mom?”
“I don’t know, sweetie. Maybe Doug will find something.” It occurred to her that she hadn’t looked for a note. “Let’s see if there’s any clue in here.”
They went through her things. The suitcases seemed intact. A stack of textbooks sat on the nightstand.
“Her backpack is gone,” Ethan noted.
“Yeah.” Christine touched the top book. “I guess she took a few things. I don’t see a note.”
“She was pretty mad.”
“I know she was, but she broke the rules. Facebook is not allowed. Do you understand why?”
“Sure, Mom. I get it.”
They both looked up as Doug returned. “Some footprints in the yard, but nothing once the sidewalk begins. I called this in. My chief is putting out an APB on her. He wants to know where she would go.”
Christine’s mind raced. “Chicago, I suppose. To my parent’s house.”
“That’s the long term goal. In the short term, where would she go? Who would she turn to? She has no car and she can’t have much money.” He walked her back toward the kitchen, his other arm around Ethan’s shoulder.
“Ryan,” the boy spoke up. “He has a car.”
Doug looked at her questioningly.
“Ryan Armstrong is the guy Peyton’s been dating. He’s a nice kid. I don’t know how much he’d help her.” She dropped to a chair at the table.
“Okay. I’m going back outside to meet the police and have another look around. Christi, use my phone and call Ryan’s house. See if he’s there, or if by some chance Peyton is there.” He handed over the cell.
“What should I do?” Ethan asked bravely.
“You should eat. Your mom fixed this nice dinner, don’t let it go to waste. Eat now while you can. We might be on the move later.” He nodded to Christine. “Same with you.”
She didn’t respond, just watched him walk out the front door. There was no way she could eat. She got Ethan started then used Doug’s cell to track down Ryan’s home phone number.
“Hello,” a woman answered.
“Hello, this is Christine Scott. Is this Mrs. Armstrong?”
“Yes it is.” Her simple reply was full of unasked questions.
“My daughter Peyton is a friend of your son, Ryan.”
“Oh, yes. He talks about her all the time.” A friendlier tone. “We’ve tried to get him to bring her over so we could meet her, but it just hasn’t worked out yet.”
“Her schedule is rather full. Mrs. Armstrong, this is going to sound strange, but Peyton left here a while ago and I’m not sure where she went. I’m assuming she’s not there?”
“I haven’t seen her. To tell the truth, I haven’t seen Ryan this afternoon, either, but that’s not unusual. He has football practice every day and often doesn’t get home until dinner time.”
“Football practice.” Christine’s mind continued to race. She’d forgotten it was a regular day for people who weren’t in the witness protection program. “Well, when he gets home, could you ask if he’s seen Peyton, or talked to her? I wouldn’t bother you with this, but it’s very important.”
“Of course I will.”
“Let me give you my number. Hang on.” She glanced at Doug’s cell and found the phone number, then repeated it to Ryan’s mom. “Please let me know what he says. Peyton doesn’t have her phone. It’s very important that I get in touch with her.”
“We’ll call you as soon as he gets here.”
“Thanks so much.” She ended the call and glanced out the window, where Doug spoke with two men in plain clothes. Police? It made sense they wouldn’t send uniformed officers with lights and sirens when her family was trying to lay low, but she wasn’t reassured. Someone needed to find her daughter.
Ethan joined her at the window. “What are they doing?”
“Trying to figure out where Peyton went, I guess.” She rubbed a hand through his hair. “Did you eat?”
He shrugged. “Some. I’m not very hungry.”
“Come on.” Christine led him back to the kitchen. She couldn’t do much for her daughter at the moment, so she’d focus on what she could control. “You need to
eat. Doug said we might be traveling later.”
They sat and she attempted to take her own advice.
“To where?” Ethan finally asked, after he’d polished off a hamburger.
“Hmm?” Her mind had been wandering.
“Traveling to where?”
“Oh. I don’t know. To another safe house, maybe?”
“But then Peyton won’t know where we are.”
Panic gripped her and she fought to suppress it. He’s right. We can’t leave here in case Peyton comes back. “I don’t know,” was all she could say.
“Mom?” Ethan picked at some carrots on his plate. “What Peyton said about missing Dad? She was wrong. I know you miss him.”
Christine smiled at him. “Of course I do.”
“But he broke the law, which is worse than breaking the rules. Grandpa said Dad has to pay the price for that.”
“Grandpa shouldn’t have been talking about that with you.”
“He wasn’t. He was talking to Grandma, and I overheard it.”
“Ethan!” She tried to make a scolding face, but eavesdropping didn’t really seem that important now, in the scheme of things.
“I know. I just heard a couple things. Grandma said Dad didn’t know what he did was wrong. Do you believe that?”
Oh, hell no. But what to say to their son? “Ethan—”
“Grandpa said a cuss word to that.”
She laughed. Her parents rarely swore. “No!”
Ethan glanced around conspiratorially. “He said ‘bullshit’. I don’t think Grandpa believed that Dad didn’t know it was wrong.”
“I’d have to agree with that assessment.”
“I’ve thought about it a lot since we moved. It really bugged me.”
“Oh, honey. Why didn’t you say something?”
He shrugged. “We weren’t supposed to talk about Dad.”
“Yeah, well, like Peyton said, Witsec can tell us what to do, but they can’t tell us what to think—or feel. If you ever need to talk about anything, I want you to promise me you’ll say something. You can always talk to me, Ethan.”
“I know, Mom. I think I could talk to Doug, too. He seems pretty cool.”
She marveled at her little boy, who suddenly didn’t seem so little anymore. “Yeah, he does. I’m sure you could talk to Doug.”
Doug’s voice came from behind her. “Talk to Doug about what?”
She turned around and faced him. “Anything on Peyton?”
“Not yet. The police are on it, and the marshal service too. We’ve been instructed to sit tight and wait.”
Ethan stood. “I’m going to go wash my hands in the bathroom.” He headed down the hall.
“Okay sweetie.” She watched him go, still amazed at the conversation they’d just shared.
Doug sat and picked a carrot off her plate. “So, talk to Doug about what?”
Christine smiled. “I told Ethan he could talk to me about anything. He suggested he could also talk to you, because you’re pretty cool.”
He raised his brows. “Oh.”
She detected a slight pink flush to his cheeks. “Left you speechless, eh?”
“Of course not!” he scoffed, but didn’t say much as he fixed a plate and ate dinner.
Christine called the Armstrong’s back at eight p.m. and Ryan’s mother admitted they hadn’t heard from him. His coach said he’d missed football practice, and the parents were now officially worried. They promised to call if they heard anything.
She was relaying the conversation to Doug when his phone rang. “Jackson,” he answered. “Sure. She’s right here.” He handed the cell over. “Mrs. Armstrong.”
“Hello?”
“Ryan just called,” the woman’s words came out in a rush. “He’s with Peyton, and they’re both safe, but he wouldn’t tell me where they are. What’s going on, Christine? Why are they doing this?”
“Hang on.” She muffled the phone and spoke to Doug. “Ryan called. He’s got Peyton and they’re safe, but didn’t say where they are.”
Doug nodded, jumping up for a pen and paper. “Get his phone number. We’ll put a trace on it.”
She raised the phone. “What’s Ryan’s cell number? We can trace it to find out where they are.”
“How can you do that?”
Christine hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “The police are looking for Peyton. We reported her as a runaway. Could you give me his number, please?”
Doug wrote as she said the number out loud.
“Why did she run away? What’s going on over there? What has she gotten my son into?” the woman’s voice grew increasingly frantic.
Doug said quietly, “How much money does Ryan have? Does he have access to more, or a credit card?”
“Mrs. Armstrong, look.” Barraged from both sides, Christine tried to keep herself together. “I’m really sorry Ryan’s involved but I don’t have any answers for you right now. The authorities want to know if Ryan has much money or a credit card?”
“He has a credit card to purchase gas.” She said to someone else, “He has your card, right Harry?”
Christine told Doug, “He has a credit card.”
“Get the number, we can trace that, too. He might try to use it for a motel room.”
“Motel room?” The idea sent a whole new batch of shivers down Christine’s spine, but she couldn’t focus on that now.
A man on the other end of the phone yelled, “We’ll cut off that bastard’s credit card! See how far that gets him!”
“No!” Christine told Mrs. Armstrong. “The police can trace his card, too. We’ll be able to see where’s he’s been using it.”
“No, Harry,” the woman said to the man who was evidently her husband. “They want to trace the card.”
Doug said, “Card name and number.”
“Can you give me the card name and number please?” Christine grabbed the pen from Doug and wrote as the woman read her numbers. She jotted down the company, and their contact information.
Doug nodded. “Tell them we’ll be in touch, and to let us know if Ryan calls again.”
She relayed the message and almost had to hang up on the other frantic mother who wouldn’t stop with the questions. “Oh my God.” She rubbed her temples.
Doug got in her face. “This is good. Peyton’s fine. They have a car, money for food and a place to stay. This is the best news we could have gotten.”
“A place to stay? Like that thought doesn’t bother me?” She looked at the paper and punched Ryan’s number into Doug’s phone. The call went directly to voicemail. “Ryan, this is Christine Scott, Peyton’s mom. I know you’re together and I know you’re okay right now. But there are things you don’t know. You need to bring Peyton back, now.” There was so much more she wanted to say but her voice choked up and the tears began to flow.
Doug grabbed the phone. “Kid, listen. This is a dangerous situation, more dangerous than you probably realize. You’re going to have two dozen cops and feds on your ass in a matter of hours. Whatever you do, don’t resist them. But make sure they show you ID. Don’t assume someone is a cop just because they say so.” He paused. “Not kidding here, Ryan. Peyton can tell you this is grown-up stuff. Take it seriously.” He disconnected the call.
Christine thought she might lose it. “Oh my God,” she muttered for the second time in a matter of minutes. “Now, besides the fact that my daughter is out there with a boy all alone, in some seedy motel, being chased by cops and feds…I have to worry about people who say they’re cops but really aren’t? My head is going to explode.” She scrubbed the tears off her cheeks, her sadness mixing with anger and frustration.
Doug grabbed his phone back. “Hold it together, Christi. Those people have been the main concern all along.” He took the piece of paper and headed into the kitchen to place his call.
Ethan climbed up on her lap and she rocked him, wordlessly, as they waited.
“We got a hit.” Doug waved the paper as
he returned later. “The cell phone pinged off a tower just outside of Kansas City. The credit card was used at a gas station and a Denny’s in Cameron, Missouri. Again, outside of Kansas City.”
He pulled up a map on his smartphone.
Christine glanced at it. Cameron was on I-35, which ran between Kansas City and Des Moines, Iowa. From Des Moines it was a straight shot east to… “Chicago.”
“Yep.” He pocketed his phone. “Pack your bags, kids. We’re going to the windy city.”
Chapter Six
Gold Coast Historic District
Chicago, Illinois
Sal Russo examined his slicked-back black hair in the mirror. A touch of gray at the temple annoyed him. “I need a new colorist, baby. This is ridiculous.”
His young, buxom wife peered at his hair. “What? That’s nothing. It looks fine. Besides, I like Gina. I don’t want to find a new hairdresser.”
“I might give her one more chance,” he muttered as he turned to face his wife. At twenty-three, she didn’t know beans about covering gray. She added expensive highlights to her hair for fun but her brown shade was natural.
Everything Roxy did was expensive. He should have known going in that was part of the deal. Probably the main reason she married a man three times her age. Deep down, he knew she was in the relationship for the money. Just like he was in it for her firm 36 DD’s, which had been 34 B’s before he sprung for her surgery.
“Thank you, Pookie.” She rubbed her nose on his, then patted his lapel. “You look so handsome. Are you sure I can’t go with you to dinner? I’d love a night on the town.”
“Sorry, baby, this one’s all business. Maybe tomorrow we can go out, if everything goes as planned tonight.”
She frowned. “What might not go ‘as planned’? Is this dangerous?”
He shook his head. “Nah, don’t worry your pretty little head.” He leaned in to nuzzle her neck. “I wouldn’t mind if you waited up for me, though.”
“Sure, Pookie. See you later.”
He squeezed one of her breasts through her sweater, then turned to leave.
Dangerous? Every meeting with Carlos de Salazar was dangerous, but Carlos wasn’t after him. They had a mutual interest in Larry Stewart, and the money he made disappear. One-third belonged to him, and two-thirds to Carlos. It wasn’t peanuts they were talking about. Initial estimates were that Larry siphoned off somewhere between ten and twenty million dollars.