The Curator
Suitcase Girl Trilogy Book Two (Abby Kane FBI Thriller #8)
Ty Hutchinson
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
A Note from Ty Hutchinson
Also by Ty Hutchinson
Chapter One
A man stood slightly hunched over and leaning against the trunk of a pine tree, uncertain of his next step. With each exhale, his breaths billowed in smoky plumes across his chattering teeth. His eyes shifted erratically from side to side.
Where am I?
He had just taken two steps away from the security of the tree, his bare feet sinking into mossy dirt, when the crack of a branch jerked his head to the left.
What was that?
He squinted and scanned the misty woods, carefully moving forward and nearly tripping over his own feet at the sudden appearance of a mountain bike flying right past him. It landed a few feet away, its back wheel kicking up dirt.
“The crazies are out early today,” the rider spouted off as he pedaled hard, disappearing into the maze of trees as quickly as he had appeared.
The man looked down at himself. A tattered hospital gown hung from his bony frame. He gripped it and tugged. A rip formed near the shoulder. He grabbed the thin fabric with his other hand and yanked. The gown fell away from him, exposing his pale nakedness.
Aside from his breathing, the woods were eerily quiet. There were no birds singing or breezes rustling the tree branches. He walked in the direction the mountain biker had disappeared.
Am I dreaming? Maybe I am. God, I hope so.
The situation was surreal; it had to be. He hoped it was, for the last thing he remembered was puffing on a cigar and sipping scotch. There was a warm glow of a fireplace, and he wasn’t alone. Others were gathered around him. It felt like he knew them, but he couldn’t be sure. His memory was nothing more than spotty imagery.
He struggled to find clarity, something that could begin to explain the oddness of his predicament. The harder he tried to recall, the more confused he became. Random people and places popped into his head, but they meant nothing. He couldn’t remember his name or what he did for a living.
Do I even work?
He continued down the side of the mountain, his body warming from the physical movement. Perspiration appeared, creating a slickness across his skin.
Picking up speed, he tripped over an exposed tree root, nearly falling flat on his face. In fact, his balance seemed off kilter ever since… well, he couldn’t remember. A filmy substance in his eyes marred his vision, which he couldn’t clear no matter how much he blinked or wiped at them. But he remained focused as best he could and pushed forward. All he wanted was to go home, wherever that was, and climb into bed.
A clearing in the trees up ahead revealed the tops of buildings—a skyline with a large bay behind it.
I hope this is where I live.
It seemed slightly familiar to his gut. But if he did live in this city, he had no clue as to where.
I’ll just ask for help. Someone will offer it.
He kept his pace, skirting trees and bushes along the way. The sounds of urbanization began to fill the quiet void: a blaring horn, a barking dog, the engine of a large vehicle shifting gears. With each step, the city revealed more and more of itself.
Almost there, keep going.
Just as he’d walked out of the woods and onto a sidewalk, a loud shriek filled his ears.
He looked in that direction and spotted a woman pulling her child close to her as she backed away, while a couple carrying coffees stopped in their tracks. They all had horrified expressions on their faces.
Wait—what’s wrong?
Vehicles slowed as drivers and passengers pointed and stared.
Why won’t anyone help me? Can’t they see that I’m not well?
A man walking his dog shouted at him. “Back off, buddy!”
What’s wrong with these people? I’m just asking for help.
A siren could be heard, coming closer.
Finally, someone heard me.
A police vehicle screeched to a stop along the curb. The doors flew open, and two officers exited with weapons drawn. “Stop right there.”
Is that really necessary? I just need help.
One of them advanced on him. “Get down on your knees now, or I’m tasing you.”
Tase me?
“I’m not telling you again. Get down now!”
Before the man could comprehend the situation, an intense explosion of pain ripped throughout his body, causing him to collapse onto the sidewalk. His body clenched into a withering ball, and his eyes rolled back into his head as he struggled to breathe.
I just need help.
Chapter Two
Ever since Walter Chan had been shot dead at the front door of my home, I had to endure being poked, prodded, and interrogated while recovering from a gunshot wound. It wasn’t life threatening; Walter’s gun had discharged, and the bullet had clipped my neck. A bloody mess was really what it turned out to be. The stitches fell out at the start of week three with the help of my scratching.
My stay at the government facility, the purpose of which I still don’t fully understand, had me feeling sequestered. They kept me locked up and under observation for three weeks.
In the beginning, the doctors, as they referred to themselves, were the only human contact I had. Eventually, monitored phone calls with my family were allowed, but other than that, communication with the outside world was nonexistent. The roo
m they kept me in didn’t have a television or a radio. Thankfully they did furnish me with a selection of magazines: Good Housekeeping, Reader’s Digest, and National Geographic. It was dismal, but after a few days of reading the back of the shampoo bottle, anything else was a warm welcome.
I spent most of my time in my room sleeping, which probably made up for every early rise or bad night’s sleep I’d experienced that year. I actually didn’t mind that part.
At some point during almost every day, I had to debrief another person I didn’t know. Either no one got the memos, or they didn’t believe me and wanted to see if my story would change. It never did.
The conversations were always the same.
I spoke.
They listened.
I asked questions.
They ignored them.
They always wanted a full account of everything that had happened from the moment we discovered Xiaolian, formerly known as the Suitcase Girl, outside our offices, to the fatal shooting of Walter Chan. There was no reason for me to withhold information. They never spoke of their intentions, nor did they ever talk about Xiaolian. I had absolutely no idea where she was or what had happened to her.
It was hard to talk about the shooting of Walter and not knowing what had happened to my son, Ryan, afterward. I had to assume the Bureau, the facility, and God only knew who else, had questioned him extensively as well—probably my entire family had endured it too. That’s me, sucking as a mom.
After a week without answers and me running my mouth, they allowed a phone call from my partner, Kyle Kang. He assured me that Ryan, my daughter Lucy, and my mother-in-law Po Po were okay and that he was staying at the house. “Don’t worry. I have everything covered here,” he assured me. The following day I was allowed a phone call with the family.
Kang also clued me in on Xiaolian. She was being held at the same facility. He had seen her when he visited with Agents Reilly and House. The doctor monitoring her would not specify how long she would remain there.
Two weeks into my experience of being a detainee, the family surprised me with a visit for two whole hours. Kang had brought them. I felt certain my increasing lack of cooperation had prompted the goodwill gesture. Seeing them in person made all the difference. It provided me with renewed strength.
Freedom. It’s hard to appreciate it until it’s taken away.
At the end of three-weeks, I was discharged, free to go home.
That first morning back home, Ryan decided to join me on my run. This surprised me, since he had only once before gone running with me and, that one time, I’d forced him.
Ryan and I stood at the end of the Aquatic Park Pier, staring out over the calm waters of the bay. Scattered clouds marked the skies, but the sun still had a firm presence. The pier was a concrete pathway that jutted outward, forming a half loop around the aquatic park, popular for open-water swimming. It was part of the city’s Maritime National Park.
I breathed deeply, filling my lungs with that familiar crisp air. I held it for a moment, my eyes closed and my ears listening to the seagulls squawking, before exhaling slowly.
“How are you feeling?” I asked him.
“I like this. It’s fun. Where to next?”
“We’ll head back up toward Ghirardelli Square and make our way to Columbus and then straight home from there. Sound okay?”
“Yup.”
I was happy to have the company. The incident at the house seemed to have brought us closer, if I had to find something positive to say about it. Don’t get me wrong; I wish it hadn’t happened at all.
Both Ryan and Lucy had been talking to a psychiatrist. So far, the incident didn’t seem to have had any long-term negative impacts on either of them. The doctor said Ryan was mature for his age. Sure, he’d had nightmares the first few nights but none since. I’d told him at least a dozen times that he could talk to me about anything. I wanted him to know I was there for him.
I also felt extremely thankful that, after all his pestering about wanting to learn more about my service weapon, I’d relented. His education had started with learning how to disassemble and assemble the handgun, as well as clean it. Once he could do all of that without looking, or hesitating, and in a timely manner, I took him to a small gun range in Alameda and taught him how to shoot. Of course, I had a strict rule in relation to all of this—he was not to touch the firearm unless I asked him to. He’d ignored the rule that day, thankfully.
As for Lucy, she had apparently blocked out the incident from her memory. She didn’t remember a thing. She might later in life, but currently it was too early to tell.
To be honest, I worried more about her than I did her brother. Ryan had always been levelheaded and responsible. He was pragmatic, like his father. A realist. Lucy, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. She was the daydreaming, freethinking, trusting, open-minded spark of our family. And I loved that about her.
Ryan and I ran the rest of the way home with just one stop—a detour to Fanelli’s Deli. It had been a while since I’d eaten their cannolis. I planned to pick up two boxes—one for the house and one for the office. When we arrived, Salametti, Finocchiona, and Sopressata—Sala, Fino, and Sata, for short—greeted us. They were the three homeless dogs that lived outside the deli and were cared for by the residents of the neighborhood. I loved Fino’s crooked tail.
Back at the house Po Po had just finished making breakfast—silver dollar pancakes.
“Just in time,” Ryan said. “I’ll shower really quick and be back down, okay, Po Po?”
“I got cannolis,” I said, placing the box on the dining room table. Even Po Po couldn’t resist them; a slight smile appeared on her face.
On the way up to my room, I bumped into Lucy on the stairs and gave her a kiss on her head.
“Eww, you’re sweaty,” she said, backing away.
“Good morning to you too.”
Once inside my bedroom, I stripped off my clothes and then gently peeled the gauze off of my neck. I moved in front of the mirror above the bathroom sink and tilted my head to the side for a better look. I’ll end up with another scar. I grabbed my hair and pulled it around my neck, hiding the wound. I guess I have a reason to keep my hair long. I shrugged off the thought and stepped into the shower.
As warm water poured over my body from a rain showerhead, I couldn’t help but think if I was taking all this too lightly. I had a tendency to do that. Deflecting was definitely a coping mechanism for me. I’d convince myself that it was part of the job, or that it was an anomaly, or my favorite, “I’ve had worse happen to me.”
The truth of the matter was, this really was the worst thing that had happened to me as a result of my job. And it didn’t affect just me; it affected everyone I cared about. An experience like that shouldn’t be taken lightly. Perhaps the universe was tapping me on the shoulder to remind me that I wasn’t invincible, that I could lose my turn in the game of life. Or worse, cause someone I cared about deeply to lose their spin.
But anytime something similar had happened in the past, I would just swear to be more careful or change my ways, but I never did. And I hated that about myself.
Chapter Three
When I returned downstairs, I found Kang and the family sitting at the table enjoying a healthy helping of breakfast. When he spotted me, he had just taken a bite from his cannoli, so he bounced his eyebrows twice.
“How much weight have you gained while living here?” I asked as I sat in the empty chair next to him.
He shrugged. “You know me. I’m like you. Nothing sticks. I’ll miss staying here for sure.” He ate another mouthful. “How was your run?”
“Invigorating.”
“How’s the neck?”
“It’s fine. The run didn’t seem to bother it.”
He stared at the fresh bandaging for a moment and then continued eating. “Are you heading into the office today?”
“I think so.”
“Kang and Kane, back in action,” Ryan
said as he chewed on a slice of bacon.
Kang pointed his fork at Ryan. “Now that’s the positive talk we need to hear.”
“I’m positive ‘Kane’ comes before ‘Kang,’ alphabetically,” I chimed in.
“I know that,” Ryan said, “but Uncle Kyle said you two agreed it sounded better to say ‘Kang and Kane.’” The kids called my partner “Uncle Kyle,” though there was no relation there.
“Oh, is that what he told you?” I looked at my partner in crime. “How about we lop off the last two letters of each name and call that suggestion exactly what it is. Ka-ka.”
Lucy erupted in laughter. “You said ka-ka.”
After we gave Ryan and Lucy a lift to school, Kang drove us to the office. On the way I got a call from my supervisor, Special Agent in Charge Scott Reilly. Our presence was requested back at the facility.
“What? Why? I just left that place.”
“Apparently, they want you to meet with Xiaolian.”
The Curator: SG Trilogy Book 2 (Abby Kane FBI Thriller 8) Page 1