by Meg O'Brien
Jimmy’s cell phone was on the seat. She scrolled down to Joey’s number and dialed. The phone rang a few times before he answered brusquely. “Yeah?”
“Joey, it’s Abby. Have you heard from Jimmy?”
“Since when? Last night, you mean?”
“No, this morning.”
“Not a word. Why? Isn’t he with you?”
“No. He left our motel room a little while ago, saying he was going to the office for coffee. But now that I think of it, I’m pretty sure he was looking for somebody out there. Joey, he never did show up at the office, and I’ve looked everywhere around here, but I can’t find him. I’m getting worried. I mean, I’m calling you from his car, on his cell phone. He wouldn’t have gone far without them. Not intentionally.”
“I hate to say it, but knowing what you two are doing there, I think you’re right. Where’s this motel? In Galveston?”
“No, it’s across the causeway, toward Houston. A sign on a car repair place across the street says Texas City Auto.”
“Okay, listen. I’ll contact the PD in Texas City and ask them to help. Meanwhile, I’ll be on the first plane there. What’s the name, address and phone number of this motel?”
She gave them to him, and was surprised to find that her voice was shaking. “I’m really worried, Joey. I don’t know whether to stay here and keep looking for him, or what.”
“If you do, I can guarantee you he’ll be pissed,” Joey said. “No, you stick to your original plan. Let me worry about my brother. Just keep his cell phone with you, and I’ll let you know what I find out.”
“I feel like somebody’s got him, Joey. We need to find him.”
“Which is why I’m coming down there. And which is also why everything’s gonna be okay. Okay?”
“I…okay.”
She hung up, and sat there a few minutes, her hands on the wheel. This was way beyond her scope. She had bought into Kris’s pep talk about being strong and capable, but the truth was, she wanted to cry. She never should have let Jimmy get involved in any of this. The men at the warehouse must have gotten through to someone in The Candlelights or the IRA, and described him. Her, too, most likely. They might even have been followed from the warehouse. Then, when Jimmy went back out, they grabbed him. While she was showering—useless, a complete and utter failure.
It wasn’t until a horn blasted behind her that she realized she was already on the highway, driving in the direction of the mall.
27
The traffic had thinned out for a mile or two on the way to the mall, when Abby first noticed the sleek black Lincoln Town Car following her. As she turned into the mall, the traffic became too dense to try to elude the car. A lighted sign, however, advertised valet parking. That was the kind of information that always stuck in her mind when she was helping women and their children on the run. Now and then the fathers, or detectives they hired, would pick up their trail, no matter how hard everyone along the line worked to keep that from happening. It was helpful to study various methods for throwing them off the track.
Pulling into the underground garage, she left the car with a valet. As she stepped out and crossed over to the glass doors leading into the mall, she noted that the black Town Car had turned in, too. It was hanging back and hadn’t yet reached the valet. From a quick sideways glance at the windshield, she thought there might be two figures in the front seat, but she couldn’t be sure.
Abby walked as casually as possible to an elevator and took it up to the main floor. There was a department store on her left, and she entered and picked up speed. Hurrying through the department store, she looked for an exit to a parking lot and a bus stop on the far side of the mall. But either she wasn’t on the main level after all, or they simply didn’t have exits to the outside from here.
Panic set in. Glancing around quickly, she scanned the other shoppers. And there he was—a tall, well-built man with a pale complexion, reddish hair and wearing sunglasses.
No one familiar, but he stood out like a sore thumb among women’s clothes in a department store. His height made him clearly visible over the clothing racks.
Abby grabbed several dresses. Looping a thumb through the hangers, she held them behind her and ducked into the nearest fitting room. The cubicles all had doors that were open at the top and bottom. One at the far end was slightly larger than the others. She slipped into it and locked the door behind her. Hanging the dresses on a hook, she stood with her back against the farthest wall, hoping the cubicle would look empty.
Don’t let him find me, she prayed, as a vivid flash of memory brought back that morning in the junkyard. Don’t let him find me.
But I’m not helpless, she reminded herself. I’m not helpless anymore.
For at least five minutes she stood like that, barely breathing. A couple of women came out of another cubicle, talking about how sizes had changed since they were younger, and now you could wear a twelve when you were really a sixteen. They left, and there were no other sounds in the fitting room after that. She was alone.
Which meant that this would be the perfect time for him to come in, looking for her.
She waited, straining her ears to hear, for what seemed like hours but was really only minutes.
Then she heard it. The slight whisper on carpet of stealthy footsteps.
Abby got into position. With one arm upraised at neck height and the other bent by her waist, she took a deep breath and let it out silently, feeling her chi rise.
The footsteps stopped by her cubicle. The curtain moved. She opened her mouth to make a warrior sound and startle the opponent as she took him down.
But what she saw in the split second before attacking her victim sucked the air from her lungs and weakened her knees.
“Oh, my God,” she said. “Oh, my God.”
28
“Where on earth have you been? I’ve been so worried about you!”
Abby’s words were muffled by the fact that her face was against Alicia’s shoulder as they hugged. She pulled back and said, “How did you find me here, Allie?”
“That was me and Dell, my bodyguard, behind you. I knew when you glanced our way that you’d spotted us. I told him to follow you in here and let me know when and where he saw you go.”
“That was your bodyguard? The tall, red-haired guy? But how did you know I was in Texas? No, wait.” Abby grabbed her arm to pull her out of the cubicle. “We can’t talk here.”
Alicia pulled back. “It’s okay. Dell’s barring the door to the fitting room, telling people it’s under renovation. We’ll have a few minutes before store security starts to question what’s going on.” She frowned. “Abby, please sit down. You look so damned tired, and I know it’s all because of me.”
Abby was feeling weak and shaky from too little sleep and food. She sat on the floor while Alicia slid into a squat, her back against the side of the cubicle.
“To answer your question, Dell followed you and the man you were with from the warehouse early this morning. He saw where you were staying and came and got me.”
“Your bodyguard was at the warehouse? What was he doing there? And how did he know me?”
“It’s a long story, Abby. But he has photos of everyone I know, everyone I’ve ever known. Short and not-so-sweet, that’s the story of my life.”
Abby hadn’t realized until this moment how much she really cared for, and had missed, Alicia. There had been so many years, so many confidences exchanged. Though she’d been angry at her for leaving Jancy without a word, never for a moment had she believed that her old friend had killed the reporter at the Highlands Inn.
Which made this all that much harder. “Do you know the FBI and the CIA are both looking for you, and your father? That there’s an all-out manhunt for both of you?”
Alicia hesitated. “Yes. I know that.”
“Do you know why?”
“Yes, Abby. I know about the terrorist threat, and I know my father is supposed to be making a bomb for the
m.”
“Then what the hell are you doing, Allie? Why haven’t you turned him in?”
Voices sounded from the door of the fitting room, one male, one female, and it seemed Alicia’s bodyguard was having trouble maintaining his post.
Alicia lowered her voice and got to her feet. “We’ve got to go now. Abby, I need you to come with me.”
“Come with you?” Abby stood, and felt a moment of fear, hating herself for it. Surely her friend wouldn’t lead her into some kind of trap. Would she?
“Where do want me to go?”
“Just come with me. Please. I need someone’s help, and right now you’re the only one I can trust.”
29
Abby left Jimmy’s car at the mall and climbed into the back seat of the Town Car with Alicia, hoping she wouldn’t regret it. Dell, the red-haired bodyguard, pointed the car south toward Galveston.
“We’re going to Emerald Gardens?” she said.
“Eventually,” Alicia replied. “First, we make a stop at Trudy’s Catering in Galveston.”
“A catering service?” Abby said mildly. “Are we throwing a party?”
“Don’t I wish,” Alicia answered grimly.
At Trudy’s, Dell pulled into a lot at the back of the building. He parked the Town Car so that it blocked the view of the rear entrance from the street. Abby followed Alicia’s instructions to slide out quickly and go inside. Once they were out, Dell pulled the car off to the side, got out and stood in the lot by the door, his arms folded.
Inside, a short blond woman dressed in white pants and a white jacket smeared with chocolate came up to Abby and Alicia. She didn’t speak, and had clearly expected them. She took them into a kitchen, where double-tiered steel carts were being loaded with appetizers that smelled like garlic and butter. Abby’s stomach growled loudly, but, before she had a chance to be embarrassed, the woman took a small white plate off a shelf. She put four of the small flaky pastries on it and handed it to Abby. Then she fixed one for Alicia.
“Take these with you,” she said in an Irish accent. “You can’t be knowin’ when you’ll have another chance.”
She led them into a large room off the kitchen where white uniforms hung neatly against one wall. “Good luck,” she said softly, covering both catering carts with white linen cloths and pushing them into the room. She closed the door.
“Find your size and put one on,” Alicia said to Abby.
Abby hesitated a moment, but Alicia said, “Trust me,” and stripped down to her bra and panties, then put on a uniform with long pants and a white chef’s top. Abby followed suit. When they were both dressed, their hair pinned up under short, tight white caps, Alicia pressed a buzzer.
At the other end of the room was the kind of rolling metal door Abby had seen at loading docks. Alicia grabbed one of the catering carts and motioned for Abby to do the same.
“Our transportation from here on,” she said, rolling the carts to the metal door.
The door rolled up into the ceiling, and a warm blast of humid air entered the room. A small white van with the words Trudy’s Catering on the side had backed up to the loading dock. Its rear doors opened automatically and Alicia pushed her cart onto the truck. Abby followed Alicia’s lead, feeling a bit foolish but unwilling to seem anxious. She wanted to trust Alicia, and she thought she did. Even if her faith in her friend proved unwise, she wanted to see this thing through to the end.
The truck’s door slammed shut and everything grew quiet and dark. There was a wall of some kind between this part of the van and the driver. Of course, it was a catering truck. There must be times when it needed to be kept cold, or hot.
Still, small spaces, especially small dark spaces, were not her favorite thing.
“Allie?”
No answer.
“Allie!” she said more insistently, panic rising in her throat. God help her if she blacked out now, the way she had on the roof with Jimmy.
Jimmy. She hadn’t thought of him in the past hour, or of what had happened to him. And now, instead of being in a position to find and help him, she was in this tiny, pitch-dark closet, being driven God knew where—
She was about to start pounding on one of the rear doors when she heard a quiet “Shh.”
“Allie?”
“I’m here. You have to be quiet, Abby. We can’t talk now—I’ll explain later.”
Abby sat on the floor, her knees up to her chin and her feet stabilizing the cart. It took all the energy she had to stay that way as the truck swayed and jerked from the sharp turns it was making. She clung to the steel legs of the cart to keep it from falling on her, wondering if it really was necessary to take such a winding route. Her legs, back and arms began to ache, and she felt as if she were on a funhouse ridde called Hell Drive.
Finally, the truck slowed, made a sharp turn and came to a stop.
“Abby,” Alicia whispered, “the doors are going to open. When they do, take the cart down the ramp as fast as you can without seeming to be in an abnormal rush. I’ll be right behind you.”
The truck’s rear doors opened, and Abby pushed. The heavy cart tilted slightly as it began its descent down the ramp. She had to hang on tight to keep it from getting away from her, but at the end of the ramp she saw a garage door in an upscale suburban house. The door opened and she saw light and heard loud music and voices, people laughing as if they were having a good time. Party sounds.
“Keep going, Abby, I’m right behind you,” Alicia said.
The garage door closed behind them, and all the sounds abruptly stopped. Dell was suddenly at Abby’s side. He grabbed her arm and half dragged her through a door into the house.
“What the hell?” Abby said, yanking her arm away. “Let go of me! Allie?”
“Right behind you,” Alicia said again.
Abby turned and saw that her friend was indeed right behind her. And she was pointing a gun directly at her head.
30
They stood in a dimly lit kitchen, the two women facing each other.
“I’m getting real tired of this,” Abby said, rubbing her arm. “If one more person points a gun at me—”
“I’m sorry,” Alicia said, sliding the Glock into a drawer. “But I wasn’t pointing it at you…or, at least, not really. Dell’s orders were to get you in here fast, and I couldn’t take any chances we’d be ambushed from inside.”
Dell had gone to stand outside the front door, once he was assured that Abby and Alicia were safely in the house. Another man, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, stood in the living room, watching them over the breakfast bar.
“Don’t mind him,” Allie said. “That’s Jase, my mom’s bodyguard.”
She went in and whispered something to him, then came back and said, “My mother’s in with my father. I’ll take you to them.”
“Allie, wait. What the hell is going on? And where’s that party I heard?” Except for an odd whish-whish issuing from somewhere in the house, it was as silent now as a graveyard.
“The party sounds are on tape,” Alicia said. “To provide anyone watching with a reason for the catering carts. The tape turns on when the garage door opens, and goes off when it closes. The houses themselves are soundproofed.”
“Geez. And just how many parties do you have in a week?”
Alicia made an apologetic grimace. “This is the second. We didn’t need to do this until the past few days. Ready?”
Alicia looked tired and worn, as if bracing herself for something unpleasant. Abby had another moment of anxiety, wondering if she should be walking into whatever this was. There were so many people depending on her to do the right thing. What if—
“It’s okay, Abby,” Alicia said, sensing her hesitation. “I just want you to meet my father and mother.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“Yes.”
“Are we talking about Pat and Bridget Devlin?”
“We are.”
“And you’re not afraid I’ll turn the
m in, now that I know where they are?”
Or was it that she, Abby, would never have a chance to tell anyone what she knew? She still couldn’t get over the image of Allie with that gun. She was sure that no matter how Allie had shrugged it off, the gun had been pointing straight at her.
The whish-whishing noise grew louder as they went down the hall and came to a door. Alicia paused there and tapped softly.
“It’s me, Mom,” she said.
“Come in,” a woman’s voice answered.
Alicia opened the door to a room that was dark except for one dim light over a bed. In the bed, which was raised to a half-sitting position, lay a man—or what remained of a man. He looked shriveled and old, so emaciated that she had to wonder how his head could support even the light weight of the respirator cup over his nose and mouth. The whish-whishing sound came from the respirator next to his bed. His eyes were closed.
A woman sat on a chair next to him, holding his hand.
“How is he?” Alicia asked.
“He’s doing fine,” the woman said aloud, though she shook her head at Alicia. Her green eyes were wet with tears, and her hair, though it showed signs of having once been red, was short and sprinkled heavily with gray.
“Mom, this is my friend, Abby. Abby, this is my mother, Bridget.”
Bridget Devlin set her husband’s hand down gently on the crisp white sheet and rose, crossing over to them.
“Alicia told us you were coming,” she said softly. “I assume you know who we are, and why Alicia had to take extraordinary steps to bring you here to the house.”
Abby nodded. “I suddenly don’t know why I’m here, though. How long has your husband been ill like this?”
Surely Pat Devlin hadn’t been making any bombs lately.
“I’m afraid I’ve lost track of time,” Bridget said. “This past three months—”
“It actually started about six months ago,” Alicia said. “It’s been getting worse each month. Lung cancer.”