He looked like a typical business traveler, wearing a suit and tapping away on his laptop. CJ tried to think of the marshal that way in an effort to control the nerves that always surfaced when she traveled. Even with Doug’s assurances that the latest leak had been plugged, she always wondered when Rush would manage to create a new one.
The flight was uneventful, as was the second leg of their journey. Tara was waiting for CJ when she passed by the security area in Minneapolis. Darkness was already falling when they arrived at their hotel, and CJ was happy to use room service for a quiet meal alone.
After eating her dinner, CJ repacked her duffel bag for the next day. She checked and re-checked her goggles, made sure she had two spare caps, and then made sure her race suit and identification were in order.
By nine o’clock, CJ climbed into bed and turned the television to ESPN news. The highlights for the Phillies’ game were brief, and she was disappointed to see that Matt’s team had lost. She didn’t even catch a glimpse of him on TV.
Restless, she turned off the television and tried to sink into unconsciousness. The hotel room was quiet, but her mind refused to shut down. She thought of the meet the next day, the expected confrontations with her former coach and teammates, even the potential danger she might face.
She hungered to hear Matt’s voice, to listen to his version of the game that night and gain comfort from the encouragement he would give her. Unfortunately, Matt’s schedule was such that the only way she could contact him was on his cell phone, and she knew her security team would never allow that. She still didn’t quite understand how cell phone calls could be intercepted, but Doug had explained that intelligence believed that Rush’s organization had the special equipment necessary to pick up cell phone calls, and that they were very adept at using it.
Finally, around midnight, CJ dropped off into a deep sleep.
* * *
“Hey, wake up.” Doug nudged his fiancée as he noticed her closed eyes.
Jill shifted on the couch next to him and looked up at him in a daze. “I’m sorry. What time is it?”
“Almost midnight.” Doug brushed at the short blond hair falling across her forehead. She was simply beautiful in every way, and he was already counting down the days until they would be sealed in the Dallas temple. Besides the fact that she would finally be living in Miami with him instead of a thousand miles away, he wanted more moments like these when he could just be with her.
Jill studied his face for a moment, all hard planes and angles shadowed with a day’s worth of beard. Her eyes narrowed as she became fully awake. “Something’s going on with CJ this weekend, isn’t it?”
“Why would you think that?” Doug asked evasively. He already worried about how easily Jill could read his moods and analyze what triggered them.
“Doug, you’ve been working like a demon since we got back to Miami, and then suddenly you just want to hang out and watch TV. You even offered to spend the whole weekend going over wedding plans, something you hate to do, and you’ve checked your cell phone messages about a dozen times tonight.” Jill’s eyes met his. “That tells me something is going on at work, and after our trip to Aruba, I’m guessing it has to do with CJ.”
“Have you ever considered a career in law enforcement?”
“I have a career in law enforcement.” Jill laughed, thinking of her sometimes-unruly second-grade class. “I just try to prevent crime.”
Doug grinned, knowing her statement wasn’t far from the truth. He stood up, pulling her up with him. “I’ll take you back to your hotel and let you get some sleep.”
“Okay,” Jill agreed, picking up her purse before heading outside. Half an hour later, Doug escorted her up to her room and waited while she unlocked the door.
Jill reached up and touched her lips briefly to his before stepping inside her room. She laughed when he pulled her closer to kiss her again. With one last kiss, he released her.
Doug took a step down the hall before turning back to Jill once more. “Remember to say your prayers tonight.”
Jill nodded, knowing that he was indeed worried about CJ. “I always do.”
Chapter 7
Something was wrong. Whether it was instinct, inspiration, or experience that made CJ uneasy, she recognized the sensation all too well. She quickly surveyed her surroundings. The natatorium was not unlike many indoor pools where she had practiced and competed since leaving Arizona.
The main entrance to the building led to a reception area crowded with swimmers and fans arriving or leaving. Across from the receptionist’s desk lay a basketball court where athletes sprawled out on towels and sat on chairs while they waited for their events.
Just past the receptionist’s desk was the main hallway that led to the pool, where the action would take place. The locker rooms also came off that hallway, and, further down, glass doors led directly into the spectator seating—bleachers situated along the length of the indoor pool.
Inside the pool area, chlorine and sweat scented the humid air. Poolside, CJ stood among some of the top swimmers in the country as the first heat of the 800-meter freestyle began. She had already completed her warm-up, and in just a few more minutes she would compete in the 100-meter breaststroke, the event she hoped would carry her to the Olympics.
In three months, the Olympic trials would begin in California, but for now the focus was here in Minneapolis, where she was one of many trying to qualify for that all-important meet. Excitement and anticipation hummed throughout the large aquatic center, but beneath it was something else. CJ continued to look around, wondering if she was just being paranoid.
She took a deep breath and brushed a stray hair out of her face. Outwardly, she looked like a typical swimmer—cap and goggles in hand, wearing a warm-up jacket over her suit with a towel slung around her waist. Yet, as she glanced at the other swimmers preparing for their races, she wondered if she would ever be typical again.
Across the pool she could see Bridget Bannon stretching next to several of CJ’s former teammates. Aaron stood nearby, clipboard in hand. CJ had run into him briefly when she checked in, and he had acted as though he didn’t even know her. The silent treatment was pretty consistent among everyone from CJ’s former team with the exception of a few catty remarks from some girls in the locker room.
CJ rolled her shoulders, trying to ease the tension that had settled there. She felt out of place, an odd sensation for someone who had been swimming competitively since the age of four.
Though she had tried not to think about it, CJ was forced to acknowledge how much work still lay ahead of her and the almost overwhelming hurdles she faced in trying to find a new coach, or even worse, go it alone. Each swimmer on deck shared her goals, and she knew that most of them would face disappointment as they tried to make the Olympic team.
CJ thought of her father, of how he’d shared her hopes and dreams that she would someday swim in the Olympic Games. She could almost hear him now, telling her she was going to make it. If she worked hard enough, she would never be disappointed, no matter the outcome. So many times he had told her that someday he would see her walking in the opening ceremonies wearing red, white, and blue.
A sudden chill ran through CJ, and she analyzed her surroundings again. What was making her so uneasy? Maybe it’s just nerves, she told herself. She had faced her vulnerability after quitting her team earlier that week, aware of the irony that her skills as a swimmer—which she knew could have improved with the elite team—had been her downfall. Bridget Bannon, the star of the team, did not want competition from her own teammates, and, obviously, the coach agreed.
The cheering from the stands intensified as the current race approached its conclusion. Again, CJ looked around. Seeing nothing unusual, she glanced at the spectator entrance to the swimming pool area. One of the marshals was on his cell phone, and Tara was quickly moving toward her. She was right. Danger was lurking once again.
Behind her a buzzer sounded as another race
began. CJ moved across the crowded deck toward Tara. She scanned the pool area and bleachers as she walked. Her heartbeat quickened as she tried to keep her gait steady to avoid drawing attention to herself.
Her eyes were on the stands when she saw him—Jimmy Malloy, the man her former boyfriend had spoken of the day he was killed. Malloy stood on the top level of the bleachers, scanning the deck. He was dressed casually as though he belonged there in the stands, his windbreaker covering a plain polo shirt. While Malloy was known to be an integral part of Rush’s smuggling organization, all attempts at apprehending him had failed.
Though no one had said it, CJ knew the FBI suspected that Malloy had arranged Leonard Abbott’s death. The fact that Abbott had more first-hand knowledge than CJ did of Malloy’s involvement in the smuggling ring—as well as Rush’s role in the top spot—made Abbott the greater threat as a witness. CJ had always wondered if her testimony was really necessary, but the presence of Malloy reconfirmed what the federal district attorney had told her. Rush still believed that without her testimony, he would be free.
Out of the corner of her eye, CJ saw Tara talking to one of the facility’s security guards, then looking out over the sea of swimmers on deck, presumably seeking her. Instinctively, CJ’s eyes focused on Malloy, still standing in the crowd as if he belonged there.
A shiver ran down her spine as she watched Malloy study the athletes making their way to and from their events. How had he found her? Had the organization paid off someone in the FBI to reveal her location, or had he discovered some other way of finding her? As a precaution, Tara had registered CJ for the meet at the last minute, but somehow she had been found before competing in even one race.
* * *
Malloy observed the athletes moving to the starting end of the pool. This was her race; he was sure of it. Once again, Malloy read over the heat sheet in front of him. All of the swimmers in the event had posted numerous results over the past season, except one. It had to be Christal Jones.
Frustrated that he couldn’t identify her from the many athletes wearing caps and goggles, Malloy moved down toward the pool entrance. He was nearly to the bottom of the bleachers when CJ’s heat was called to the blocks. He didn’t have to check the heat sheet to know that the empty lane belonged to her.
Again he watched the athletes on the deck, this time scanning the entire area. Then he saw her. She was looking at the floor, apparently trying to blend in with a group of girls heading for the locker room. Even from across the pool he could tell she was nervous.
He had studied the schematics of the building and his men were well positioned. If she thought she could escape this time, she was sadly mistaken. Predicting that she would move through the locker room to the hallway, Malloy moved to the doorway leading from the spectator area to the main hall. He stepped through just as a hand grabbed his arm.
“Jimmy Malloy?”
Malloy looked at the man, tagging him immediately as a government agent of some sort. He figured he only needed a minute or two before the girl would emerge from the locker room doors just twenty yards away from where he was now standing. Rather than rely on the weapon beneath his jacket, Malloy opted to stall.
“Who?” Malloy looked at him, feigning confusion. “I’m sorry. You must have me confused with someone else.”
“If you could please come with me, sir.”
The grip remained steady on his arm, and Malloy let himself be escorted further out into the hall. The hallway was clear except for a couple of spectators and a man standing several yards past the locker room doors.
“Can I see some kind of identification?” a woman asked.
Surprised, Malloy looked at her, having thought she was just another fan. Now that he looked at her more closely, he could see that awareness in her eyes common to federal agents.
“Can you tell me what all of this is about?” Malloy asked instead of reaching for his wallet.
Before the woman could answer, Malloy saw the girls’ locker room door open. Christal Jones peeked out of the doorway, her eyes meeting his. Malloy smiled and looked past her, his nod nearly imperceptible.
To his surprise, the girl turned and saw the gunman just in time. She threw herself back against the door just as a shot rang out and the door jamb splintered above her. As she scrambled back into the locker room, Malloy’s gunman turned and shot one of the federal agents. The woman already had her weapon drawn and returned fire, hitting the gunman with both shots.
A scream echoed behind them as a spectator witnessed the terrifying scene. Malloy grabbed the spectator and pushed her into the female agent. In the confusion, Malloy rushed to the exit at the end of the hall and promptly headed for the central part of the college campus. He tugged his jacket tighter around him, attempting to blend in with the teachers and students.
Once he was clear of the natatorium, Malloy pulled out his cell phone to put his contingency plan into action.
* * *
CJ ran through the locker room door onto the pool deck. Seeing the crowd forming by the doorway leading from the spectator area into the hall, she froze. Her whole body trembled and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Not knowing what to do, she felt powerless. She kept hoping one of the marshals would find her, but several minutes passed without any sign of them.
She closed her eyes, a prayer in her heart that she would somehow find a way to safety. Looking up, she noticed an emergency exit near where she had left her swim bag. Still shaking, she moved toward the exit. When she reached her bag, she squatted down and pulled out her warm-up pants. She tugged them on, slid her feet into her sandals, and slipped the strap of her bag over her shoulder as she stood. Ignoring the security officers who told her to stay where she was, she turned away and pushed the emergency exit door open. She broke into a run as the alarm sounded and someone shouted at her.
Wind stung CJ’s eyes as she raced through the narrow parking lot right next to the aquatics building and across the street into a much larger parking lot. She could hear sirens approaching and quickly ducked behind a large van. She peeked out from her hiding place and watched two ambulance attendants grab their gear and hurry inside the aquatic center.
Retrieving her cell phone from her bag, CJ pressed one of the speed-dial numbers. Doug Valdez answered on the second ring.
“Did you make it?” Doug asked, clearly aware that her race should have been completed by now.
“I didn’t get to swim,” CJ answered breathlessly. “Malloy is here.”
Doug’s voice sharpened. “Where are the marshals assigned to you?”
“I don’t know. I heard gunshots.” A sob escaped her. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and forced herself to continue. “Doug, I don’t know if they’re okay.”
“Stay where you are,” Doug ordered. “I’ll call into the 9-1-1 operator out there and get a situation report.”
CJ hung up as footsteps approached. Heart pounding, she dropped to the ground and slid beneath the van beside her, pulling her bag out of sight. Her body tensed as the footsteps paused several yards away. She concentrated on keeping her breathing quiet and steady, trying to ignore the cold, wet pavement beneath her. She closed her eyes, silently praying that the Lord would once again protect her.
The footsteps continued methodically toward her. CJ could hear the wind whistling through the trees, the occasional car driving by, and the last of the winter’s snow crunching beneath the approaching stranger’s feet.
Shivering, CJ wondered if the feet belonged to one of the bad guys or someone simply searching for his car in the huge parking lot. When her cell phone rang, she ran out of options. The footsteps quickened toward the van. As the shiny, black shoes came into view, she shoved her bag right into their path. Even as she heard the man mutter an oath and stumble to the ground, she slid out from under the van on the other side.
She ran into the next row of cars, ducking behind a sedan just as a gunshot sounded and a car window shattered. A scream pierced the a
ir, but she didn’t realize that the sound had come from her. Bending over to stay out of sight, she continued weaving in and out of the parked vehicles, praying that help would arrive soon.
The sound overhead didn’t register in her brain until she saw the police helicopter hovering above her. The burst of gunfire lasted only seconds. She heard rather than saw the bullet strike the man following her. Before she knew it, two police cars were parked in front of her. The helicopter landed in the middle of the street, and CJ was loaded inside moments later.
As they lifted up above the city and the Mississippi River came into view, CJ stared blindly at the scenery below. Her body was shaking from the adrenaline rush, and she knew that the tears would start as soon as she was alone. Once again the Lord had provided her with a way to safety. She just hoped her prayers for a normal life would be answered someday.
Chapter 8
Matt wasn’t having a good day. He had spent most of the last twenty-four hours expecting CJ to walk in the door of his St. Louis hotel room, and his anxiety level had been steadily rising with each hour that passed. She had planned to stop in St. Louis and come to his last game against the Cardinals, but he hadn’t heard anything from her since she left for her swim meet several days before.
Surprised that CJ hadn’t called after swimming the 100 breaststroke, Matt continued to push aside the nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right. He had tried several times to reach Doug on his cell phone, but each time the call went directly to voice mail. Matt left three urgent messages asking Doug to call him, but he knew that with his own work schedule, Doug might have missed him.
Logic told him that the U.S. Marshals were probably just being overly protective again and had decided not to let her make the detour, and he already knew from experience that Doug wasn’t going to leave a message with a hotel clerk. Still, logic and experience didn’t stop the worry from gnawing at his stomach.
The Deep End Page 6