Reluctant Runaway

by Jill Elizabeth Nelson

  Hope nodded. “We’re saved by the body and blood.”

  The fine words came out as lifeless as stone. Why did she get the feeling they weren’t in the same book, much less on the same page? “Maybe you can help me.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “The niece of a woman I care about has gone missing from her home, leaving a husband and baby behind. Before her disappearance, she was into the Inner Witness message. The girl’s mother said people from this ministry visited her often—”

  “You’re talking about Karen.”

  Desi stepped toward the younger woman. “Do you know her? Do you have any idea where she might be?”

  Hope frowned and dropped her gaze. “I went to her house with the visitation committee, but we didn’t connect. You know how it is sometimes.” She sniffed. “Then I heard she’d run off, maybe stole some stuff from a museum.”

  “Could Karen be out at this Sanctuary you’re building?”

  The woman’s ample bosom filled. “No one’s out there yet. Except the workers, of course. I’m going to be in the first group. I have to be, or I’ll just die!”

  Enough teenage drama. “But maybe she sneaked out there. Maybe she’s helping build—”

  “No way! I don’t even know where the Holy City is. Just the Reverend and Ham know.”

  “But there must be a contractor.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Her mouth drooped. “You’re not a real seeker, are you?”

  “I’m seeking a young woman who may be hurt, whose life may be in danger. Her family is worried sick about her. Don’t you have family worrying about you?”

  Hope shifted from one foot to the other. “They don’t need to fuss. I’ve found what I need. They don’t understand … ” She bit her lip.

  Desi pulled an HJ Securities card from her handbag. “If you think of anything that might help Karen, call the number on this card. They’ll put you in touch with me.”

  Hope nodded.

  Was that a shimmer of tears in the woman’s eyes? Desi’s heart lifted. There was hope for Hope yet. “Call me.” She touched the young lady’s hand and then left the ministry office.

  Desi pushed the speed limit on 1-25 south toward Albuquerque. Okay, so she’d be late to the museum. A little embarrassment was minor compared to the bizarre information she’d uncovered. Too late to make a good impression on that buck-passing administrator anyway. The man had lawsuit on his mind. She’d seen the type before.

  But she’d give her left arm to find directions to the desert compound. If Tony was investigating Gordon, he needed to know that the man was funding a handy-dandy getaway villa.

  She punched in Tony’s number on her cell. The phone rang until his voice mail came on. Rats! “Call me when you’re free, sweetheart. I need to lay a load on your broad shoulders.”

  What was the handsome lug doing? It had to be pretty intense to keep him from answering her call.

  Eight

  Tony yanked the crowbar. Metal shrieked, and his nerve endings danced. He yanked again, and the wheel cover sprang loose from its housing. He stood back and filled his lungs.

  He was alive. The bee-buzz of the bullet almost kissing his head played again in his ears. As long as I’ve got breath, Minnesota, somebody will be on the trail of the people behind what happened today.

  Around him, his squad worked with fevered efficiency. Even Slidell was there, laptop in hand, figuring dimensions and possible hiding places.

  Tony’s cell phone sounded. He grabbed it and checked the caller ID. The ASAC. He’d better have good news. “Lucano here.”

  “It’s a no-go on the warrant for the Gordon Trucking building.” Cooke spat a few colorful words. “The judge feels we don’t have proof that Winston wasn’t acting on his own.”

  Tony resisted an urge to throw his cell across the parking lot. “Thanks for trying.” A sour laugh left his throat. “If we can’t catch a break when we lose an agent and the big guns shoot for a warrant, I don’t know what it’s going to take to bring these people down.”

  “Pavement pounding, elbow grease, and gray cells. Keep at it.” The ASAC broke the connection.

  And prayer. Tony let out a breath. Can’t forget the most important ingredient. Sorry, Lord. Help me stay focused. Guide us all. We need Your help.

  He looked down at the phone. The display said he’d missed a call. He checked his messages, and Desi’s voice warmed a few degrees of chill off his insides. Sure, she sounded like she’d welcome a little heart-to-heart—it had to be rough trying to support Max and her sister through a missing persons case—but her tone was vibrant, confident. His Desi.

  Now would be a good time for a strong shoulder. Hers supporting him. She’d like that. He punched in numbers and then stopped with his finger over the last digit.

  What was he thinking? “Hi, honey, I lost one of my squad today Good-bye. Call you back later.” What kind of a jerk did that just to get a little weight off his chest? Tony canceled the call and flipped the phone shut.

  “We’ve got something!”

  Slidell’s shrill cry drew Tony at a lope.

  Desi tapped in Max’s cell number. C’mon, pick up!

  “Hey, Des, how’s it goin’?”

  “Great to hear a sane and friendly voice.”

  “You’ve been hearin’ some crazy, unfriendly ones?” Concern flowed over the line.

  “I’ll tell you in a minute. First, where are you?”

  “Home and A-OK. I’m in the kitchen, but I’ll hold the phone toward the living room. Listen.” Children’s laughter and garbled little voices. “My live wires are havin’ a blast with their baby cousin. Adam just lays there and kicks, but they think every wiggle is a hoot.”

  “No sign of Pete Cheama?”

  “Not hide, nor hair. Now give, woman. What’ve you been up to?”

  “I’m almost back to Albuquerque from my little jaunt to Santa Fe, and what’s going on with Inner Witness Ministries is going to blow your mind.” Desi gave Max the quick version of her encounters with perky Ponytail and Prune Face from Ham Gordon’s office. “Mayburn recognized me, so Gordon is going to be aware I’m sniffing around the ministry. But they won’t know I know about the Holy City unless Hope tells someone she let the cat out of the bag—which I doubt she’ll do. She cares too much about being accepted by these people.”

  Max gave a low growl. “Do you think Karen might’ve found out about this place? Maybe they grabbed her to keep her quiet.”

  “Or maybe she’s as sucked in as Hope, and she’s out there because she wants to be.”

  Silence on the other end, followed by a sigh. “Then her mind is captive, not her body Tough to get a person free if they don’t want to be.”

  “First step is to discover her physical location. We can deal with her mental and spiritual condition after that.” The countryside began to give way to businesses and homes. “I need to concentrate on driving now so I can find my way to the museum. But we need to locate this desert hideaway. That’s a project you can sink your teeth into. Phone calls. Internet searches.”

  “You got it! Construction materials don’t just poof into existence. They’re buying them somewhere and transporting them somehow.”

  “I like how you think, lady A community like that is going to need plumbing in particular. I so cannot see Ham Gordon using an outhouse.”

  Max snickered. “You’ve brought Tony up to speed on this?”

  “I’m trying. I’ve got a call in to him. Waiting to hear back.”

  “Then at least you’ve got your bases covered.”

  “Uh-oh, do I detect an issue?”

  A soft groan. “Same old. Nothing you can do anything about, so forget it.”

  “Ma-a-ax?”

  “WhatamIgonnado?” The voice lowered to a run-together whisper. “Dean called again as soon as I got home. He wants to see the kids on the next family visitation day. But, Des, I can’t bring them to a prison. It’s hard enough for me to go in th
ere.”

  “You know how I feel, Max. You don’t owe the man a thing. He should be grateful you haven’t filed for divorce. Yet. Send him pictures.”

  Heavy breathing. “It’s not that simple. They’re his kids, too, and he is still my husband. You don’t understand, because you’re not—”

  “Married. Yes, I know.”

  “Don’t be hard, Des. I didn’t mean anything by the comment.”

  “Well, you’re right. I don’t understand, but that doesn’t mean I won’t support you in whatever you decide to do.”

  A trill of laughter. “That’s just it. I can’t decide.”

  “And it doesn’t do any good to ask me … oh, crumb!

  “What?”

  “I missed my turn.”

  “Guess that’s my cue to get off the line. Call me back if you find out anything interesting at the museum.”

  Desi promised and closed the connection. Lord, I’m sure not the one who can advise Max about that louse—er, her husband. I’ll leave the issue in Your hands.

  Good idea.

  Desi’s hair stood on end. Her Daddy didn’t raise no dummy. She took a deep breath and sat up straighter. Yes, Sir, leaving a problem to You is a very good idea 100 percent of the time. But I suspect You’re going to have to help me remember that.

  “See here?” Slidell showed Tony figures on his computer screen. “The gas tank is 10.378 square inches too big. Haj is checking now.” The math whiz nodded at a pair of feet—one blue sock, one brown sock inside black loafers—sticking out from under the truck.

  “Waaahoooo!” The wild rebel yell burst from below. The stocky Japanese man rolled into the open and hopped up, suit covered in grit and dust. “There’s a piece welded onto the tank. Good weld. Same shape and size as the tank. Hard to detect.”

  Polanski pumped her fist. “Anybody got a giant can opener?”

  Slidell sniffed. “Common sense would indicate that the access point is inside the cab, requiring a key or a code.”

  Polanski rolled her eyes. “It was a joke, Dell.”

  “Oh.” Slidell fixed her with a blank stare.

  A tight band around Tony’s chest throbbed. His gaze assessed the core of his squad—a color-blind Japanese guy, a humorless genius, and a wisecracking Pole. So why did they have to lose the cheerful Norske? The tightness turned to burn. And what were they doing standing around? They had crooks to catch.

  Tony smacked his palms together. “Haj, Polanski, find the door to this gas tank safe.”

  One glance at his face and the pair hopped into the cab without a word.

  Circling to the rear of Winston’s trailer, he found squad members at work on the cement loading dock. They were well into the job of removing the contents of the semi—nasty grunt work requiring manual forklifts to haul out pallets of canned meat products.

  Tony waved one of the men over. “Any sign that the pirated discs were stashed in there on Winston’s California to Boston route? Busted jewel case, anything?”

  The man shook his head. “Not yet, but we’ve got our eyes peeled.”

  “Crawl on your hands and knees with magnifying glasses if you have to.”

  The agent’s nostrils flared. “We’re not going to miss anything.” The look was cold, angry A reflection of his own.

  Tony walked up the side of the truck. The ruddy patch on the ground beside the driver’s door caught his eye. Winston’s blood. If only a much larger stain didn’t match it farther up the pavement. Tony slammed the side of his fist against the trailer.

  A throat cleared behind him. He whirled and found Slidell staring up at him. The guy had been on his tail the entire time. His senses had known it, but his brain refused to acknowledge the information. You’re losing it, Lucano. “What!”

  Slidell’s brows climbed. “I completed my analysis of Gordon Corp’s financial records. There were indicators that the company is not doing well.”

  Tony squinted at the setting sun. “Maybe that’s why Gordon needs the extra money from transporting bootlegged property.”

  The agent shook his head. “My analysis shows that cash is being siphoned out of the company, not artificially injected into it.”

  “You mean Ham Gordon is slitting the throat of his own corporation?” Tony rocked on his heels.

  Slidell pursed his lips. “Someone is diverting funds, but who’s doing it and for what purpose I can’t tell from the data. However, no bootlegging money is shoring up the bottom line. Mr. Gordon could lose his company within a few years … or even months if the cash hemorrhage accelerates.”

  “Whoa! This is bombshell stuff and could go public soon. If you can pick the inconsistencies out from the stockholders report, others can.”

  Slidell shrugged. “Anyone with a similar IQ.” He met Tony’s gaze without a blink.

  “The true financial condition could stay under wraps until the company goes belly up?”

  “Quite possibly.”

  “A lot of people could lose a pile of money if we don’t get our finger in the dike—and fast!” The investors in Gordon Corp had no idea what was about to hit them.

  At five minutes after three, Desi parked the car in the museum lot and hurried through the New Mexico heat into the cool foyer. A receptionist sat behind a marble-topped counter, the spot Karen must have occupied when she was on duty. Desi approached and stated her business.

  The woman called for a guide, who escorted her past exhibits and through a door marked Private. At the end of a scalding white hallway, they came to the administrator’s suite. A middle-aged woman looked up from her desk. Her hairdo and the shape of her face bore an unfortunate resemblance to a Russian wolfhound. Tearstained, blotchy skin and bloodshot eyes didn’t enhance the picture. The guard’s death must have hit staff hard.

  Desi introduced herself, and the secretary offered a weak smile. “Please have a seat.” She waved toward a pair of guest chairs by the wall. “Mr. Spellman is on the phone. When he gets off, I’ll notify him you’re here.”

  Desi acknowledged the instructions with a nod and took the offered seat. The secretary turned to the side, donned a pair of dictation headphones, and began pecking at a computer keyboard. Every so often, she stopped typing and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. Fifteen minutes later, Desi had the room decor memorized and a hole glared through the closed door marked Administrator.

  She rose and went to the desk. The name on the plate said Hannah Grant. She tapped the secretary on the shoulder. “Ms. Grant.”

  “What? Ohhh.” The woman swung toward her, hand over her heart. She yanked off the headphones. “I forgot … Er, I mean, I’ll see if Mr. Spellman is free.” She leaped up and hustled into the next office without knocking.

  A moment later, she came out, followed by a medium-sized man with medium-brown hair—the soul of average, except for a large Roman nose. “Ms. Jacobs.” Spellman held out his hand. Desi shook it. A tad clammy. Nerves?

  “My apologies for being late.” She glanced at the flushed secretary, who ducked her head and returned to her desk. “My business in Santa Fe took longer than expected.”

  Spellman grunted. “I’m a busy man. Let’s get our cards on the table.” He led the way into his office. They settled into guest chairs by a round table in the corner.

  “One thing puzzles me, Mr. Spellman—”

  “A great many things puzzle me about this situation.” He scowled.

  “Why do you consider us your adversary? We’re here to serve—especially in the wake of a break-in.”

  Spellman leaned toward her. “You must not understand what a disaster this theft is for us. All of our Native American artifacts are on loan from the tribes. A tribal lawsuit and all the negative publicity … ” The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

  “So someone needs to get the blame.”

  He sat back. “You do see my position. Nothing personal. I’m sure you have insurance.”

  “As do you.”

  “But our reputation … ” He lifted h
is chin. “We’re a standalone facility, Ms. Jacobs, dependent on donations and grants to survive. We don’t have an international presence to carry us over the bumps. This can’t be the first successful theft in a facility protected by HJ Securities. You’ll recover. We might not. Particularly with a death.”

  “I appreciate your candor, Mr. Spellman. Let me also be clear. I have no intention of allowing HJ Securities to become a scapegoat in this tragedy. No fault has yet been determined. And, like you, I support my staff. That’s why I’m staying at Jo Cheama’s house. My main electronics expert is her sister.”

  The administrator sniffed through that large nose. “And related to two of the prime suspects. I have it on good authority that this Maxine Webb will be thoroughly questioned.”

  Desi’s blood heated. The Rookie and Swamp Eyes of the APD again. “The FBI cleared Max Webb of suspicion.”

  “Oh.” Spellman blinked. “But I thought … The police were positive she had to supply the thieves with privileged information about our alarm system. Much of it is her brainchild.”

  “The police officers’ assumptions were based on inadequate information. While Maxine Webb did design the security template around which your individual system was built, she had no access to the facility-specific safeguards on the computer control room.”

  Spellman went stiff. “Are you accusing me now?”

  “That makes as much sense as accusing Max. No motive. Why do you think neither you nor your curator is high on the suspect list, even though you had access? Motive is a prime factor that law enforcement must have in making an arrest.”

  The administrator pursed his lips and glanced down. “But she is related to—”

  “A pair of young people whose guilt has yet to be proved.”

  Spellman stared her in the eye. “But she is married to—”

  “A man she helped bring to justice.”

  The administrator deflated. “So we’re left with a mystery.”

  “We are indeed.”

  Spellman spread his hands. “My position hasn’t changed. The board will discuss the engagement of a different security service at the meeting tonight.”