by Alana Terry
Melissa spent her time taking care of Katie and the baby and fretting over where her husband might be. Despite all of Claire’s reassurances, the woman dissolved into a puddle of anxiety and worry. Jordan was left to his own devices—something that Claire suspected the boy expected. Thankfully, he had that first-born tendency to be responsible beyond his years.
Jordan heard the helicopter first, and raced outside to watch it land, sending Claire right behind him to ensure he didn’t get too close. At the sight of Karen and John, her heart leapt. Did this mean it was over? Was Keith next? She hardly noticed as John grabbed his son in a hug certain to squeeze the life from the child.
Karen’s head shook as she jogged across the grass to her side. “He had to go back to Erika. It’s been a nightmare,” she shouted over the deafening whirl of the helicopter blades.
Inside, Claire opened her mouth, ready to demand more information, but saw that John was obviously not there to stay. He hugged his wife, kissed his children, listened to the exciting things they’d done, laughed at his son’s indignation over vehicular bathrooming, and then rose to go. “They let me come in for a minute since we were dropping off Karen, but we really need to get this to the Feds. They’ll start driving you home the minute the FBI gives the okay.”
Melissa demanded to be allowed to go too, but John shook her off, giving one last pain-filled kiss before he hurried out the door and into the waiting helicopter. The sounds of the aircraft slowly disappeared as it flew back toward Rockland. Claire nearly screamed as Karen picked up the baby and led Melissa back to one of the bedrooms, explaining the process of turning evidence over to the FBI and what steps they had to take to ensure that they were still safe, even after the criminals were arrested.
Jordan asked about dinner, and since Brian’s idea of meals meant popping something with the taste and consistency of cardboard into the microwave and serving it with a can of soda instead of milk, juice, or even water, the task had fallen to her to try to provide something edible and semi-nutritious. If it happened to taste better than Styrofoam, she considered herself a success.
Karen came into the kitchen just as Claire fought the stove, trying not to burn the cubed steaks she’d found in the freezer. “Turn down the burner. You want to let them cook slowly or they’ll be charred on the outside and raw inside.”
“Even something this thin?”
“They were frozen, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Take it slow. People try to cook everything instantly. The stove isn’t a microwave. If you let things simmer a bit, they have a lot more flavor, and they actually get cooked.”
Claire stared at the woman as if she’d come from another planet. “My mom has been trying to tell me this stuff for years. Why can’t she say things that plainly?”
From the depths of an enormous French-doored freezer, Karen pulled a bag of stir-fry vegetables. “If we steam these and toss them with some Italian dressing, the kids’ll probably eat them.”
“Vegetables? I thought kids hated vegetables. I was going for protein and maybe some juice or something.”
Karen shook her head. “I’ve watched Melissa. She makes her kids eat veggies. All we have to do is make them palatable, and vinegar does wonders for that.”
“Kids like vinegar.”
“With veggies, sure. That, and ranch dressing.” Karen reached into the fridge for the necessary dressing. “I’d chop up a bunch of raw stuff, but I don’t know if we’re staying here or moving.”
“What for?”
“Well,” Karen glanced around and then lowered her voice. “It’s a long story. I’m supposed to be taking you to Stanford, but we’re not actually going.”
“What about Brian?”
“He’ll escort the Frielichs home or to protective custody—whichever the FBI decides—and we’re supposedly going to Stanford, but we’ll meet with Keith.”
“What will Mark say about that?”
Karen glanced around the room, stepped through the doorway, and when sure no one could overhear, whispered, “We’re not telling Mark in case he’s our mole.”
AFTER THE FIFTH TIME she snapped at him, Erika decided an apology might be in order, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. One minute he was the slightly terse, no-nonsense, wants-her-to-fight guy that she’d first met, and the next minute he became apologetic, nervous, and at times, visibly alarmed when any unfamiliar sound dared to surface. It unnerved her—stressed her—even more so than Corey had.
The fifth wheel was nice, though. She’d never understood the idea of a camper that was half the cost of the average house in some of the smaller towns around Rockland, but she had to admit, it felt almost luxurious. Cherry cabinetry, granite counters, even the sleek black appliances looked as though they were right out of a home design show rather than in a camper stuck in an RV park. The bed she’d slept on was the nicest bed she’d ever used, and even the chairs were quality. It had a flat-screen TV, larger than anyone she knew owned, and it hung over a fireplace. The idea of a fireplace in an RV just seemed weird. Cool, but weird—like everything else that had happened in her life lately.
Keith’s phone buzzed, and he answered it with an expression she’d have considered guilt-riddled if she didn’t know better. Listening to one side of the conversation nearly drove her over the edge of her already precarious precipice. “We’re here. We’re safe, but—”
Most of what he said made little sense to her, but occasionally things clicked together. He wasn’t checking in with Mark. That unnerved her. She tried to concentrate on the TV, but it was nearly impossible. At last, feeling a little desperate, Erika decided to make a bathroom run in hopes of hearing something from Karen. As she passed, all she heard was, “John’s family.” That wasn’t very helpful.
By the time she returned, Keith stared at his cellphone looking more agitated than ever. “Okay, what’s up? I’m not going to pretend I didn’t hear half of that, and I did hear Karen say something about John’s family. So, who is John, and why doesn’t Mark know where we are?”
Keith fidgeted, clearly torn—why, she couldn’t be sure. Did he not know, or did he not know if he should share? If she wasn’t careful, she’d encourage him in the wrong area and it would definitely backfire. However, before she could decide which angle to try, he sighed, sinking into one of the chairs, and hung his head in his hands. “There’s a mole, Erika. We aren’t sure who it is, but there’s a mole. There has to be.”
“You think it’s Mark?” The idea seemed preposterous. He’d been so confident in Mark’s decisions and abilities. No wonder he floundered and flip-flopped. It wasn’t quite as bad as if his god had failed him, but probably close.
“I don’t want to think that, no. I just can’t risk your life until I know for sure.”
“Don’t you think he knows how to find you?”
“Not here...” His voice didn’t sound as confident as she knew he wanted it to. “Well, okay any place at all could be an issue, but this was the most unlikely. It’s a remote enough idea that he might not think of it, and if he did, it’d be too logical, and he’s trained us not to do the logical. I had to go over and over trying to decide if he’d come. I’m pretty sure he would eventually, but by that point, we’ll be gone. If it’s not him, no one will figure it out.”
“How’d you know—?”
He jumped up and clapped a hand over her mouth. Whispering into her ear, he said, “Go into the bedroom and lay on the floor between the bed and the wall with the window. Go!”
Erika listened as he opened the trailer door talking to someone and telling them he was going outside and taking them off speakerphone. She was confused at first, but then nodded. It was brilliant, really. That’d explain a second voice easily. His next quip about awesome reception nearly made her giggle. Oh yeah, he was good. In one sense, he was best when danger was potentially imminent.
Seconds after the trailer door shut again, he stepped into the bedroom and whispered, “Come on
out.”
While she grabbed a glass from the cupboard, rinsed it, and filled it, Keith dug through a couple of drawers until he found a stack of post-it notes and a stenographer’s notebook. Pens followed. He held both out to her and whispered, “Take your pick. We don’t talk.”
With the questions Erika had, she was sure they’d go through the paper in no time. She grabbed the notebook and then, upon second thought, swapped it out for the post-its. She’d make every inch work for her. Before she even sat down, her hands started scribbling. “How do you know there’s a mole?” His answer took a couple of minutes to write and filled most of the page from the notebook.
His evidence was irrefutable. Someone had known about the safe house and had tried to hurt either him or the guy John. It made sense that he was the target since the guy also had known about her. She hadn’t expected anything quite that creepy. Strange men being sent after her made Erika feel violated. The irony of that thought sent her into a fit of giggles that nearly sent Keith through the roof. He punched on the TV, and forced himself to laugh, making her attempts to stifle her hilarity futile.
“What?”
The words across an entire sheet of paper annoyed her. Couldn’t he see that the limited supply was going to drive her nuts, or was that his objective in the first place? Writing even smaller, as if by doing so she’d make a point, Erika’s response earned her an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “Don’t try to force a laugh again. You sounded like a cow in the throes of labor. Also, quit wasting paper!” She hesitated, and then wrote, “How long do we stay?”
His answer was swifter this time, telling her that he’d struggled more about what to share with her than the fact that there was a problem at all. “Karen is going to join us with my cousin Claire. Claire is at risk from the same people you are, so keeping you together will make it easier.”
“How did your cousin get involved? Did they know she was your cousin?” As she wrote, Erika realized that it was exactly what had happened. “They used her to try to get to you or tried to get to her to get to you?”
Keith nodded. His pen hovered over the paper and then he wrote, “After we sent you home, Mark suggested I recruit Claire for the Agency.”
As odd as it seemed to recruit someone so randomly, particularly someone who was under threat, Erika didn’t know how they chose who they chose to work for them, so she missed the subtle message Keith had tried to send. However, as he waited, obviously expecting a different response than, “Did she want to do that?” he watched her closely.
“Oh, is that why you think he might be moleish? Is that unusual?” He nodded. Several times, he started to write again, and each time he hesitated. At last, Erika scribbled three words, peeled off the sticky note, and slapped it on the note pad. “Just write it!”
“I don’t think it’s him.”
She tried to imagine why that would be so upsetting but couldn’t. After coming up blank several times, she gave up and wrote, “Why does that bother you?”
He had his answer half-written even before she finished. “Because if it’s not him, we’re in the dark and don’t know how to proceed. We know what Mark might do.”
“Oh, but you don’t know what someone else might do because you don’t know who. Do you have options?” Her hands began to cramp—already. It seemed odd how such a little amount of writing could bother her so much so soon.
“Exactly. If we had a name, or even a few names, we’d have an idea of what to do or not to do. Right now, we’re in limbo.”
Erika’s mind swam with ideas. While she thought, Keith stood and opened the cupboards, searching for some kind of food. He pulled out canned tamales and wriggled it as if asking if she wanted it. Nothing sounded more revolting, but she nodded. She’d be a pill about the food choice later. Meanwhile, she started making a list of everyone she’d ever heard of connected with Keith and the Agency.
Mark
Karen
Corey
John
Claire
Helicopter pilot from second cabin
2 guys and 1 girl from Oregon
She pushed the list across the counter and took the spatula from him. “Who else?” she whispered.
Keith thought for a moment and then added a few more.
Justin
Jill
Anthony
He hesitated long enough for her to take the pen and write, “What?”
He flipped the pad over and wrote again. “Well, technically, anyone from the office or even the building COULD be. Not likely but could.”
With one hand holding the spatula, and the other scribbling, Erika wrote, “Scale of one to five, what are the odds of any of those?”
Only Karen got a zero.
Chapter 24
“WHERE IS HE, KAREN?” Mark’s voice sounded stern, but slightly amused.
“He isn’t telling me.”
“So, he thinks one of us, most likely me, is the mole?”
“He’s not ruling anyone out. So, until the mole is caught, he’s hiding.” Karen hated to have to say it. It sounded so disloyal and disrespectful to the guy who had gone to lengths she was sure they couldn’t imagine to keep them safe in the past.
“Good. I hate it, but good. I’ve got to keep looking. You know that, right?”
She sighed, allowing him to hear her frustration with the situation. “I know. So does he. If it makes you feel any better, I know he really doesn’t think it’s you. It’s just—”
“He’s doing his job. I just have to do mine too. Now that John’s family is in protective custody, I’ll send you looking for him too.”
“Sorry, Mark. I’m going off grid too. I have to protect Claire just as he has to protect Erika. If I could meet with him, we’d switch, but you and I both know he’s not going to meet.”
Mark swore. “I trained him too well.”
“That’s why he’s the best.”
“He thinks you’re an option too, doesn’t he? That’s just insane.”
“No, insane is trusting emotions rather than accepting the reality that any one of us could be. Anyone with any contact to or within the Agency—even the people at Mayflower could technically be the mole. He’s being smart.” Karen hated lying, but she had to do it. If Mark had crossed any criminal lines, the slightest mistake could cost several people their lives. Lives weren’t optional. “However, if I can, I’m going to convince him to meet and switch. I know he’d feel better if he could keep an eye on Claire.”
“He won’t do it, Karen.”
She forced herself to sigh again, trying to make it sound just a tad irritated and very disappointed. “I know. However, he sounds a bit freaked, so maybe...”
“I’ve sent Jill and Anthony back to Helen.”
“Oh!” Karen hadn’t even considered that angle. “That’s good. We blew it not asking Mike about that. Keith heard Erika and took off.”
“He did the right thing. We’ve got Mike. We’ll get it out of him.”
Something felt wrong. Even as they talked, Karen grew more uneasy until she realized what it was. Mark was dialoguing for the purpose of dialogue. He kept her talking so he could get someone there to follow. She’d fallen for a simple trick that even rookies didn’t miss. Her mind swirled as she answered questions and asked her own. She had to be fast, but how? Then an idea occurred.
“Hey, Mark. How can we get funding? I have some cash, but it isn’t going to last long. I mean, it feels weird saying, ‘You could be a mole, but I need bucks,’ but I don’t know what else—” Mid question, she cut the power to her phone.
She doubted that he’d buy it, but maybe if she tried calling back ten minutes down the road and then backtracked the other way. That’d work. For the first time, she saw the wisdom in not using the implant tracking devices the Agency had considered. It had seemed like such an excellent safety precaution, but now...
“Claire? Gotta get. Come on!”
Claire jogged down the stairs two at a time. “I’ve b
een waiting for you! Keith won’t wait if we’re late.”
“I know. That’s why I told him half an hour later than I plan to be there. Let’s go.”
Halfway down the drive, Claire asked the question she’d wanted to for years. “Karen, why doesn’t Keith ever have a girlfriend?”
THE MALL OF AMERICA parking lot-slash-garage seemed excessively public to Erika, but Keith had insisted that public, at a time like this, was imperative. He wouldn’t tell her where they were going or even if they were really meeting up with Karen and Claire, but from his demeanor, she assumed so. Each day that passed with this Keith made her less confident and more nervous than she’d ever been in her life. She didn’t mind his surliness or the silence that hovered over his uncle’s trailer—those she could stomach.
What terrified her were the moments when he gave her an apologetic look or actually voiced how sorry he was that they didn’t have the support she should be able to expect in their circumstances. When he’d refused to tie her for the trip to Minnesota, she’d nearly gone crazy until he’d said, “I won’t leave until you agree to ride as a passenger. This isn’t the cabin, Erika. I need you to be able to protect yourself if something happens to me. Before, I had no doubt that I could protect both of us. Now, I’m just reasonably confident. That’s not good enough.”
As they pulled into the massive parking lot across from the mall, he’d reached into the console between their seats and passed her a gun with holster. “It’s a tranq. Strap it to your leg under your jeans. If it’s a woman, shoot three. Man, go for five.”
“What—”
“Just do it, Erika. I need you to tell me you’ll do it if you have to. If the initial shots don’t stop them within three steps, shoot again. If you fear for your life, shoot until they’re gone. Just promise me you’ll shoot.”
“What if you’re the one scaring me?” She’d meant to sound sarcastic, but it came out terrified.