by Chad Zunker
There were at least two people here. Were there others?
Zegers peeked into the living room, quickly surveyed the area. A muscle-bound guy with a crew cut sat on a leather sofa. He matched what Zegers had found online for Luke Detrich. The man wore a tight black T-shirt and jeans. Zegers saw a gun sitting on the coffee table in front of him. There was also drug paraphernalia on the table. Looked like heroin. Zegers peered toward the back of the living room and spotted a hallway that led to bedrooms. If his son was in the house, he had to be back there somewhere.
Taking another breath, Zegers exhaled and moved fully into the living room. He charged right up to the muscle-bound guy and aimed his gun at the guy’s forehead. The guy suddenly realized what was happening and glanced over at his own gun on the table.
“FBI!” Zegers yelled. “Don’t move, or I’ll literally blow your damn head off.”
From behind him, Zegers heard, “Dude, what the—”
Zegers spun around, aimed, fired his gun. The bullet shattered a beer bottle the young guy was holding in his right hand. The guy yanked his hand back. Zegers pivoted to the other man, who was stupidly leaning in toward the coffee table. Instead of shooting him, since Zegers might need information from the guy, he kicked him in the face as hard as he could. The man’s head whipped back, and he fell into the couch. By the cracking sound, Zegers was sure he’d broken his nose. The man immediately put both hands to his face, where blood was beginning to gush.
Zegers turned again to the skinny guy. “On the couch! Now!”
The skinny guy put both hands up in a surrendering posture, hurried into the living room, and sat next to the other one. Zegers kept pointing his gun back and forth between the two men. The skinny guy looked scared out of his mind.
“Is the kid here?” Zegers said.
“What kid?” the bigger guy replied, blood seeping down into his mouth.
Zegers shifted his aim, fired his gun. It hit the big guy in his left kneecap. He yelled out in pain. Zegers then aimed directly at the skinny guy’s knee. He folded easily. He again held up both hands.
“Please, no—don’t shoot me, man. The kid is here. He’s in the back bedroom.”
“Show me,” Zegers commanded.
Zegers reached down, grabbed the gun that was sitting on the coffee table, and shoved it into the back of his pants. The skinny guy hesitantly got up, moved around the table. Zegers glanced at the big guy, who was curled up on the couch, cursing, clutching his right knee, and groaning in pain. Zegers followed the other one into the back hallway. They moved past two bedrooms, and then the guy opened the door to the third bedroom. The light was currently off inside, and the bedroom was silent. Zegers felt a kind of fear he’d never experienced before move through his whole body. Was Josh okay?
He shoved the skinny guy into the bedroom, keeping him in front of him, and then turned on the bedroom light. Josh was sitting on the carpet in the corner, his hands and feet bound by duct tape, his mouth covered with a strip of tape. The sight of his son was both relieving and terrifying. But the boy’s eyes lit up upon seeing his father.
Zegers pushed the skinny guy into an opposite corner and then rushed over to his son. He quickly tore the tape off his mouth.
“Dad!” Josh called out.
“It’s okay, I’m here.”
Zegers quickly unfastened the boy’s feet and hands, then pulled him up from the carpet. He hugged him tightly.
Zegers glared at the skinny guy. “Who did this? Who hired you?”
“I don’t know, man. I swear, I don’t know anything. Luke made me do it.”
Zegers forced him back into the living room, where the bigger guy had fallen onto the carpet, still holding his knee, blood pooling around him. He would need a medic but not before Zegers had a chance to interrogate him. He had to get answers. He had to find out who put him up to this.
Turning to his son, Zegers said, “Josh, go straight out the front door. My Jeep is parked to the right up the street. Get in, and wait for me there. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
“But Dad—”
“Do it!”
Zegers didn’t want his son around to see him beat information out of this guy. Josh turned and rushed down the hallway toward the front door. But when he opened it, Zegers spotted a police officer quickly approaching up the sidewalk. He cursed. A neighbor must’ve called the police upon hearing the gunshots. Zegers knew he’d unfortunately now have to wait until the wounded man got medical attention before he’d be able to interrogate him. Pulling out his FBI credentials, Zegers moved to the front door to speak with the officer himself and begin to clear up the matter. As he did, Zegers took a deep breath and let it out slowly. His son was safe.
And that was all that really mattered right now.
FORTY-ONE
Parker was completely exhausted when he finally pulled the Lexus sedan into a truck stop called the Pilot Travel Center just a mile from the Texas-Mexico border. Not only was he going on hardly any sleep for the past couple of nights, but his nerves were shot from driving all night in the right lane as other cars constantly buzzed by him. Several times he nearly pulled over onto the shoulder to try to calm himself but then somehow found the resolve to keep going. He parked the Lexus in the back of the truck stop near a long row of 18-wheelers all lined up together. The digital clock on the dash said 1:32. In many ways, Parker couldn’t believe he’d actually made it all the way from Austin to Laredo.
He was almost to freedom.
But he had to pee so bad, he thought his eyeballs must be yellow.
He got out of the car, shut the door behind him. He’d parked away from other cars so no one would notice a kid like him getting out of a fancy Lexus. He wondered if the car had already been reported stolen. He was sure it had to be by now. It must’ve been quite the scene back at the restaurant when the valets couldn’t find the older couple’s vehicle. Not that Parker enjoyed that thought. He didn’t want to get anyone in trouble. The whole drive down, he’d feared that a police car would suddenly pull up behind him with the lights flashing. Not because he was speeding—he hadn’t gone more than one mile per hour over the speed limit the entire drive—but because an officer had spotted the license plate of a car that had been reported stolen. Parker had never prayed so hard.
Hopefully, the older couple would get the car back soon once it was discovered in the parking lot of this truck stop. Parker had no plans to use it anymore. He knew he couldn’t drive straight across the border. From watching movies, he remembered the border had checkpoints where people looked at your driver’s license or passport or something like that. None of which Parker had, of course. He’d have to figure out another way to get across.
But first, he had to pee.
Walking around the corner of the building, Parker found the glass front doors to the massive truck stop. The place had row after row of food, snacks, clothes, and even toys. There was also a restaurant. The truck stop was surprisingly busy, with various truckers and other folks grabbing something to eat or drink or just taking a break. Spotting a huge sign in the corner that said RESTROOM & SHOWERS, Parker made his way through the aisles and hustled into the restrooms. There were probably about twenty standing urinals with an equal number of private stalls. Moving to the first available urinal, Parker quickly relieved himself and felt so much better.
After washing his hands, he poked his head inside a hallway with private showers on one side and small bunkrooms on the other. He guessed the bunkrooms were so the truck drivers could catch a quick nap before hitting the road again—if they didn’t have the kind of truck with its own bed. There was a guy in the first bunkroom, but the second was empty. Stepping inside, Parker shut the door behind him, then sat on the bottom bunk. He needed somewhere to think for a moment, anyway. This seemed like a good spot. The bed had pretty decent covers on it.
He scooted himself all the way back against the wall and pulled out the phone Mr. Adams had given him back in Austin. On the driv
e down, he’d remembered he had it and thought he might be able to use it to search the internet on how to get himself across the border.
For a second, Parker thought about Mr. Adams, and sadness tugged at him. The man was probably worried sick. Parker had no idea what had happened with the FBI and the shooting earlier, but he didn’t figure it was Mr. Adams’s fault. Still, Parker knew he couldn’t reach out to him again. It was too dangerous. He’d tried that once, and it had backfired. And it nearly got both him and Mr. Adams shot. He had no idea what awaited him in Mexico, but he just knew it had to be better than what all he’d been through the past week.
Parker turned on the phone, found the web browser icon, and opened it up. Using Google, he began searching and scanning.
What do you need to get across Mexico border?
Can a kid cross border alone?
Do police search 18-wheelers at the border?
Can you stow away across the border?
Sitting there reading on the phone, Parker’s eyelids became heavy. The bunk bed was comfortable. He lay down and held the phone up above him as he continued to try to read. But he didn’t last very long. He couldn’t keep his eyes open. Maybe it would be best for him to catch a quick nap, anyway. He probably had a long journey ahead of him, and the rest would help him think more clearly. He set the phone down beside him on the bed and closed his eyes.
Within seconds, he was dead asleep.
FORTY-TWO
David zipped his jacket up to his neck. It became colder as the night wore on. He put his hands in his pockets, turned a street corner, moved up another downtown sidewalk. He’d been walking the blocks all around his office building for the past hour, hoping to spot something that might lead him to finding Parker. But so far, nothing. He needed sleep but knew that wouldn’t be possible at this point. Not with Parker out there scared and alone. David couldn’t possibly imagine what kind of emotional condition the boy was in right now. He pulled his phone out again, like he’d been doing every ten minutes since Parker had bolted on him, and checked the Find My Phone app to see if Parker had finally turned on the phone he’d given him earlier. David had lost hope a long time ago. Still, he kept checking.
Clicking on the app, he gave it a glance and nearly closed out of it just out of habit. But then his eyes widened. He pulled it closer. On the screen was a phone listed as OFFICE PHONE. David couldn’t believe it. That was the name of the phone he’d given Parker. He clicked on the name and watched a map begin to form on the screen. David cursed. The map showed the city of Laredo. He zoomed in as far as he could and found the dot showing the phone at a truck stop called the Pilot Travel Center near the Mexican border. David felt his jaw drop. Was this possible? Could Parker actually be in Laredo? But how would Parker have even gotten to the border? David couldn’t wrap his mind around it.
He immediately placed a call to the phone. Come on, kid, please pick up! Please! But it rang four times and went to an automated voice mail. He called it right back but got the same result. Could Parker see he was calling and was simply ignoring him? David decided to text instead. Parker, it’s David Adams. Please call me back ASAP. I can still help you. Please call me!
David held his phone close to his eyes to see if he could spot the little dots on the screen that showed someone was replying to his message. But no dots ever appeared. David’s thoughts were spinning in different directions. If Parker was truly trying to get across the border—and that certainly appeared to be the case—David needed to try to stop him. Mexico was no place for a twelve-year-old kid to go and hide. David had hoped to wait until he and Jess had put a bow on their theory about Christina Legley and Dilly Dyson to call Zegers back. But with Parker at the border, David needed help. He had to stop the boy from doing something really stupid. Even if he didn’t trust the FBI right now, David knew Zegers could probably have agents at the border within minutes.
Feeling desperate, David called Zegers’s phone. It immediately went to voice mail. He called right back. Same thing. Come on, Harry, answer! A third call had the same results. David left a frantic voice mail. “Harry, David here. I found Parker. I need your help, man. I’m trusting you despite everything that’s happened today. Please don’t let me down. You won’t believe this, but somehow the kid is in Laredo. I have no idea how he got there. But from what I can tell, he’s about a mile from the border at a place called the Pilot Travel Center. Harry, I think the kid is going to try to cross into Mexico. We can’t let him do that. Call me back ASAP!”
Hanging up, David considered what he should do next. If and when the FBI took Parker into custody, the kid would freak out. David needed to be there with him as soon as possible to help calm him down and reassure him that everything was going to be okay. And there was only one way to do that at two in the morning.
He needed to get in his damn truck and start driving.
FORTY-THREE
Jess was surprised to see Dilly Dyson on the move because she’d just gotten off the phone with David and received the full update about Parker. Coincidence? Her gut didn’t believe so, which made her really uneasy. Where was the man going at two thirty in the morning? From her perch in the driver’s seat of her Ford Explorer just down the street from the house, she watched as the bar owner quickly hustled down the driveway and jumped into his Mercedes. There was nothing casual about the way the man was moving—he clearly wasn’t just headed back to his own place for the rest of the night. Something was up.
Jess followed at a safe distance. She had to do her best driving to keep up with Dyson without him noticing he had a tail. It was tricky. He was driving fast, and there wasn’t much other traffic out on the streets that allowed her to easily blend in behind him. If she lost him, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. She’d attached a tiny GPS tracking device the size of a quarter underneath the carriage of his car that she could monitor with an app on her phone. She had all kinds of tools like this in her bag because she never knew what all she’d need in her job as an investigator. But she didn’t want to chance something messing up with the tracking device or the app.
With each turn, Dyson seemed to get a heavier foot. This was much different from the way he’d driven over to Christina Legley’s house earlier. Again, the timing was unsettling. Could his abrupt departure have something to do with Parker? David was a nervous wreck because he’d not heard back from Zegers.
Dyson was headed downtown. It was easier for Jess to follow once they both got up onto the highway. Dyson didn’t seem to care if he got a ticket as he had his Mercedes up over ninety now. Jess did the same and hoped her Explorer’s engine wouldn’t fall apart on her. Dyson exited the highway at Fifteenth and took the street into downtown. Twice Jess had to run a red light so she wouldn’t lose him. Her adrenaline was really starting to spike.
Minutes later, Dyson pulled his Mercedes to the curb along Red River Street, right outside the Dell Seton Medical Center. It was the same hospital where Bobby Lee was currently recovering. Why was Dyson coming here? Jess pulled to the curb on the opposite side of the street. She squinted across the way at the Mercedes. Dyson was not getting out. What was he doing? Pulling out her phone, Jess used her camera to zoom in as close as possible. It looked like Dyson was typing on his phone. Maybe sending a text to someone? She obviously couldn’t tell from her vantage point. She watched, waited. She had her answer a few seconds later, and it made her curse out loud. Agent Farley appeared on the sidewalk outside the hospital, carefully looked both ways, and then made his way over to Dyson’s Mercedes. Jess held up her phone, began taking photos. Was Farley the traitor? The FBI insider who had been passing along information?
Dyson rolled down his window, and Farley leaned into it. Jess quickly pulled up the GPS tracking app for the device she’d attached under the carriage of the car behind the front left tire. The device also had live audio monitoring. She hoped it was within range to catch whatever the two men were about to say to each other. She turned the volume all the way up. It worked.
She could hear both men plain as day.
“This is the last time I do this,” Farley said.
“You’ll be square when this is over. That was the agreement.”
“But this has spiraled way out of control.”
“As did your gambling debt. So unless you’re about to hand me sixty thousand dollars, you’ll finish what you started.”
Farley sighed. “Why the hell did you grab Zegers’s son?”
“Leverage. If it came down to it, I planned to offer a swap. Your boss’s kid for the Barnes kid.”
“Well, it didn’t work.”
“No, it unfortunately did not.”
“Will your boy with the Camaro talk to the police?”
“No, Luke has a little sister he adores. He knows what’ll happen to her if he says anything to the police. What do you got for me?”
Jess watched as Farley handed Dyson what looked like a scrap of paper.
“This is the exact location for the kid.”
Dyson stared at the paper. “How did you get this?”
“The attorney called Zegers and left a voice mail.”
“You bugged your boss’s phone?”
Farley nodded. “I’m not proud of it.”
“You think the boy’s actually trying to run away to Mexico?”
“Why the hell else would he go there, Dilly?”
Dyson shook his head. “This stupid kid is like a damn mouse we can’t seem to catch, no matter how many traps we set.”
“Maybe you should just let him go?” Farley offered. “If he gets across the border, I doubt we’ll keep searching for him.”
“Is the FBI already on their way to grab him?”
“No, my boss hasn’t checked his voice mail yet.”