A knock at the door startled her, and she shoved the items into her sweatshirt pocket, then swiveled around, fully expecting Lisette to emerge from the bathroom and Marc the bedroom. When they didn’t, she realized they probably hadn’t heard the knock. In a moment of indecision turned to action, Piper walked up to the door, peered out the peephole.
She saw two men in dark suits standing there.
“Who are you?” she called through the door.
“We’re here for the pickup.” One of them held up a badge.
She took a deep breath. This was it. She didn’t even have a chance to say good-bye to her brother, and she was going to be whisked away, given a new name, a new identity . . .
It wasn’t like she’d had the best life in the world. They were going to pay for her to get a house and a job. How bad could that be?
“Piper! Get back!”
She swiveled around, saw Marc standing there.
“I think it’s the witness protection guys.”
“I’ll check. Just get back from the door.”
“I wasn’t going to open it.” But she moved away, and Marc looked out, just as Lisette rushed from the bathroom, her gun drawn as Marc disarmed the alarm and opened the door.
Apparently they weren’t taking any chances.
“It’s okay, ma’am,” one of the men said, eyeing the gun pointed at him, and he held up both hands, one empty, one with the badge. “Palmer and Ramsay. We’re here to take the girl to WitSec.”
“ID,” Lisette demanded, not lowering her gun.
He handed it to Marc, who looked it over, then took his phone and called the U.S. marshal’s office. “Di Luca, DOJ,” Marc said. “Just confirming you sent two . . . ?”
He glanced at the second man. “Your ID?” He looked at it as well. “They’re here.” He listened, then said to Lisette, “It’s them. Names match.”
Lisette holstered her gun, while giving Piper a bittersweet smile. “You’ll be fine.”
What they always told her before every new foster home. And here she thought the feeling of being torn from her roots would be over and done with once she’d aged out of the system. “Sure.”
Lisette looked around as though forgetting something. “We didn’t even get a chance to buy her any additional clothing.”
“It’s okay,” one of the men said. “We’ll take care of all that.”
She went for her purse. “You need money?”
“No,” Piper said, worried Lisette would discover the wallet missing, and think Piper was trying to steal from her. If she was lucky, she could slip it somewhere where Lisette might find it. She hadn’t expected such generosity. “You’ve done enough.”
“We should go,” the dark-haired guy said.
Lisette nodded, and then with an awkward smile, walked up to Piper and gave her a hug. “Be good.”
“I will.”
One of the men held out his hand, indicating Piper should precede him through the door. They walked down the hallway. And as she stepped on the elevator, followed by the two men, the door whooshing shut, she wondered what on earth she could do with Lisette’s wallet. Maybe she should ask the men if they could go back up, pretend that she had to use the bathroom, and she could leave it there. But one look at the man’s face, and she nixed that idea. He didn’t look friendly at all.
18
Funny, but Lisette didn’t really think she’d miss the girl, and yet the whole scenario reminded her of sending one’s kid off to college for the first time. That feeling that they were going to a safe place, but they were still out of your control. Wild parties in the dormitories, getting drunk, getting pregnant . . .
At least that’s what she assumed it was like, since she didn’t have kids of her own. And she wasn’t sure she ever wanted them. Not in this world, she thought, eyeing the dirty dishes on the counter. She picked up the tray with the half-eaten pizza and dumped the remainder into the trash, then started rinsing the dishes.
Marc watched her a few moments. “She’ll be fine.”
“I know. I guess I just didn’t realize— It’s silly, I know, but I miss her.”
She looked around the apartment, thinking how quiet it was, then noticed her purse was not how she left it. And then she recalled how quickly Piper turned down the offer of money. “Oh no . . .”
“What?”
She rushed over, looked in her purse, discovered her wallet missing. “I can’t believe I fell for that.” She picked up the leather bag, slammed it on the counter. “All my money.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know. Sixty, seventy dollars. And my credit cards. And my passport.”
“Better call up and cancel the credit card at least.”
“The hell with that. Bring her little butt back here and have her give it to me with an apology. And to think I was feeling sorry for her.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. Did you see how quick she was to turn down my offer to give her some money? Little thief. Call.”
“What are you going to do? Have her arrested?” he said, taking out his phone. He called the marshal’s office again, and said, “Marc di Luca. Two of your men just picked up one of our witnesses. Yes. I talked to them earlier. I know this is a bit unusual, but the witness took something from one of our agents and we’d like to get it back. Any way you could contact them and have them return . . . ? Probably left here about five minutes ago . . . Yes. I’ll hold.”
He waited and Lisette took the moment to look around, see if anything else was missing. Fortunately there was very little to take, a few clothes and personal items, since she used the apartment only on the rare occasion when she was staying in town.
“You’re sure?”
“Sure about what?” Lisette asked, alarmed by his tone, never mind the look on his face.
“She says they’re still en route. Palmer and Ramsay. They had to stop for gas and ended up with a flat tire.”
“What do you mean still en route? They just left.”
“As in they never arrived.”
“But you called.”
“They verified the names. They didn’t realize they weren’t here until they called them just now about your wallet.”
“Oh my God . . .” Lisette felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach. That girl had depended on them. On her. “They showed us IDs. The names were the same.”
Marc held up his finger, signaling for her to be quiet, while he listened to whatever the person was saying. “Thank you. Yes.” He disconnected. “Apparently they’re on their way now. They’ll help in the search.”
“What do we do?”
“I’ll call McNiel. You call Griffin.”
She grabbed her cell phone, hit Griffin’s number, and the moment he answered, she said, “I lost her. I’m sorry. I—I don’t know how it happened. I—”
“Lisette. Wait. Slow down. What do you mean you lost her?”
“She was here, and two men who said they were from WitSec picked her up.”
“They had IDs?”
“Yes. We checked. They were legit. The IDs, I mean. Professional. The names matched.”
“How long have they been gone?”
She glanced at the clock. “Ten minutes.”
“Get me a description, everything you can remember about them.”
And that feeling she’d had about sending her kid off to college suddenly turned into a nightmare. She was so never having kids.
19
By the time they were in the car and on the freeway, Piper had nearly convinced herself that any misgivings were based on the fact she was the one getting screwed in this deal. How was it that some people she’d never met in Washington could make a decision about her life? Like it even mattered to them? What if she didn’t want to go to Indiana, or wherever-the-hell,
USA? “Where are we going?”
“To the airport,” one of the men said.
“Yeah, I get that. I mean where from there? Why can’t I just go home?”
“It’ll be like your new home.”
“Probably better,” the other one said, as he slid off his overcoat and tossed it on the backseat beside her.
Jerks, she thought, then eyed the tan coat, wondering if there was any money in the pockets. She reached her hand out, moving it closer, then surreptitiously patted the pockets, feeling stiff paper, about the size that a plane ticket might be, in the inside breast pocket. So they already had it. Time to find out if it was anywhere she wanted to go. Watching the two men up front, she slid her hand between the fabric and pulled out a rental car folder. So not a plane ticket, but better than money, she decided, since she was pretty sure one needed a credit card to rent a vehicle. She moved the folder to her other side, so they wouldn’t see, unfolded it, and was slightly dismayed to discover that only the last four digits were on the receipt stapled to the top of the document.
That was a waste, she thought, then stopped at the sight of the city on the rental contract.
South San Francisco. The date was five days ago.
Her heart started a slow thud. What were the chances that they were in the Bay Area on the very day Bo was murdered . . . ? She found the license number and recognized it as the car she saw parked outside Bo’s shop. It was not the car they were in now, but they certainly could have flown back here, picked up this car, and somehow found her. She folded up the receipt and shoved it into her back pocket, then stared out the window, trying to think. And that was when she noticed they were not driving in the direction of the airport—something she knew only because she’d read the road signs when Lisette had first brought her to D.C. Piper hadn’t seen these particular street names before. “I don’t feel so good,” she said.
“You’ll be fine.”
“No. I think I’m going to throw up.” She tried to roll down the window. It didn’t budge. A bad omen, she figured, and had a feeling that if she tried to open the door, it wouldn’t work, either.
The driver craned his neck around to look at her. “What do you need?”
“A little fresh air.”
He lowered the window about two inches.
She took a deep breath. “I think I need crackers. Or something to eat.”
“Gum?”
“Crackers. I think I need crackers.” She leaned forward, then grasped the headrest in front of her. “We need to stop or I’m gonna throw up all over your car.”
“Son of a . . .” He pulled off the freeway.
The blond guy pointed. “There’s a mini-mart.”
She looked. “Do you think they have saltines? That’s the only thing that works.”
“Saltines? Probably.” The dark-haired guy signaled, then got into the left turn lane, waiting for the light to change. He parked, then nodded to his partner. “Go get her some crackers.”
“Can I go in?” Piper asked. “I need to use the bathroom.”
“No. It’s not safe.”
“Okay if I lie down back here?”
“Sure.”
She glanced into the store, saw there was a long line at the counter, then lay across the seat so that her head was behind the driver’s side. “Can you roll down this other window, too?”
He did.
“A little more? The cold air feels good.”
She heard the window’s roller, looked up, saw he’d rolled it about five inches total, she hoped low enough to reach outside and open the damned door.
What she needed was to get him out of the car, and she took a deep breath, then gave a loud sigh. “You think I could have a Coke?”
“A Coke?”
“Or ginger ale. You think they have ginger ale?”
“I don’t know.” He took out his phone, made a call. “Come on . . . pick up . . . Hey . . . grab some Coke or something.”
And her heart sank. Didn’t do her any good if he didn’t leave the car. She grabbed her midsection, curled into a fetal position, and added a few moans that she’d perfected back when she was still living in foster care.
“What the hell now?” he asked.
“Cramps. That’s why I don’t feel good.”
He leaned over the seat, looked at her. “Cramps?”
“I always get sick to my stomach when I start my period. I really need to use the bathroom.”
“Yeah, well you’re gonna have to wait.”
“Fine. But it’s your backseat and I need some tampons.”
“Shit . . .” He called his partner again. “She needs you to buy tampons . . . What? You’re afraid of cooties, you pick up a box? Goddamn it. I gotta do everything myself around here.” He threw the door open and stomped across the parking lot, setting the alarm as he left.
She watched, saw him enter the store, then pushed the door lock and pulled the handle. As expected, it didn’t open. She slid up, reached out the open window, the glass digging into her underarm as she strained to reach the handle on the outside of the door. Her fingers touched it, and she was worried she wouldn’t be able to grasp it. “Please . . .” She shoved herself as close to the window as she could get, putting her weight against it, trying to get that extra inch, and then she had it, pulling the handle and it opened.
The alarm went off. She raced toward the gas pumps, yelled at the man closest to her.
He had just stepped out of a pickup truck, the door open, as he pulled his wallet from his pocket and stepped toward the gas pump.
“Call the cops. Those guys kidnapped me!”
He looked up, shocked.
The two men yelled as they burst from the store.
Piper dove into the pickup truck, slammed the door shut, locked it, and prayed there was a cell phone.
Instead she saw the keys in the ignition.
She turned the key, sped out of the parking lot, caught a glimpse in her rearview mirror of the men stopping in their tracks, then racing back to their car.
The light was green as she sped toward the intersection, but she turned right instead, then right again, pulling into a busy shopping center parking lot that had at least fifty cars in it. She parked, threw the keys under the seat, then got out, trying to decide if she should steal another car or go into the store for help, when she saw a poster in the window of a travel agency advertising winter flight specials to Europe.
She had a feeling that that would be the last place anyone would be looking for her.
20
“Have you heard anything?” Griffin asked once he reached Lisette’s.
“Nothing. Marc’s doing a search of the area for any business with a video camera to see if we can’t find one with a license plate of the vehicle. They had to have been lying in wait at the gas station where the two agents suddenly had a flat tire.”
“They were followed?”
“Either that or it was the biggest sort of coincidence, them ending up with a flat.”
“And the suspects knew to come here to your apartment looking for her?”
“That’s what worries me. How would they know that? Or the names of the WitSec guys, then have IDs to match?”
“They wouldn’t,” Griffin said. “Unless somehow they had access to the information beforehand. I think McNiel’s right, that they have a partial SINS program running and they’ve been able to access the databases that way. How else could they have shown up in South San Francisco?”
“The same men or the same crew, either way, anything we access electronically, they could be monitoring.”
“They’ll be one step ahead of us. We’ll have to keep our search for her off the grid as much as possible.”
“What do we do?”
“Not sure. Yet. But she’s a resourceful girl,” he
said, recalling the way she’d maneuvered their escape in South San Francisco.
“You’re assuming she’ll figure out they’re not legit.”
“Hoping. Knowing her, she will definitely cause issues, even if she does think they’re legit. Check with the police. Maybe something will pop out there.”
“In D.C.? Seriously?”
“Like I said, she’s resourceful. Give it a shot.”
He left, drove out of the parking lot, trying to imagine which route he’d take if he were the kidnappers, trying to smuggle a girl out. He didn’t think they’d kill her right off. She went with them willingly, and they’d probably use that cooperation to get her far from the area as soon as possible. He headed toward the freeway, and was about to get on in the direction of the airport when Lisette called him back.
“You were right. There was a stolen vehicle not too far from here. The victim states the suspect claimed she was being kidnapped and asked him to call the police. And the girl had black hair with pink spikes.” She gave him the address.
“En route. Let me know if there are further updates.”
The police were still there when he arrived, as was the victim whose truck was stolen. Griffin identified himself as a DOJ agent, stating only that they were looking for the girl in question. “Has anyone gotten surveillance video yet?”
“Working on it,” the officer said. “The clerk said he’d burn a copy.”
Griffin entered the store, found the clerk in a back room, no bigger than a closet, where a computer sat on a desk. “You have video?”
The man turned. “It’s almost done.”
“Can you show me?”
“Sure.” He accessed the footage, then pushed his chair to one side so Griffin could see.
A dark-colored sedan was parked in the lot on the side of the store, and one man got out and entered the building, followed shortly by the second man. He didn’t recognize either. And then he saw Piper reach out the back window, open the door, then race across the parking lot to the gas pumps. She jumped into a white pickup, then drove out of the parking lot.
The Kill Order Page 12