Vengeance: An Action-Adventure Novel (A Jon Steadman Thriller Book 3)

by Nellie Neeman

  Bernie didn’t respond to that. “I’ll stay another couple of days, see what I can find here and keep you posted. But you’d better answer this first—are you prepared for me to follow the lead wherever it takes me?”

  Theodore hesitated a moment and then said, “Yes.” He hung up never once thinking he hadn’t mentioned where he was speaking from.

  ***

  Salt Lake City

  Franklin was dying to know Nicole Davis’s reaction to the letter he’d sent her. Was she wondering who her husband was pushing on the swing in the park all those years ago? Or did she have a sneaking suspicion that her husband was a low-life, two-timing shmuck? Franklin could only imagine the look on Theodore’s face when his wife confronted him and told him to move out. He needed to find a way of confirming it all went as planned.

  Franklin’s thoughts turned to the strange cars. Because of Wang’s carelessness, two unfamiliar vehicles had been stationed on the street. One had since left and not returned. If it was the police, he couldn’t figure out why they needed two cars to begin with. Still, the fact that no one had come to the door to question him led Franklin to believe they didn’t have enough to go on. They were watching and waiting. Let them.

  He’d repeatedly told Wang never to come to the house. The unfortunate episode created a situation beyond his control, and he’d had to eliminate his only friend. Just like in the video games, the better player won. Still, Franklin would miss him. It wasn’t an intentional betrayal, but it was a betrayal nonetheless, and that was something Franklin would never tolerate again. He hoped the suicide note he’d written was believable but knew his work connections to Wang would raise flags. Unfortunately, the lingering police presence had prevented him from taking action.

  Franklin looked at the front door camera, relieved to find the second car was gone as well. He’d been waiting for it to leave. Maybe the watcher needed a potty break. He picked up his phone and called a car service, getting goosebumps as he thought about his upcoming trip. He was excited and scared. But one emotion soon washed away the others. It would get him to his destination unfettered.

  Hate.

  ***

  Salt Lake City

  It amazed Bernie how much information was put into an insurance statement. He knew mail tampering was illegal but it was one of the quickest data troves he had access to and he was not above crossing that line.

  The insurance was through Medicaid, confirming his suspicion that the mother was not earning much. The letter was a notice that past denials of services had been reviewed and overturned. The biweekly physical therapy could continue. He decided at that moment to stay until the next appointment. If Oakley was going twice a week, the likelihood was he’d emerge from his house again in the next day or two. Bernie knew the notice was surely sent by email as well, so he didn’t even try to re-close the envelope. He took a photo of the letter and crumpled it up for later disposal. Then, he called his hacker friend. “I need you to check out a Franklin Oakley.” He gave the name of the insurance company and ID number he took off the co-opted letter.

  “How much do you want to know?” the hacker asked.

  “Start with the basics . . . finances, prior residences. But throw in medical history.”

  “That’ll be extra.”

  Bernie held his tongue. Then, “Just bill me.”

  “How about criminal records?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Okay, I’ll have the other stuff for you next week.”

  “Make it today.”

  “That’ll be extra.”

  Bernie let out a loud sigh. “Yeah, I know.”

  Chapter 40

  Haifa, Israel

  Terry took the elevator down from her parents’ thirteenth floor apartment. The last few weeks had been trying. She’d been pulled from the Mossad mission. Yosef explained they would try other methods to identify the White Knight. She was no longer needed. She was being kept out of the loop.

  When she returned to her lab, she quickly found the work had piled up while she’d been away. She kept long hours, fully aware of how vulnerable her research was to being stolen. On top of it all, she missed Gabe terribly. She understood he needed to get back to his own job and see his family. With everything seeming so dismal, she’d decided to put her work on hold for a few hours and spend time with her parents. It proved to be a wise decision. Her mother, Hannah, had put things in perspective, reminding her of her good fortune while feeding her homemade baklava.

  By the time she got to her car, she felt a lot better. Tonight she’d call Gabe and talk about fun things. Like their upcoming wedding.

  ***

  At one a.m., Terry sat up in her bed. She’d set the alarm to wake her up when Gabe’s workday would be over, but she hadn’t yet fallen asleep. It was hard without Gabe lying next to her. She let out a breath of relief when he picked up, his voice cheerful. “Hi, sweetheart. Isn’t it really late there?”

  “I can’t sleep without you,” she said.

  “I know just how you feel. How about some good news?”

  “That would be great.”

  “Since it didn’t work out for us to go to my parents’ vacation home last time, they’re suggesting we try again. Any chance you can squeeze in a trip to South Carolina?”

  Terry was about to give him a list of reasons why she couldn’t do it, and then stopped herself. Hadn’t her parents just reminded her of what was most important? “Yes! Let’s do it. It may take me a week or so till I can get there. Is that okay?”

  “Sure. But the sooner the better. I don’t like being away from you.”

  Terry felt her eyelids drooping. “I love your voice, motek. Can you stay on the phone till I fall asleep?”

  Gabe spoke sweet nothings to her.

  The phone was still in her hand when she woke up the next morning.

  ***

  MountainCare Rehabilitation Center

  Salt Lake City

  Jon and Bernie stood outside the rehab facility. The car’s thermostat had registered a brisk outdoor temperature of thirty-four degrees, but Jon was quickly learning in the Rockies, when the sun shone bright, it felt like a spring day. The trip from Barcelona to Salt Lake City was long, yet he’d magically slept most of the way and was more refreshed than he’d felt in a long time. He’d touched base twice with Luanne, keeping her in the loop as best he could. Her day job was keeping her busy. Jon missed sleeping beside her.

  Bernie had contacted him once he learned that Oakley had worked at and was fired from ItsRelative. Ironically, early in his tenure, Oakley had subjected himself to company-wide employee DNA testing. It was fair to assume Oakley knew of his connection to Abigail—that they were half-siblings. If losing his legs provided motive, finding Theo’s love child offered opportunity. Theo’s son had become their prime suspect.

  Now, Jon could connect Oakley to Wang, the alleged man behind the DNA theft. But the cord tying Oakley to Peter Cromwell, Caroline Atwood, and Congressman Taylor remained thready. Was Oakley simply a client of Wang’s, hiring him to mess with his father? Or were the two men working as a team? The connection between the men proved enough to subpoena Oakley’s insurance company. Which led them here, to the rehab center.

  Jon agreed to meet Bernie and check out the only other place he was known to frequent, get as much on Oakley as possible before bringing him in for questioning. The optics of arresting a down-on-his-luck paraplegic were not optimal, and Matthews had cautioned him to be damn sure before making an arrest. Loomins was on standby, dividing his time between the inquiry into Wang’s suicide and keeping an eye on the Oakley house. If Jon determined there was enough for an arrest, Loomins would make a move.

  Bernie dropped his cigarette on the ground, crushing it with his shoe. “How do you want to play this?”

  Jon said, “Make it like I’m Oakley’s friend. I’ll take it as it comes.”

  “I like your style, Steadman.”

  “Wait here. Shouldn’t take long.�
�

  Jon walked inside the white stucco building and found the directory that led him to a rehab common room. He was dressed casually in fitted jeans and V-neck forest-green sweater, his hair just past the collar. He looked around. No sign of Oakley. Six patients were positioned around the space each with a dedicated physical therapist. Some walking, climbing steps, or engaged in table exercises. Two were amputees. It brought back repressed memories from when Jon had spent months rehabbing his leg. Despite this, he was thankful to be mobile, but still had a noticeable limp and periodic pain.

  A blond pony-tailed woman around his age—mid-to-late twenties—was finishing a session with a middle-aged man. Jon had timed his entry well, assuming if he showed up on the hour he would catch someone available to talk between patients.

  Jon raised a hand in greeting. “Hey, I’m looking for my buddy, Franklin Oakley.”

  She eyed him. “Who are you?”

  “Name’s Jon. I made up to meet him here. We’re gonna grab some lunch.”

  She looked skeptical.

  He smiled, the one he’d been told was flirty. “There a problem?”

  Slowly, her smile grew in return. Shook her head. “I didn’t think Franklin had a lot of friends. Certainly not like you.”

  “Like me?”

  “Uh, nothing.”

  “No, say it.”

  “It’s not nice. About Franklin.” She giggled.

  “I swear I won’t tell.”

  “Well, let’s just say, you look pretty cool. With-it, you know?”

  He laughed. “Thanks, I guess.”

  “And you know Franklin . . .”

  Jon was distracted by one of the nearby seated patients. His pants were rolled up, and he was unlatching a prosthetic leg. “Ah . . . gotcha. Well, we know each other since we were kids. Grew up on the same block. No one was cool back then.”

  “In LA?”

  “Huh?”

  “Where you grew up.”

  “Yeah, that’s right . . . so where is he?”

  “On vacation. He didn’t come in today. It’s weird he told you to meet him knowing he’d be out of town.”

  Out of town? Seeing the woman’s concern, he quickly regained his bearings. “Wait a sec.” Jon made a show of looking at his phone. “Damn! I messed up the day. I hate these phones. It’s next month. We made these plans a while ago. Sorry to bother you.” Jon moved toward the door. Then turned, “Do you happen to know where he went? If it’s back to LA, I could catch up with him. I’ll be there in a few days.”

  The woman shook her head. “Not sure, but I know he was real excited to finally use the new legs.”

  Jon felt a rising sense of dread. “Are Franklin’s legs like those?” He pointed to the prosthetic leg now resting on the therapy bed.

  The therapist turned to look. “Similar, but his are better tech. You’d never know his legs were artificial. He’s come a long way. You should be proud of your friend.”

  “I am. I better give him a call. I really screwed up.” He plastered on a sparkling smile. “Nice meeting you.”

  “You, too.” She moved closer to him, enough for him to pick up the scent of her perfume. “Here’s my card,” she said, a sultry tone seeping in. “You know, in case you need it for anything.”

  Jon accepted the card, gave it a kiss, making the woman laugh. “I’ll treasure it . . .” He read her name off the card, “Jordana.” He put it in the back pocket of his jeans, sensing that’s where her eyes lingered as he walked out of the room.

  Five minutes later, Jon was back in the car, ending a call with Loomins. Bernie was chewing gum. He said, “What’s that look on your face?”

  “What did you find out?”

  “Oakley’s gone.”

  “What? How?”

  “Loomins says must’ve been when he took a short break.”

  Bernie let out a stream of profanities.

  Jon waited him out. Then said, “I got one really good piece of intel.”

  Bernie spit the gum out the window, turned on the ignition. “What?”

  Jon said, “We’re no longer looking for a wheelchair.”

  ***

  Salt Lake City International Airport

  The last time Franklin had been on an airplane was years earlier when he’d moved with his mother to Salt Lake City from Los Angeles. They’d come when his mother remarried, following his stepfather to his hometown. Though his mother was no longer with the husband, they’d stayed for the lower cost of living. Franklin barely had any memory of LA and was fine with it. He had enough crappy memories without adding those to the heap. Now, he was standing, waiting for his flight to board. Standing!

  His new prosthetics were incredible. It was the one thing he’d splurged on with his recent financial windfall. He could move like everyone around him. No one could tell they weren’t his real legs. When the metal detector buzzed, he told the TSA agent it was an army wound, the result of an IED. The man actually saluted him. He felt empowered. With his new and improved legs, he could do anything.

  Chapter 41

  Lake Tahoe, California

  The cab ride from Reno had taken a little under an hour. When they got into town, Franklin noted the expansive lake. It looked like blue glass, the snowy peaks of the Sierra Nevada mountains reflecting on its placid surface. The more beautiful the scenery became, the angrier he got. His father should be home in Los Angeles, terrified of having his infidelities exposed, not enjoying a ski vacation.

  The driver pulled over in front of a well-maintained complex of buildings. A banner above the entrance read, “Welcome, U.S. Ski Team!” Franklin got out, allowing the driver to retrieve his bags from the trunk. The place was a series of vacation condos, each with its own hot tub and magnificent view of the lake. Franklin was sick of the snow and cold. “Couldn’t Dad have vacationed somewhere warm?” he muttered under his breath as he walked inside the hotel lobby.

  Today was the longest he’d ever worn the prostheses and he was feeling drained. He walked slowly to the check-in desk and offered his mother’s credit card. He’d been using it on and off for years She was so disorganized and had no recollection that it was still active. Anyway, he always paid for the purchases.

  The desk clerk handed him a room key and information about the facility. Maybe he should have requested a disabled room so he could easily access the shower after taking off his legs, but he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. He pocketed the key, wondering if they gave him a condo next door to his dad.

  Once in the room, he took a look at the shower, and changed his mind. He called the front desk and asked to be moved to a wheelchair accessible room, explaining that his disabled mother may visit and want to shower. The woman cheerfully accommodated him and within twenty minutes he was in a new room. Franklin removed his prostheses and expelled a long-held breath of relief.

  ***

  FBI Field Office

  Salt Lake City

  Jon sat at one of the office’s unused desks and sent an update to Matthews, letting him know he’d hit a dead end with no lead on Franklin’s whereabouts. Agent Loomins was appropriately upset, but to his credit he didn’t blame losing Franklin on the lack of backup. He accepted responsibility and the anticipated reprimands. Jon didn’t know if he’d have handled things differently. They’d caught a break when calls to local cab companies yielded a pickup at the Oakley residence, taking one occupant—a young man—to the airport. Not surprisingly, no one by the name of Franklin Oakley had boarded a flight in the last twenty-four hours. A man with his computer skills could smoothly slip into another identity.

  A billion-dollar tax fraud scheme was tying up local FBI field agents. The SLCPD agreed to loan two detectives to pick up surveillance of the Oakley house, recommending to observe rather than approach at this point. See if Francine led them to her son. A mother wouldn’t be inclined to actively assist in her child’s apprehension. But Francine was sticking to her routine, no sign of distress. As if she hadn’t a c
lue what her son was up to.

  Jon’s phone rang. Matthews’s voice sounded hoarse. “Let’s go through it. Talk it out.”

  Jon reviewed recent events. “To quote you sir, the easiest explanation is usually the right one. Oakley needs a way to pay for travel . . . hacking someone’s credit card is too risky. He wouldn’t risk being flagged and not have the payments go through.”

  “Correct.” Matthews paused.

  Jon understood his boss was waiting for him to make a deduction. “Maybe Franklin asked someone to use their card and pay them back. But his only friend is dead, and he wouldn’t dare use a dead man’s account, especially given all the attention on Wang’s death.”

  “Where would Oakley gain easy access to a credit card with the smallest chance of being caught?”

  The penny dropped. “He’s skimming off his mother.”

  “Sounds like it’s time to meet the former Mrs. Davis.”

  ***

  The next morning, Jon pulled up in front of the old house. It was scarcely larger than a double-wide. On closer inspection, it was a double-wide. The exterior’s drab brown paint was chipped, revealing the white stucco beneath. Dead flowers, neglected remnants of a season long gone, littered the window boxes. As Jon got out of the car, a cold wind blew a 7-Eleven Big Gulp across the postage-stamp lawn, the plastic cup coming to a rest at Jon’s boot. He picked it up, tossed it in the can by the curb, and walked up to the front door, avoiding the ramp. He hesitated a moment then rang the bell.

  “Yeah?” he heard from within.

  “Mrs. Oakley?”

  “Yeah?” the raspy voice repeated.

  “My name is Jon Steadman,” he said, loud enough to be heard through the door. “I work for the FBI. We’re investigating credit card fraud. We believe yours has been compromised.”

  The door opened a crack, a chain lock crossing in front of a bloodshot, mascara-smudged eye, imparting a look of skepticism. “My card company would have called. You making house calls now?”