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Thursday, Feb. 19, 2015, Seattle
Janet wanted her cop reporter back. She wasn’t being disparaging of Joe Conte, her second cop reporter. He was a good reporter. Solid. Solid enough that he had unearthed a story about Sgt. McBride, one of the men who had been involved in last fall’s attack on Nick Rodriguez.
And smart enough to know the story was above his pay grade. “This is a story that Mac does,” he said frankly. “And I pick up the routine calls while he does. I’m not sure....”
He trailed off.
McBride hadn’t been charged with anything for his role in the attacks last fall. As far as Janet knew, he hadn’t even been reprimanded. However, he’d been ousted from the presidency of the police union on a vote of no confidence. And that might have hurt more than a reprimand.
Janet wasn’t sure exactly what role Mac had played in that, but she was pretty sure he had played some role.
She hadn’t asked. Sometimes ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ did work — especially when you were dealing with a sociopathic ex-Marine. But she had to admit, Mac had a fine taste for revenge.
There wasn’t much that made Rodriguez or Joe Dunbar smile these days, but watching McBride seethe, and knowing Mac had somehow set it up, had made them both grin. Shark grins, but grins, nevertheless.
Janet was having her after-deadline coffee with Conte, Mike Brewster and Yesenia Vilchis. They’d become a team last fall — Mike Brewster did data stories. He was the sole survivor of the newspaper’s investigative team, but he seemed happy enough in the newsroom. The others of the team hadn’t wanted to be a part of the daily reporting. Yesenia Vilchis covered courts.
And why it had taken a major disaster to show them that courts and cops needed to be one team, Janet didn’t know. But they were a team now. A team that was missing their.... What was Mac, exactly? Not the quarterback. That was her job. He was more the engine, to mix her metaphors. He was the driving force. She steered it, always aware that if she lost control, he would become a destructive force. And these three were the other cars in the train.
And they were stalled without him.
Satisfied that she had milked that metaphor for more than it was worth, she refocused on the three people with her at the table. All drinking coffee. And even that seemed wrong. Where was Mac’s Mountain Dew to stir up the wait staff?
“So tell me again?” Janet asked.
Joe obliged. McBride was essentially doing a work slowdown. Reports were stacking up. Nothing was getting assigned to detectives. Call response times were down. “Had a cop call me,” he said. “He was probably looking for Mac, but....” He trailed off. “He says we should pull the stats by precinct. He’s frustrated. He answered a call last week for domestic violence. The woman is in the hospital. There’s a warrant out for her husband’s arrest. It’s sitting on McBride’s desk. He says they’re swamped with other, more important cases, and he’ll get to it as soon as he can.”
“And are they swamped?” Janet asked.
“My source says no.”
Mike was jotting down notes. “I can pull the stats,” he promised. “We’ll see if they show anything.”
Joe nodded, but he still looked troubled. “When is Mac coming back?” he asked finally.
“He’s got two weeks vacation,” Janet answered. “He’s only been gone three days, Joe. Well, today is four.”
“And he is coming back?” Joe pursued.
Janet frowned. “Yes,” she said, drawling it out. “Why?”
“Rumor. Same cop says Mac is dirty. He’s connected to some drug lord, and he’s not going to come back to this. That he’s gone over to the dark side,” Joe said uncomfortably. Joe and Mac got along — not everyone could share a desk with Mac and survive it. Joe did. Mac even liked the man.
“No,” Janet said. She needed to call Rodriguez ASAP on this. “He’s visiting his cousin in Vallejo. What his cousin is up to might be a different story, but Mac’s still our knight in shining armor — may be a bit tarnished — but he’s ours.” Guess it was her morning for overworked metaphors, she thought ruefully, but Joe laughed and relaxed.
“We’ll know he’s heading home when there are reports of explosions in Vallejo,” Mike stated with a grin. Even Yesenia laughed at that one. She was quiet at these coffee gatherings. Smart woman who knew her stuff. Janet had suspected she found Mac intimidating. But maybe she was just quiet.
“Probably,” Janet agreed. “So what else have we got going on?”
After the meeting, Janet called Rodriguez and told him about the rumor mill in McBride’s precinct. He sighed. “Hits both my assignments, doesn’t it?”
“Does it?” Janet asked with interest. “Is Internal Affairs looking at him?”
There was a pause. “On the record or off?” he asked warily.
“On?”
“No comment.”
Janet laughed. “And off?”
“Yeah, we still have our eye on him,” Rodriguez said. “I keep hoping his officers will roll on him as part of a plea bargain. But not so far. I’d like to know what’s keeping them quiet. If Mac were around....”
“Yeah,” Janet agreed. “He’s been gone three days, and that seems to be the common refrain. Which brings us to the other part of that gossip. Have you heard anything?”
“Not beyond Joe is there, settled in, and Keisha Rollings is a beautiful woman,” Rodriguez said. Janet could practically hear the eyeroll in his voice.
“And Shorty?” Janet asked. She might call him tonight, actually.
“He’s tracking some interesting noise — that’s what he called it. I’m not exactly sure what he means by that, and I’m afraid to ask,” Rodriguez said ruefully. “When did we get so old, Janet?”
“Speak for yourself,” she teased, but then she added, “Got me. I don’t understand half of what they’re talking about. I just look skeptical and peer over the top of my glasses. And they go off and do whatever they do and bring me a story.”
Rodriguez laughed. “Maybe I need glasses to peer over,” he said. “Why don’t you give Shorty a call and ask him? He may know stuff he’s not going to tell a cop.”
Probably a given, since it’s Mac, Janet thought. “And you’ll keep me posted on Joe?”
“Yup,” he said. “Is Angie heading up to the North Cascades today?”
“She couldn’t leave until noon,” Janet answered. “She should be there by now.”
“Good. We need a string we can pull on.”
We do indeed, Janet thought as she hung up the call. She went back into the office and made sure all of her reporters were busy. Pages don’t fill themselves, she told them. They all laughed and reassured by the normalcy of that statement, everyone got to work.
But Janet’s mind was elsewhere. She worried about Mac. She hadn’t protested when he said he was going to Mexico. She wasn’t sure why anyone thought they needed to kidnap him — just mentioning the word father would do it. But she wished that his father had turned out to be a school teacher or something. And she worried about why his father wanted to meet him now. It sounded like his father had known about Mac for a long time. So why now?
Well maybe Shorty had an answer for that.
At 3 p.m. she closed down her computer and left for the day. She headed to Ballard where construction continued on her house. It had been nearly a year, she thought resentfully. How long was this damn thing going to take?
Forever, she concluded after talking to the contractor. But the site didn’t look so wounded. The house was framed in. She could see what space she had left on the lot for a new garden. They needed to hurry! Spring planting season was about to begin. When she said as much to the contractor, he shook his head.
“May, Janet,” he said firmly. “We aren’t going to be done tromping through here until May. Design that garden on paper.”
Janet rolled her eyes. As if she hadn’t been doing that all winter? She sighed and thanked the man, and then she headed to the apartment she shared with Stan.
And wasn’t that a trip? She, a newspaper editor, was living with an FBI agent? She shook her head and unlocked the door. Stan had headed to D.C. last night. For some reason, the Powers That Be had wanted to talk to him in person before he began his charade as the special agent called in to investigate the Vallejo drug task force.
It worried her, but she didn’t ask. Living with the FBI had some of the same principles as managing Mac as a reporter, she thought humorously. She let Pulitzer out of his kennel, and he danced around her legs as she got his leash and took him downstairs for a walk.
Shorty was standing outside her building. “We need to talk,” he said.
She gestured with her leash, and he nodded. Pulitzer pulled her toward the park, and she headed in that direction. Shorty walked beside her, his hands shoved in his pockets, and his head down as if he was still trying to decide what he wanted to say.
“Tell me,” she said. “We can edit later.”
He laughed at that. “Do you know what the Dark Web is?”
She shrugged. “I know the term. I don’t really know what it is beyond that.”
“Good,” he said. “Because most of what people say it is, it isn’t. Still, there are places on the internet where people chat that can only be reached if you know the IP address — that odd string of numbers that locates your computer on the web,” he added as if he knew she’d need the explanation.
She thought briefly of her conversation with Rodriguez and stifled a sigh. “Go on,” she encouraged. “So you’ve been out there eavesdropping?”
He laughed a bit. “Good a description as any,” he agreed. “So drug cartels gossip like all other humans do,” he said slowly as if he was feeling his way along. “And there’s been some incidents that has them buzzing. Sonora cartel has apparently broken its pact with Del Toro for safe passage. Speculation is that they’re preparing to attack. But the more disturbing gossip is that Del Toro is bringing in a heavy hitter. One of their own that’s been raised secretly and is now prepared to take over the reins of the cartel.”
Janet stared at him. “You think they’re referring to Mac?”
Shorty nodded. “I don’t think Mac thinks like that,” he added hastily as Janet opened her mouth to protest. “But does his father? I think Del Toro is in trouble. Their credibility took a big hit because that village led by women burned down their warehouse — and it was on all the local stations down there long before it got used as B roll up here. And they haven’t retaliated. Some speculate that they don’t have the cojones.” He glanced at Janet anxiously at his usage of the word.
“I know the word,” she said dryly.
Shorty nodded, and continued, “Others say they don’t think they can get the job done — that the village may have national protection, and Del Toro doesn’t want to take them on politically. There is acknowledgement that that is smart. But there is contempt as well.”
“Machismo,” Janet said briefly.
Shorty tipped his head and considered that. “Probably,” he agreed. “More troubling is this sense that the cartel is waiting for the new heir to the capo to show up. That it will be a test of his abilities to subdue the village on behalf of the cartel.”
Janet frowned as she considered that. She didn’t delude herself. Mac was capable of becoming a drug lord — a capo. He was ruthless enough to do it well. And well, his moral scruples were iffy, she decided was the right word. Could finding a family entice him — what had the gossip in McBride’s precinct called it? Entice him to the dark side?
It could, she conceded. She didn’t underestimate how much Mac wanted a family and a heritage. She knew what it was like to not have that as much as he did. And she knew how powerful the desire to belong could be.
It had taken her over a decade before she didn’t get up every day and fight the desire to call home. And a year ago, when she’d been kidnapped and returned to Jehovah’s Valley, it had been all she could do to resist the lure to stay a few days. To make peace with her family. To re-establish those connections.
Even though they had just conspired with Army of God to blow up Planned Parenthood clinics, kidnap her — and blow up her house that she was still struggling to rebuild. Family. Belonging. Powerful words.
And she wasn’t going to say that a drug cartel was more evil than Army of God either. She might not ever say that sentence out loud, she thought with amusement, but it was true — Army of God and the drug cartels had more in common than not. And her family had been intertwined with Army of God missions for decades.
“Are you worried Mac might stay?” she asked now.
“Maybe a little,” Shorty said. “I would have been more worried before Angie. He truly does love her. I don’t think he’d give her up for even a father. So they may have waited too long to make their move.”
He walked a bit farther. “And you and the newspaper are a part of that,” he added. “He admires and respects you. He really is a sociopath, you know that, right?”
Janet just nodded. He wasn’t the only sociopath she knew. Politics was full of them.
“So, really, the only thing that keeps him on the side of good, is his one principle: he takes care of his own,” Shorty continued. “And I’ve been lucky enough to be on that list since he rescued me from some young thugs when I was 14. I still don’t know why he did that. But once he had, I was one of his people. His aunt. His cousin. His Marine squad. You saw that. And then you and the newspaper got added to that list. And somehow he made the leap that all of the readers of the newspaper were also his people, and he had to take care of them too.”
Shorty swallowed and laughed a bit. “Tugs a bit at the heartstrings,” he admitted.
Janet laughed, but she was also blinking back tears. “It does,” she agreed.
“So I think he’ll turn them down,” Shorty continued. “It may be a tougher decision for Mac than most normal people would understand. Oddly enough, I think our ad hoc task force might understand better than most — even though it’s made up mostly of cops and reporters.”
“Might be that the degrees of separation between most of those men and Mac are fewer than people might think,” Janet suggested. Shorty snorted his agreement.
They’d reached the dog park, and Pulitzer was all excited. Janet laughed and let him off his leash. She and Shorty made their way to a picnic table. She sat as she usually did — on top of the table itself. Those damned attached benches were impossible.
Hadn’t been 10 years ago when she could sit comfortably on those benches, she thought with a sigh. Damn, she was feeling her age today!
“My bigger worry is what the Del Toro cartel and its capo will do when Mac rejects them?” Shorty continued.
Oh. Janet thought about that. “And he’s out in rural northern Mexico? Where does he go?”
“And there are drug cartels between Lake Patzcuaro and the border, no matter what route he takes home,” Shorty agreed. “If he has to fight his way out, he’s got a long ways to fight his way back.”
Janet laughed at a memory that triggered. “Stan ever tell you the story of Mac in Afghanistan?”
Shorty shook his head.
“Stan talked to one of Mac’s COs in that first Parker story,” Janet said. “Command was conflicted about whether troops should be sent in to push Al Qaeda back. They'd push into the Afghani villages; U.S. troops would push them back out. Usual compromise: do a bit, but not enough. So, one day a call comes in — Al Qaeda had pushed into one of our strongholds again. Instead of sending in enough troops to do some good, they compromised by sending in one Marine Recon team to harass them, to see if they'd leave.”
“Mac,” Shorty said. Janet nodded.
Mac and his team identified the site, called in for an air strike. Command was still dithering — no air support. Davis and his team took the site anyways, turned it back over to the villagers, their allies. They learned there was another hot spot not far away, so they decided to check it out — while command found their asses — Mac’s words. By the time Command caught up with the recon team to haul them home, they'd pushed Al Qaeda out of three villages. Mac got chewed out for superseding orders. And it disappeared from any known files. The CO Stan talked to still wonders what would have happened if they’d given Mac three more days.”
Shorty snorted. “You’re saying you think Mac could make a run for the U.S. border and make it.”
Janet shrugged. “Or maybe we should think of providing him an alternative way out,” she said. “Where’s the nearest airport — one where he can get a direct flight out of the country? Don’t want a transfer point where the cartel could have someone waiting.”
“Or Mexican police,” Shorty muttered. “People talk about the cartels as if they are outside the political structure. That’s not quite true. Cops are cartel. Politicians are cartel. It’s quite telling that those villages that have tossed out the cartel and made it stick? They tossed out cops and politicians too.”
Janet thought about that. Made sense really. “Money means power,” she said. “And when you have that kind of money, you end up with a lot of power.”
“And power corrupts,” Shorty agreed. Janet liked Shorty, thought he was one of the smartest people she’d met in recent years. Conversations with him were always a pleasure. She considered what he had said as she watched Pulitzer play with some other dogs, taking time to sniff every tree and bush of course.
She glanced at Shorty. He was on his phone. She waited. He looked up finally.
“So there are three airports near Lake Patzcuaro,” he said finally. “Morelia, Guanajuato, and Guadalajara. All three have direct flights out — most flights route through Mexico City. He could go directly there, though.” He considered that then looked something up on his phone. “That’s not a bad option,” he conceded. “So, Morelia is closest. It and Guanajuato are small. Guadalajara is about four hours away, but it has a bigger airport, and it’s got a flight that goes direct to Los Angeles. He might need to stop off in Vallejo on his way home.”
Janet nodded.
“Mexico City is of course huge, both the city and the airport. It’s about five hours away.”
“Can you leave will call tickets at all of them? Open dates?” Janet asked.
He grimaced. “Maybe do two,” he speculated. “Mexico City and Guadalajara? And he gets to whichever seems doable at the time? Open dates aren’t cheap.”
She considered whether she could use newspaper funds for this.
Shorty sighed. “Well, OK,” he said. “I’m not supposed to share this. Mac has... an account. I’m not completely sure how he accumulated the original money in it. I can make some guesses — and they all involve Toby Rollings. But I invest it for him.”
Janet grimaced. “Can you access it? This seems like a reasonable thing to spend it on.”
“Almost poetic justice kind of shit,” Shorty agreed. “I guess I want a second opinion. Do you think I’m paranoid? Or is this going to be really necessary?”
Janet considered that. It was a legitimate question. Getting sucked into conspiracies was all too easy. And people who sneered that they never would, were the first to succumb. Ask any FOX television viewer. But anyone could get sucked in. The drama. The adrenaline rush. The camaraderie of being in something together. Fighting for truth, justice and American Way.
And it was hard to let go of after the fight, too. There were days when she looked back fondly at the Parker House.
“Can you call Mac and ask?” she said finally.
“I can,” he agreed. “But....” He trailed off. Janet waited. Finally he sighed.
“There are problems with that,” Shorty said. “One of course is that they’re probably monitoring his phone. But the other one? I worry if I give him this before he’s had time to figure it out himself, he’ll hang up on me. And he can teach stubborn to a mule.”
True enough. “So we wait,” she said. “Is he even there yet?”
“No, he’s still on his way south. To Mazatlán, would be my guess,” Shorty said.
Having a tracker on that man was really useful. She wondered if she could get Shorty to leave the one on his phone when he returned. Would he share? She shook her head briefly. Focus.
“Let’s wait until he’s there,” she suggested. “But Shorty? You need to make reservations for two. Because that list of his people? It includes Toby Rollings. He won’t leave him behind. Even if Rollings wants him to.”
Shorty grimaced, and then he nodded. “Have you heard from Angie?” he asked, changing the subject.
Janet looked at her watch. “No,” she said. “And she should be there by now.”
“Pulitzer!” Janet called. She knew the dog heard her. She saw him look her way. Did he come? No, of course not. She sighed. “Want to help me catch a dog?”
Angie liked going up to Sedro-Woolley, a small town nestled against the mountains of the Cascades — usually referred to as the North Cascades. It was only an hour north of Seattle, but it was really another world. Rural, remote, often subject to huge snowfalls, the town made most of its living off the mountains — logging or tourism.
Ken Bryson ran Wilderness Outfitters. He and his guides took groups into the mountains for guided — and catered — trips. Angie had met him when she went with Mac to photograph a bunch of white idiots who thought they were going to be militia when the end times came — or as they referred to it, SHTF — when shit hits the fan. She had never figured out why they left off the W in the acronym. But people who believed things like that, rarely made sense in her view.
Ken was a good guy. He was a vet, and he hired mostly vets. He’d made an exception for her — he needed women guides. More and more women wanted to experience the outdoors, and they didn’t feel safe with men guides, although co-ed teams worked. And she’d even taken a couple of groups out where all the guides had been women too. That had been fun. Wild, but fun.
For all of Ken’s gruffness, he cared about people. It was why he hired vets. It was why he was making an effort to cater to women. He didn’t like people getting too close, but at arm’s length? He liked them just fine.
Reminded her of Mac, really.
Angie left work a bit early for the drive north. She stopped at the FBI office, and switched cars with Rand as she’d promised. It might be over-cautious, but at least she wouldn’t have to listen to ‘I told you so’ if things went bad. Or as the guys said, ‘tits up.’ She grinned. She was getting a whole new vocabulary hanging out with Mac.
She was worried about him. She wished he would call. She knew he was on this trip under some duress and might not be free to call. And there was the Mexican phone service to consider. She’d heard it was bad — well, that it didn’t play well with others. She didn’t know. She’d never been there.
Never been out of the Northwest, really. She wished she could have gone with Mac. They could be having fun — even if the trip wasn’t his idea.
He’d called from Vallejo to tell her he was going. Someone had been listening though. That was Tuesday. He hadn’t called last night. She didn’t expect him to tonight either. She’d called Shorty and got an update on Mac’s location, and then traced his probable route. Some long days ahead, she thought.
But she wished he would call.
She liked his uncle, however — and the girls were so cute. And smart. The oldest, Belinda, was a take-charge kind of girl. She was glad to have them stay with her. Kept her from rattling around in that place alone.
She’d never lived alone much. With her family, then in a college dorm, which hardly counted as alone. She’d moved in with her boyfriend her senior year, and when that broke up a couple of years later — and devastated her — she’d gone home to her parents. She patched herself back together, and then moved to Seattle to share an apartment with two other women.
Mac hadn’t lived alone either, she thought. Home, military, college, back to his aunt. But in some ways he had always been alone. He’d had to be self-reliant at such an early age. She was getting some of the stories out of Michael Rollings — what he knew of Sali Davis and her young son. It wasn’t good.
Angie thought it was more that Mac wasn’t used to having people care about him. He forgot. She grinned at that thought, although it made her teary-eyed as well.
Well, if she hadn’t heard from him by tomorrow night, she’d call him, she decided. What kind of a wuss was she anyway?
She took the exit at Burlington and went through a drive-through to get an extra-large mocha with an extra shot, and whipped cream. That should get her right buzzed for this. Whatever ‘this’ was. She took Highway 20 east another 10 minutes, and now that she was close, she was nervous. To be honest, she wasn’t sure what she was doing up here.
Someone had been at Craig’s apartment. Someone Craig had sent there to be safe. But he’d been found — by California FBI? — and trapped up there. Craig had planted the police blotter item so Mac would find it and head up there. She’d gone in his place.
Both of them had devious minds, she decided. That ran a big chance of not working. Why not just call Mac and ask him?
She didn’t have an answer for that question. That’s what she would have done. But, not those two. Maybe, deniability? She thought about that and shrugged. Just lie, then!
But it had worked. The FBI followed her, and apparently Craig’s ad hoc witness protection program had moved. Now this mysterious person was at Ken’s. And people thought he was young. So, Angie? You go talk to him.
She laughed at that.
Ken’s shop was just off main street. It had an inviting store front with kayaks and tents visible through the window, and a bigger work space out back where the vans were parked. He also had snowmobiles, more kayaks, river rafts — all kinds of gear. Angie went past the front to see if it was open, and seeing a light on inside, she started to swing around and park in back.
And then she saw them. The same black sedan. She was sure of it. They were parked where they could see both the front and the back — not all of the back, but enough so that they’d be able to see if someone left through the back door.
She drove on down the street. Nothing to see here, she chanted to herself.
Now what? Was she being paranoid? Well Mac maintained there was nothing wrong with that. And she could see all of his cop buddies nodding. But she didn’t think she was. That car didn’t belong in Sedro-Woolley. Too clean for starters. Too new. Didn’t have 4-wheel drive. No, it had to be the same sedan.
She went through the drive-in hamburger shop, and then pulled over to eat it. She called Ken.
“What?”
“You have some unwanted visitors?” she asked.
There was silence. “Don’t tell me,” Ken said. “You’re in town.”
“Yup.”
“Hell,” he said. “Now they’ve dragged you into this? Wait, you were the girl.”
“Yup.”
Ken sighed. “They’ve been out there all day. My young friend saw them when he was going to get us some lunch. He pulled back in. I don’t think they saw us. But I haven’t figured out what to do about it. Calling the cops is out.”
No, that wouldn’t work. They’d flash their fancy FBI shields and the local cops would help them escort Ken and ‘his young friend’ to wherever they wanted to go.
“Does your young friend know what they want?”
“Hasn’t told me, if he does.” Ken hesitated. “He’s scared, Angie. He’s 16, never been away from home. And he’s scared shitless.”
And of course, nothing would make Ken more protective than that. A scared teen? Yeah.
She thought about what could be done. And then she had an idea. “Let me call you back,” she said, and ignored his protest. He’d get all protective of her too.
She called one of the locals who was also a guide for Ken. A former sheriff reserve officer who had gotten caught up in that white militia fiasco a year ago, Kevin Pine now worked for Ken year-round. He was a young vet who wanted to do search and rescue and had a wife and young son. Ken made sure he had the time to do it — and kept him on year-round when he probably couldn’t afford to.
There were good people in the world, she thought. Just because her ex had been an ass, didn’t mean all men were.
She needed to remind herself of that.
“Hey Kevin,” she said easily. “Do you have keys to one of the vans? I’m supposed to pick one up, but I don’t have keys, and Ken’s not around.”
“Weird,” Kevin said. “I thought he was there. Sure. You want me to meet you there?”
“That would be great,” she said. “Out back in 10?”
She saw Kevin drive past her in his military-issue Jeep, and she followed him. He might recognize Rand’s car — Rand worked up here too. Didn’t matter.
She redialed Ken’s number.
“Go home, Angie,” he growled.
“Planning on it,” she said cheerfully. “But Kevin is meeting me out back to give me keys to the van. I suggest you and the boy be at the back door? And when we both pull in, I’ll be blocking the sedan’s view — and access to the lot. You two walk out — talk to Kevin and send him on his way? And get in the car with me.”
There was silence. “In five,” he said.
She grinned. This was kind of fun.
And she was even more amazed when it worked. “Where are we going?” the boy asked. His voice trembled a bit.
“We’ll drop Ken off at his place,” Angie said. “I’m Angie by the way, we almost met?”
She grinned at him in her rear-view mirror. She saw him glance at her hair and he smiled.
“Uncle Craig said you were a friend,” he said.
Uncle Craig? “I am,” she assured him. “Ken will vouch for me.”
Ken grunted. “Where do you think you’re taking him?”
“To Rand,” she answered. Well, she was full up at her place.
Ken grunted again — approval this time. He sighed. “You’ll be fine with Rand,” he told the boy. “I wish you could stay here. You’re a good worker. If you ever need a reference, use my name. And come summer? If you want to come back, and your mom approves, I’ll hire you.”
Angie’s eyes widened. High praise!
“Thank you, sir,” the young man said. She wouldn’t call him a boy if he’d managed to impress the old vet sitting next to her.
Her phone rang. She glanced at Ken and he picked it up. “Kevin,” he said, and answered it and put it on speaker phone.
“Do I want to know what that was all about?” he asked.
“No,” Angie said honestly. “But thanks for helping out.”
Kevin laughed. “See you next trip.”
Angie took Ken out to his place, a nice cabin on the river, and dropped him off. He’d figure out his car later. Angie followed Ben inside so he could pack.
“He really is a good kid,” Ken said.
“We’ll take good care of him,” she promised. “Let Craig know?”
Ken nodded. “I wish someone would tell me what’s going on,” he groused.
Angie laughed. “Where would the fun be in that?”
“I’m told you’re Ben,” Angie said cheerfully as they headed into town. “You hungry?”
He nodded. “They showed up as I was getting ready to go get us some lunch. Who are they?”
“Rogue FBI,” Angie said.
Ben rolled his eyes.
“No, really,” she said with a laugh. “Look I said I was taking you to Rand, but I think you should stay with a family rather than a single man you don’t know. Rand is a good man — a younger version of Ken. But still. Nick and Anna Rodriguez have kids, and plenty of space. You OK with that?”
“Since I don’t know any of them?” Ben said.
Angie laughed. “I’d take you home, but I’ve already got a houseful of visitors.” She pulled back into the same drive through and let Ben order whatever he wanted. Her eyes widened. Could teenaged boys really eat that much? She’d heard the jokes, but damn!
And then they were back on the road again. She hummed the song, and Ben snorted. She laughed.
“Call Nick,” she told her phone.
“Nick,” he barked.
“Ran into a problem at Ken’s,” she said. “Our black sedan found them. So I’ve got Ben with me. I think he should stay with you and Anna.”
“Sure,” he said, and he sounded more relaxed. She wondered what he’d been expecting. “I’ll call Anna and let her know. We’re in the new house.”
“So I hear,” Angie said. “When are we going to have a house warming party?”
“When Mac gets back?”
“Good,” she said. She wished it hadn’t sound like ‘if’ Mac gets back.
She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the black sedan pull out onto Highway 20 behind her.
“Uh, Nick? We’ve got a problem. We’ve picked up a tail.”
Nick swore. “Where are you?”
“Highway 20,” she said, and wanted to kick herself when her voice trembled. “Almost to Burlington. But Nick, they might have more friends up here than I do.”
He snorted. “If they try to pull you over, keep going. Lock the doors. Call the dispatcher. You liked her, right?”
Angie relaxed a bit. She wasn’t without allies up here. “I did.”
“You have the right to ask that you be allowed to proceed to the nearest police station,” he told her. “And dispatch will tell them that, if they call in looking for help. My guess is they won’t. FBI doesn’t like to play with others.”
Angie heard Ben squeak. FBI? he mouthed at her.
She grinned at him and nodded. Cool, right? she mouthed back. He laughed.
“Got it,” she said. “I’ll try to get on I-5 south, but maybe you could send out the cavalry?”
Nick grunted. “You do realize that for a lot of the West, the cavalry weren’t the good guys, right?”
“And for some of us, you, my friend, are the modern-day cavalry,” she teased.
Nick laughed. “Let me see what I can figure out. Stay for supper, why don’t you?”
“I’ve got a houseful of people,” she said. “Or I would.” She glanced at the time. “Well, actually I guess I can — Michael will have the girls fed and in bed by the time I get there now.”
“Good,” Nick said. “I’ll let Anna know.”
Angie focused on her driving and prayed the lights would be in her favor in Burlington.
The sedan kept following her. She tried to think of what their options were?
She swallowed hard. Good thing she wasn’t going home, she thought. She didn’t want to lead them to Toby Rollings’ father and daughters after all.
“Talk to me, Ben,” she ordered. Well it sounded more like pleaded, even to her own ears. “Tell me what’s going on and keep my mind off those guys back there. This is the second time I’ve been followed by them!”
Ben grinned at her. “May your life never be boring?” he asked.
She laughed. “Start talking,” she ordered. And it sounded more confident.
The more she listened the more puzzled she got, however. “So you saw a cop talking to a drug dealer. And the cop has been threatening you?” she asked to make sure she got it right.
He nodded. “Uncle Craig didn’t seem to be surprised,” he said. “But I don’t get it.”
Angie was afraid she might. “Did you recognize the cop?”
“Actually I did,” he said. “Mom is an assistant D.A., and I’ve met him before when I was with her. His name is Captain Bridgeman.”
Well now, Angie thought. She couldn’t help but glance in the rearview mirror. She didn’t see the sedan back there anymore. Well, once you were on I-5, there’s really only one place you were going. Had they gotten her plates? She giggled. Weren’t they going to be in for a surprise if they ran these plates and got back an FBI agent?
“Call Rand,” she told her phone. Rand picked up on the first ring.
“Are you OK?” he asked. “Ken called. Then Nick called. I was just trying to decide if I should call you — or pretend I was completely confident in your ability to handle this.”
Angie laughed. “Oh, pretend by all means,” she teased. “You might call Nick back and get invited to dinner though. Ben has a story you need to hear. And then we need to call Joe Dunbar.”
“On it, boss,” he joked back. “You’re really OK?”
“They didn’t flash lights or try to pull me over,” she said. “I suspect they got close enough to call in the plates, and are now sitting in some coffee shop going ‘oh shit,’ don’t you?”
Rand laughed. “Should be interesting, then,” he said. “See you in a few. I’ll pass on that name to Joe.”
Ben looked at her when she hung up. “What have I gotten myself into?”
Angie grinned. “Oh you have no idea,” she assured him. “Just wait until you hear the whole story.”