Connections: Conexiones (Mercenaries Book 3) Page 4

  “So, the defense snatched Amy to force Abby to… to recant?” Beckie sucked her lip between her teeth. “But they’re lawyers, they can’t do… that,” she said, waving at Shen’s laptop.

  “It isn’t likely,” Kevin agreed, “but we don’t know anything about the killer, either.”

  “Indeed. Kevin, please see what you can learn about…”

  When Ian stopped and looked at Beckie, she read, “Donato Talos. The one in jail, you mean?”

  “Yes. Kevin?”

  “On my way. Keep in touch.” He turned to leave. “Oops, sorry,” he said to Elena Rios, who bounced off his hip as she attempted to enter.

  “It’s okay. But you might want to hear this.”

  Ian nodded, and Kevin followed Elena back in.

  “I was ready to go through Amy’s room.” Elena dipped her head to Millie, who nodded. “Right in the middle of her desk, this was lying face up.” She dropped a pink envelope on the glass table. They all scowled at the addressee written in Amy’s neat hand. Elena nudged the envelope toward Beckie.

  Beckie reached out but her hand moved as if the envelope were a scorpion. She used a fingertip to pull it close. As she stared, her indecision frustrated her, and she ripped the flap open to grab the folded paper inside.

  She read silently until she heard a cough. When she looked up, she felt her cheeks warm. “Sorry.” She looked back at the letter.

  “‘Hi, Beckie!’” she read. “‘I don’t expect you’ll ever read this unless I tell you about it first, but just in case. Mom’ll never look in my room, so something’ll have to really be wrong for you to see it, in which case, I want you to know what’s happened.’” Beckie glanced at Millie, who nodded slowly, though the muscles at the sides of her jaws were clenched. Beckie decided not to ask about that, now at least.

  “‘I got a little package from Abby the other day, but it said wait to open it, so I tucked it away in my underwear drawer. Then early today, Monday, I got an email from Abby.

  “‘She said she was able to take a week off, and if I wanted to join her, I should open the package. If I didn’t, or couldn’t, just leave the package alone. Ha-ha! You know I wasn’t going to pass up the chance!

  “‘You were flying, I guess, so I couldn’t talk to you. I ripped the package open and in it was a passport with my picture in it, and Amy Rochambeau’s name. She’s eighteen, or I am, I guess, with it! Inside the passport, there’s a plane ticket from Providenciales, that’s in the Turks and Caicos you know. She said she remembered when I told her about sailing there a couple years ago. My butt’s still sore—’”

  “Not as sore—” Millie slapped her hand over her mouth. “God, that was stupid! Forgive me.”

  “Millie, if you would rather—”

  “No, Ian, what I’d rather is that Amy was here beside us, not being raped and tortured in some shack somewhere.” She rose and walked to the rail overlooking the ocean. Her voice was clear in spite of facing away. “Forgive my outbursts and then forget them. I’ll do my best to help us, no matter what you think that is.” She faced Ian. “As long as I am informed.”

  Ian nodded, first to Millie, then to Beckie.

  “‘My butt’s still sore from that ha-ha!

  “‘The ticket is from Providenciales to Miami, where she’s gonna send a limo to pick me up! A big white one, she said!

  “‘This will be such fun! I can’t wait!

  “‘Anyway, I expect I’ll be back in about a week, and then we can laugh about this letter before I burn it ha-ha.

  “‘Hope you and Mr. Jamse work your thing out. Thanks for helping Shalin with Alisha; I really like both of them.’”

  Beckie’s voice was more ragged than she wanted, but she finished. “‘Your friend.’ She ends with her initials and a smiley.” She swiped a tear away.

  “Kinda scary hearing that, knowing what we know now,” Kevin said after a minute’s silence. “I’m sorry, Millie.” At the door, he stopped. “Shen, someone’s got a lot better access than they should, if they can get a picture good enough for a passport, and get a package into our deliveries.”

  “That’s for sure.” Shen smacked his forehead. “That damn boat!” Beckie stared at him. He looked around. “Let me do some work knowing what we do now.” He focused on Ian. “There isn’t any reason to think Abby was involved in any way? Not that it would answer anything but the photo,” he finished.

  “I am unwilling to dismiss the possibility completely, but it is the last thing we should spend time on.” His wave halted Shen at the door. When he spoke, his voice was so taut, Beckie turned to him. “Kevin and I will meet with you in the morning. Be prepared to discuss our security lapses.”

  Beckie felt her jaw drop. This bothers him. Even more than I expected! I don’t know… “I’m going to take a walk,” she said. “There’s something in that video. I need to think. Want to walk along with me, Millie?”

  The doctor spun around, wide-eyed, mouth open. “What? No, I’d better get back to the hospital. I’ll be in touch.” She fixed Beckie, and then Ian, with a glare softened only slightly by the tears wetting her cheeks.

  Beckie took Millie’s arm and walked to the door with her. She turned back into the space, now dominated by Ian’s tense posture. “Ian, I’ll see you in a half hour unless something clicks first.”

  His smile was one of the thinnest she’d ever seen.

  The half hour on the beach provided no enlightenment; Beckie returned to the house to find the lanai and kitchen both empty.

  Well, where could he be? A slight noise from the bedrooms gave her the clue; she walked to Ian’s door and rapped, but gently.

  In a moment, he’d opened the door and invited her in, and through to the balcony lanai looking out over the beach and water to the south. When she reached the railing, she turned and caught his hands in hers.

  “Something even bigger than Amy’s bothering you, Ian. Please tell me.”

  He retrieved one hand and scrubbed it through his hair. The side where Millie’d shaved him to work on his skull still showed, even though none of his white-blond hair was long.

  He sighed and reached for her, to embrace her. She forced herself to listen to his soft-spoken words rather than the pounding of either of their hearts.

  “Do you remember the papers you signed for Rou when you agreed to join us?”

  Whoa! What’s that about? “Not really. I mean, I looked at them, but honestly? She said I had to sign them, and you said they wouldn’t be used to toss me out, so… I signed them.” She kissed his chest through his shirt. “Dad looked at them, too. He didn’t see anything to worry over. Why?”

  “They contained a two-way promise: from you-to-me, as you would have expected, and from me-to-you.”

  “And the you-to-me part bothers you now, right? Actually, the you-to-Millie and her family part.” She straightened without releasing him. “Let’s go to the Bright Room; use the sofa there.”

  He allowed her to lead to the room on the eastern end of the house. He and Boynton had created a sort of escape there. While it did have a couch and a bed, it also had several reading chairs, a few thousand books, an easel with blank canvases, oils and watercolors, a game table with a supply of board games, a guitar and to complete the picture, an antique harpsichord that Pieter kept in tune.

  Beckie found it too… too enticing, usually, to spend much time there. Sleep would end early; the sun shining in the morning gave the room its name. Still, for this, it was perfect. She and Ian were still under Millie’s orders about sex, or rather, no sex, so cuddling and talking would have to fill the bill.

  She pushed him to sit, then lay down with her head on his thigh. Looking up, she said, “I hope to hell you’re not going to try and hold yourself responsible for a teenage girl’s attempt to find love and freedom all at the same time. No matter how it worked out.”

  “No. Of course, that is a major concern. However, beyond Amy Rose’s… abuse lies an even greater problem. Where we… Me, Kev
in, Shen, Millie and possibly others have failed Amy Rose… We allowed the tools to be given her, enabling her brief flight into a hell she neither intended nor deserves. That is my concern.”

  “Shen does really good work, you know that.”

  “Of course he does. Still, he may have erred. If so, we need to understand how, to prevent similar attempts.”

  He gently urged her to her knees, their faces approximately level. “Whether you or they read them or not, I have made promises to every team member: to protect them and those they involve with us; to heal them at need, and to release them when they determine that is the proper course for them. Amy Rose’s abduction is a dereliction of that promise.” The ice blue of his eyes splintered her. “I must ensure that not only she is recovered safely, but that it cannot recur.”

  Beckie touched his lips as he finished and whispered, “We must ensure that. You’re not alone, love.” She crushed herself against him. “It’s the team’s promise to us, for us.”

  “Thank you, love, for reminding me. I would ask you to join us in the morning…”

  She leaned away so he could see her smile. “I’d be superfluous. You can sort things through without my stumbling around.” She twisted to sit across his lap, their arms encircling each other. While kissing along his jaw, she said, “I’ll keep Millie occupied, and try to remember what it was in that video.”

  Chapter Five

  Rescue

  TUESDAY, BECKIE WAS BACK AT school, or rather, she was in Coral Gables, in her off-campus apartment, lying in bed listening to the Noon News. Tropical storm Hanna was now projected to graze Florida’s west coast after washing over Key West tonight. School had not closed after all.

  She stretched and sat up. Might as well get moving. As she went about showering, dressing and collecting herself, she thought over the couple of days since she’d discovered Amy was being raped and tortured. Through her walks on the beach and her talks with Ian and Kevin, nothing had revealed whatever it was in the video that tickled her memory.

  Without interesting tidbits to contemplate, her mind drifted to the news broadcast. She’d been to Key West, once, for an evening—

  That’s it! Camp We-something. That astronomy class last February. The Winter… Winter Star Party! Camp Wesumkee!

  She grabbed her phone and called Ian. No answer! Where is he? She ran out of her room and down the hall to her roommate’s room.

  She hit the door with her fist. “Sandy! You in there?”

  The door flew open and Sandy Daniels looked out. “What the hell, Beckie?” Sandy wore a towel; her shoulder length hair was dripping down her arms and face. “I was—”

  “Washing your hair, yeah. Sorry. The Hummer’s still downstairs, right? I need to borrow it. Please?”

  “Sure. Why?” Sandy opened a small case on her desk and flipped a set of keys to Beckie.

  “I need to drive down the Keys. With the storm, I figured my Miata might not be the best car.”

  Sandy laughed and closed the door. Beckie heard “Be careful.” Suddenly the door opened again. “Take Greg along. You’re not big enough to fight any storm by yourself.” Her face clouded over. “I’d go, too, but I have that interview…” She swung the door closed again.

  Beckie took a step back to lean against the wall, considering the option. Sandy’s brother Greg, their upstairs roommate, offered height and weight, and familiarity with the Hummer. She’d been in it once when Sandy had suggested they beach it for a day last spring.

  Then, could she put Greg at risk the way she’d done to Haleef a month ago; at risk first from the storm, and second, from whoever was holding Amy?

  She straightened and jogged up to the second floor where Greg and his significant other, Marla, shared space. As soon as Greg heard Beckie’s review of Amy’s situation, he jumped up from his desk and pulled on his jeans. Beckie and Marla giggled together as they watched him dash around the room.

  “You bring him back safe, hear?” Marla was the daughter of a Cuban immigrant; she took no prisoners when they played the occasional game of D&D or even Monopoly. Beckie didn’t want to disappoint her.

  “Don’t worry about us,” Greg said as he dragged his shoe on. “Let’s go, Beckie. The H1 is plenty heavy, but still…”

  She nodded. “Thanks for loaning him out, Marla! Want to drive, Greg?”

  “No, I hate it. I’ll ride. Maybe sleep a little. It’ll be a couple hours, I guess.”

  Ten minutes later Beckie’d changed into camos and removed her Ruger LCR from the safe. She had ensconced herself in the Hummer’s cab after they pulled the seat all the way forward. Her feet now reached the pedals, and she reviewed her wide open viewpoint. The revolver went in the close-at-hand storage bin. “Hope I don’t need it,” she said to Greg.

  He’d taken the back seat; he could almost stretch his six foot height across the width without bending his knees.

  The GPS knew Camp Wesumkee and gave a toll-laden path estimated to take two and a half hours. Beckie thought the 120 mile trip might take a little longer today. She wanted to get to Florida City before Monroe County closed access to the Keys.

  As she headed to the Florida Turnpike south, Greg pointed out they had fuel to drive about three hundred miles. That’s a margin, Beckie thought. Not comfortable, but greater than zero.

  “I wonder if the sat phone…” She took it out and dialed. “Ian, I love you! I think I know where Amy is… On a key, in a Girl Scout camp. It’s Camp Wesum-something. On Scout Key… Next to Spanish Harbor Key. About sixty miles before Key West…”

  “How—”

  “You’ll never believe… Last February? When I couldn’t come home that weekend? The Winter Star Party? No? Never mind then. I recognized the inside of the chickee they were filming in. I’m on the way…”

  “Take care.”

  “Of course I’ll be careful. Greg Daniels is with me, so I’ll have to take care of him too.” He grinned and made some wild gesticulations. She laughed. “He says he’ll watch out for me…”

  “Leave the satellite phone on; we will track the beacon. As soon as I can arrange it.”

  “Okay, see you soon…”

  “As soon as may be. I love you.”

  “Love you, too!” She found an elastic strap around one of the sun visors and slid the phone under it. She checked to make sure it was on and folded the visor into place. “Ian says he’ll try and figure out how to get here. If he can, he’ll follow the phone…” She pointed to the visor. “… to find us.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He didn’t say. If he’s at home, he’s in the Bahamas.”

  Florida City had a warning about dangerous conditions expected on the Overseas Highway, especially near Key West, but no check points. Beckie glanced in the mirror to see Greg still sleeping.

  An hour later, she stopped in Layton, looking through the huge windshield at the black wall of storms ahead. In the back seat, Greg held up his phone. “Weather Channel says Hanna picked up speed toward Key West. They expect her to make landfall about eight tonight.”

  “Thanks,” Beckie said. A gust of wind shook the heavy vehicle. “Huh. I better focus on driving. GPS says we still have thirty-five miles to go. I doubt we’re gonna make real good time.”

  “Yeah. Looks to be a small storm, but intense. Storm force winds are maybe fifty miles from the center.”

  “I’m more interested in the storm surge. We’re about ten feet above the water, here, and the camp is lower still.”

  “Won’t they pack up and leave?”

  “Don’t know. They haven’t displayed super-intelligence so far. It’s why I wanted to get there fast.”

  The Hummer lumbered along. The increasing wind forced her to drop the speed; she was uncomfortable over twenty now. As she arrived in Marathon, police were shepherding traffic out north, but while the officer looked at the vehicle and shook his head, he made no move to stop them. Occasionally they had seen vehicles headed north, but now, with wind-blown sp
ray almost solid, Seven Mile Bridge was empty.

  “Smart people,” Greg said, perhaps reading her thoughts. “Getting nasty. Tell me again why this is a good idea.”

  Beckie’s fists tightened on the wheel. “It’s not,” she said. “You know that. Except there’s this fifteen year old girl—”

  “I know. Just talking to hear myself. Don’t worry.”

  “I’ll turn around right now; take you back to Marathon. But I gotta—”

  “Shut up! I’m in, dammit. Just ‘cause I’m scared to death… Shut up and drive.”

  Me, too, Beckie thought.

  The clock in the dash read five thirty when they passed the sign for Scout Key. Beckie assumed it was there; she didn’t see it. But Greg called out “Eight-tenths of a mile, on the left.”

  “I remember the left. Trees on both sides and a gate.”

  Like they had been on the other keys, the trees bent before the wind. Leaves, fronds and twigs flew across the road. Grateful for the automatic transmission, Beckie was barely moving. The daylight had failed, and the glare of the headlights off the rain made them nearly useless.

  “There! Is that the turn-off?”

  Beckie turned across the highway and narrowly missed a clump of trees. The buffeting wasn’t as bad in the lee of the trees, and Beckie could see the gate swinging in the wind. The faded Stop sign was hanging upside down and shaking back and forth.

  This is really stupid, she thought. The water already covered the key to where they were stopped. “How much water are we good for?”

  “I don’t know the limit. We’ve had it up to the seats.” He patted the cushion. “The snorkel helps.”

  “So as long as we’re just sitting in water, it’ll keep going?”

  “For a while, anyway. We only forded streams and small rivers.” He gaped out the window at the waves being driven at them. “Nothing like this.”