Altercation (7 page)

H
ey, Jaci! Come out here!”

Amanda’s voice rang out over the humming of the treadmill, and Jaci paused in her jog. She had made it seven minutes. A definite improvement.

“Jaci!” Ricky’s voice echoed Amanda’s.

“Coming!” She grabbed the hand towel she’d brought with her and wiped her brow. “What’s up?”

The two of them sat on the couch, eyes glued to the television set. “What are they doing?” Amanda asked, gesturing.

Jaci turned and studied the TV. Then she started laughing. “Why are you watching a Mexican channel?”

Ricky shrugged. “It’s either this or the soap opera Amanda wants to watch.”

“Hey!” Amanda nudged him with her shoulder.

“But seriously.” Ricky extended the remote, pointing at the screen. “Why all the little skeletons?”

“Haven’t you ever heard of the Day of the Dead?”

“Sure,” Amanda said. “It was a big deal in California. It’s kind of like Halloween, right?”

“Um, well, not really.” Jaci started to correct her, but Ricky flipped the channel. This was another Spanish station, but it showed dancers in authentic clothing.

“Can you dance like that?” Ricky asked.

“Of course. It’s the salsa.” Jaci felt her hips and feet yearning to move to the music.

Amanda jumped off the couch. “Show me.”

Jaci’s face warmed. She had been dancing since she was two or three, but only at family functions. “Well, okay.” She started out with the basic foot movement. Then the beat to the music on the television sped up, and so did Jaci. She closed her eyes, forgetting that she was tired. She spun around, lifting her hands over her head and swirling to the beat.

Abruptly the song ended, and whistles and cheers erupted from the TV.

Not just the TV, either. Jaci opened her eyes. Ricky leaned forward on the couch, clapping, a grin on his face. “That was great!”

“Jaci, I didn’t know you could dance!” Sara exclaimed. She stood next to Neal in their bedroom doorway.

“Good job.” Amanda sat back down on the couch and turned the channel to a soap opera. “Though you lost me. You’re not a very good teacher.”

Jaci pressed the palms of her hands to her face, feeling the heat radiating beneath them. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to take off like that.” She glanced down at her workout clothes, thoroughly embarrassed for dancing in front of everyone. “I better go shower.”

She pushed past Sara into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Steam from the hot water fogged up the mirror. She couldn’t wait for this to be over.

She stepped out of the shower and into a pair of light blue sweats. A pile of rubber bands sat by the sinks, and she wrapped one around her hair.

The bedroom door clicked a second before it opened. Sara poked her head in. “Safe to come in?”

Which must mean that Sara had someone else with her. “Uh-huh.”

Sara widened the door and she and Neal came in.

“Hey, Jaci. Hungry?” Neal gave her a smile but stayed in the doorway. Sara stepped into the bathroom.

“Hey.” Jaci played with the sleeves of her sweatshirt. “I was just on my way upstairs to get some food.”

“We ate,” he said. “But I need a snack.”

Sara emerged from the bathroom. “Ready.” She walked out, Neal following after her.

Jaci let them take the lead. She clattered up the stairs, catching the door before it closed behind Neal. “What’s for lunch?”

Neal pulled tin containers from the fridge. “Baked beans and hot dogs.” He added the plastic bag of buns to the top of a tin, then piled chips onto a paper plate and sat down next to Sara.

Jaci had just joined them with a giant hot dog in her hand when a shadow crossed the table. She glanced up to see Agent Banks. He waited until Neal and Sara looked up too. “Where are Ricky and Amanda? I dont see them downstairs.”

“I don’t know,” Neal said. “Maybe our room.”

Jaci put her hot dog down. Amanda with Ricky? It wouldn’t be the first time. But she hated not being able to trust him.

“I want to see the girls only in the conference room, ten minutes.”

Jaci and Sara nodded, and Agent Banks left the kitchen.

“Yeah, something’s up,” Neal said.

Jaci drummed her fingers on the table. “What do Ricky and Amanda do in your room?”

Neal quirked an eyebrow at her. “Why do you care?”

Jaci pursed her lips, annoyed by the question. “I don’t. Just curious.”

“Ask Ricky, then. And you better get to the conference room.”

“Yeah,” Jaci sighed. “Let’s go, Sara.”

Five minutes after Jaci and Sara had settled themselves in the room, Amanda shuffled in, crossing her arms over her chest and slumping against the wall. Agent Banks came in next and closed the door.

“Okay,” Banks said without preamble, pulling out a chair and sitting himself at the table. He placed a manila file folder in front of him. “There’s been a new development.”

“Did you find The Hand?” Amanda asked, her eyes widening.

“No,” he replied with a shake of his head. “But we’ve started setting up a web, and we’re getting word from Canada that The Hand has been too quiet lately. Also, your location is in jeopardy. Until we know how extensive his network is, we can’t trust that you’re still safe here.”

“In jeopardy?” Amanda echoed. “Oh my gosh! You mean, he knows we’re here?”

“There is the possibility,” Banks said, his lips tight. His unibrow furrowed down like a caterpillar inching its way to his nose.

“How?” Jaci gasped. Her mind ticked back to the earlier conversation with him. “Is that why you kept asking me if I’d tried to contact home?”

“It’s my fault,” Sara said, ducking her head. “I didn’t think there was any risk.”

Jaci turned to her, stunned. “You?” Sara had been too paranoid on the trek to even let the girls call home, for fear of being intercepted. “What did you do?”

“She mailed a letter,” Banks said. “From the hotel in Ohio, when you were staying with Agent Reynolds’ family.”

“I didn’t say where we are,” Sara said. “I just wanted to tell them we’re safe. I didn’t think they could track us.”

“To make a long story short,” Banks said, “her parents never got the letter. It could’ve been lost in the mail, but we have to assume it was intercepted. In which case, The Hand might be able to track you down. This safe house isn’t far from where your hotel was.”

“Are we in danger?” Jaci asked.

Banks shook his head. “Not yet. But we’ve started making plans to move you. Any questions?”

For a moment no one spoke, and then Amanda asked, “Any updates on The Hand?”

“We have an investigator looking for him. He’s flying in tomorrow to ask you some questions.” Banks drummed his fingers on the table. “That’s it. I expect we’ll have you moved within forty-eight hours. Oh, and don’t tell the boys just yet.”

C
arl Hamilton could not fathom why he was jittery. But he was. He clutched his black briefcase and stared out the window as the car wound up the paved drive. Tall deciduous trees blocked the view of the safe house from the road, even though most of the leaves had fallen with the onset of autumn. The FBI agent—Carl couldn’t remember his name—who had met him at the airport hadn’t said more than three words on the half hour drive.

He looked at his watch and reminded himself that it was two hours later here than in Idaho. His watch said three in the afternoon, which meant here it was five o’clock.

Carl’s mind drifted home for a moment, and he pictured his wife, Kristin, the way she’d looked when he left. Getting out of the shower, hair damp, pink towel wrapped around her slender figure. She looked great. Most people still thought she was in her late twenties.

He wished she were with him.

After all the work he’d put into the case to find these three girls, he felt like he knew them. He knew everything about them. What they looked like, their favorite foods, their friends, their fights with family members. But he’d never met them. And until recently, they probably hadn’t known he existed. The joy he’d felt when they were found was akin to the happiness captured on film when a soldier comes home to his loved ones. He’d worried, fretted, eaten pickles, and even prayed over these girls.

Pickles. He needed to get some. No more bringing glass Clausen jars into the airport. He’d made that mistake once. The sad, unopened jar had shattered when the security guard tossed it in the trash. Everyone flinched, and Carl was certain they’d been half afraid it was a homemade bomb. Nope. Just a jar full of fermented cucumbers.

The car stopped in front of a gate guarding a single-level ranch house with blue shutters. The blinds were drawn. Looked like one level, but Carl was willing to bet there was a basement.

The agent punched in a code and swiped his ID card. They pulled into the garage and parked.

Carl took a deep breath. “Thank you.”

The agent nodded, the single eyebrow above his eyes curving into a frown, and got out of the car. Carl followed.

They stepped into a hallway that led to the kitchen. A tall black woman stood at the table, glancing over paperwork. Her hair fell in thick ringlets over her button-up shirt. She didn’t look like an FBI agent. She looked up, her eyes narrowing as she studied him.

Intense gaze. Made him want to cover himself. Definitely an FBI agent.

She extended a hand. “Come on in.” A smile never touched her lips. “The teenagers are downstairs in the conference room. Detective Hamilton, I presume?”

Carl pushed his briefcase onto one arm and took her hand. “Yes.”

“I’m Agent Magrew.” Her lips contrasted with her ebony skin. “My job is to look like a housewife.”

“Ah.” Carl had never been in a safe house. He glanced around the dining room and kitchen. It looked like a house. Modern conveniences, black stove, black fridge, wood table. He supposed that made sense. A house wouldn’t be very safe if someone could look at it and know what it was. “Are the kids’ rooms up here?”

“No. Sleeping quarters and the conference room are all downstairs. The boys have one room and the girls another. From the outside, no one can tell the house has a basement.”

She must think he was an idiot. “Yeah, I noticed that.”

The other man cleared his throat. “Shall we?”

“Of course.”

A door separated the main floor from the basement, and the agent swiped his card to open it. Carl took in the floor plan as they descended. Several rooms were down here, including one with a flat-screen television. They walked across the plush carpet and entered an office set up with a long oval table and several chairs.

The girls sat around the table. After the police had found Callie’s body, nightmares haunted him with images of the other girls dead as well. To see them alive felt surreal. “Hello.” Carl put his briefcase on the table and extended his hand to Sara. “I’m Detective Hamilton. I worked on your case.”

The skinny blond took his hand. “Hi. I’m Sara.”

He nodded. She had fewer freckles now than in her pictures, perhaps because summer was behind them. No smile played about her lips and eyes the way it did in the photos. On the contrary. Her eyes were dark and somber.

He turned to the next girl. “Jaci.” He grasped her hand.

“You know me?”

“Of course.” He included Amanda and Sara in his reply. “I’ve been to Canada, Vermont, Maryland, and New York tracking you girls.”

The corners of Jaci’s mouth turned up. “Maryland?”

“Yes.” Carl allowed a wry note of humor to enter his tone. “Somebody called and said you girls were going to Maryland. We followed the lead until it turned out to be fake.” His eyes flicked to the last girl, the taller redhead with dark green eyes. Even sitting with her arms crossed, Carl knew that she looked more like a woman than a girl. “And Amanda.”

“Hi.” She leaned forward and shook his hand. “Thanks for helping find us.”

Carl turned to the twin boys across the table. “And Ricky and Neal. How you stumbled into this mess is beyond me. But here you are.” He opened his briefcase and moved to the front of the room.

“One of my biggest cases right now is locating The Hand. As soon as I find him, we can make an arrest—with the cooperation of the Canadian police—and you girls will be safe again. Safe enough to go home.” He held up a black and white drawing. “I have here a composite sketch of The Hand. It was drawn by an artist in Canada using the second-hand witness of a girl named Rachel Brosseau. Name sound familiar?”

There was a moment of silence, and then Sara lurched forward, her hazel eyes widening. “Rachel? From Canada? Natalie’s friend?”

Carl nodded. “That’s right. Only Rachel never saw The Hand. She drew it based on what Sara told her. I’m not sure how accurate this sketch is.”

Amanda lifted a shoulder. “Yeah, it’s a little off. You should’ve asked one of us.”

He chuckled and put the paper down. “We’ll work on that. But this is the best we’ve ever had. It’s a huge triumph for us.”

“What about Natalie?” Jaci asked. “Is she okay?”

Carl thought back to the hectic days when he and the RCMP investigator, Ancelin, had tracked down Natalie. She and her friends had been falsely accused and arrested by the Montreal police, just to keep them quiet. This revealed a huge coup in the police force. But no harm had come to the girls, and everyone was fine at home now. “Yes, she and Rachel are okay. As soon as your rescue is made public, I’ll make sure they know you’re safe too.”

Jaci settled back in her chair. But Carl noticed how she kept her eyes on him.
She has questions for me.
And he could guess about what. But she’d have to wait.

“Now.” He pulled out an atlas and spread it over the table. “Best as I can tell, this is the route The Hand took when he kidnapped you.” Carl pointed out Idaho Falls and ran his finger along US-191. “They took the highway rather than the interstate, probably to avoid traffic. From here I assume they crossed into Canada at the border,” he traced his finger up into Canada, “and headed for Montreal. You three came out in Victoriaville.” He pointed out the small spot in the east, marked with a blue sharpie. “Which means, The Hand’s lair must be close to Victoriaville. How long did you walk before meeting Natalie?”

“All night,” Sara said. “We walked all night.”

“Okay. So six, eight hours.”

“It was a mountain,” Jaci said. “We had to walk down it. Some parts were steep and rocky. We fell a lot.”

He nodded, still trying to calculate the distance in his head. One mile every twenty minutes, maybe less because of the terrain. Three miles an hour. They’d walked between nine and twelve miles. Definitely giving him a radius to search in. “I leave for Canada tomorrow. Can you describe the house to me?”

Carl spent the next half hour gleaning as much information from the girls as he could. Satisfied, he closed his folder, tucking the notes inside. “Thank you. I know you want him found as much as I do.” He paused, and then added, “It’s wonderful to see you all alive and well.”

“All right.” The agent stood up, rubbing his hands together. “I’ll get the detective to his hotel.”

“Wait.” Carl dug around until he found his wallet, then he pulled out his business cards. “Each of you take one of these. If you think of anything—or need anything—don’t hesitate to call.” He passed the cards around and the kids took them as they moved for the door.

Except Jaci. She lingered by the table, fingering the upholstery of one of the chairs, her eyes studying the grains in the wood.

Carl pretended not to notice her. He took his time rearranging his briefcase. Finally Sara, the last of the group, left, throwing a curious look at Jaci over her shoulder.

“Did you need something, Jaci?” the agent asked.

“Yes, Agent Banks. If I could, I’d like to speak with Detective Hamilton for a moment. Alone.”

“Fine with me.” Carl looked at Agent Banks, glad to finally have a name to associate with the man.

Banks gave a slight frown. “Why alone?”

She shrugged, toying with her long black hair. “’Cause if I have an audience, I’ll get nervous.”

Banks glanced up at the corner of the room, and Carl knew he must have a recording device planted there. He nodded. “Sure. Detective, I’ll be in the sitting room when you’re ready.”

Carl sat back down and gave Jaci what he hoped was a comforting smile.

She waited until the door closed after Banks. “You were the one on our case. You spoke to our families?”

“Yes. I met each of your families. I spoke with them in great detail about you.”

“Did you talk to my father?” Her cheeks reddened.

Again he nodded, careful not to throw out any information. Let her ask the questions.

“When was the last time you saw him?”

Carl remembered the confrontation at the Rivera house quite clearly, but he didn’t want to reveal that to her. “The night he left on his business trip. I asked him where he was going.”

“Where was he going?”

“He didn’t tell me.”

“What’s going on? Where is he? Why didn’t he come back?”

Carl leaned forward, squeezing his hands together. “What do you know, Jaci?”

She looked down, the tears escaping over the brims of her eyes. “I know that The Hand knew him. They called him the Carnicero.”

“The Carnicero?” Carl echoed. He tried not to appear too eager at this new information. “How do you know this?”

She licked her lips and her eyes flicked around the room.

“Jaci.” He spoke gently, wanting to keep her talking. “I’m trying to find your father. Anything you tell me will be able to help me.”

She took a careful breath. “It’s just I’m not sure which side he’s on.”

Her small voice almost didn’t reach his ears. He nodded. “We’re not sure either. But we’ll never know unless we find him.”

She swallowed. “I overheard The Hand talking about us. What he was going to do with us. Then Claber said something about not being too hasty—with me. Because I was the Carnicero’s daughter. And he said my father’s name.”

Carl analyzed this new information. Didn’t sound like the Carnicero was a friend, then, or they’d have turned Jaci over to him. They wanted to hold her for collateral, maybe. “Anything else?”

She shook her head. “No. I was hoping you could tell me more. What did you find on him?”

“Hasn’t your mother said anything in her letters?”

“One letter. I’ve only gotten one. But no. She said he’d vanished, and the police had searched the house. What did the police find?”

“We found a few things that might give us leads.” Carl remained evasive. “What we have found out is that he never got a college degree and the company he worked for doesn’t exist. It doesn’t appear that Gregorio Rivera is his real name. ”

The skin around her eyes tightened. “His name’s not even Gregorio Rivera?”

“No.”

She directed her gaze downward. Carl sympathized. He couldn’t even imagine what she was thinking. She looked back up. “Who was he working for, then?”

“We don’t know yet. But I have some leads, Jaci. This is important. My department has the funding, and I’ll travel the globe looking for him.”

She fingered the thin business card. “Will you call me if you get any news?”

Carl hesitated. “I’m not sure I’ll be allowed to contact you. The FBI agreed to let me meet with you girls today, but I don’t know that they’ll always be so willing. If you remember something—even something from a long time ago—you have the FBI call that cell phone. Just watch what you say.”

“Thank you, Detective. Thank you for looking for us.”

He tucked his chin down so she wouldn’t see his emotion. “Just doing my job.”