Deep Into The Night (Hartz Island Series)

Deep Into the Night
by Tracie Ingersoll Loy
Copyright © Tracie Ingersoll Loy, 2013

All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

This e-book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.

Musa Publishing
633 Edgewood Ave
Lancaster,
OH
43130
www.MusaPublishing.com

Issued by Musa Publishing, November 2013

This e-book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this e-book can be reproduced or sold by any person or business without the express permission of the publisher.

ISBN
: 978-1-61937-387-7

Head Editor: Aimee Benson and Jeanne De Vita
Editor: Jessica Robinson
Artist: Kelly Shorten
Line Editor: Damien Grintalis
Interior Book Design: Cera Smith

Acknowledgments

Thank you to all who helped me.

Paula and Beth who allowed me to bounce ideas off them and had the courage to give me a thumbs down.

Janet in British Columbia who helped me with Canadian research.

San Juan County Sheriff’s Department

Seattle office of Immigration, Customs and Enforcement

Sergeant J. Duncan, retired, King County Police Department

Morro Bay Chamber of Commerce

Luke’s dad, Jim

Sadie and Zoe’s mom

Captain M. D. Loy, Boeing 727, 737, MD-80, DC9

and special thanks to my editor, Jessica Robinson.

For my talented and funny daughter. The world is your oyster, open the shell!

Chapter One

S
pecial Investigative Agent Jack Wyatt glanced at his watch again.
Every person in Seattle must be headed to the Seattle Tacoma Airport this morning
, he thought. The Alaskan Way viaduct was at a standstill. To offset his frustration, he punched the buttons on his radio, hoping to find a traffic report. He pulled into the parking garage. With thirty minutes to spare, he jogged to the terminal and up to security where the lines were ungodly. Jack moved to the left into the “special lane,” as he liked to call it, and waited his turn behind a flight crew.

“Well hey, Jack,” said the security officer. He flashed his Immigration, Customs, and Enforcement credentials to the officer even though they knew each other. “Where are you headed this morning?”

“Los Angeles. I’m cutting it close. Traffic was horrendous.”

“Get going then.”

Jack moved swiftly to the B terminal, looking for his gate at Southwest Airlines. He hoped they hadn’t started loading because he dreaded the middle seat. The gate agent was just making the announcements. He glanced back at Starbucks to see if he had time to grab a cup, but decided not to push it. Instead, he went through the ritual of letting the correct people know he was flying with them today, carrying a weapon. Once on board, he introduced himself to the pilots, and then found an aisle seat. He was not looking forward to this trip, and he had four hours to contemplate it all.

Her metamorphosis was complete. Cassie Ryan barely recognized the person staring back at her from the mirror. Makeup was her friend Alexa’s specialty. What had been flowing sable-colored hair was now tightly braided with wide gray streaks that hung down her neck. Thick black-framed glasses covered her dove gray eyes. A darker tone of make-up replaced hers, covering her face, neck, and hands, giving her a nondescript look. The maid’s uniform hung loosely over her clothing, complete with bulky white socks bunched above the black crepe-soled shoes.

“José is ready,” called Alexa. “He’s backing up Old Blue now.”

Cassie emerged from the bathroom and looked at her friend.

“There’s more to you than Hollywood. Find the person you lost. You deserve better than this,” said Alexa.

Unable to speak, Cassie nodded.

“Make this your best acting job to date.”

“I don’t know if I can do this. I’m not strong like you.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m frightened. It’s seems that’s all I’ve been lately.”

“Cass! Yes you can. Listen to me. Those FBI men at your house don’t care about some maid showing up. They want Sergei. However, they’ll go after you to get to him, but not some maid.”

“Can’t we just wait? I still don’t understand why I have to leave today. Now.”

“It’s not safe. Like I said earlier, José saw an unfamiliar SUV watching the house while he worked the front gardens. I can’t put the girls in jeopardy, especially if Sergei and his so-called business thugs come here looking for you. If Sergei gets out on bail today, which I suspect he will, you’re done. This is your one chance to get into that house, get your passport, and retrieve your things. You need to get as far away from Los Angeles as you can. Sergei is not a nice man. I don’t know how else to convince you other than I’m not blind. I’ve seen what’s gone on these last couple of months. There’s been too many broken lunch dates, wearing long sleeves…”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Oh, really?” Alexa sighed and shook her head. “What was it that Madame Sofia said in your reading? There are no coincidences. I have to agree with her. What if she hadn’t insisted we continue with the celestial ceremony and then the crystal treatments? You would have been at the house when it was raided. They would have nabbed you too. You would be in jail right now.”

“But I don’t know anything!”

“The FBI doesn’t know that. Sergei’s business thugs don’t know it, nor do the people he scammed. They all think you do and that you’re in on it all.”

Cassie took a deep breath, trying to offset the anger that was ready to explode—not just from the last twenty-four hours, but from the façade of a relationship.

“It’s time to be in charge of your life. Be the driver, not the passenger.”

Their eyes locked.

“Here’s the paperwork for the truck, bill of sale for one dollar, and the title.”

“You’re giving me Old Blue?”

“The new truck is coming on Friday. I’ve been sad about junking Blue, so this will be good.”

Cassie tucked the sealed white envelope away in her purse.

“Somehow let me know you’re safe. I’m staying here. You walk up to the main house and come back out through the side door and get in the truck. If anyone is watching, they’ll just assume you’re Maria. Remember, whatever you do, leave no trail.”

“But where am I supposed to go? What am I supposed to use for money?”

“You’ll figure it out. I tucked a bit of money in the envelope. Old Blue will take you where you need to go, but it’s up to you to do the rest.”

Cassie saw the sadness in her friend’s eyes. She swallowed hard and blinked away tears. They had been best friends since college and had come to L.A. together to seek their fame and fortune. Only one of them seemed to have gotten it right.

“Go, Cass, before I lose it.”

They drove with the windows down and the vents open to allow a constant breeze. José informed her the air conditioner did not work. Cassie dabbed her face gently to stave off the sweat. José drove carefully and listened to her directions. With each block getting closer, she felt like she was going to throw up. A mile from the house, she asked him to stop.

She blew out quick little breaths to calm her nerves. She closed her eyes to find her zone and concentrated on becoming a maid. Cassie then slipped a little pebble under her right foot to create a different gait than her own. There was only so much method acting a person could handle before relying on props.

“José, if anything happens to me, promise you’ll leave immediately, even if you have to walk away. Do you understand? ”

“Sí, Miss Cassie.”

José slowed the truck to a crawl, allowing Cassie to check out the area. A black panel van and a Crown Victoria were parked on the street, but a black SUV with its hatch open blocked the garage. José backed in and blocked it.

“Go now.” He got out of the truck and grabbed his hedge clippers. He started clipping the closest bush.

She grabbed the white laundry bag with Alexa’s old sheets and table linens and headed for the house. Two plastic containers stacked on top of each other propped the door wide open to the kitchen entrance. If Sergei saw this, he would be screaming unending profanity. His security routine for alarms and locks had been obsessive and paranoid. She took a deep breath and silently gave herself a pep talk.
I can do this, I am strong. Enter.

“Hallo, Señorita?” Cassie called quietly entering the kitchen.
Yeah right, I’m the senorita.

She stopped and waited to see if anyone appeared. From the sounds of muffled voices, the Feds seemed to be in Sergei’s office, which was in an alcove off the living room. She prayed they stayed there. Adrenaline over-rode her fear. She moved quickly but silently to the laundry room.

Alexa had been wrong when she said she needed to get real about her situation. She had. Besides embarrassed, she felt trapped. During the last nine months, Cassie had collected the money that Sergei had left lying around the house. To date, she had ten one hundred dollar bills hidden inside a box of dryer sheets along with her passport. She said a silent prayer lifting it down. Relief flooded her when her fingers grabbed her stash. She stuffed the wad of bills inside the cuff of her right ankle sock and her passport flat against her stomach held in by yoga shorts. Next, she removed the clean bed sheets from the laundry bag and placed them in the basket.

Cassie headed up the back stairs off the kitchen toting the laundry basket. Going to the right led to the guest quarters over the garage. Left went to the second floor of the house. Her heart pounded so hard she wanted to run, but she forced her legs to maintain a steady and silent movement.

She stopped and listened outside the master bedroom door. Confident it was empty, she ducked in. A rapid glance around confirmed no one had done a thorough search of the room. The bed remained unmade, and Sergei’s clothes were strewn about.

Sergei had two safes in the house: one was in the office, and the other in their bedroom closet. Since she was not privy to either combination, Cassie rarely kept her jewelry in the safe. It was too much of a hassle. She headed straight to the armoire and pulled out the jewelry drawer. The Movado watch Sergei had given her was exactly where she had left it on the black velvet lining, but not the platinum two carat diamond and sapphire earrings with the matching diamond tennis bracelet. With her anxiety peaking, she could barely think.

“Stay calm,” she whispered.

Would he have taken them to prove a point? He was that mean. She pulled out another drawer and rifled through her lingerie in hopes she’d tucked them under something. Nothing.

Voices echoed upwards through the floor vents. The pick-up in the driveway had been discovered. Her adrenaline spiked even more. She hiked up Maria’s uniform and stuffed the watch next to her passport. With minutes to spare, Cassie headed straight into the custom-designed walk-in closet. Not even hidden, tossed down like loose change, several fifty dollar bills and a couple of hundreds laid about in Sergei’s bureau drawer. Not anymore. She scooped them up, folded them, and hid them in the left sock. Next, she reached under the drawer and felt for the tab. Sergei might have kept the safe’s combination from her, but she’d discovered his hidden stash through an accidental phone message. One of the custom drawers had a secret compartment built in. Releasing the lock, she slid the fake bottom forward and one hundred dollar bills flittered to floor.
Interesting
. Two months ago when she’d checked the drawer, it had been empty. She grabbed the bills, added them to the others, and then adjusted the socks. A glance in the large mirror suggested they were nothing more than thick, bunched-up socks.

From the intensity of the voices, Cassie knew she only had seconds left. She retrieved the two things she would never leave behind: the photograph of her deceased parents and the music box her mother had given her for her first communion. She wrapped the treasured items in a T-shirt, placing them on the bottom of the laundry basket. Cassie covered them with Sergei’s dirty clothes. Just for good measure, she tossed some stinky underwear on top. Cassie focused on what she had to do next. She headed out of the master bedroom, humming as if she had every right to be there.

Two men in dark suits with guns in their hands stood directly in front of her. It wasn’t difficult to act surprised and scared. She dropped the laundry basket and raised her hands in the air. Cassie thought her heart would pop out of her chest and she’d pee her pants.

“Who the hell are you?” asked one of the men. The scar on his cheek dominated his face.

They looked at her like she was dirt. No longer was she Cassie Ryan with the most beautiful, thick, luscious hair seen in the Irish Mist hair product commercials, but an immigrant who in their minds was probably illegal. Her pulse skittered rapidly, and her legs trembled.

“She probably doesn’t speak any English,” the other muttered. Icy contempt flashed in his eyes. Shaking his head, he snorted and put his gun back in his shoulder harness.

“Do you speak English?” Scarred Face asked.

“Sí.” He glared, so she replied slowly, “Yes.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I clean. I do laundry.” Cassie used her best broken English accent. She pointed with one finger to the basket, keeping her hands raised.

“No one called you to tell you not to come?” the other agent asked.

Cassie shook her head and shrugged. She cast her eyes downward, in hopes of portraying servitude.

“You can put your hands down. You with that gardener?” Scarred Face asked, putting his gun away.

The less said the better, Cassie decided, and nodded, but then bit her lip. A wave of nausea swept through her.

The noise of someone bounding up the stairs caught their attention. A tall, well-muscled man moved swiftly to join them. Dressed in a polo shirt and khakis and wearing amber-lensed sunglasses, a ball cap identified him as I.C.E.—Immigration, Customs, and Enforcement.
Shit!
The FBI was bad enough, now she had immigration.

“Here’s my creds.” The man flipped out his badge to one of the FBI men.

She regarded him with impassive coldness. Clearly, he was a regular at a gym. Definitely someone she wouldn’t want to mess with.

He stepped in front of Cassie, encroaching on her personal space. For a moment, he studied her before he asked, “Where’s the woman who lives here?” Spacing the words evenly, he used a kinder approach than the FBI. He didn’t seem as mean.

Crap.
She’d thought of everything else but that. She stole a quick glance at his face. An odd sensation passed through her, so she took another look. Did she imagine a familiarity, or was it just nerves? He squinted, studying her, locking onto her eyes. He was close enough for her to feel his body heat, making it extremely difficult to control her breathing, let alone her dry mouth. Cassie swallowed a couple of times and prayed she wouldn’t crack. Her body felt like a mini-California quake. The feeling that she knew him passed through her again, but she didn’t know why. His features were blocked with his hat and glasses.

“Do you know where Cassie Ryan is?”