ESCAPE FROM AMBERGRIS CAYE (12 page)

”Hi Mom, how’re you doing?” Jackson
finally made the call he’d been putting off for several days.

As his mother caught him up on the
latest problems at work, he wondered when she’d ask why Zac had returned home
so soon. After several minutes of small talk, Jackson said, “So, Zac make it
home all right?”

“Home? Zac? Why no, isn’t he with
you?”

The news that his brother hadn’t
gone back to Iowa hit Jackson like a blow to the back of the head. He didn’t
know how to respond. Should he tell his mother the truth or make up a story to
keep her from getting all worked up. He chose the latter. There was no point
upsetting her when Zac would probably come back in a day or so, his tail
between his legs.

“No, I mean, yes, he’s here, he
just took off for a few days. Probably wanted to do some sightseeing while he’s
down here. You know Zac, he’ll show up in a couple days with some real
whoppers; probably say he was
hangin
’ with Brad Pitt
or something.”

Even as he soothed his mother with
lies, Jackson’s heart sank.
Since Zac hadn’t gone home, where was he?

After exchanging pleasantries for a
few more minutes, his mom ended the conversation with, “Well, dear, I love
talking to you but I have to run. The church ladies have a meeting tonight to
plan the bazaar and I promised to attend. Give Zac a kiss for me when he gets
back. I’m glad the two of you are spending time together. I love you, Sweetie.
Stay safe.”

“I love you too, Mom.” There was a
lump in Jackson’s throat the size of a grapefruit. He could scarcely breathe,
let alone swallow as he put his cellphone down. He’d just led his mother to
believe all was well, that he and Zac were actually getting along like brothers
should when nothing could be farther from the truth.

Then Jackson remembered something
that made his earlier concern seem almost silly. The night they’d fought Zac
said he’d volunteered to get closer to Leon so he could find out what happened
to Izzie and that police had agreed to let him become an informant. That’s
probably where he’d gone.

Jackson’s heart sank. Volunteering
to partner up with the worst kind of criminals put a target on Zac’s back if
they discovered what he was doing. Plus he had no experience with this type of
thing. Yes, he’d done stupid things that got him in trouble from time to time,
but something of this magnitude? He couldn’t possibly realize the danger he was
in. Somehow Jackson had to find him, warn him,
extricate
him. It was his fault Zac had taken an interest in Izzie’s welfare and he’d
have to do something—anything—to get him out before it was too late.

The following morning, Jackson
called in sick. Holding his nose and coughing into the phone, he said, “I came
down with some
kinda
bug.”

Thankfully except for going home to
help with his dad, Jackson hadn’t taken any sick days, so it wasn’t hard to
convince the assignment desk editor that he really was sick. He’d called early
to avoid talking to Morris Stone.

 “Yes, I’ll get plenty of rest
and drink lots of fluids. I’ll try to make it in tomorrow. Thanks. Bye.”

As soon as he hung up, Jackson
began trying to figure out what to do next. 

“Exactly who was it you wanted to
see?” The police officer’s face was flushed with what Jackson assumed was
exasperation. He obviously had more important things to do than chat with some
idiot who didn’t seem to know what he wanted.

“I, er, uh, well, see I don’t know
who it was my brother spoke to. He just said…” Jackson looked around to make
sure he wasn’t being overheard. The room was empty except for the cop behind a
glass partition and the drunk sitting on one of the chairs bolted to the wall.

“…I think he said he talked to a
detective about becoming an informant.”

The officer sighed. “Do you have
any idea which detective it was? It might interest you to know that we have
more than one.”

“I’m sorry he didn’t mention his
name,” Jackson said, feeling like a lost six year old.

The officer shook his head, mumbled
to himself, then said, “Have a chair. I’ll see what I can find out.”

Jackson walked across the room and
sat at the opposite end of where the intoxicated man snored. He didn’t want to
end up having the guy use him for a pillow—or worse yet—a vomit bag. The
digital wall clock seemed frozen in time. How could a minute go by so slowly?
Guess when you’re anxious about something, time stands still.

He crossed and uncrossed his legs
then his arms and shifted in his seat. With nothing to read and nowhere
pleasant to park his thoughts, he began to watch people as they walked into the
station with their stories of woe. He managed to overhear the louder ones,
those whose distress had overridden their need for privacy:

“I haven’t seen him for two days
now,” a woman declared. “It’s just not like him to…” Jackson couldn’t hear the
rest. He hadn’t learned whether the missing was a child or adult, husband or boyfriend.
He was left to fill in the blanks himself.

The next person had been held up at
gunpoint and relieved of his wallet. He was more indignant than frightened:
“What the hell’s this city coming to when a guy can’t leave his house without
getting held up?” In both cases, the desk sergeant took down some notes and
handed them off to what Jackson assumed were detectives.

He yawned, shifted in his seat
again and glanced at the clock. Although it seemed longer, only fifteen minutes
had passed. He started to think the man had forgotten him when his name was
called.

“Mr. Taylor.”

Jackson was led to an interview
room by an officer. “The detective will be with you shortly.”

Yeah, sure he would.
This
was a stalling tactic if he ever saw one. They’d let him stew for another
twenty minutes, then tell him they’d never heard of Zac. Just watch. That’s
what they’ll do. Then what? Jackson drummed his fingers on the table and tapped
his foot. He glanced at the wall mirror.
So watch, why don’t
ya
?
He didn’t give a flying fig what they thought.

Looking at the wall clock again, he
folded his arms across his chest and let out a sigh. It’d been exactly three
minutes. The door opened and in walked a man he’d never seen before.

“I’m Detective Anders. I believe
you have some concerns about the whereabouts of your brother?”

Jackson was nearly speechless. He
assumed they’d blow him off. But here was a guy who appeared to take him
seriously. About six feet tall, the detective had salt and pepper hair with a
receding hairline, a kind smile and tired blue eyes that said he’d seen more
than his share of tragedy.

“Yes, Officer, er, Detective.”
Jackson fumbled for the right words; he didn’t want to offend him. “See, my
older brother Zac is visiting from up north and is—was—staying with me. We had
a fight the other night and when I got up he’d left with his belongings. I
think he might be in trouble.”

“And what makes you think that?”
The detective took out a notepad and began to write, looking up between words.

“Well, the night he left he said he
came here with information about a guy named Leon who he said he’d struck up a
conversation with and the guy mentioned a woman who we reported missing. Said
he offered to get close to him and be a police informant.”

“Then what happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did the police accept his offer?”

“He said they did.”

“And you believed him?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I”

The detective tried to take another
sip, but the cup was empty. “Maybe he was yanking your chain. I don’t know your
brother. Only you can say whether he’d tell you something that wasn’t true.
Would he?”

“What? Lie? What on earth for?”

“Maybe to impress you. You said
he’s your older brother? He working?”

“N-no,” Jackson stuttered in
frustration. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Humor me a minute. What do you
do?”

“I’m a TV news photographer.”

“Impressive.”

“Not really. It’s hard work.”

“You make good money?”

“Not now, but I will eventually.”
Jackson’s patience was wearing thin. “What’s this have to do with my brother?”

“Maybe nothing. But don’t you see,
he probably feels humiliated that you’ve been able to land what most people
would consider an exciting job. You’ve got a whole career ahead of you if you
play your cards right. And your brother—your
older
brother, what’s he
done with his life?”

Jackson stared at the badly
scratched tabletop. He noticed the name Carly and idly wondered if it was
someone’s girlfriend.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“What’s your brother accomplished
so far compared with what you’ve done?”

Answering the detective in a voice
barely above a whisper, Jackson said, “Nothing.”

“So, now he wants to do something
important. You said he wanted to be some kind of police informant and catch the
guy responsible for your friend’s disappearance. Right?”

Jackson nodded. “But, Detective,
the guy might be dangerous. I’m worried something might happen to him.”

“Look, if he’s an informant and
does as he’s told, he’ll be in touch with his handler. He’s not totally on his
own out there.”

“So you’re saying he’s one of
yours?”

“I’m not saying anything one way or
the other. What I’m telling you is that it sounds like your brother wants to do
something he considers important. That being said, you should get out of his
way and let him do it.” The detective’s steel-blue eyes drilled a
hole
right through Jackson. “I know you’re worried about
him, but he’ll be all right. Trust me.”

“Can I at least check in with you
from time to time to find out what’s happening?”

“Sure, you do that.” The detective
stood up, shook Jackson’s hand and walked him to the door. “Catch you later,”
he said.

He was gone before Jackson realized
he hadn’t learned a damned thing.

Izzie blinked, trying to figure out
where she was and how she got there. It was dark, so dark she could scarcely
see her hand as she brought it to her face. Had she been buried alive? A surge
of fear coursed through her. Dear God, was she going to die like this with no
one knowing what happened to her?

A dull pain throbbed in the back of
her skull. She was groggy—thirsty—her tongue so dry it fairly stuck to the roof
of her mouth.
Where the hell was she?

The last she remembered Leon had
erupted in fury when she’d walked in on him. She’d knocked, of course, but he
mustn’t have heard, so she’d turned the knob. Discovering the door unlocked,
she went inside. After all, it wasn’t as if they were strangers. They’d gone
out several times; once he’d even invited her in.

In the beginning, she’d been
suspicious. After what Jackson had told her, who wouldn’t be? And she’d seen
the video, oh yeah, she’d seen that video. Over and over he’d shown her the
damned video.  But Leon’s explanation made sense. Besides he’d been a
perfect gentleman. He seemed to really care about her. So why not surprise him
with a six pack of Coronas? He’d be thrilled.

But that wasn’t what happened. She
had opened the door quietly and tiptoed down the hall to the kitchen where
she’d heard voices. He was probably listening to one of those police dramas he
loved. The girl on the show screamed; the guy shouted. She was nearly to the
kitchen when she realized the man doing the yelling was Leon.
Who was with
him and why was she screaming?

Whatever was happening, Izzie
realized she’d better get out of there—and fast. Trembling to the point she
could scarcely move, she turned around. The beer slipped from her hand,
splashing broken glass and liquid across the hardwood floor. Izzie panicked,
covering her mouth with her hand. Tiny barreled through the door, barking
furiously and knocking her down—right into the puddle of beer.

“Who’s there?” Leon shouted,
following several steps behind the rottweiler, a pistol in his hand.

“Me, it’s just me,” Izzie managed
to call out over the din. She’d cut her finger on a piece of glass. The blood
made a zigzag pattern down the front of her pale green skirt. Popping the wound
in her mouth to staunch the bleeding, she sucked on it a second, then added, “I
knocked, but I guess you didn’t hear me. This,” she gestured at the mess on the
floor, “was supposed to be a surprise.”

Leon’s face transformed from a
scowl to a smile. “Tiny, pipe down.” He was about to add something when a young
girl tore out of the kitchen.

“Help. Help. You got to help me,”
she screamed. Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot, her face flushed. There
seemed to be the start of a bruise on her cheek. She appeared to be around
twelve. The terror on face cried out even louder than her words. Grabbing onto
Izzie, she cowered behind her.

Tiny lunged at the child—growling, barking
and leaping. Izzie, afraid of the large black dog anyway, shuddered violently.

Amidst the barking and screaming,
Leon raised his gun and shot into the air, making a hole in the ceiling and
adding a shower of plaster to the mix.

“Everybody, shut the hell up!” he
yelled. “And clean up this mess.”

Izzie stared at Leon, her body
stiffened in indignation.
Who does he think he is, ordering me around?
She didn’t take crap like that—not from anyone—and most certainly not from the
likes of him.

She cleared her throat and took a
deep breath. “Is this the niece you told me about? I thought she went home.”

The girl peeked from behind her and
shouted, “I ain’t his niece, lady. I been kidnapped. You gotta get me
outa
here.”

Izzie looked from the frightened
child clinging to her, to the man she had begun to trust. “Leon?” she demanded.
“What’s she talking about?”

Leon angrily shook his head.
“Izzie, why the
hell’d
you
hafta
go do something like this? You’ve ruined everything.”

After
that all she could remember was the look on his face. It was an odd mix of
regret and rage. Then amidst the escalating racket emanating from the girl and
the dog, he'd punched her and everything went black.

Now here
she was—wherever that might be. Her head aching, she could neither
hear
nor see a thing. All she could do was wait for what
was yet to come.