Hope House (8 page)

Mick shook his head to get the thoughts out. He needed to get his agenda down. After Hope House, Mick would take the van back across the ferry to leave it at the regular place. Then Louie would fly him to Miami, where home and Luke awaited him.

Mick tapped his steering wheel as he waited for Tad. He thought of Judge Stein.  Good ole’ Judge Stein of the Third District at Miami Dade County Court, who was eternally grateful for all the people the Puglisi family had “cleared” to get him the judgeship. He never blinked an eye when it came time to sign the adoption orders. Daddy always said, “Nothing is a sure thing except corrupt judges who fear for their lives.” Mick smiled. Good that there were some things you could count on in life.

What was taking Tad so long? Mick looked at his Blackberry and scrolled around on the calendar. Once he visited Judge Stein, a day or two later, Mick would go get all the children, make the long drive from Key West to Miami with the babies in the Hope House van. He’d leave them in the nursery set up in his basement until it was time to hand them over to their new parents. Unhappily, Luke was beginning to ask questions about, “the babies in the cellar” and Mick was running out of half-assed explanations.
Just a matter of time before he’d have to find a closer storage place for the babies, somewhere in Miami nearer his office.

Mick had lots of appointments in the next few days and was giddy just thinking about the money.

Today would be a damn long day, but it was already half over. He had the babies and once Tad arrived he could start the second leg of his journey.

Tad came out and tried to o
pen the passenger door. Locked. Mick hit the button to roll the window down, taking the water from Tad.

“Open the door,
” Tad said.

“I thought you could just follow me in your car.”

“I could just ride with you and bring the van back here.”

“You know my people use the van when we’re not transporting cargo.”

“Babies. Not cargo. Baby humans.”

“Whatever. I know, I know. No more lectures. Just follow me all right? Stay close in case anything happens. I’m going to leave it in the usual spot and you can shuttle me over.”

Tad rolled his eyes and walked away without responding.

A few minutes later, he emerged in his own car and waved Mick onward.

Mick had immediately raised his window the moment Tad had stepped off, concerned about the interior climate control necessary to safeguard his
product.
Not a popularity contest. Just business. Still, it hurt a little that beside his father, sister, and Luke, Mick didn’t have a friend in the world. People respected and feared him and he was a very rich man, an intimidating man, but no one
liked
him. He couldn’t let anyone see his soft side because softness showed weakness, so his father said.

He flipped down his visor. Luke’s smiling face stared down at him. He pressed the button on the silver frame and a voice chip activated. “Wuv yu, Daddy.” Mick smiled. It was enough.

He signaled Boris then drove out of the gates, Tad close behind.

7.

Miami International Airport, late evening

Exhausted, Gloria walked through the airport. It had been a long day and she was glad she hadn’t checked her bag.
She had no patience tonight to wait around for a boxy suitcase to make its way across the conveyor belt.

“Gloria,” a man’s voice called out. She turned
and saw a dark-haired man in a trench coat a few feet behind her, but he walked toward the gift shop, away from her. Odd.

She walked the long halls of the Miami airport.
With the air conditioning set high it felt colder in here than it had back in Massachusetts. She decided to backtrack and hit the coffee shop in search of cocoa. She turned around and there stood the dark-haired man again, but this time he
was
most definitely staring at her with intense interest. He looked away. If he were a stranger, why wouldn’t he just have smiled when they made eye contact? Why turn and pretend as if he wasn’t watching her?

She ducked into the nearest ladies’ room. If she stayed in here awhile and the man was still outside the door, it would confirm her suspicions. She used the bathroom, washed her hands, freshened up her makeup. Next she put on a coat of clear nail polish to preserve her French manicure. Finally,
she waved her fingers about to let them dry.

Nearly a half hour later
she exited the ladies’ room. At first she didn’t see her follower; but then beyond the initial crowd, his face emerged. He stood poking about a magazine kiosk, half-heartedly flipping through a copy of
Newsweek
with eyes searching in her direction.  

Shit. She knew her way around
this airport pretty well and knew ground transportation was close. She walked quickly, sweating in her wool coat.

Finally, she reached the doors to the outside and a slap of warm air hit her in the face. A row of taxis awaited and she jumped into the nearest one, locking her door and forcing herself to look in the direction from which she’d come only to see the man following her. He’d pushed through the doors and was now scanning the line of cabs. Then he saw her and made eye contact. Her heart beat wildly in her chest. Framed by the cab window, he sprinted toward her, rage on his face.

Before she could scream, the taxi spun its tires and took off, thrusting her hard against the back seat.

“Where are you going?” The driver was American. Young, about twenty
-five, with brown hair. Too dark to see his eye color or the whole of his face in the mirror.

The man who had been following her had been waiting at the airport for her arrival, so he probably knew which hotel she had booked as well.  “I was going to the Marriot on Ocean Drive in South Beach but I think I’d better go somewhere else. You’ll think I’m crazy but there was a man following me.”

“You’re not crazy. He was packing and ready to attack. That’s why I took off so fast.”

“Packing?”

“A gun. He was reaching for it. I’ve seen his kind down here more times than I can count. I know what to look for.”

“So I’m not paranoid.”

“No ma’am. What’d you do to make this guy come after you?”

“Nothing. I’m not like that. Not into anything illegal or illicit.”

“Well, you’ve upset someone. You a journalist or something? Digging where you shouldn’t be?”

“No, I—Why would you ask that?”

“I talk to a lot of people on this job. Folks who want to tell me all about what they’re into. All manner of things. But people being chased by guys like the one after you—it’s always one of three reasons: You owe somebody money for something, drugs, girls, gambling, whatever; or you’re ready to go state’s evidence on someone and need to be stopped; or you’re a reporter or maybe even a PI and sniffing around where ya shouldn’t. So which one are you?”

Which one am I? I am sniffing where I shouldn’t and someone wants to interfere with my plans. Means I’m on a trail.

Hope outweighed fear. She
was
on the path of getting her daughter back and someone wanted her stopped before that happened. That had to be what this meant. She confessed to the cabbie. “Guess I fall into the third category.”

“Okay, then I have just the place to take you. They won’t think to
seek you out there, and unless it’s law enforcement that’s after you—”

“It’s not.”

“Good. Then they won’t be able to tap into any hotel or credit card records and find you.”

Gloria managed to relax for the rest of the ride. She let the driver do the talking. He rattled on about the weather and politics, the state of the Union, and added, “Ya know I have a degree to teach English from U Miami. Plan to hold onto this job for a couple years, you know, to gain life experience, collect stories listening to passengers, you see, fodder for the novels I intend to write ah . . . some day.”

She smirked. He was the first taxi driver she’d ever met who used the word
fodder
.

“I am halfway through my outline for my first novel,” he continued. “Once I do a few chapters and sell the thing on spec, I’m gonna wri
te mystery novels full time.”

The editor in Gloria cringed.
If I had a penny for everyone who had ever said that to me.

“When you
finish
your novel, why don’t you send it to me? No promises.”

He looked at her in his mirror and she could see from the glow of the traffic lights that his eyes were blue.

“Why, what do you do?”

“I work at a publishing company in Boston.” She handed him her card.

He read it. “Isn’t this the agency that did that book on Kelli Somer’s show?”

“Yes, it is. I edited it. Actually, I shepherded the concept. Did you see the show or read the book?”

“No, but I heard about Donna Mallory on the news. She was a contributor to the anthology and on the show. Not long after it aired she was shot. Randomly. Right, like I believe
that.
Kind of weird now that here you are with a price on your head and you edited the book.”

Weird
didn’t describe it. She hadn’t made the connection, but he made a good point. Donna had been on the way to see Gloria when she’d been shot and killed.

Her heart tightened at the thought of Donna’s murder. Donna had become one of her closest friends and allies. Aside
from Gloria’s grief over losing her, she’d also come to think that Donna had some vital information for her that night, information Gloria might never know as a result of the untimely death. 

Gloria also wished she could share her news about Alison with Donna. Perhaps
the woman had discovered something about her own lost infant. Maybe hers too was now a young girl living with adoptive parents.  And it hadn’t escaped Gloria that Donna was a tall, strong, healthy, and beautiful woman like herself who’d mysteriously lost her baby—just so many
coincidences
in their stories.

The Sofitel hotel arose in the distance. “Wow. Is this the hotel?”

“Sure is. It’s a very nice place and close to the airport.”

“Didn’t feel close.”

“It’s only three miles but I wanted to make sure we weren’t being followed. I circled around a bit. The guy who was after you knows you saw him. He’ll figure you’ll run far. He’d never suspect you to just go three miles down the road. The best place to hide—under his radar.”

The driver pulled up to the hotel and got out to retrieve Gloria’s bag. “You’ll like this place. It’s got class like you.”

Gloria smiled and peeked at his ID displayed on the back of the front seat. McKenzie Morgan. She grinned, not expecting such a lofty name for a cabdriver. Great name for a novelist though.  Marketable name.

In the spotlights outside the lobby, Gloria finally got a good look at McKenzie.
What a hottie. He didn’t have the fake Miami or LA cool guy features, but had a handsome face and gorgeous eyes. Nice body too. And he was a writer, so he got points for that. Not to mention the fact that he took her fear seriously and found her a safe place to go. Way too young for her, but his boyish good looks made him a publisher’s dream whether he could write or not! Shoot a few photos with him playing fetch with a golden retriever and they might have a bestseller on their hands.

She paid McKenzie.  “Thanks. And really, send me your manuscript when it’s done, McKenzie.” He looked to her curiously so she explained; “I saw your license on the seat back.”

He laughed and rolled his eyes. “Only my mother calls me McKenzie. Everyone else calls me Kenzi. Kenzi Morgan.”

He smiled and her heart fluttered.
God I hope he can write.
“It’s got a nice ring to it.”

“Thanks, I’ll be in touch.”

The bellman appeared and picked up her suitcase. “Bye and thanks for everything.” Kenzi nodded and waved, and then got in his taxi and drove away. Gloria followed the bellman into the marble lobby.

Her temporary haven of the taxi was gone and she wouldn’t feel safe until she was locked in her room. She reached in her pocket for a Kleenex to wipe the sweat from her face. With all the anxiety, she had forgotten to remove her heavy winter coat.

Along with the tissue, Gloria found something else. The paper with Kurt Malone’s name and number on it. She clutched it tight. Tommy recommended him so he must be trustworthy. The driver got her this far safely. Hopefully Kurt would pick her up at the next stage of her journey. 

Chapter Three

1.

Miami, Tuesday morning, February 7
th

Gloria drove her rented red Toyota Camry down Brickell Avenue in Miami. Another couple of blocks and she’d arrive at the agency. Gripping the steering wheel tight, she thought of what a full morning it had been. The day had started out well enough. She had walked out into the bright Miami sun and smiled as a busy lizard skittered by underfoot.  She had looked up at the enormous palm trees. For just a few seconds she had enjoyed her environment and contrasted it to the bitter Boston snowstorm she’d fled. But as she had reached for her car door she saw
him
in the reflection of the car window.

He wasn’t wearing the trench coat this time, but
she’d know that face anywhere: the man from the airport who had tried to kill her last night. His image in her window grew larger as he approached, and she couldn’t get her key to fit in the lock. Her fingers wouldn’t cooperate because she couldn’t focus on opening the door. Finally, she managed to get in and hit the locks. He walked toward her, but then a couple of other people entered the parking lot and he turned away. She started the car and screeched away onto the main street. After that, she took a series of lefts and rights, got lost for about a half hour, and finally found her way to Brickell. She hoped that getting herself all turned around had prevented that man from following her, but she couldn’t be sure. What did she know about running away from people?

She looked in her rearview now. He was nowhere to be seen.

There it is.
An imposing granite building stood on her right. She parked in front and walked into the enormous lobby. Wall to wall black marble with matching floors. Only palm trees and an artificial waterfall oriented her.  Gloria walked to a wall of company names and locations. New Age Adoption Agency was on the seventh floor. She took a deep breath and walked toward a bank of elevators.

“Excuse me, Miss!”

Oh God, it was
him
again, she feared, too terrified to turn and face him. A different voice but—she ran for the elevators. How had he found her?

“Miss, stop! Security!”

She quickened her pace.

Security. Very slowly she turned around.

A short Hispanic man with a silver name plaque that said, “Ramirez” rushed toward her. “I’m sorry. I thought I could just go up,” she said.

“That’s all right. I didn’t mean to frighten you. You okay? You look a little pale,” he said.

“Rough night. Rough day.”

“If you just follow me over to the desk then you can give your ID and they’ll call upstairs to get you entry.”

“Call upstairs?”

“Well, since we’re the ground floor, anyone you’re going to see must be upstairs somewhere. Who
are
you going to see?”

By the time she answered, they were at the main desk. A skinny and pretty girl with olive skin and large brown eyes manned the reception kiosk. She wore a navy blue blazer and her nametag said, “M. Cardoza.”

“New Age Adoption Agency,” Gloria replied.

“Can I see your ID please?” the girl asked after she typed something into her computer.

Gloria handed over her license. The receptionist looked at it and then to her monitor. “I’m sorry; you’re not on the list. Let me just call up and have them add you.”

“Can’t I just go up?”

“No. Since Nine-Eleven we’ve gotten awful tight with security. We don’t let anyone up unless you’re on the list. But clients forget all the time. It’ll just take a second to call.”

Gloria hoped her name wouldn’t sound off any alarms at the agency. She tried to remember if she had given her name when she’d called yesterday.

The girl covered the mouthpiece on her phone. “Were they expecting you?”

“No, I’m just stopping by. I’d like to speak with the owner.”

Ms. Cardoza relayed that to whoever had answered the phone upstairs. Then she frowned with razor-thin brows.

“I’m sorry. They said the owner is out today but if you want to call and make an appointment—”

“Listen. I don’t want to get pushy with you because I know it’s not your fault, but I have to get up to the seventh floor and talk to someone at the agency. I don’t care if it’s not the owner, just please tell them to let me come up.”

“They said you need an appointment.”

Gloria felt her anger rise and was losing her patience. “I flew all the way here from Boston last night just to talk to them, and I have to go back home tomorrow night. I don’t have time to make an appointment.”

“Let me call them back for you. I’m sure that won’t be a problem.”

In the meantime, the security guard who had led her to the desk came back. “Everything all right?” he asked Gloria.

“Yes. Ms. Cardoza is just calling again to get my name on the list.”

“Name’s Maria,” the girl said, covering the phone with her hand. Her face started to redden as she looked at the license and spoke to New Age. “Her name is Gloria Hanes. Yes, I’ll hold.” A couple of minutes went by. Long minutes. “Hi. Oh, I see. Well she flew here from Boston just to see someone. She said it doesn’t have to be the owner but—okay, but she’s leaving tomorrow and—all right. I’ll tell her.”

She hung up the phone. “You’ll have to make an appointment. I’m sorry.”

“What’s the number?”

“Excuse me?”

“The phone number. I’ll call them from my cell phone right now and make an appointment for ten minutes from now if that’s how it has to be.”

The girl smiled and gave her the number
, her face a mask of pity. “Good luck.”

Gloria dialed as both Maria and Ramirez watched. She
didn’t know if they were cheering for her or gauging her deteriorating mental state.

“
New Age Adoption Agency, how may I help you?”

“Hi, this is Gloria Hanes. I’m down in the lobby and want to make an appointment to come in.”

“
People don’t usually just stop by but
—”

“But I did, so can I come up or not?”

“
Are you interested in giving up a child for adoption or adopting one yourself?
”

“If I say yes will you put my name on the visitor’s list?”

The woman on the other end snapped her gum. “
No, because I don’t believe you.”

“Listen, I know you recognize my voice. I called yesterday and you said the owner would be back today so I jumped on the first plane I could get and hotfooted it down here. I just want to speak to someone about a little girl that your agency placed with a family five years ago.”

“
And I told you yesterday, Miss Hanes, that we cannot talk to you about any adoptions. The records are sealed and frankly, it doesn’t sound like whatever you’re looking into is any of your business.”

“You bitch!” Gloria heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end.

“
Well, you can just forget about ever coming upstairs now.”
The woman slammed down the receiver.

Gloria stared at her phone, stunned. “She hung up on me!” Gloria said to Maria and Ramirez.

“You swore at her,” the guard said.

“But she—listen, there’s a lot going on here you don’t know about.  That agency stole my child and adopted her out to someone else.” Tears sprouted in Gloria’s eyes but she caught them. She
would not unravel, vowed to remain calm. No one listens to a hysterical person, she reminded herself. Something she learned the hard way during her time in the hospital ward that Tommy had checked her into after she’d lost her child the first time. 

She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and a dark brown mascara smudge covered her white silk cuff.  “She’s mine, and no one will listen!” By now two additional security guards crowded around her and all the passersby in the lobby had turned to watch. It was hard to breathe.

“You don’t understand. I have to get upstairs. They stole my baby and they’re denying it happened.”

Ramirez grabbed her wrist hard. “Come with me, Miss Hanes. We don’t want any trouble here. You’ll have to leave.”

She walked along with him while punching
send
on her phone twice with her free hand.

“
New Age Adoption Agency, how can I help you?”

“I’m not going away. Don’t think I am. I’m going to get to the bottom of this.” Gloria hung up this time
, a small consolation.

“I don’t think you should keep calling them,” Ramirez said. “Maybe you should see a doctor. They have pills that work real good to help people like you.”

She stopped short and yanked her wrist away. “People like me?”

“You know, paranoid. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. My little sister kept thinking the government was after her and then she got some meds and now she’s okay. Maybe they could help you.”

If he hadn’t looked so sincere in his offer to help, she would have slugged him.  “Please,” she said quietly, “don’t look at me like that. I’m not crazy. Not paranoid. I got a little overexcited back there and that wasn’t very professional or smart, but if someone took your child, Mr. Ramirez, I think you would behave the same way.”

He led her to the front door. “Just please don’t come back into the building okay? We don’t want any trouble.”

She gave him a cold stare but finally nodded and went through the door he held open for her. The temperature was in the eighties, a shock to feel that in February.
So now what? Ask Tommy for help again?

As she walked toward the car, she spied the man from the airport again. He was standing by her car, looking in. Then he looked up, but thank God, not in her direction. She darted to her right and into a McDonald’s two doors down. She ran into the bathroom and shut the stall door. Finally she let herself cry.

Why the hell had she given that stupid DNA sample? The marrow drive was for a girl from the office who had leukemia. Gloria hadn’t matched her. No one had and the patient died. That was supposed to be the end of it. Although she knew that her DNA would be kept in a registry, she hadn’t given it another thought.

If she’d just said no that day the employees had gone to the hospital and swabbed their cheeks with Q-tips, she never would have known about Alison. She could have just gone on thinking that her baby had died as Tommy and Dr. Boucher and her shrink had said. Gloria had a nice life. Great condo, great job. A partnership now! And yet here she was hiding out in a McDonald’s bathroom in Miami over a thousand miles from her life and everything she knew. Those guards thought she was nuts, the creep from the airport lurking around her car, waiting to corner and silence her
, to kill her like Donna. Some people, Tommy for sure, would call her behavior self-destructive. Hell yes, and Tommy thought she was going crazy again. But she
wasn’t
. Damn it! She hadn’t gone out looking for trouble or danger.

But trouble had found her. Alison had found her. Once she had looked into Alison Gander’s face there was no denying the truth. She just wished she had an ally in all this. She slumped onto the seat
and blew her nose and wiped what was sure to be a pair of mascara-laden eyes. Then she remembered Kurt Malone. He’d help her. Even if he didn’t believe her, he’d help. She flipped open her phone and dialed the number she’d programmed into it.

“
Kurt Malone.”
Strong male voice. Not sing-songy. “
How may I help you?”

“Hi. My name is Gloria Hanes, and I need your help. I’m in a bathroom at a McDonald’s on Brickell Avenue, near the Morton Building. Someone’s trying kill me, I think. And there’s so much else.”

“
Please, Ms. Hanes, slow down.”

“I live in Boston but came out here last night to talk to some people I suspect of a horrible crime, but they won’t see me. They think I’m crazy but I swear I’m not. I’m not crazy. Can you please meet me? Right away. Can you meet me right away? My ex-husband Tommy Carpenter recommended you. He said you could help me.” God, she hadn’t even let him talk. She
sounded
crazy. If she were him—

“
I’m right in the area as a matter of fact. There’s a vintage clothing store a few doors down on the right. Can you safely get there?”

“I think so.”

“
Okay, why don’t you go there now? Walk to the back and go into a dressing room. Just grab anything off the shelf and pretend to try it on. I’ll meet you in a few minutes.”

“So you don’t think I’m crazy?” A sliver of hope filled her. If just one person believed her—

“
I don’t get paid to judge people.”

“So you take money from the insane?”

“
Money’s money. When we meet you can tell me your story and then I’ll decide what I think. I’ll help you either way though so don’t worry. You’re not in this alone anymore. See you in a few.”

He hung up and Gloria stood and exited the stall. She took just a second to wash her face then walked out of the bathroom. After putting on her Coach sunglasses, she rolled on some lipstick and walked out the front door. She didn’t see the man at her car anymore and hoped he had walked the other way. She hurried toward the clothing store while chanting the words Kurt Malone had said to her. “You’re not alone in this anymore.”