Redemption (14 page)

“Eat, Hope. Worrying isn’t going to help the baby.”

She took a small bite, puckered her mouth and bolted from the kitchen. Stunned, John sat there as her chair clattered to the floor. But when he heard her in the downstairs bathroom, gagging, he ran after her.

“I’m okay,” she said, her head hanging over the toilet.

He knelt beside her and pulled her hair out of the way as her stomach heaved again. “What happened?”

She retched. “Morning sickness.”

That was crap and he knew it. They’d woken up together several days in a row now and not once had she had any morning sickness. This was fear, plain and simple.

He grabbed a washcloth and soaked it in cold water, then washed off her face as she knelt on the floor in front of him, her face turned up to him. When he was finished he lifted her to her feet. She was a little wobbly at first. “Will you be okay?”

“A few crackers and I’ll be fine.”

She turned in his arms and hugged him tight, her stomach pressing against his pelvis. “I don’t want this to end,” she whispered, her words broken with emotion.

“Throwing up?” He tried to laugh but his joke fell flat and he held her tighter. “What if I promise it won’t?”

She pulled back and stared at him with a serious expression. “What are you saying?”

“We’ll talk about…us…after this is over.”

“Will it be over?” She had dark circles under her eyes, her complexion was pasty, and between them the baby kicked up a storm.

“Yes.” His answer was more forceful than his feelings. Truth was, he didn’t know what the next few hours held for them and he didn’t quite trust himself yet. His training was rusty, his instincts long unused. She smiled and he saw the trust in her eyes. A trust he hoped to God he didn’t betray.

John raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You put it in the freezer?”

“Dad said to put the safety deposit key somewhere safe and I remember watching an Oprah show where someone mentioned freezing your credit cards in ice. That way if you want to use them you’ll have to chip through the ice and by then you’d have second thoughts.” Hope shrugged. “I thought it was a good idea.”

He leaned over and kissed her on the nose, unable to resist because she was so damn beautiful and resourceful.

“Are you sure you can get in the house?” she asked.

“I’ve picked bigger locks than the one on your front door, Hope. I’m sure.”

She bit the corner of her lip, looking concerned. He knew she didn’t like him leaving her and he hated that he had to, but someone had to retrieve the safety-deposit key and he sure as hell didn’t want her going with him. More than likely Suzanne had Hope’s house staked out.

“There’s something that’s been bothering me,” Hope said.

“What’s that?” She’d gained a little of her color back since getting sick but she still had dark circles under her eyes that worried him.

“Suzanne Carmichael.”

The name, dropped into the middle of his thoughts, was like a bucket of ice water tossed on his head. “What about her?”

“If she escaped from prison, she wouldn’t want to be traipsing all over Maryland looking for me. She’d want to lay low.”

John had thought of that too, but had kept his suspicions to himself. He should have realized Hope would realize the same thing. “I think she’s working with someone,” he admitted.

“Who?”

“That’s what I can’t figure out. Her few friends have left her, not willing to ruin their own careers by being seen with her.”

“Did she have a lover?”

“Yeah, but he’s dead.” Shot and killed by Luke when the man tried to kill Kate.

“Could she have met someone in prison?”

“I suppose.” He hadn’t been able to figure out who Suzanne could be working with and that made going to Hope’s house all the more dangerous. He had no idea what he’d be walking in to.

“What are you going to do with the key once you get it?” she asked.

“I’ll come back and pick you up. We’ll go to the bank, see what your dad left us. If it’s the paperwork for the offshore accounts, then we go to the authorities and turn everything over to them. That will get the killer off our backs.”

“What about Suzanne? She’s still out there. And my dad.” Tears filled her eyes but she blinked them away. “We still don’t know where his body is.”

John cupped her chin. “Hope, we may never find your father.”

Her bottom lip trembled and she sucked it between her teeth. “I don’t know if I can live with that.”

He understood, but he was also realistic. The chances of finding her father’s body were slim, especially if it hadn’t been found by now. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to hide Charles Stewart and if John didn’t find that someone, then Stewart’s body might never be found. He kissed her. “Do you remember how to activate Luke’s alarm system?”

She nodded. John hesitated. For nearly six days, they hadn’t been out of each other’s sight. To leave her felt like a betrayal.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Better.”

He studied her face. “You sure?”

“I’m fine, John. The crackers helped.”

“Eat some more. And rest. And don’t answer the door no matter who it is.” He opened his mouth to say one last thing, but then closed it with a snap when he realized the words that were about to come out were
I love you
. He wasn’t ready for that yet. Maybe when this was over and they sat down to talk. Maybe when he had time to think about it without dead bodies to find and escaped convicts on the loose. Maybe then.

***

Suzanne searched through Hope’s address book and correspondence one more time. According to the information Tómas and Ramon had returned with, Hope Stewart had a few friends she worked with but only one true friend. Daniel Webster.

She shifted and winced, muscles and torn skin sending up a protest of pain. The door opened and she jumped, scattering papers across the bed. Garcia entered, looking as unrumpled and perfectly put together as he had when he’d left to find Webster. Ramon followed and took up his place in front of the closed door with his arms crossed. His white shirt was spattered with what looked like blood and his hair was a mess.

Garcia paced in front of the bed, hands deep in his pockets as he stared at the floor. “She is with John Callahan.”

Suzanne blinked. John Callahan. There was a name from the past. For some reason she’d thought he’d died a few years back—after the whole Barone debacle. How in the hell had Hope Stewart found him? And why? “Where are they?” she asked.

“They visited Webster two days ago. The Stewart woman had no memory.”

Suzanne’s heart sank. “So she may not know she has the papers. Or if she has them, she doesn’t know what they are.”

“Webster said she made no mention of money or papers. Yet she must have them. Why else would she run?” He pounded his fist into his open palm. “John Callahan would know what the papers mean.”

The implication sank into Suzanne’s weary brain. Callahan would know. He would go to the authorities. Garcia would never get his payment and Suzanne would never be free.

Garcia leaned forward, pressing his palms into the bed and tipping her forward. “Where would Callahan be, Susanita?”

Desperate and fighting panic, she searched her mind. Damn. John Callahan. This had now become personal with Garcia. Somehow Callahan had managed to win over the heart of Garcia’s cook while he’d been imprisoned. Garcia hadn’t taken kindly to his niece falling for an American spy and he’d killed her. Slowly. Ruthlessly. Then threw the body in John’s cell. It had nearly broken John’s mind. Some said it
had
broken his mind. And it had been the catalyst that sent Luke Barone in after his best friend.

“Querida?”

Lucas Barone. John Callahan’s best friend. Lucas who lives in DC.
“I think I know where Callahan and the Stewart woman are.”

Garcia straightened, cracked his knuckles and stared at her.

“I think they’re with Lucas Barone.” She began to get excited. A few short hours ago she’d been begging for her life and now she could almost taste her freedom. Of course John would to go Lucas. And Hope would be with John. They hadn’t turned the papers in to the authorities yet or it would have been all over the news. There was still hope. Garcia would soon get his money and Suzanne could disappear. No more prison. No more locked doors. No more Garcia.

“This is the same Lucas Barone and John Callahan who escaped my prison, yes?” Something deadly flashed across his face.

“Yes, they’re the same.” She didn’t add that Lucas and his wife had been the ones to send her to prison and destroy a carefully mapped out life that would have netted her
everything
. Oh, yes. Suzanne could understand unfinished business. “Barone lives in DC,” she added, warming to the idea of a little revenge on the way to her freedom.

Garcia nodded as he stared at the floor. His hand went to his chin and he rubbed it with his thumb. He barked out orders to Ramon in Spanish, something about Tómas watching Hope’s house while Ramon and Garcia went to visit Barone’s.

***

Hope lived halfway between DC and Baltimore, about a thirty-five minute drive from Luke’s townhouse. Each mile that slipped between he and Hope had John more agitated and more determined to get in and out of her home and back to her as fast as possible. Amazing that for years he’d lived alone, happy in his seclusion and in six days Hope had turned it all around.

The “M” word had entered his mind about five miles back, when he’d been wondering how he was going to return to his secluded cabin and live without her. Damn, but he wanted to marry her and the thought had his sweaty palms slipping on the steering wheel.

He checked his rearview mirrors again but no one had followed him out of DC and he wasn’t too concerned. Whoever was looking for Hope would be at her house, lying in wait.

Going by the directions Hope had written down, he turned onto a side street and slowed. Her home was a tidy, two-story condo in a long line of identical condos. John made note of it but quickly scanned the surrounding area.

Sure enough, a boxy SUV was parked a few houses away on the opposite side of the street. As John cruised past, the man in the driver’s seat didn’t bother to look up from the map he was studying, but John noted his rearview mirror was cocked at an angle so he had a good view of Hope’s front door.

After turning off the street, John made his way down another one, parked and got out. It was that time of morning when everyone had already left for work and those who stayed home were still inside eating breakfast and watching the morning news. John slipped between two houses and made his way to Hope’s back door. Luck was on his side. There were no fences for him to vault and no curious dogs.

Hope’s backyard was small and she’d packed a lot into the space. Flowerbeds lay fallow in the winter sun but he could picture what they would look like in the height of summer. Unfortunately, the trees and flowering shrubs were bare, leaving him exposed. He ran in a crouch to the house where he pressed his back against the wall. Senses attuned, his gaze skipped over the surrounding yards looking for anything out of the ordinary. Like Peruvians running toward him with guns. But of course it wasn’t that easy.

After several minutes, he moved toward the back door, senses still open, gaze never resting. He easily picked the lock, shaking his head at her absolute lack of security. Any juvenile could get in. He stepped into the kitchen, pausing in the shadows, once again listening. Hope’s home had the feel of abandonment but he still didn’t move, learning long ago to never take anything for granted.

Eventually he moved through the house, checking each room thoroughly. This was the only time he wished Hope was with him because she would be able to tell him if anything had been disturbed. The place didn’t look as if it’d been tossed, but he had no idea.

She’d converted one of her bedrooms into an office. Papers were scattered across her desk but it looked like the normal chaos of a cluttered desk. The other bedroom was in disarray, the furniture pushed to the middle of the room and covered with drop cloths. Half the walls were painted a pale green, the other half beige and dotted with putty. He wondered if this was the baby’s room in progress. Her bedroom was clean, decorated in various shades of blue. No frills. He liked it.

On his way to the kitchen, he stopped in the living room and parted the front curtain with his finger to peer outside. The car was still there, the driver slumped in his seat. Idiot. If he didn’t move, some nosy neighbor would eventually get curious and call the cops. Which would only help John’s cause.

Pulling his cellphone from his pocket, he decided he could be a nosy neighbor.

After reporting the suspicious car, John searched the freezer. He had to push aside a gallon of chocolate-chip ice cream and a pound of hamburger before he found a zippered bag filled with frozen water. Suspended in the middle was the key.

By the time he was finished, a deputy was pulling up behind the car. John smiled and left the house through the back door just as his phone vibrated with a call from Luke.

“What’s up, Barone?”

“Where are you?”

John heard the whine of an airplane engine in the background and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. “What’s wrong?”

“We need to talk.”

“So talk.”

Luke pulled in a breath. “I just got word that Manco Garcia entered the United States two weeks ago.”

John clutched the phone tighter. “How in the hell did a known terrorist get past airport security?”

“It appears Garcia used a fake name and disguised himself,” Luke said.

He heard Luke talking about safety measures and what they thought had happened, but John’s mind was on Hope. Hope who was alone.

It all made sense now—how Suzanne escaped, who had killed Charles Stewart.
Not Garcia. Anyone but Garcia.

He sprinted across the backyards, having at some point closed his phone and tucked it into his pocket, not knowing if he’d ended his conversation with Luke. Pain shot up his leg, but thankfully it didn’t buckle. When he reached his truck, he threw the frozen key on the passenger seat and revved the engine as he started it. Tamping down on the urge to race back to DC, he forced himself to drive slow, passed the man in the SUV and the deputy speaking to him.

John pulled onto the highway, his thumb poised over the numbers on his phone to call Hope when the phone vibrated again.

“Talk to me,” Luke said after he answered. “What’s going on?”

“I think Garcia came to the US to help Suzanne escape.”

“How do you know this?”

John took a deep breath to collect his thoughts. Panicking wouldn’t help Hope. “A few days ago a woman crashed into my front yard. Her name’s Hope Stewart. Her father’s Charles Stewart. Charles sent Hope to me for protection.” John told Luke about the offshore accounts, about Charles’ murder and the letter he left for Hope. “I have the key but I left Hope alone at your house.” He dragged in a painful breath and stomped on the accelerator.

“Where are you now?” Luke asked.

“About thirty minutes away.”

“Does she have the alarm on?”

“Yes.”

“Good. If the alarm’s tripped, it automatically goes to the DC police. They’ll respond. My plane lands in ten minutes. Everything will be okay, John.”

No it wouldn’t. He had a terrifying feeling that nothing would ever be okay again.

“
Hope.
” John tore through the living room and into the kitchen, Luke hot on his heels, yelling at the police who had pulled up at the same time. The back door was open, cold December air blowing through. He glanced around, taking in the clean kitchen and stepped closer to the running dishwasher to read the lit buttons as Luke walked in. “It’s on the final rinse,” he said.

“They can’t have been gone long. Forty-five minutes tops.”