Forsaken: A Fallen Siren Novella (11 page)

He narrows his eyes. “I will be as soon as I have my son back. Zack? Don’t let them get away.”

Zack releases his grip. “We won’t.”

* * * *

We pick up Eve’s tail on I-87 N out of the city. Zack is riding shotgun. The two of us are in the lead car, our dress casual. Just two folks heading out of the city to enjoy a little fresh air for the day. Torres and O’Neill are following in a black sedan with tinted windows. Thanks to Bradley, we’re all in communication.

“Where do you think she’s heading?” Zack asks after we’ve been traveling thirty minutes.

“No cement, no skyscrapers. I think they call this the country,” Torres replies dryly.

No kidding. We’re surrounded by gently sloping farmland and green pastures. “It’s hard to believe this is right outside New York City,” I say.

“For how long, who knows?” Torres replies. “More and more families are selling out to developers. A few have preserved their farms, but the money is a great temptation to most.”

“Does Eve have property out here?” I ask.

Bradley chimes in. “Not that I’ve been able to find.”

We’re a good ten car lengths behind Eve. An impatient driver passes Torres, then us. He rolls down his window and flicks out a cigarette. I get the feeling he’s about to pass Eve as we approach the turnoff to Underhill Avenue from the Taconic State Parkway, but he doesn’t have to. Her turn signal flashes on.

“Here we go. She’s turning,” Zack says.

No sooner does she complete the turn, the guy ahead of us in the pick-up pulls off to the side of the road. “What an asshole.” I mutter. “He passes us just to pull over?”

“He’s one of ours,” replies Torres. “We’re trying to create the illusion of additional traffic. Makes us less conspicuous.”

We continue to follow Eve from a safe distance. A range rover marked as a Sheriff’s car drives past us on the opposite side of Underhill Ave. “He one of ours too?” Zack asks.

“No sir,” Torres confirms. “He’s out here all on his own.”

If the sudden appearance of the Sheriff made Eve nervous, it’s not evident. And there’s no sign that she’s aware of being followed.

“It looks like she’s going to turn on Baptist Church Road,” I announce. “Do I follow?”

I can hear Bradley clicking away on his keyboard. “There’s a popular farm store out that way,” he says. “But it’s on a two-lane road and not open for the day yet, so it’s too early for there to be much traffic. I can re-route Torres once we know where Eve’s headed. Emma, you go ahead and take the turn. Aside from the store, there are only a couple farms out that way. If she turns on Croton, you keep going on Baptist Church Road. Pull over and wait. As soon as Eve reaches her destination, I’ll let you know. We’re close, I can feel it.”

Bradley’s hunch is correct. Eve makes another right onto Croton Avenue. I drive past the turn off, then pull over. The road we’re on now is narrow, framed on both sides by thick woods. Two additional SUV’s come out of nowhere. 

“I thought we couldn’t trust anyone?” Torres asks.

“These guys aren’t local. They’re with the Hostage Rescue Team.” Zack turns to me and adds, “Jastremski and some of his boys. You’ll remember him from Charleston.”

Torres’ vehicle stops just behind them. She and O’Neill spill out of their sedan. Eight other agents, dressed in flak jackets and weapons drawn, emerge from the SUV’s. Zack and Jastremski don’t bother with introductions.

“We’re at your disposal,” Jastremski says, grasping Zack’s hand.

“Appreciate you coming,” Then to us he says, “Everyone suit up.”

I put on my vest and tighten the straps. Suddenly I’m missing the custom one Zack had made for me. Not only was it lighter weight, it provided me with better coverage.

“She’s stopped,” says Bradley. “The car pulled into a long dirt driveway that’s opposite the thicket of trees you’re in front of. The tree line curves around to the back of the property. You could approach from there pretty easily.”

“Send me a satellite image,” Zack orders.

“Sure thing.”

Within seconds Zack is studying the photo on his phone. “It looks like a small cabin.”

“Are there any other cars in the area?” Torres asks.

Bradley answers. “No.” I’ve been scanning the surrounding woods. “I’m not seeing any other nearby activity.

Zack pulls his personal vest from a duffel and slips it on. I have a hunch he’s wishing Betsy was in there too. “Any of your guys have an extra sniper rifle?”

Jastremski points to one of his men. “Hansen will set you up.” Zack tosses the duffel in my direction before going to seek out the agent. “You’re going to want this.”

I look inside.

My vest.

He packed it.

It takes me seconds to change. By that time Zack’s returned.

We all gather around.

“We’ll use the trees for cover,” Zack says. “Once we reach this clearing we surround the place. There’s a door in back and one in front. We’re not taking any chances. Jastremski, take three of your men and cover the sides of the house. Send two with Emma and me. My team will take the front.”

Hanson and a third guy joins Zack and me.

Jastremski picks three of his remaining five for his team. “These last two?”

“With Torres and O’Neill. Torres’ team will go in through the back. We move fast, stay in communication, and coordinate. Got it?”

Heads bob up and down.

Bradley’s voice cuts in, “I just heard from Quantico, the Forensics team they’re sending is an hour out.”

Torres has already slipped her gun from the holster at the small of her back. “So we secure the cabin and then do our best to leave it undisturbed. Everyone remember, this is very likely a crime scene. We don’t want to contaminate any evidence.”

It’s not difficult going, so we’re able to move with swift precision. The low-growing brush and the trees are spaced close enough to conceal us. The moist, flat ground is covered with a cushion of pine needles and dropped leaves that mask the sounds of our approach. We leave Torres, O’Neill and two other men at the rear of the house. Jastremski sends two others to cover the east side. Then Zack and I move with him and the remaining toward the west, guns drawn. Jastremski’s team stays behind to monitor from that vantage point, the remaining continue on with us. We circle around to the front. The only car in the driveway is Eve’s. The house is small. There are three steps leading up to a modest porch. Large windows are covered with heavy curtains drawn. But the front door is open. Zack motions toward it with his gun.

My gut tells me the kidnappers are gone—and so is Robby. The two men accompanying us glide soundlessly onto the porch and position themselves, back flush against the outside of the house.

The air is still.

My heart is pounding.

“Son of a bitch,” Eve shrieks. The oath is accompanied by the sound of breaking glass as something is thrown against the wall.

“We’re going in,” Zack tells the others.

One of the guys reaches for the handle to the screen door and swings it wide open. Zack is the first to go through, rifle across his back, Glock leading the way.

I enter in time to see him level it at Eve’s chest.

“On the floor,” he says. “It’s over.”

* * * *

The remainder of the small, two-bedroom farmhouse is quickly cleared. The place was cleaned, surfaces wiped, but in a hurry. The smell of bleach clings to the air. The trashcans outside are empty. Torres and O’Neill are busy with the forensics team. A small pile of cigarettes smoked down to the nubs was found on the ground just off the porch. One beer bottle was missed that had rolled under the couch. The windows in the bedroom and the top of the sash had no prints, but there was a partial thumbprint under the sash. They also scored with the metal roller inside the toilet paper holder. Most damning was a child’s pajama top. It was found between the mattress and the wall, perhaps when the twin bed was stripped of its sheets. One surreptitious sniff told Zack it was Robby’s. The boy had been here. For the benefit of everyone else, he then made a call to Maitlan and sent him a picture of the cotton T-shirt with the Superman insignia on it. Maitlan confirmed the top matched the one Robby had on when he was taken.

We have Eve. She’s sitting rather uncomfortably in the back of one of the SUV’s. Mirandized and manacled in my handcuffs. She can hear bits and pieces of conversation among the team as they drift in and out of the house.

“It’s just a matter of time before we identify your accomplices,” says Zack. “Once we do, you’ll have nothing to bargain with. Nothing we need. And, frankly, I like that idea. Let’s just all continue to sit here and enjoy the fresh air.”

“Accomplices,” she mutters. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. This cabin belongs to a friend of mine. I come up here to get away from the city.”

“Right. Cause you’re a country girl at heart,” I say.

She narrows her eyes and peers at me. “I know you, don’t I?”

I shake my head. “Doubt it.”

Zack suppresses a grin. Without make-up and dressed in jeans and a blazer over a shirt that looks as if I slept in it (which I did), this plain-jane FBI agent could never be confused for a dominatrix—especially one who made her entrance with a wolf on a lead.

I pick up where my partner left off. “You sure you don’t want to come clean with us, Eve? Kidnapping is a serious crime. If Robby is still alive, you may not spend the rest of your life in prison. If he isn’t, and you could have helped us, you’ll have seen Elysium for the last time. And, let’s face it. A gal like you isn’t going to have an easy time of it in prison.”

She turns her head away. It tells me we’re making progress.

“It’s up to you,” adds Zack.

“I told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her attention is drawn by the sound of Torres’ footfalls on the wooden porch. She looks over at Torres. “I told that cop last night. I haven’t seen Maitlan for weeks and I’ve never seen his son. You can’t prove otherwise.”

I’m tiring of this cat and mouse game. I know I can get Eve to speak the truth. All it would take would be a few seconds of my own special brand of interrogation, but maybe we don’t need that, not with the recorded evidence Zack has in his pocket. Right on cue he pulls it out and turns it on. When Eve’s hears her own voice, her eyes widen in shock.

“It’s me. The FBI was here today, asking questions.”

“What kinds of questions?” asks a male voice.

“They said it was routine,” Eve replies.

“What the fuck happened? The bomb wasn’t supposed to be detonated until after the drop. Burt was in the sewer, ready to catch the backpack when all hell broke loose.”

“He was walking away. He wasn’t going to pay. It’s time to end this,” says Eve, her tone commanding.

“We haven’t gotten our money,” says the man.

“I’ll get you the money as soon as you finish the job. Kill the boy. Tomorrow morning we bury him.”

“We?” The male voice asks.

“I want to see the body. Make sure you have the balls to do what needs to be done.”

“Oh, we’ve got the balls,” he assures her.

A gunshot blasts over the line.

Zack clicks off the recorder. “Still want to tell us you don’t know what we’re talking about?”

Eve starts to shake and stammer, the cool façade begins to fade away. “How did you get that?”

“We’ve been on to you for a while,” I snap. “And we can put you away for a long time with what’s on that tape. Conspiracy to commit murder, for starters. You may not have pulled the trigger, but you ordered the kill.”

Zack continues, “In fact, you might be surprised to learn that no one has pulled a trigger… yet.”

“Your pals double-crossed you, Eve,” I tell her, flashing her a confident smile. “They contacted us yesterday to demand ransom. They’ve cut you loose. You have one chance to help us, and the clock is ticking.”

Eve is quiet—the battle raging in her head reflected on her face.

Torres calls out to us. “Found a toothpick that was concealed by the seat cushion of a chair.”

“Fucking Burt,” spits Eve.

“Burt, who?” I press.

She turns to us, eyes wide, projecting vulnerability. As if either Zack or I would ever forget Eve’s the one who set all of this in motion. “You have to protect me.” It comes out in a rush.

“Protect you from whom?” I ask, struggling to keep the edge out of my voice.

Eve draws a deep breath and closes her eyes. “From the police.”

“The police?” Zack asks.

“The men who have Robby. They’re cops.”

By now Torres has joined us. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Torres steps closer, eyes blazing. “I don’t believe her. We don’t need to deal. We have prints and DNA.”

Eve looks at her from beneath lowered brows. “But that will take time, won’t it? And little Robby might not have much.” She meets Torres’ gaze. “You’d be amazed how many of you blue bloods belong to Elysium. And not only cops, judges, district attorneys, city officials. We offer certain discrete services they can’t find any where else.”

“Not interested in your clientele,” I break in. “Or your services. Who has Robby?”

“If I tell you, what will you do for me?”

Torres snaps. I have to grab her arm to keep her from lunging at Eve.

“Who has Robby?” I repeat, forcing calm into my voice. “Tell us. Now.”

“And you’ll tell the D.A. I cooperated?”

“Yes,” Zack replies.

“I’ll want that in writing,” she says.

Next thing you know, she’s going to be calling for her lawyer. We don’t have time for this. I turn to Torres. “Walk it off. Give us five.”

As soon as she’s gone, I lean into the car and unleash my rage. I don’t bother with finesse or control. I let the magic break through. A gust of wind rips through the car.

“Bradley, can you record this?”

“Roger that,” he replies.

I don’t have to turn around to know Zack’s retreated. This time, he’s wisely made a run for it. I can see him through the car’s rear window. He’s sitting on the front stoop of the house, looking as if he’s been punched in the gut.