Promise Broken (The Callahan Series) (17 page)

Next, they went to Mark’s room. “Is there anything you want? Toys? Anything?”

He shook his head. He’d outgrown his clothes. There was nothing else.

A sudden realization hit her. That’s how they knew her size and why Mark’s clothes and sneakers were too small. They’d gone by the sizes they found in their closet. Just the thought of criminals in her house made her hurry. She grabbed the albums she’d made since Mark’s birth with pictures from his infancy to the day they left, along with his birth certificate, and added them to the box.

“This is it,” she told the agents. “Give the rest to charity.”

“It’s time to leave, then.”

She wanted to go back to the ranch as badly as Mark did. She wanted Donovan—wanted the warmth and security of his arms. She wanted to see where their relationship was going—if it was going anywhere.

After all that had happened, what did he feel? She didn’t know, but she had to find out. The reality was she didn’t know if the Callahans would want them back in their lives after this. They’d sent the cavalry to save her, but that’s who they were. They’d do that for anyone. Most families would never tolerate this kind of danger from an outsider.

The agents ushered her out the door as a crew of cleaning people came in. “Pack everything. Have the Salvation Army pick it up. When you’re finished, clean the house.” Agent Young turned back to the man in charge, “Take the usual precautions.”

The man nodded.

They didn’t waste any time, Phyl thought, as they were hurried to a black SUV parked at the curb.

“Are we going home?” Mark asked.

What could she tell him? She didn’t know how long the authorities would keep her here. Added to that, she wasn’t sure she knew where home was anymore.

****

Donovan pulled his rental up to Phyl’s house just as the sun peeked over the horizon. His flight had been straight through, a rental car waiting. He figured he couldn’t be more than a couple of hours behind Phyl and the man who abducted her and Mark. Max had called less than thirty minutes ago to tell him that they had been rescued by the FBI, and a couple of Marshals.

Donovan’s relief was so profound he had to pull the car over to calm his nerves. They could have been killed. He owed Max. Big time.

Donovan had thought he’d find them here, but there were no official vehicles of any kind. Nothing but a white truck in the drive with Kellogg’s Cleaning Service printed on the side.

He walked to the door, knocked.

A man in a white jumpsuit answered. “Yes?”

“The woman who owns the house. Is she here?”

“No one here but us.”

“Do you know where she is?”

“Who are you?”

Donovan swallowed the answer he wanted to give. Instead, said, “Family.”

The man’s eyes turned hard. “No idea.”

“Please. I need to find her. It’s important.”

The man made to close the door. Donovan put his booted foot inside, a hand on the door. “Just tell me where she is, and I’ll let you get back to work.”

“If you don’t leave right now, Cowboy, I’ll call the cops.”

“Can you tell me anything?” When the man stared blankly at him, Donovan knew he was wasting his time. With a shove, the guy shut the door. Though Donovan pounded for a couple of times, the man didn’t respond.

When Donovan’s cell phone rang, he walked away, answered without checking the caller ID. “What?”

“It’s Max, Donovan. You’re wasting your time there. The FBI is in charge now. They have Phyl and Mark with them.”

“Where are they?”

“They’re headed for the FBI building downtown so Phyl can look at some photos. Go back to the ranch. Everything is under control.”

Donovan went to his car, sat down before his legs collapsed. The guy inside had called someone, that person had called Max. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

Donovan took a deep breath. “I can’t turn my back on them any more than you could turn your back on TJ and little Duncan. Don’t you see?”

Silence. Then, “I do now. But it’s out of my hands.”

For a long minute Donovan just sat there.

“Like hell,” he muttered and started the car.

His GPS gave him the location of the San Diego FBI office. “They’d better be there,” he said to himself. Stepping on the gas, he gave one last look at the house Phyl had called home before she came to Texas. He realized how well it suited her. It was small, but big enough for the two of them. The outside was freshly painted and there were curtains in the windows. She’d made a life for herself and Mark with no help from anyone. She didn’t need him.

He didn’t care, he had to see her.

Forty-five minutes later he pulled into the parking lot of a large white building not too far off Highway 805. The color blue shimmered in the early morning light, bouncing off the many-windowed building. The place was huge. How the hell would he find them?

He got out of the car, went to the entrance, walked through metal detectors. Several FBI agents were situated around the large entry.

One of them came up to him. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Phyllis Leander and her son, Mark. I believe they were brought in earlier.” If they weren’t, he didn’t know what he’d do. He only knew he wouldn’t go back without them.

“You are….?”

“Donovan Callahan,” he said. Realizing for the first time in months that he
was
a Callahan. And Callahans took care of family. “Phyl...Ms. Leander has been working on my ranch.”

“So you’re her employer.”

What could he say? “We’re...family.”

“I see. Take a seat. I’ll check.”

The agent went to a desk, lifted the phone, murmured into the receiver. Donovan moved to the window to look out. He’d give them another minute, then he was going to walk through those doors. If he had to search every room here, find them himself, he would.

Just as the minute was up, the man came toward him. “Come with me.”

Donovan was led down the hall where the agent opened a door and ushered him into a not too large room that held a six-foot oblong table. Four chairs sat around it. One wall was mirrored, the others a drab neutral color.

There had to be a microphone somewhere, but a quick scan didn’t show it.

Why the hell would they put him in an interrogation room?

Anger mixed with concern. He’d give them the benefit of the doubt. For now.

“Where are they?” he asked the stone-faced agent.

“Someone will be with you shortly,” he said, and shut the door.

What were they trying to pull?

They were giving him the runaround. They’d keep him here cooling his heels until they figured a way to get rid of him. It wouldn’t work.

Pacing the room, Donovan wondered if someone was watching behind the mirror. Didn’t matter. He had one objective: figure out a way to find Phyl and Mark, then get them home.

Just as he was about to storm out of the room, the door opened. Two FBI agents and a U.S. Marshal stepped in and shut the door.

Donovan’s chest tightened.

“Have a seat,” one of the agents said in a voice that brooked no argument.

They arranged three chairs on one side of the table.

“I’ll sit when you tell me where my family is, and why I can’t see them.”

“If you’ll take a seat, we’ll explain,” another agent said.

Donovan pulled out a chair, glared at the three men sitting opposite him. “Talk.”

“I’m Marshal Ted Young,” the Marshal said. “These are Special Agents Roberts and Wingate. And you are…?”

“Donovan Callahan. I’m here for my family.”

“They aren’t really your family, are they, Mr. Callahan?” Special Agent Roberts asked.

Donovan shot a go-to-hell-look at the tall, thin man. His perfectly fitted suit, black shiny shoes, and expertly cut brown hair didn’t impress Donovan in the least. “They’re family.”

“What’s your interest? We know our witness’s background so don’t try to snow us,” Roberts continued. “We know you’re not kin.”

Donovan wanted to deck the guy.

The agent leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms. “What’s your position with the cartel?”

“What? Where did that come from?”

“You’re not family. You’re the oldest son of Nellie and Duncan Callahan. You live on the family ranch. You went to San Antonio almost two months ago, were a frequent customer in a bar that’s a known hangout for drug dealers. You searched all over town for a man who was knifed and killed by a known drug pusher.”

“What?”
Donovan shot to his feet, his hands clenched into fists. “You pricks are out of your minds! What are you trying to pull?” If they knew that much about him, did they know it all?

“Who was Perkins? Why did you want to locate him? Did you pay to have him killed?”

The questions exploded in the room. Donovan slammed a hand on the table, felt the anger push through him. Anger he couldn’t control. But he couldn’t lose it. Not in front of these guys, they’d handcuff him and charge him with something. It wouldn’t matter whether he was innocent or guilty, they’d make their point.

He took a silent breath. At least they didn’t know everything. “Think what you want. I’m out of here.” He knocked his chair over when he strode toward the door.

Both FBI agents were on their feet and met him there. Each took an arm and duck walked him back to the table where the U.S. Marshal was righting the chair. “You’ll sit there until we’re done.”

“Bastards! I want my family. Now.”

“Calm down. We just need some information.”

“About drug dealers—a cartel? Whether I had a man killed or not? Forget it. I run a ranch. That’s it. End of story.”

“You sent the information on a flash drive to your brother-in-law, Maxwell Thomas.”

“I did. Thanks to him, Phyl and Mark are safe. They are safe, aren’t they?”

Glowering, he took the flash drive from his pocket, slammed it on the table.

Agent Roberts picked it up, handed it to his partner who left the room.

The Marshal sat there. Watching. Waiting.

“Stop playing games,” Donovan warned. “You know enough about me and my family to know the truth.”

“We do,” Roberts nodded.

“Your family, as you call them, can’t go back with you,” the Marshal said. “The FBI put a trace on Gutierrez’s phones. He wants Ms. Leander dead. Her ex husband cost him a lot of money, and he’s out for blood. Her life would be in extreme danger without protection.”

“I’ll protect her,” Donovan promised.

Marshal Young shook his head. “Impossible. You have to see this our way or you could lose them both.”

Donovan’s hands shook as he lifted them to his face, dropped his head.

“They’ll hire professional killers. You’d be no match at all.”

“My brother’s the sheriff.”

“We know about your brother. But unless he can put someone in your house 24/7, you have the same problem. No one can protect her like the Service can.”

Donovan lifted his head, stared at the men across from him. They were telling the truth. There was no way he could protect Phyl alone. Not even with Dugan’s help.

“Can I see them?” he asked, his throat so clogged he could barely speak.

Agent Roberts nodded to Young, who went to the door. A minute later it opened again. Mark flew toward him, jumped in his arms. Donovan’s relief was so profound he thought he might drop the boy. Instead, he held him tight. “Are you all right?”

Mark buried his head in Donovan’s shoulder, but he felt the kid nod.

“Where’s your mom?”

“She’s looking at pictures and talking to some guy,” Mark said, raising his head. “I was so scared. So was Mom. But the Ninjas saved us. They were great. You should’ve seen them.”

“Ninjas? Are you sure?”

Mark nodded. “I want to go home.”

“We talked about this, Mark,” Agent Young said. “Now tell your friend goodbye. It won’t be for long.”

The door opened again and Phyl walked in.

She looked beautiful. Her hair was loose around her face, her eyes wide and questioning. But taking her home with him could put her in danger again. What if something like what they just went through happened again? What if she was killed?

He couldn’t do it.

She was too precious to him.

After giving Mark a final hug, he walked over to her. “Be careful, Phyl.”

With a heavy heart he left the room.

Chapter Fifteen

“I want to go home,” Mark wailed. “I want to see Donovan,” he cried when the SUV headed out I-5.

Donovan had come after her!

But he hadn’t said anything. When she’d walked in and seen him standing there with Mark in his arms, surrounded by FBI agents and the U.S. Marshal, she’d nearly gone dizzy with relief. But he’d barely spoken. It was as if he couldn’t wait to get out of there.

Mark was inconsolable, Phyl confused.

“Where are we going?”

The U.S. Marshals, Ted and Harry, who insisted she use their first names, had either been on their cell phones or had their eyes peeled for anyone who might follow them.

They seemed satisfied everything was okay.

She wasn’t. Neither was Mark.

Driving north, they left the freeway and climbed into the mountains.

“We’re taking you to a place you’ll be safe. A place we think you’ll like.”

“Where?”

“A ranch.”

“See, Mark, you’ll be riding a horse again soon.”

“Won’t be Lily,” he grumbled.

Finally, they drove through the gates of the Bar-One ranch.

Phyl was on the edge of her seat, taking it all in, Mark’s nose was glued to the window.

“It’s not as large as the Callahan spread,” Ted explained. “But you’ll like the Mackenzies. They’re good people. Years ago, Faith was a schoolteacher. She’s eager to tutor Mark. Ray is retired FBI.”

“Why would they be willing to let us come here and interrupt their lives?”

“They help us out on occasion. Actually, they sounded excited.”

It did seem a fair answer to their problem, Phyl thought, as they drove up the winding drive. Not as good as going back to Texas, of course. But did the Callahans even want her there? Donovan had been distant. Was he worried she would put the family in more danger? Though it broke her heart to think like this it made sense after everything that had happened.