Mistaken Identity Page 18

  The phone rang again and her pulse jumped, adrenaline shooting through her veins.

  “Calm down,” she muttered as she answered it.

  “Hello?”

  She hadn’t looked at the Caller ID, but she expected a familiar voice. Instead the tinny sound of a voice modifier filled her ears.

  “Glad you finally have your phone back,” the speaker said. “It’s going to make things a lot easier.”

  “Who is this?”

  “The person who’s going to give you what you want. If you cooperate.”

  “How do you know what I want?” she hedged, moving closer to the door, praying one of the men would return.

  “How about you ask the kid?”

  There was a second of silence and then another voice. No modifier this time, and the voice was so familiar it made her chest ache.

  “Trinity?” Henry said, his voice trembling. “Is it really you?”

  “Of course it is, kiddo. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, but I want to go home.”

  “I’ll make sure you get there.”

  “No. Don’t,” he said, the words rushing out. “I’ve already got cancer, so if something happens to me, it’s okay. You’ve got years and years—”

  “Henry, enough! You have years and years ahead of you, too.”

  “Maybe. Remember that old church where dad is buried?”

  An odd question because his father was buried at Arlington.

  “The brick one with the pretty steeple on it?”

  “Your father isn’t—”

  “It’s not far from home, Trinity. You can see it from the finish line.”

  “Enough!” someone yelled, the voice masculine and harsh.

  “Henry?” she called frantically, terrified of losing her connection with him.

  “Time’s up,” the tinny voice said, the voice modifier obviously in place again. “You talked to the kid. Now you make your choice. Get off the plane and walk to the south gate of the airport.”

  “How do you know—”

  “I have people everywhere and I make sure to pay them well. Get off the plane, walk to the south gate.”

  “I don’t know where that is.”

  “You’re a very smart woman. Figure it out! You use that phone after I hang up and the boy dies. You hear me? We have it bugged. You take more than a minute to exit the plane, the same thing is going to happen.”

  He disconnected and she moved.

  He’d given her no time to think things through. His intention, she knew, and it was effective. She shoved the phone into her pocket, keeping it on so the signal could be traced, grabbed a pen from the front of her bag and scribbled a note on the only surface available—the wall of the plane.

  Henry. Brick church. Steeple. Finish line. Close to home.

  That was it.

  All she had time for.

  She prayed it was enough.

  It had to be enough because she didn’t want to fail her best friend. She didn’t want to fail Henry. And she didn’t want to leave Mason and her brothers with more heartache and sorrow to carry home.

  She walked off the plane with three seconds to spare, clambering down the stairs so quickly she almost fell.

  She’d been to the airport once or twice before, and she knew the layout vaguely, but she still had no idea where the south gate was. The moon was out, the sky clear, and she could see the path it was taking east to west. She aligned herself with that, moving south past several hangars. Beyond those, a field stretched out to what looked like road.

  She headed in that direction, hoping and praying there’d be a gate somewhere at the end of her journey.

  Her phone buzzed, but she ignored it, afraid to pick up, knowing there was real possibility the caller had been telling the truth. She couldn’t take the chance. Not with Henry’s life hanging in the balance.

  She reached the edge of the field, found a tall fence topped with barbed wire. Left or right? She had to choose, and she was terrified she’d make the wrong decision.

  A light flashed to her right; a quick signal that seemed to be meant for her. She followed it, walking along the fence line until she reached a gate. No one was there, but the lock had been cut with a bolt cutter and it stood open, the road beyond it empty.

  Go back, her mind whispered, but she didn’t dare listen.

  Henry needed her, and she wasn’t going to save herself and sacrifice him. She stepped onto the road, saw another flash of light. It was leading her somewhere and she had no choice but to go. She walked quickly, her heart pounding frantically, her phone buzzing over and over again. The team was trying to find her. How long would it take for the police to find her signal and follow it?

  She stepped between shrubs that crowded into the road, was pushing through thick foliage, when she felt movement behind her.

  She had a split second to react, to turn toward the sound, to raise her arm to block whatever was swinging toward her head. It slammed into her arm and the bone snapped. She felt that, then felt a glancing blow to her cheek as it grazed the side of her face. She fell, the pain from her arm excruciating, her need to cry out, to moan, to pull the arm in close, overridden by her need to survive.

  She closed her eyes, faked unconsciousness.

  Someone kicked her in the ribs and she forced herself not to flinch.

  “She’s out,” a man said.

  “Then stop standing around like an idiot and pick her up. Her buddies probably aren’t too far behind,” a woman responded.

  That surprised Trinity and she was tempted to open her eyes to take a peek. She was afraid to risk it, so she stayed limp as she was lifted from the ground, carried for a count of twenty, and dumped into the back of either a truck or a van.

  A door closed and she waited, listening to the voices of her captors as they moved around the vehicle and got into the front.

  “That worked out better than I’d hoped,” the woman said. “The General will be pleased.”

  “I hope you’re not planning to tell him. He told you to leave well enough alone.”

  “You know what the punishment for treason is, Mack? Death,” she snarled.

  “Your husband knew that when he—”

  “Shut up! If she wakes up, I don’t want her to hear anything.”

  “Wakes up? You’ll be fortunate if she’s still alive when we get to the—”

  “I said be quiet!” the woman shrieked.

  “You know what, Doris? I didn’t sign up for crazy. So how about you transport the woman back, talk her into getting you into Gains’s computer system, and do everything else I’ve been doing for the past month.”

  “You’ve been paid well.”

  “Compared to what your husband raked in, I was paid squat.” He opened a door and Trinity could feel cold wafting in. Her arm hurt so badly she could barely move. Which was probably for the best. Doris sounded like a nutcase. The guy she was with was a mercenary, and, between the two of them, she didn’t think she stood a chance of surviving.

  That being the case, she needed to take a few chances. Because if her chances of survival were nothing, she couldn’t hurt them by trying to escape.

  She opened her eyes just enough to see the tan interior of the vehicle. A van of some sort. Probably a minivan because it had a hatchback. She was alone in the back. She was sure of that, and she opened her eye completely, the interior lights giving her a clear view of the stained carpet and the scuffed walls. The rear window was tinted, so there was no way anyone would see her lying there. She could open the hatch once the engine started. Jackson had made her practice that trick dozens of times when she was a kid.

  Just in case, he’d always said, and she’d laughed because “just in case” was never going to happen. Only, it was happening and she was going to have to remember that long-
ago skill, because when they reached their destination, she was dialing 9-1-1 and then launching an attack.

  A one-armed attack, but it was better than allowing Henry to be hurt. And that was what would happen. They might use him as a pawn for a while, but eventually they’d have what they wanted and he’d be nothing but a liability.

  “Hold on, Mack,” the woman said. “We part ways after this is over. That was the agreement.”

  “We made the agreement before I knew you were nuts.”

  “If I’m crazy it’s because I’m worried about the General.”

  “Worried about his money is more like it. At least I went into this with the right motivation. I wanted to help my old mentor,” Mack said.

  “Give me a break. You went into this for the money—and you’ll get the money. But first we have to find Tate. That’s the goal. That’s the mission.”

  “That’s the final destination,” he muttered as if he’d heard it all a dozen times before, but he closed the door. The interior lights went off and Trinity was enveloped in darkness.

  She knew where the hatch was. She knew what she needed to do, but the pain in her arm was stealing her energy. She needed to focus, stick with the plan, figure out a secondary one in case the first didn’t work.

  Church. Steeple. Finish line. Home.

  Henry had been giving her a message. He was smart, and he’d probably been thinking it through since he’d been kidnapped. But, for the life of her, she couldn’t remember a church with a steeple near her house or his.

  “The final destination,” the woman said, “is somewhere far away from this country and all her needy, grasping people.”

  “Not very nice thoughts for someone who once served.”

  “I served because I needed money. I didn’t sit on my butt and collect—”

  “How about we skip this part and get out of here?” Mack asked. The engine sputtered and then roared.

  Trinity braced herself, afraid her arm would be jostled by bumps in the road and she’d scream in agony.

  Think! Focus!

  She used the noise of the engine to mask the sound of her good hand skimming across scratchy carpet, finding the latch that held the hatch closed.

  Something thumped against the side of the van and she froze.

  “What was that?” Mack asked.

  “I don’t—”

  Glass shattered and the woman screamed. Trinity didn’t wait to be told what was going on. She pulled the latch, jumped out of the vehicle, stumbling as her feet hit the ground. The van was rolling away, thumping as flat tire met blacktop, and she was running in the opposite direction, Henry’s words chanting through her mind...

  Church. Steeple. Finish line. Home.

  And suddenly she knew.

  She could remember it clearly. Henry’s first track meet, sitting in the stands with Bryn, cheering him on. Congratulating him on his first-place finish after he’d crossed the finish line. He’d pointed to a church across the street from the track and told her that God had given wings to his feet.

  He’d only been seven and Trinity had thought him wise beyond his years. She’d forgotten that. Just like she’d forgotten the church with is brick facade and beautiful steeple.

  She slammed into something, her injured arm smashing against it. She gagged, the pain so intense she was on her knees vomiting into her the dirt.

  “We need an ambulance,” someone said and she realized Mason was beside her, a pistol in his hand.

  “No ambulance,” she muttered.

  “Your arm,” he began, and she could see what he did—her forearm bent at an unnatural angle.

  “I know where Henry is. He’s probably not alone.”

  “Trinity, your arm is broken badly.”

  “My heart will be broken worse if something happens to Henry,” she responded.

  His jaw tightened, his eyes flashed, and then he was moving, using his jacket as a sling, tying it around her neck and easing her arm in it.

  She almost passed out.

  Almost.

  But she knew if she did, the ambulance would come and take her away and everything she knew about Henry would be lost until she regained consciousness again.

  “How is she?” Chance called, jogging toward them, a streak of blood on his cheek.

  “I’m fine,” she lied.

  “She knows where Henry is,” Mason told him. “She wants to go there.”

  “Tell us where, Trinity. We’ll bring him home,” Chance said gently, stepping between her and the van. She could still see. Cyrus and Jackson were there with two other men. One of them frisking a skinny woman with white hair. The other frisking a tall, lanky man.

  “It will be easier to show you, and faster.” She started walking, not really sure where she was headed. Maybe to find a ride.

  “You need to sit.” Mason touched her shoulder and tried to steer her toward a patch of grass that he probably wanted her to sit in.

  “I need to go to the church.”

  “You’re not making any sense, Trinity,” her brother said, and she swung around to face him, all her fear and frustration bubbling out.

  “I promised Bryn that Henry would come home. I’m going to make sure that promise is fulfilled. I don’t care how long it takes, and I don’t care what I have to do. I’m going to find him. I’m going to make sure he’s delivered back to his mother. After that, I’ll go to the hospital and have my arm set, but not before. Does that make sense?” she demanded, and he cocked his head to the side, eyed her steadily for a few heartbeats.

  “You’ve made yourself abundantly clear, Trinity.”

  “And?”

  “You’d better do exactly what I tell you. Every single thing. No matter how much you might not want to. Understood.”

  “You’ve made yourself abundantly clear,” she replied.

  Chance didn’t even crack a smile.

  “I’m getting a car. Give me five minutes, and then we’ll head out.”

  She waited until he was several feet away and then she puked again, kneeling by the edge of the road, heaving until she could barely breathe, her arm throbbing steadily, her cheek throbbing, too.

  When she finally straightened, Mason was there, handing her a piece of gum and a cloth she thought might have been part of his shirt. “Better?” he asked.

  “No.” But she popped the gum into her mouth, wiped the cloth across her face and told herself she was going to be okay.

  Then she took the hand he offered and let him lead her across the road and away from the van. Up a small hill and into a parking lot. Headlights flashed and he slid his arm around her waist, offering extra support as they moved in that direction. “That’s your brother.”

  “How do you know?”

  “We were on our way here when I decided to go back and check on you.”

  “I was doing fine.”

  “I think we can both agree that you weren’t. If I’d been a minute later, I wouldn’t have seen you exit the cabin, and you’d be halfway down the road heading for—”

  “A church,” she said. “Near Henry’s old elementary school.”

  “You think they have him there?”

  “I don’t know, but he tried to send me a message while we were talking, and the only thing I got from it was that.”

  “Then we’ll check it out, but if he’s not there, you’re going to the hospital.”

  “I promised Bryn that Henry would be okay.”

  “Do you think that promise is going to matter if you and Henry are both dead?” he asked, the harsh question making her wince.

  “Bryn—”

  “This isn’t just about Bryn. This about your parents. Your brothers. Your friends.” He took a breath. “It’s about me. I care about you. I want to see what my future will be with you in it, and I’m no
t willing to see you hurt because of your determination to prove your worth to people who already know your value.”

  He was right.

  She knew he was. She’d spent years trying to prove her value to people who already understood it. A waste of time and a waste of energy, and here she was, trying to do it again, because, maybe, she really needed to prove something to herself.

  She wanted to tell Mason that.

  She wanted to say that she cared, too. Wanted to say that a future together would be a whole lot better than a future alone.

  Dozens of words were there.

  Dozens of things she could have said that would have let him know how deeply she’d begun to care for him.

  Her heart thumped with the weight of them, her arm throbbing in time with it, and the words stuck in her throat, because she was terrified that she’d say too much or not enough and ruin whatever it was they were building together.

  They’d reached Chance’s sedan and he’d opened the door, was gesturing for her to climb in.

  Mason walked to the other side of the car and her opportunity was lost to bad timing and bad experience and her own annoying cowardice.

  * * *

  A brick church.

  A steeple.

  A finish line.

  And home.

  They’d found a place that ticked every one of those boxes—a pretty little church on a pretty little yard that faced Henry’s elementary school.

  Mason could see the track from his position at the corner of the street. He could see the sign posted in the front of the church building. It was being renovated, an addition onto the back, the congregation sharing a sister church until the building was ready.

  “What do you think?” Chance asked, his attention focused on the front door.

  He might have been talking to Mason, but it was more likely he was speaking the chief of police. He’d arrived before they had, responding to a call Chance had made.

  “I think we wait for the K-9 team. They’ve been tracking the boy. We’ll see if they catch a whiff of him around the building and then we’ll—”