(Chapter 9. Emily's hiding place, the beach house, Olivia's home in
Pennsylvania, a park in LA. March 4-5, 2033.)
Emily yawned, stretched, and gasped in pain. It took her all of two seconds to remember what had happened that afternoon, and when she did, she was up and on her feet in half a heartbeat. Half a second after that, she was sitting on the couch wishing she hadn't moved so fast.
She heard a slightly amused voice say, "Took you by surprise, didn't it."
This time, she got up more slowly and said, "Yeah. I guess so." Looking around, she asked, "Where's Moretti?"
"After you finally fell asleep, I examined him. Given his age and lifestyle, the stress of recent events was really starting to wear on him. I fixed him something to eat and then took him back to the bedroom so he could sleep more comfortably."
Emily's face clouded, realizing that the doctor had broken his promise not to let the mobster out of his sight. She headed quickly for the bedroom, but Jesse stepped in front of her and said, "He needs some rest, too. He's cuffed to the bed. I just checked on him five minutes ago, and he was still out like a light."
"I need to see him."
"Just don't wake him."
She nodded and Jesse stepped aside.
A few minutes later, she was back out in the main room of the small house, looking in the refrigerator. To Jesse, she seemed a bit listless, somewhat disoriented.
"How long was I out," she asked.
Jesse consulted his watch and said, "About twelve hours. It's Wednesday morning. Eight thirty. Why don't you have a seat, and I'll fix you something for breakfast?"
Jesse felt her stare as a physical force. She was at least six inches taller than him, and such careful scrutiny from a statuesque young woman in a sports-bra and combat fatigues made him uneasy. Who was he kidding? She was downright intimidating. At least he'd gotten her out of the rest of the body armor and into the sports-bra last night. She'd only woken for a few minutes, and she probably didn't remember it.
She raised one eyebrow and said, "Why are you so eager to help me?"
"It's been years since I've seen your mom, Emily, but I still consider her a friend, and while you might not be able to tell the good guys from the bad, I still can. You're one of the good ones. Besides, I'm a doctor, and you're hurt. It's what I do."
He took her gently by the elbow and guided her over to the table.
"Sit, relax, let me fix breakfast."
She sat and said, "Sausage, eggs over easy, whole wheat toast with butter, juice, and coffee, please."
Jesse chuckled. "Eating like that will kill you, kid."
"Good health is only a measure of how long it takes you to die," she said wryly.
'God,' Jesse thought, 'No wonder Steve thinks she's his. She sounds just like him.'
"So, would you like to explain to me what's going on now," he asked in his friendliest tone.
"No."
He sighed and said, "It might help to have a friend to talk to."
"You're not my friend. I'm using you, and when I don't need you any longer, I'm going to dump you somewhere."
Jesse felt a chill.
He sat her breakfast in front of her and watched as she bowed her head briefly before she began to eat. Maybe if he could just stretch the silence long enough, she'd feel like filling it. Silence and patience were two things he'd never been good at. Now he wished he'd practiced more.
She ate slowly, clearly enjoying her meal, and Jesse found himself feeling strangely glad that she enjoyed his cooking. Steve was right; she looked just like her mother, only bigger. Long curly red hair cascaded from a ponytail on the top of her head; she had full red lips and lively green- gold eyes. She moved with the natural grace of a model. Her porcelain skin was scattered with freckles, and, now that she was rested, the soft contours of her face made her look younger than her years.
As she finished cleaning her plate and gulping her coffee, she asked, "Has Moretti had his breakfast?"
"Not yet."
"I'll go wake him. Would you mind getting something for him to eat while I find us another ride? Then I'll want you to check my shoulder again."
He smiled, she was tougher than Steve, all right, but she had a lot more sense, too.
"Ok, but let me take care of your shoulder first."
"It can wait. It's not that urgent."
"I know but…" Jesse suddenly felt shy. "I didn't like the way Moretti was looking at you when you took your clothes off to let me dress the wound last night."
At her puzzled look, he added heatedly, "If you were my daughter, I'd have kicked the crap out of him."
She gave him a lopsided little smile and said, "How very chivalrous of you, Dr. Travis." Then she sat down and eased off the sports-bra. She held it against herself to cover her breasts and looked away as he checked and redressed her wound.
"Well, it's not infected," Jesse said as he turned to the sink to wash his hands while she put her top back on.
"Good. And…thank you…about Moretti."
Jesse just nodded.
"Ok, fix him some breakfast, please. I'll go wake him. We can't stay here much longer."
"Why not?"
"Because my mother owns this place, and they'll eventually come check it out."
"Who are they?"
She sneered. "Take your pick. Mob, feds, marshals, LAPD. There's no telling who wants us dead and who wants us alive."
Jesse shuddered as she went back the hall. He knew that now, *us* included *him*.
Steve, Mark, Amanda, Ron, Dion, and Cheryl were all meeting at the beach house. Hannah, Ron and Amanda's daughter, would meet them there when she finished her shift at the microbiology lab at the university. They were downstairs in Mark's apartment. Over the years, their gatherings had shifted locations as their families grew. They all wanted to protect their loved ones from the nastier aspects of their cases, and while it sometimes proved impossible, they did the best they could.
"How did Steven take it," Dion asked.
"He was upset," Steve told him. The truth was, Steven was outraged, not that Emily had kidnapped Jesse at gunpoint, but that Steve had suggested Jess might be in danger with her. He was so angry he refused to even wait at the beach house for word of her whereabouts. He said he'd prefer to stay at her place in case she tried to call there. Steve could just imagine the fallout he'd be dealing with once the results of the paternity test were in.
"Steve. Steve?"
"Huh? What? Sorry, Cheryl. I was lost in thought there."
"I noticed. You've been doing that a lot, lately. Are you ok?"
"Yeah, I'm fine, just worried about Jess. What did you ask?"
"I said, did Steven have any idea where she might be?"
"Oh, no. No he didn't. He says they've both been so busy that the only place they've really seen each other is at her place. He doesn't even know where she hangs out or who her friends are."
The phone rang, and Mark got up to get it.
"Now, if she got here in September, and didn't get hired until February, what was she doing all that time," Amanda asked.
Ron joined the conversation. "She was working for me, I think. At least she seemed to be." He sounded guilty.
Amanda patted his shoulder and said, "Ron, right now we have no evidence that she wasn't, or isn't still, working for you."
"I know, hon, but I have a bad feeling about this. She was supposed to wait for my call, but she never answered her cell phone. I think she's getting her info and her orders from someone else."
"Then we have to find out who that someone else is," said Steve.
Ron nodded. "There are two people above me who knew, the men who were guarding Moretti, and you, Steve."
"And Emily."
"Yeah," Ron sighed, "and Emily."
Mark returned to the group and waved them to hush. "Ok, Roger. Thanks. I know you did your best, that's all I could ask."
He clicked the phone off and said, "That was my friend, Roger, at the TV station. The story about Emily will be the lead on the national news broadcasts tonight. The big three, CNN, and World Today. I think it's time to call Olivia."
He handed the phone to Steve and said, "It's speed dial eight."
Steve looked at him askance, and Mark just shrugged. "We've kept in touch."
Steve nodded and said, "Can I use the bedroom for a little privacy?"
"Sure, son."
Jesse sat at the table in the little house watching Moretti eat. Emily had left them to go in search of less conspicuous transportation. Moretti was cuffed to the chair, and he was having a hard time eating one handed. He was a little younger than Jesse, but he looked older. He looked a lot older. Jesse was having a hard time deciding if it was stress or his profligate lifestyle that had made the Mafioso age so soon.
Several times, the mobster had looked up and caught Jesse watching. Each time, he had attempted to stare Jesse down, but after thirty years of working cases with Steve and Mark, he wasn't so easy to intimidate. Now, Emily could spook him, but a used up old Mafioso didn't have a chance. Moretti looked at him again, and Jesse just stared steadily.
Moretti had had enough.
"What?"
"Hmmm?"
"Why you keep starin' at me, Doc?"
"Oh, I'm sorry," Jesse said blandly. "I didn't realize I was. I was just thinking." On the inside he was laughing. He just *knew* he could make the man talk.
"You don't last as long as I have in a business like mine without knowin' when people are lyin' to ya, Doc. There's somethin' on your mind, and it has somethin' ta do wit me. I wanna know what it is."
"What do the cops have on you?" Jesse asked, giving more of the tone of idle curiosity than any real desire to know.
"Nothin'," the Moretti barked proudly.
Jesse snorted derisively. "You expect me to believe that, as dangerous as it is to roll over on the mob? You're not helping them send Vince Gaudino to jail for nothing. Don't tell me it's your sense of civic duty."
Moretti narrowed his eyes to mere slits. If it got the doc to stop staring at him, why not tell him? The whole world would know soon anyway.
"I got a kid who's a cop."
Jesse laughed. "There've been a lot of mobsters in the LAPD lately. They'll find him out eventually."
Moretti shook his head and explained.
"You don't get it, Doc. He's a good cop. About ten years ago, Gaudino ordered a hit on him. My kid survived," Moretti sounded proud, "but the case he was workin' on was dismissed while he was in the hospital because he was the key witness."
"So," Jesse suggested, "You're avenging the attempt on your son's life."
"I guess," Moretti agreed. "Problem is, he don't know about me. His mom left before he was born. I didn't look too hard for her because I didn't want a kid then. Now I do."
"And you think you can go into court, testify, yell, 'Daddy's home' and he'll welcome you with open arms, huh?" Jesse couldn't believe the man's nerve, and his tone of voice made it clear.
Moretti was angry now. He brought his hand down on the table with a resounding thud. He stammered for a moment, choked with fury. Jesse continued to stare at him, waiting for whatever excuse he had to offer. Suddenly, all emotion drained from his face, his shoulders slumped, and he dropped his gaze to the table.
"I don't expect him to ever want to talk to me. I'm just hopin' maybe one time he'll listen."
Jesse didn't know what to say. He quit staring at the man.
Ring…Ring…Ring…
Olivia pushed aside the drapes on her side of the canopy bed.
"God, O, let the machine get it," her husband moaned.
"Keith, it must be important for someone to call at this hour."
She looked at the caller ID box and recognized the familiar California number. Chuckling, she answered the phone.
"My Lord, Mark. Did you forget about time zones? It's just turned six here."
For a moment, there was silence.
"Mark?"
"Liv, it's Steve."
Keith sensed the sudden change in atmosphere and turned to look at his wife. She was ashen pale, a sickly smile pasted to her face was just beginning to melt away, and all the mirth had left her eyes. She slumped into a chair.
"You're calling about Em. Is she still alive?"
Keith sat up in bed. Olivia turned on the speakerphone.
"Liv, you there?"
"Steve, it's Keith, you're on speaker. Is Emmy ok?"
Steve had been wondering what he was going to say after thirty years. The facts came out of him with surprising ease.
"As far as we know, she's alive, but we think she's been shot. I can't tell you everything right now, but you'll hear some of it on the six o'clock news tonight. She's wanted for kidnapping a federal witness. She was supposed to bring him to a safe house, but she disappeared with him. Then she kidnapped Jesse. She's been missing for about eighteen hours."
"She's a good girl, Steve," Olivia said. "She wouldn't break the rules unless there was something wrong with the system."
"I hope you're right, Liv."
"I know I am, Steve. She must have found out someone was…untrustworthy. Something must have gone wrong. Emmy plays by the rules."
"That's what we're hoping, Liv. If that's not the case, well, she's in a hell of a lot of trouble."
"What can we do to help, Steve," asked Keith.
"Not much from there," Steve told him, "but if you could come out here, maybe you could help us think of places she might be hiding."
"I…uh…I have some money invested in various properties out there, Steve. I told Meyer to set up a financial relief fund after the big quake in '05."
Steve's grin could be heard three thousand miles away. "I figured you did, Liv. Can you fax us a list of properties, especially the vacant ones? She may be there."
"I'll get Meyer on it right away," said Liv. "We'll be there as soon as we can."
"So, what went wrong?"
Jesse and Moretti were still sitting at the table waiting for Emily to return.
"Hell if I know," Moretti said. "I knew for a fact that two of the guys 'protecting' me were wit' the Ganza Family. I managed to find a chance to talk wit' Agent Wagner privately, an' he gave me his word that he would get me out alive. Yesterday they decided to move me to a new safe house, an' I knew if Wagner didn't get me then, I'd be dead. I was pacin' in my room, four guys busted in, wearin' full combat armor, only one of 'em was the lady cop, an' they knocked me out wit' chloroform. I came to in an SUV, wit' just her an' nobody else, an' she'd been shot. She brought me here, dumped me, cuffed me to the radiator, left, came back wit' food, left, came back wit' you, an' you know the rest."
"She hasn't told you anything?"
"She told me she was a cop, an' she told me to shut up."
"That's it?"
"Yep. She's ain't the talkative type."
Jesse wrinkled his brow in thought. "What do you think she's doing?"
"I think she's keepin' my ass alive."
"Why?"
"So I can testify."
"You sound awfully sure about that. How do you know she isn't holding you for the mob?"
Moretti stuck his fleshy lower lip out in a thoughtful pout.
"It's like this, Doc. I figure if she wanted me dead, I'd be dead by now. If she grabbed me to sell me to the mob, I'd be dead by now, or hangin' by my thumbs in a warehouse, bein' used as a punchin' bag until I told them what I knew about the cops. See, I know which cops are really dirty, and which ones just look dirty so they can catch the ones who really are."
It took Jesse a minute to follow his reasoning. When he caught up, he nodded to encourage Moretti to continue.
"If she was freelance, just in it for the money, she'd have found a buyer for me by now. She'd have had one lined up before she snatched me."
Moretti grew thoughtful again. Finally, he said, "I don't think she knows who to trust anymore, an' she's decided to just look after me all by herself."
Jesse looked at the man very seriously and said, "Maybe you ought to thank her."
Just then, Emily came in, startling both men half out of their wits.
"I don't need him to thank me. I need him to *shut up*."
"Look cop…" Moretti began.
"Look, Moretti," she interrupted. "You know as well as I do, the less we tell him, the safer he *and* we are."
She came up behind Jesse and rested a hand on his shoulder. He was surprised at how large her hands were.
"Jess," she said, "I want to thank you for taking care of my shoulder. It feels much better this morning. And thanks for making breakfast. I'm really sorry I have to do this."
Jesse gasped as her hand suddenly came around his face, and as he gasped, he inhaled chloroform. He knew he couldn't win, but he fought to stay awake as long as he could. He lasted less than a minute.
Leigh Ann was on her cell phone again.
"Sir, Chief Sloan has just received a fax listing of vacant properties owned or financed by some organization called the LA Promise Foundation. Officer Cioffi has been asked to take them out to his house in Malibu. I thought you should know."
"Thank you Leigh Ann. I know of the foundation, and I think I know why he wants the records. You've done well."
"Thank you, sir. What should I do about it?"
"Make sure I get those same records, please, Leigh Ann."
"Yes, sir. I'll have them for you tonight."
"Very good. Good bye, Leigh Ann."
"Good bye, sir."
After Jesse was out, Emily eased him to the floor, tucked a letter, the keys to the 'Vette, and the mother-of-pearl and paua shell watch her mom had given her into his hand. She put a hand in front of his face to make sure he was still breathing, and when she was satisfied that the small, older man would be ok, she turned to Moretti.
She uncuffed the mobster from his chair, and was about to bring his hands around to cuff them behind him when he spoke.
Nodding toward Jesse's crumpled form on the floor, he said, "The little guy's right. I should thank you."
"Shut up, Moretti," she said tiredly.
"Listen, cop…Emily…" His tone softened when he spoke her name. "I know I'd be dead if it weren't for you. I…trust you to keep me alive, and I think I know what kind of risk you're takin'. I won't try to run away."
She paused.
"If you get rid of the cuffs, I won't slow you down as much."
She narrowed her eyes at him, nodded, and removed the cuffs.
"Try it, and I'll cut you off at the knees."
Moretti nodded. "I understand."
"…and we can tell by the concentration of the particles how long ago she's been there, and maybe even which way she was heading. Any recovered stolen vehicle, we could tell within minutes if she had been in it and how long ago."
Hannah was explaining how they could use Emily's 'viral profile' to track her. It was part of her doctoral research, and the young woman was eager to put it into practice.
"It should be really easy, too, because no one else in LA has had the BioGen virus."
Steve shook his head. "I still don't understand."
"Every illness changes the body, Uncle Steve. Every strain of flu, every cold virus, has a signature, an imprint, if you will, that it leaves on the body. Even though the virus is no longer active, the person's immune system has permanently changed in the act of fighting it off."
"Ok, that much I follow."
"Good. Now each person, over his or her lifetime, contracts a different combination of illnesses; so, each person has a different viral profile."
Steve thought a moment.
"Got it."
"Usually, we would have to compile a person's entire medical history to get an accurate viral profile; but since Emily has had the BioGen virus, all we have to do is look for that signature, and we can track her."
"And this gadget of yours can identify that signature?" Steve gestured toward her invention. It looked like a cross between a bicycle pump and a battery charger.
Hannah nodded, excited that her godfather was understanding.
"Everywhere we go we shed skin cells and hair and mites and all kinds of stuff. If we can just get the signature of the BioGen virus, or a blood, hair, skin, or tissue sample from Emily, this thing will track her like a bloodhound."
Steve nodded. "A bloodhound. Now *that's* an analogy I can understand. You work on getting this profile, and I'll work on getting blood or tissue samples. Will hair do?"
"If the follicle's attached."
"I should be able to manage that, if Steven will let me."
Mark came into the room, phone glued to his ear.
"Yes, here he is," he said, handing the phone to Steve.
"Deputy Chief Sloan here."
"Chief, it's Lieutenant Stephens."
"Emily! Where the hell are you? What do you think you're doing?"
"Peck Park. Two thirty tomorrow morning. Western Avenue side phone booth. Bring $100,000. Wait for my call. Triangulate on this signal and you'll find Jesse. He's unharmed. He doesn't know where he is or how he got here. I tried to protect him. I'll talk to you later, sir."
"Emily! Emily! Lieutenant Stephens!"
There had been no click. The line was still open. She was on the move, but leading them right to Jesse's location. What the hell was she up to now?
Jesse woke feeling queasy, the result of too much chloroform, he guessed. If he hadn't fought it so hard, he wouldn't have inhaled quite so much when he did breathe in. Oh, well, too late now. He shrugged. He sat up, and the whole world pitched and rolled like the deck of a ship in a storm. He sat for several moments, waiting for things to be still.
With some confusion, he noticed he was holding three things that weren't his. The first was a set of keys to…what? He shrugged, deciding he'd figure it out later. Then there was the watch. He knew it had belonged to Olivia's great grandmother. Why did Emily give him a family heirloom? Last of all, he looked at the envelope. It was addressed to him.
"Son of a bitch," Steve roared as he got the address on Jesse's location. "That's less than ten blocks from here."
He paused and listened to the officer who had called with Jesse's location.
"No, no. Commander Banks, Agent Wagner, and Captain Bentley-Wagner are here. Send backup, but we're not waiting."
He hung up the phone and turned to Cheryl, Ron, and Dion and said, "Let's move."
The three men and Cheryl piled into Steve's car.
Jesse opened the letter, which appeared to be several pages long and began to read. It was written in block letters, like a police report.
*
*
*
Jesse,
Thank you again for patching me up. You can send me a bill.
The keys are to the 'Vette. Mom gave it to me when I moved out here. Take good care of it for me. You can drive it until I get back, if you like. If you have any trouble with it, ask Mom to recommend a mechanic. I imagine the Chief has called her, and she's on her way by now.
Give the watch to my mom. She has a necklace and ring that match it. Tell her I'll be back for it, but not until Moretti testifies.
It probably won't do any good, but tell the Chief to stop looking for me. I've called him and set up a meeting. I'll give him the full rundown then, but please let him know that we only saw one guard when we grabbed Moretti. Somebody did something to make it way too easy for us. I think Agent Wagner has a leak close to him, because he's the only one who knew my team wasn't ready in time to do anything about it, and I heard from my contact before I heard from him that Moretti was moving.
The next several pages are my will. I will personally flay alive anyone who lets my mother know such a document exists. I know what a risk I am taking, but she has spent quite enough time worrying about me in the past several years. If she knows how scared I am, that I am frightened enough for my life to write a will, she'll worry herself sick.
If I don't make it through this, don't let her dwell on how frightened I might have been. Remind her, every day remind her, that I believed in what I was doing enough to risk everything for it.
Even if the press paints me dirty, remind her that I was one of the good guys.
Well, I've left my cell phone on so the Chief could track the signal and locate you. You'll be seeing him soon. I really am sorry I had to put you at risk, and I'm sorry I had to drug you. It's just one of those things.
Hope to see you again soon under better circumstances.
Emily Morgan Stephanie Theodora Stephens
P.S. Would you believe the only other people in the world who know all my names are my mom and dad?
P.P.S. Duck! The Chief should be busting in about now.
*
*
*
The door crashed open, and, thrusting the letter in his pocket, Jesse ducked. Dion and Cheryl came in first. He went left and she went right. Steve and Ron followed.
Before he sat up, Jesse called out, "They're gone. It's just me."
"Daddy!"
"Lauren? Steve!" Jesse stood and sheltered his little girl in his arms, suddenly furious with his friend. "What the *hell* were you thinking? Why'd you bring her? It could have been dangerous."
"Easy, Uncle Jess," CJ tried to soothe him, grabbing his wrist to check his pulse. "Uncle Steve didn't bring us. We tagged along in my car."
"Without permission," Steve added.
Jesse tried to shake loose of CJ. "I'm ok, I'm ok," he insisted.
Lauren pouted. "Please let him look you over, Daddy. It'll make me feel better."
Jesse caved immediately. His baby girl was spoiled beyond belief. Steve grinned slightly as his friend glowered, but offered not another word of protest. Lauren got whatever she wanted.
As CJ finished his cursory examination announcing that Jesse suffered from 'nothing a little rest won't cure,' Cheryl, Dion, and Ron searched the house. The two men came back into the kitchen shrugging, but Cheryl met up with them grinning.
Turning to Jesse, she asked, "Emily was shot?"
Jesse nodded.
Gingerly taking a bloody bandage out of the trashcan she'd brought with her, she asked, "This is hers?"
"Yeah."
Cheryl's grin widened, and she turned to Ron, saying, "Call Hannah. Tell her to bring her new toy."
It was nearing noon. Steve and Ron had grilled Jesse for nearly an hour. They hated to be so rough on their friend, but they needed every bit of information they could get from him. Meanwhile, Hannah had arrived and taken blood samples back to the university lab to begin isolating the BioGen virus signature. It was the first step in programming her device to track Emily. The forensics team was still crawling all over the place, occasionally asking Jesse about certain items they found.
Finally, he'd had enough.
"Dammit, Steve, I don't know what else to tell you!"
"Jess…"
"No! No, Steve, no more." He leaned back against the kitchen counter. "I was blindfolded before we left the hospital parking lot. We drove inside a big building, she moved me to another car, she let me take the blindfold off here. I treated her shoulder, made her sleep, redressed her wound, made her and Moretti breakfast, babysat Moretti when she left and found out he trusts her, and she knocked me out when she came back. That's it. The *end.* Game over."
He threw his hands in the air in frustration, both at his inability to give useful information and at his friends' insistence that he must know more than he was telling them.
"You know," Ron suggested, "you could be charged with aiding and abetting a fugitive. You had the opportunity to run, and you chose not to."
Jesse stood up and got in Ron's face.
"Ask me if I give a damn."
Anyone who didn't know the gravity of the situation might have laughed at the sight of the shorter man standing up to the tall FBI Agent. Ron was at least ten years older than the ever-youthful doctor, but he still could have pounded the smaller man into the floor like a common carpet tack.
Steve put a hand on Ron's shoulder, drawing him back, and the two of them stepped away, thinking to give Jesse a break to calm down. Jesse slumped against the counter again, pouting and shoved his hands in his pockets. Something was there that shouldn't be. Oh, yes! The letter!
Chagrinned, he said, "Uh, guys? I think I have something you could use here."
In spite of everything, Steve had picked Olivia and Keith up at the airport himself. He had expected an awkward reunion with his old flame and her husband, but surprisingly, it went very smoothly. They were all focused on a common purpose--getting Emily back safely. Awkwardness could wait until later.
Olivia had arranged for an electronic funds transfer of $100,000 to a California bank, and she had withdrawn the full amount immediately. Steve would take it with him when he went to meet Emily. Steve postulated, and Keith agreed that she planned to use the funds to pay for food, housing, transportation, false identification, and whatever else she needed to protect Moretti.
They had watched the news together, that night, all of them except for Steven. He was still angry and hiding out at the house in Brentwood. Olivia had turned away in horror when she saw the dead federal marshals. Velasquez and Marino had used a new type of bullet called an annihilation round. It did exactly what its name implied.
"Christ," Keith said, "Emmy's lucky the guy who shot her was using regular ammo. Even if it was a forty-five."
Steve nodded his agreement.
Looking at Jesse, Liv asked, "You're sure her shoulder will be all right?"
Jess nodded, "As long as it doesn't get infected."
Steve was surprised and pleased that Maribeth had offered Keith and Liv the guestroom for the night. They would make other sleeping arrangements later.
Around seven, Lauren brought ribs from Bob's. The twenty-year-old was doing an internship for her degree in small business administration, and to help her out, Steve and Jesse had let her take over the restaurant. She'd been doing an excellent job.
After dinner, Steve had found a private moment out on the patio in which to return Liv's watch. When he put it on her wrist for her, she started to weep.
"Liv, sweetheart, what's wrong," he asked, feeling the tears thick in his own throat.
"It means she's determined to come back, or…"
"Or what, Liv?"
"…or afraid she won't. Bring her back to me Steve. Please, bring her back."
He took her in his arms and comforted her.
Some time later, Maribeth found them, holding each other and weeping, and she responded better than Steve had ever had a right to expect. First, she patted his back and gently squeezed his shoulder. Then she put an arm around Liv and said softly, "Shh. It will be all right. Steve told me what a good cop she is. She's smart, and she'll come through this ok. Come have a cup of tea with me. It will make you feel better."
Steve smiled his gratitude at his loving wife as she led Liv away. Few men got a second chance at once-in-a-lifetime love, and when Liv had married Keith, Steve thought he'd lost his. Now he knew why, and he was profoundly grateful to whatever power had arranged things for him.
Finally, it was nearing midnight. Steve would have to leave soon for his meeting with Emily.
Steve was at the phone booth in Peck Park on the Western Avenue side, just like he was told to be. It was two thirty and seven seconds when the phone rang.
"Lieutenant, I want Moretti," he said as he picked up the phone.
"I'd like to give him to you Chief, but I can't do that until you can convince me he's safe."
"This could cost you your badge, Lieutenant."
"Who are you kidding, Chief? It could cost me my life. You've got a spot on your shirt."
Steve looked down, confused, and felt his gut wrench and his chest tighten as he saw the red glow of a laser sight centered on his chest. A moment later, it was joined by another, and a moment after that, two more. Four gunmen.
"Jesse said you were working alone."
"He was wrong. He only saw me, but there are others. Look in the change slot."
Again, he followed her directions, and his stomach turned to acid when he found what she had placed there.
"Annihilation rounds."
"Yep. They shoot, and there won't be enough left of you to put back together."
"Who are you working for?"
"The law. Justice."
"What do you want, Emily?"
"When I tell you to do so, you will hang up the phone, put the money on the ground to the left of the booth, get back in the booth, put your hands on the glass in front of you, in the corners of the booth, put your feet on the ground behind you, outside of the booth along the sides. Then I'll come down and we can talk and I can get the money. Do you understand what you are supposed to do?"
"Yes, dammit."
"Then do it now."
As he hung up the phone, Steve briefly considered making a run for it, but he knew at least one of the snipers would get him. With annihilation rounds, one was all it would take. He placed the money on the ground and got back in the phone booth. He placed his hands on the front wall and stepped his feet backwards out of the booth, placing them alongside the outer walls. His heart started thumping. The position left him vulnerable not only for a shooting, but also for a physical assault. With the phone booth between his feet and all his weight on his hands, there was no way he could defend himself.
He looked down at his chest. One of the red dots had vanished.
By the time she came to him, his arms were trembling from supporting his weight and he had broken out into a sweat from the strain. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Emily first touched him. She had snuck up on him without a sound. She did a thorough job of patting him down, and his knees went weak when she touched him gently in some rather intimate spots to check for a wire.
"Not shy, are you," he gasped.
"No more than you are modest, sir. Don't move," she said, and she started untucking his shirt from his trousers. When it was loose, she reached around him and unbuttoned it. Then she unfastened the Velcro closure on his bulletproof vest. He shivered as icy fingers roamed over his chest, searching for the edge of the tape that held the wire he was wearing in place. He moaned in pain as she ripped away the tape. The wire went with it.
"Sorry, Chief, but you don't seem the type to want it slow and easy."
In a van somewhere, Cheryl, Dion, Ron, and Jesse laughed in spite of themselves. Then they jumped and yelled in shock as a squeal of feedback in their headphones nearly deafened them. Finally, they groaned in disgust as they got nothing but static. She had destroyed the transmitter.
"Now what? Take the money and run?"
He stood there shaking as a chill breeze caressed his sweaty skin.
"Not exactly, sir. Did you read the letter I left with Jesse?"
"Yeah, but you still need to turn Moretti over to us, Lieutenant. What you're doing breaks all the regulations."
"No disrespect intended, Chief, but who gives a damn about the regs if Moretti dies? You've got a problem, maybe a leak. Agent Wagner definitely has a leak, and there are more holes in the witness protection program than in a sieve. I can count on me, no one else. Moretti trusts me, no one else. I'll keep him alive. I swear to you, I'll get him to Gaudino's trial alive. You just worry about finding the rat in your own house and tell Agent Wagner to do the same."
"The rat in my own house?"
"I just have this feeling that someone close to you is part of this whole mess. Someone is picking on you. My instincts are good, and I just find it suspicious that everyone associated with this situation is connected with you in some roundabout way."
"What evidence do you have to make you think someone is after me, Lieutenant?"
"Precious little, sir. I know Agent Wagner is a friend of yours, and I know Rossi was one of Captain Bentley-Wagner's lieutenants, so it sounds like they're after Agent Wagner. But when you throw me into the mix, well, that shifts the whole center of things, doesn't it?"
She was silent a moment, waiting.
Steve remained silent, too. He knew she was waiting for him to concede her point. He hated it, but he had to give in.
"I suppose it sounds reasonable, but…"
"But nothing, sir," she interrupted. "I trust you. As far as I'm concerned, you're what people have in mind when they talk about integrity, honor, and trust. But as long as you can't trust the people around you, I can't depend on the help you offer. I have to do this my way."
Steve started slightly as he felt her hand dip into his hip pocket.
"Call that number every day to leave me a message. I'll check it. Tell me when Moretti's scheduled to testify. I'll get him there. I won't let you down."
"That's it, then," Steve said, trying to sound disgusted when he really felt proud of this young woman for having the courage to do what was necessary under the circumstances. "You're going to risk your career, your reputation, and your life just to let some wannbe mafia don have his day in court."
She surprised him by standing so close he could feel the heat from her body and whispering in his ear, "There's a whole lot more at stake than me and my career, sir, and I know you know it."
In his peripheral vision, he saw her take up the briefcase with the money in it. Then he heard her move behind him.
"Just in case I don't make it through this, sir, I want you to know what I said was true. You're the man I think of when people talk about heroes. I hope when this is all over, you and my mom and dad can be proud of me. Tell my folks I'm sorry I worried them, and tell Steven…"
Steve heard a catch in her throat.
"…Just tell him I'm sorry. When the red lights are gone, you're safe to move."
Just as he had never heard her slip up on him, he never heard her slip off. He watched the red dots on his chest intently, and they disappeared one by one. It seemed to take forever.
Finally, the last one was gone. Shakily, breathing a sigh of relief, he straightened up. His old muscles couldn't take that kind of strain anymore. He looked around to be sure that he was alone, took out his cell phone, and called Ron.
"Move in, canvass the area. See if the snipers left anything behind, and find out where the hell she got annihilation rounds."
Emily yawned, stretched, and gasped in pain. It took her all of two seconds to remember what had happened that afternoon, and when she did, she was up and on her feet in half a heartbeat. Half a second after that, she was sitting on the couch wishing she hadn't moved so fast.
She heard a slightly amused voice say, "Took you by surprise, didn't it."
This time, she got up more slowly and said, "Yeah. I guess so." Looking around, she asked, "Where's Moretti?"
"After you finally fell asleep, I examined him. Given his age and lifestyle, the stress of recent events was really starting to wear on him. I fixed him something to eat and then took him back to the bedroom so he could sleep more comfortably."
Emily's face clouded, realizing that the doctor had broken his promise not to let the mobster out of his sight. She headed quickly for the bedroom, but Jesse stepped in front of her and said, "He needs some rest, too. He's cuffed to the bed. I just checked on him five minutes ago, and he was still out like a light."
"I need to see him."
"Just don't wake him."
She nodded and Jesse stepped aside.
A few minutes later, she was back out in the main room of the small house, looking in the refrigerator. To Jesse, she seemed a bit listless, somewhat disoriented.
"How long was I out," she asked.
Jesse consulted his watch and said, "About twelve hours. It's Wednesday morning. Eight thirty. Why don't you have a seat, and I'll fix you something for breakfast?"
Jesse felt her stare as a physical force. She was at least six inches taller than him, and such careful scrutiny from a statuesque young woman in a sports-bra and combat fatigues made him uneasy. Who was he kidding? She was downright intimidating. At least he'd gotten her out of the rest of the body armor and into the sports-bra last night. She'd only woken for a few minutes, and she probably didn't remember it.
She raised one eyebrow and said, "Why are you so eager to help me?"
"It's been years since I've seen your mom, Emily, but I still consider her a friend, and while you might not be able to tell the good guys from the bad, I still can. You're one of the good ones. Besides, I'm a doctor, and you're hurt. It's what I do."
He took her gently by the elbow and guided her over to the table.
"Sit, relax, let me fix breakfast."
She sat and said, "Sausage, eggs over easy, whole wheat toast with butter, juice, and coffee, please."
Jesse chuckled. "Eating like that will kill you, kid."
"Good health is only a measure of how long it takes you to die," she said wryly.
'God,' Jesse thought, 'No wonder Steve thinks she's his. She sounds just like him.'
"So, would you like to explain to me what's going on now," he asked in his friendliest tone.
"No."
He sighed and said, "It might help to have a friend to talk to."
"You're not my friend. I'm using you, and when I don't need you any longer, I'm going to dump you somewhere."
Jesse felt a chill.
He sat her breakfast in front of her and watched as she bowed her head briefly before she began to eat. Maybe if he could just stretch the silence long enough, she'd feel like filling it. Silence and patience were two things he'd never been good at. Now he wished he'd practiced more.
She ate slowly, clearly enjoying her meal, and Jesse found himself feeling strangely glad that she enjoyed his cooking. Steve was right; she looked just like her mother, only bigger. Long curly red hair cascaded from a ponytail on the top of her head; she had full red lips and lively green- gold eyes. She moved with the natural grace of a model. Her porcelain skin was scattered with freckles, and, now that she was rested, the soft contours of her face made her look younger than her years.
As she finished cleaning her plate and gulping her coffee, she asked, "Has Moretti had his breakfast?"
"Not yet."
"I'll go wake him. Would you mind getting something for him to eat while I find us another ride? Then I'll want you to check my shoulder again."
He smiled, she was tougher than Steve, all right, but she had a lot more sense, too.
"Ok, but let me take care of your shoulder first."
"It can wait. It's not that urgent."
"I know but…" Jesse suddenly felt shy. "I didn't like the way Moretti was looking at you when you took your clothes off to let me dress the wound last night."
At her puzzled look, he added heatedly, "If you were my daughter, I'd have kicked the crap out of him."
She gave him a lopsided little smile and said, "How very chivalrous of you, Dr. Travis." Then she sat down and eased off the sports-bra. She held it against herself to cover her breasts and looked away as he checked and redressed her wound.
"Well, it's not infected," Jesse said as he turned to the sink to wash his hands while she put her top back on.
"Good. And…thank you…about Moretti."
Jesse just nodded.
"Ok, fix him some breakfast, please. I'll go wake him. We can't stay here much longer."
"Why not?"
"Because my mother owns this place, and they'll eventually come check it out."
"Who are they?"
She sneered. "Take your pick. Mob, feds, marshals, LAPD. There's no telling who wants us dead and who wants us alive."
Jesse shuddered as she went back the hall. He knew that now, *us* included *him*.
Steve, Mark, Amanda, Ron, Dion, and Cheryl were all meeting at the beach house. Hannah, Ron and Amanda's daughter, would meet them there when she finished her shift at the microbiology lab at the university. They were downstairs in Mark's apartment. Over the years, their gatherings had shifted locations as their families grew. They all wanted to protect their loved ones from the nastier aspects of their cases, and while it sometimes proved impossible, they did the best they could.
"How did Steven take it," Dion asked.
"He was upset," Steve told him. The truth was, Steven was outraged, not that Emily had kidnapped Jesse at gunpoint, but that Steve had suggested Jess might be in danger with her. He was so angry he refused to even wait at the beach house for word of her whereabouts. He said he'd prefer to stay at her place in case she tried to call there. Steve could just imagine the fallout he'd be dealing with once the results of the paternity test were in.
"Steve. Steve?"
"Huh? What? Sorry, Cheryl. I was lost in thought there."
"I noticed. You've been doing that a lot, lately. Are you ok?"
"Yeah, I'm fine, just worried about Jess. What did you ask?"
"I said, did Steven have any idea where she might be?"
"Oh, no. No he didn't. He says they've both been so busy that the only place they've really seen each other is at her place. He doesn't even know where she hangs out or who her friends are."
The phone rang, and Mark got up to get it.
"Now, if she got here in September, and didn't get hired until February, what was she doing all that time," Amanda asked.
Ron joined the conversation. "She was working for me, I think. At least she seemed to be." He sounded guilty.
Amanda patted his shoulder and said, "Ron, right now we have no evidence that she wasn't, or isn't still, working for you."
"I know, hon, but I have a bad feeling about this. She was supposed to wait for my call, but she never answered her cell phone. I think she's getting her info and her orders from someone else."
"Then we have to find out who that someone else is," said Steve.
Ron nodded. "There are two people above me who knew, the men who were guarding Moretti, and you, Steve."
"And Emily."
"Yeah," Ron sighed, "and Emily."
Mark returned to the group and waved them to hush. "Ok, Roger. Thanks. I know you did your best, that's all I could ask."
He clicked the phone off and said, "That was my friend, Roger, at the TV station. The story about Emily will be the lead on the national news broadcasts tonight. The big three, CNN, and World Today. I think it's time to call Olivia."
He handed the phone to Steve and said, "It's speed dial eight."
Steve looked at him askance, and Mark just shrugged. "We've kept in touch."
Steve nodded and said, "Can I use the bedroom for a little privacy?"
"Sure, son."
Jesse sat at the table in the little house watching Moretti eat. Emily had left them to go in search of less conspicuous transportation. Moretti was cuffed to the chair, and he was having a hard time eating one handed. He was a little younger than Jesse, but he looked older. He looked a lot older. Jesse was having a hard time deciding if it was stress or his profligate lifestyle that had made the Mafioso age so soon.
Several times, the mobster had looked up and caught Jesse watching. Each time, he had attempted to stare Jesse down, but after thirty years of working cases with Steve and Mark, he wasn't so easy to intimidate. Now, Emily could spook him, but a used up old Mafioso didn't have a chance. Moretti looked at him again, and Jesse just stared steadily.
Moretti had had enough.
"What?"
"Hmmm?"
"Why you keep starin' at me, Doc?"
"Oh, I'm sorry," Jesse said blandly. "I didn't realize I was. I was just thinking." On the inside he was laughing. He just *knew* he could make the man talk.
"You don't last as long as I have in a business like mine without knowin' when people are lyin' to ya, Doc. There's somethin' on your mind, and it has somethin' ta do wit me. I wanna know what it is."
"What do the cops have on you?" Jesse asked, giving more of the tone of idle curiosity than any real desire to know.
"Nothin'," the Moretti barked proudly.
Jesse snorted derisively. "You expect me to believe that, as dangerous as it is to roll over on the mob? You're not helping them send Vince Gaudino to jail for nothing. Don't tell me it's your sense of civic duty."
Moretti narrowed his eyes to mere slits. If it got the doc to stop staring at him, why not tell him? The whole world would know soon anyway.
"I got a kid who's a cop."
Jesse laughed. "There've been a lot of mobsters in the LAPD lately. They'll find him out eventually."
Moretti shook his head and explained.
"You don't get it, Doc. He's a good cop. About ten years ago, Gaudino ordered a hit on him. My kid survived," Moretti sounded proud, "but the case he was workin' on was dismissed while he was in the hospital because he was the key witness."
"So," Jesse suggested, "You're avenging the attempt on your son's life."
"I guess," Moretti agreed. "Problem is, he don't know about me. His mom left before he was born. I didn't look too hard for her because I didn't want a kid then. Now I do."
"And you think you can go into court, testify, yell, 'Daddy's home' and he'll welcome you with open arms, huh?" Jesse couldn't believe the man's nerve, and his tone of voice made it clear.
Moretti was angry now. He brought his hand down on the table with a resounding thud. He stammered for a moment, choked with fury. Jesse continued to stare at him, waiting for whatever excuse he had to offer. Suddenly, all emotion drained from his face, his shoulders slumped, and he dropped his gaze to the table.
"I don't expect him to ever want to talk to me. I'm just hopin' maybe one time he'll listen."
Jesse didn't know what to say. He quit staring at the man.
Ring…Ring…Ring…
Olivia pushed aside the drapes on her side of the canopy bed.
"God, O, let the machine get it," her husband moaned.
"Keith, it must be important for someone to call at this hour."
She looked at the caller ID box and recognized the familiar California number. Chuckling, she answered the phone.
"My Lord, Mark. Did you forget about time zones? It's just turned six here."
For a moment, there was silence.
"Mark?"
"Liv, it's Steve."
Keith sensed the sudden change in atmosphere and turned to look at his wife. She was ashen pale, a sickly smile pasted to her face was just beginning to melt away, and all the mirth had left her eyes. She slumped into a chair.
"You're calling about Em. Is she still alive?"
Keith sat up in bed. Olivia turned on the speakerphone.
"Liv, you there?"
"Steve, it's Keith, you're on speaker. Is Emmy ok?"
Steve had been wondering what he was going to say after thirty years. The facts came out of him with surprising ease.
"As far as we know, she's alive, but we think she's been shot. I can't tell you everything right now, but you'll hear some of it on the six o'clock news tonight. She's wanted for kidnapping a federal witness. She was supposed to bring him to a safe house, but she disappeared with him. Then she kidnapped Jesse. She's been missing for about eighteen hours."
"She's a good girl, Steve," Olivia said. "She wouldn't break the rules unless there was something wrong with the system."
"I hope you're right, Liv."
"I know I am, Steve. She must have found out someone was…untrustworthy. Something must have gone wrong. Emmy plays by the rules."
"That's what we're hoping, Liv. If that's not the case, well, she's in a hell of a lot of trouble."
"What can we do to help, Steve," asked Keith.
"Not much from there," Steve told him, "but if you could come out here, maybe you could help us think of places she might be hiding."
"I…uh…I have some money invested in various properties out there, Steve. I told Meyer to set up a financial relief fund after the big quake in '05."
Steve's grin could be heard three thousand miles away. "I figured you did, Liv. Can you fax us a list of properties, especially the vacant ones? She may be there."
"I'll get Meyer on it right away," said Liv. "We'll be there as soon as we can."
"So, what went wrong?"
Jesse and Moretti were still sitting at the table waiting for Emily to return.
"Hell if I know," Moretti said. "I knew for a fact that two of the guys 'protecting' me were wit' the Ganza Family. I managed to find a chance to talk wit' Agent Wagner privately, an' he gave me his word that he would get me out alive. Yesterday they decided to move me to a new safe house, an' I knew if Wagner didn't get me then, I'd be dead. I was pacin' in my room, four guys busted in, wearin' full combat armor, only one of 'em was the lady cop, an' they knocked me out wit' chloroform. I came to in an SUV, wit' just her an' nobody else, an' she'd been shot. She brought me here, dumped me, cuffed me to the radiator, left, came back wit' food, left, came back wit' you, an' you know the rest."
"She hasn't told you anything?"
"She told me she was a cop, an' she told me to shut up."
"That's it?"
"Yep. She's ain't the talkative type."
Jesse wrinkled his brow in thought. "What do you think she's doing?"
"I think she's keepin' my ass alive."
"Why?"
"So I can testify."
"You sound awfully sure about that. How do you know she isn't holding you for the mob?"
Moretti stuck his fleshy lower lip out in a thoughtful pout.
"It's like this, Doc. I figure if she wanted me dead, I'd be dead by now. If she grabbed me to sell me to the mob, I'd be dead by now, or hangin' by my thumbs in a warehouse, bein' used as a punchin' bag until I told them what I knew about the cops. See, I know which cops are really dirty, and which ones just look dirty so they can catch the ones who really are."
It took Jesse a minute to follow his reasoning. When he caught up, he nodded to encourage Moretti to continue.
"If she was freelance, just in it for the money, she'd have found a buyer for me by now. She'd have had one lined up before she snatched me."
Moretti grew thoughtful again. Finally, he said, "I don't think she knows who to trust anymore, an' she's decided to just look after me all by herself."
Jesse looked at the man very seriously and said, "Maybe you ought to thank her."
Just then, Emily came in, startling both men half out of their wits.
"I don't need him to thank me. I need him to *shut up*."
"Look cop…" Moretti began.
"Look, Moretti," she interrupted. "You know as well as I do, the less we tell him, the safer he *and* we are."
She came up behind Jesse and rested a hand on his shoulder. He was surprised at how large her hands were.
"Jess," she said, "I want to thank you for taking care of my shoulder. It feels much better this morning. And thanks for making breakfast. I'm really sorry I have to do this."
Jesse gasped as her hand suddenly came around his face, and as he gasped, he inhaled chloroform. He knew he couldn't win, but he fought to stay awake as long as he could. He lasted less than a minute.
Leigh Ann was on her cell phone again.
"Sir, Chief Sloan has just received a fax listing of vacant properties owned or financed by some organization called the LA Promise Foundation. Officer Cioffi has been asked to take them out to his house in Malibu. I thought you should know."
"Thank you Leigh Ann. I know of the foundation, and I think I know why he wants the records. You've done well."
"Thank you, sir. What should I do about it?"
"Make sure I get those same records, please, Leigh Ann."
"Yes, sir. I'll have them for you tonight."
"Very good. Good bye, Leigh Ann."
"Good bye, sir."
After Jesse was out, Emily eased him to the floor, tucked a letter, the keys to the 'Vette, and the mother-of-pearl and paua shell watch her mom had given her into his hand. She put a hand in front of his face to make sure he was still breathing, and when she was satisfied that the small, older man would be ok, she turned to Moretti.
She uncuffed the mobster from his chair, and was about to bring his hands around to cuff them behind him when he spoke.
Nodding toward Jesse's crumpled form on the floor, he said, "The little guy's right. I should thank you."
"Shut up, Moretti," she said tiredly.
"Listen, cop…Emily…" His tone softened when he spoke her name. "I know I'd be dead if it weren't for you. I…trust you to keep me alive, and I think I know what kind of risk you're takin'. I won't try to run away."
She paused.
"If you get rid of the cuffs, I won't slow you down as much."
She narrowed her eyes at him, nodded, and removed the cuffs.
"Try it, and I'll cut you off at the knees."
Moretti nodded. "I understand."
"…and we can tell by the concentration of the particles how long ago she's been there, and maybe even which way she was heading. Any recovered stolen vehicle, we could tell within minutes if she had been in it and how long ago."
Hannah was explaining how they could use Emily's 'viral profile' to track her. It was part of her doctoral research, and the young woman was eager to put it into practice.
"It should be really easy, too, because no one else in LA has had the BioGen virus."
Steve shook his head. "I still don't understand."
"Every illness changes the body, Uncle Steve. Every strain of flu, every cold virus, has a signature, an imprint, if you will, that it leaves on the body. Even though the virus is no longer active, the person's immune system has permanently changed in the act of fighting it off."
"Ok, that much I follow."
"Good. Now each person, over his or her lifetime, contracts a different combination of illnesses; so, each person has a different viral profile."
Steve thought a moment.
"Got it."
"Usually, we would have to compile a person's entire medical history to get an accurate viral profile; but since Emily has had the BioGen virus, all we have to do is look for that signature, and we can track her."
"And this gadget of yours can identify that signature?" Steve gestured toward her invention. It looked like a cross between a bicycle pump and a battery charger.
Hannah nodded, excited that her godfather was understanding.
"Everywhere we go we shed skin cells and hair and mites and all kinds of stuff. If we can just get the signature of the BioGen virus, or a blood, hair, skin, or tissue sample from Emily, this thing will track her like a bloodhound."
Steve nodded. "A bloodhound. Now *that's* an analogy I can understand. You work on getting this profile, and I'll work on getting blood or tissue samples. Will hair do?"
"If the follicle's attached."
"I should be able to manage that, if Steven will let me."
Mark came into the room, phone glued to his ear.
"Yes, here he is," he said, handing the phone to Steve.
"Deputy Chief Sloan here."
"Chief, it's Lieutenant Stephens."
"Emily! Where the hell are you? What do you think you're doing?"
"Peck Park. Two thirty tomorrow morning. Western Avenue side phone booth. Bring $100,000. Wait for my call. Triangulate on this signal and you'll find Jesse. He's unharmed. He doesn't know where he is or how he got here. I tried to protect him. I'll talk to you later, sir."
"Emily! Emily! Lieutenant Stephens!"
There had been no click. The line was still open. She was on the move, but leading them right to Jesse's location. What the hell was she up to now?
Jesse woke feeling queasy, the result of too much chloroform, he guessed. If he hadn't fought it so hard, he wouldn't have inhaled quite so much when he did breathe in. Oh, well, too late now. He shrugged. He sat up, and the whole world pitched and rolled like the deck of a ship in a storm. He sat for several moments, waiting for things to be still.
With some confusion, he noticed he was holding three things that weren't his. The first was a set of keys to…what? He shrugged, deciding he'd figure it out later. Then there was the watch. He knew it had belonged to Olivia's great grandmother. Why did Emily give him a family heirloom? Last of all, he looked at the envelope. It was addressed to him.
"Son of a bitch," Steve roared as he got the address on Jesse's location. "That's less than ten blocks from here."
He paused and listened to the officer who had called with Jesse's location.
"No, no. Commander Banks, Agent Wagner, and Captain Bentley-Wagner are here. Send backup, but we're not waiting."
He hung up the phone and turned to Cheryl, Ron, and Dion and said, "Let's move."
The three men and Cheryl piled into Steve's car.
Jesse opened the letter, which appeared to be several pages long and began to read. It was written in block letters, like a police report.
*
*
*
Jesse,
Thank you again for patching me up. You can send me a bill.
The keys are to the 'Vette. Mom gave it to me when I moved out here. Take good care of it for me. You can drive it until I get back, if you like. If you have any trouble with it, ask Mom to recommend a mechanic. I imagine the Chief has called her, and she's on her way by now.
Give the watch to my mom. She has a necklace and ring that match it. Tell her I'll be back for it, but not until Moretti testifies.
It probably won't do any good, but tell the Chief to stop looking for me. I've called him and set up a meeting. I'll give him the full rundown then, but please let him know that we only saw one guard when we grabbed Moretti. Somebody did something to make it way too easy for us. I think Agent Wagner has a leak close to him, because he's the only one who knew my team wasn't ready in time to do anything about it, and I heard from my contact before I heard from him that Moretti was moving.
The next several pages are my will. I will personally flay alive anyone who lets my mother know such a document exists. I know what a risk I am taking, but she has spent quite enough time worrying about me in the past several years. If she knows how scared I am, that I am frightened enough for my life to write a will, she'll worry herself sick.
If I don't make it through this, don't let her dwell on how frightened I might have been. Remind her, every day remind her, that I believed in what I was doing enough to risk everything for it.
Even if the press paints me dirty, remind her that I was one of the good guys.
Well, I've left my cell phone on so the Chief could track the signal and locate you. You'll be seeing him soon. I really am sorry I had to put you at risk, and I'm sorry I had to drug you. It's just one of those things.
Hope to see you again soon under better circumstances.
Emily Morgan Stephanie Theodora Stephens
P.S. Would you believe the only other people in the world who know all my names are my mom and dad?
P.P.S. Duck! The Chief should be busting in about now.
*
*
*
The door crashed open, and, thrusting the letter in his pocket, Jesse ducked. Dion and Cheryl came in first. He went left and she went right. Steve and Ron followed.
Before he sat up, Jesse called out, "They're gone. It's just me."
"Daddy!"
"Lauren? Steve!" Jesse stood and sheltered his little girl in his arms, suddenly furious with his friend. "What the *hell* were you thinking? Why'd you bring her? It could have been dangerous."
"Easy, Uncle Jess," CJ tried to soothe him, grabbing his wrist to check his pulse. "Uncle Steve didn't bring us. We tagged along in my car."
"Without permission," Steve added.
Jesse tried to shake loose of CJ. "I'm ok, I'm ok," he insisted.
Lauren pouted. "Please let him look you over, Daddy. It'll make me feel better."
Jesse caved immediately. His baby girl was spoiled beyond belief. Steve grinned slightly as his friend glowered, but offered not another word of protest. Lauren got whatever she wanted.
As CJ finished his cursory examination announcing that Jesse suffered from 'nothing a little rest won't cure,' Cheryl, Dion, and Ron searched the house. The two men came back into the kitchen shrugging, but Cheryl met up with them grinning.
Turning to Jesse, she asked, "Emily was shot?"
Jesse nodded.
Gingerly taking a bloody bandage out of the trashcan she'd brought with her, she asked, "This is hers?"
"Yeah."
Cheryl's grin widened, and she turned to Ron, saying, "Call Hannah. Tell her to bring her new toy."
It was nearing noon. Steve and Ron had grilled Jesse for nearly an hour. They hated to be so rough on their friend, but they needed every bit of information they could get from him. Meanwhile, Hannah had arrived and taken blood samples back to the university lab to begin isolating the BioGen virus signature. It was the first step in programming her device to track Emily. The forensics team was still crawling all over the place, occasionally asking Jesse about certain items they found.
Finally, he'd had enough.
"Dammit, Steve, I don't know what else to tell you!"
"Jess…"
"No! No, Steve, no more." He leaned back against the kitchen counter. "I was blindfolded before we left the hospital parking lot. We drove inside a big building, she moved me to another car, she let me take the blindfold off here. I treated her shoulder, made her sleep, redressed her wound, made her and Moretti breakfast, babysat Moretti when she left and found out he trusts her, and she knocked me out when she came back. That's it. The *end.* Game over."
He threw his hands in the air in frustration, both at his inability to give useful information and at his friends' insistence that he must know more than he was telling them.
"You know," Ron suggested, "you could be charged with aiding and abetting a fugitive. You had the opportunity to run, and you chose not to."
Jesse stood up and got in Ron's face.
"Ask me if I give a damn."
Anyone who didn't know the gravity of the situation might have laughed at the sight of the shorter man standing up to the tall FBI Agent. Ron was at least ten years older than the ever-youthful doctor, but he still could have pounded the smaller man into the floor like a common carpet tack.
Steve put a hand on Ron's shoulder, drawing him back, and the two of them stepped away, thinking to give Jesse a break to calm down. Jesse slumped against the counter again, pouting and shoved his hands in his pockets. Something was there that shouldn't be. Oh, yes! The letter!
Chagrinned, he said, "Uh, guys? I think I have something you could use here."
In spite of everything, Steve had picked Olivia and Keith up at the airport himself. He had expected an awkward reunion with his old flame and her husband, but surprisingly, it went very smoothly. They were all focused on a common purpose--getting Emily back safely. Awkwardness could wait until later.
Olivia had arranged for an electronic funds transfer of $100,000 to a California bank, and she had withdrawn the full amount immediately. Steve would take it with him when he went to meet Emily. Steve postulated, and Keith agreed that she planned to use the funds to pay for food, housing, transportation, false identification, and whatever else she needed to protect Moretti.
They had watched the news together, that night, all of them except for Steven. He was still angry and hiding out at the house in Brentwood. Olivia had turned away in horror when she saw the dead federal marshals. Velasquez and Marino had used a new type of bullet called an annihilation round. It did exactly what its name implied.
"Christ," Keith said, "Emmy's lucky the guy who shot her was using regular ammo. Even if it was a forty-five."
Steve nodded his agreement.
Looking at Jesse, Liv asked, "You're sure her shoulder will be all right?"
Jess nodded, "As long as it doesn't get infected."
Steve was surprised and pleased that Maribeth had offered Keith and Liv the guestroom for the night. They would make other sleeping arrangements later.
Around seven, Lauren brought ribs from Bob's. The twenty-year-old was doing an internship for her degree in small business administration, and to help her out, Steve and Jesse had let her take over the restaurant. She'd been doing an excellent job.
After dinner, Steve had found a private moment out on the patio in which to return Liv's watch. When he put it on her wrist for her, she started to weep.
"Liv, sweetheart, what's wrong," he asked, feeling the tears thick in his own throat.
"It means she's determined to come back, or…"
"Or what, Liv?"
"…or afraid she won't. Bring her back to me Steve. Please, bring her back."
He took her in his arms and comforted her.
Some time later, Maribeth found them, holding each other and weeping, and she responded better than Steve had ever had a right to expect. First, she patted his back and gently squeezed his shoulder. Then she put an arm around Liv and said softly, "Shh. It will be all right. Steve told me what a good cop she is. She's smart, and she'll come through this ok. Come have a cup of tea with me. It will make you feel better."
Steve smiled his gratitude at his loving wife as she led Liv away. Few men got a second chance at once-in-a-lifetime love, and when Liv had married Keith, Steve thought he'd lost his. Now he knew why, and he was profoundly grateful to whatever power had arranged things for him.
Finally, it was nearing midnight. Steve would have to leave soon for his meeting with Emily.
Steve was at the phone booth in Peck Park on the Western Avenue side, just like he was told to be. It was two thirty and seven seconds when the phone rang.
"Lieutenant, I want Moretti," he said as he picked up the phone.
"I'd like to give him to you Chief, but I can't do that until you can convince me he's safe."
"This could cost you your badge, Lieutenant."
"Who are you kidding, Chief? It could cost me my life. You've got a spot on your shirt."
Steve looked down, confused, and felt his gut wrench and his chest tighten as he saw the red glow of a laser sight centered on his chest. A moment later, it was joined by another, and a moment after that, two more. Four gunmen.
"Jesse said you were working alone."
"He was wrong. He only saw me, but there are others. Look in the change slot."
Again, he followed her directions, and his stomach turned to acid when he found what she had placed there.
"Annihilation rounds."
"Yep. They shoot, and there won't be enough left of you to put back together."
"Who are you working for?"
"The law. Justice."
"What do you want, Emily?"
"When I tell you to do so, you will hang up the phone, put the money on the ground to the left of the booth, get back in the booth, put your hands on the glass in front of you, in the corners of the booth, put your feet on the ground behind you, outside of the booth along the sides. Then I'll come down and we can talk and I can get the money. Do you understand what you are supposed to do?"
"Yes, dammit."
"Then do it now."
As he hung up the phone, Steve briefly considered making a run for it, but he knew at least one of the snipers would get him. With annihilation rounds, one was all it would take. He placed the money on the ground and got back in the phone booth. He placed his hands on the front wall and stepped his feet backwards out of the booth, placing them alongside the outer walls. His heart started thumping. The position left him vulnerable not only for a shooting, but also for a physical assault. With the phone booth between his feet and all his weight on his hands, there was no way he could defend himself.
He looked down at his chest. One of the red dots had vanished.
By the time she came to him, his arms were trembling from supporting his weight and he had broken out into a sweat from the strain. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Emily first touched him. She had snuck up on him without a sound. She did a thorough job of patting him down, and his knees went weak when she touched him gently in some rather intimate spots to check for a wire.
"Not shy, are you," he gasped.
"No more than you are modest, sir. Don't move," she said, and she started untucking his shirt from his trousers. When it was loose, she reached around him and unbuttoned it. Then she unfastened the Velcro closure on his bulletproof vest. He shivered as icy fingers roamed over his chest, searching for the edge of the tape that held the wire he was wearing in place. He moaned in pain as she ripped away the tape. The wire went with it.
"Sorry, Chief, but you don't seem the type to want it slow and easy."
In a van somewhere, Cheryl, Dion, Ron, and Jesse laughed in spite of themselves. Then they jumped and yelled in shock as a squeal of feedback in their headphones nearly deafened them. Finally, they groaned in disgust as they got nothing but static. She had destroyed the transmitter.
"Now what? Take the money and run?"
He stood there shaking as a chill breeze caressed his sweaty skin.
"Not exactly, sir. Did you read the letter I left with Jesse?"
"Yeah, but you still need to turn Moretti over to us, Lieutenant. What you're doing breaks all the regulations."
"No disrespect intended, Chief, but who gives a damn about the regs if Moretti dies? You've got a problem, maybe a leak. Agent Wagner definitely has a leak, and there are more holes in the witness protection program than in a sieve. I can count on me, no one else. Moretti trusts me, no one else. I'll keep him alive. I swear to you, I'll get him to Gaudino's trial alive. You just worry about finding the rat in your own house and tell Agent Wagner to do the same."
"The rat in my own house?"
"I just have this feeling that someone close to you is part of this whole mess. Someone is picking on you. My instincts are good, and I just find it suspicious that everyone associated with this situation is connected with you in some roundabout way."
"What evidence do you have to make you think someone is after me, Lieutenant?"
"Precious little, sir. I know Agent Wagner is a friend of yours, and I know Rossi was one of Captain Bentley-Wagner's lieutenants, so it sounds like they're after Agent Wagner. But when you throw me into the mix, well, that shifts the whole center of things, doesn't it?"
She was silent a moment, waiting.
Steve remained silent, too. He knew she was waiting for him to concede her point. He hated it, but he had to give in.
"I suppose it sounds reasonable, but…"
"But nothing, sir," she interrupted. "I trust you. As far as I'm concerned, you're what people have in mind when they talk about integrity, honor, and trust. But as long as you can't trust the people around you, I can't depend on the help you offer. I have to do this my way."
Steve started slightly as he felt her hand dip into his hip pocket.
"Call that number every day to leave me a message. I'll check it. Tell me when Moretti's scheduled to testify. I'll get him there. I won't let you down."
"That's it, then," Steve said, trying to sound disgusted when he really felt proud of this young woman for having the courage to do what was necessary under the circumstances. "You're going to risk your career, your reputation, and your life just to let some wannbe mafia don have his day in court."
She surprised him by standing so close he could feel the heat from her body and whispering in his ear, "There's a whole lot more at stake than me and my career, sir, and I know you know it."
In his peripheral vision, he saw her take up the briefcase with the money in it. Then he heard her move behind him.
"Just in case I don't make it through this, sir, I want you to know what I said was true. You're the man I think of when people talk about heroes. I hope when this is all over, you and my mom and dad can be proud of me. Tell my folks I'm sorry I worried them, and tell Steven…"
Steve heard a catch in her throat.
"…Just tell him I'm sorry. When the red lights are gone, you're safe to move."
Just as he had never heard her slip up on him, he never heard her slip off. He watched the red dots on his chest intently, and they disappeared one by one. It seemed to take forever.
Finally, the last one was gone. Shakily, breathing a sigh of relief, he straightened up. His old muscles couldn't take that kind of strain anymore. He looked around to be sure that he was alone, took out his cell phone, and called Ron.
"Move in, canvass the area. See if the snipers left anything behind, and find out where the hell she got annihilation rounds."
