In Love and Rescue: When love is the perfect rescue... (17 page)

Doug’s curse resounded through the phone. “They executed a kid? What the hell kind of operation are we dealing with here, Des?”

Desmond squeezed his brow. “Hell if I know, Doug.”

Larke continued to flip through the folder until she came upo
n a sealed yellow envelope with the words “K and T Forever” written across the front. When she jimmied the flap open, a picture of Keith and Taina with their arms encircled around each other fell out. They were standing in front of a hospital building. Behind the picture was a photo of a brown teddy bear with its head cut open, and a baggie containing a white substance sticking out of the lining of its stitching.

“What’s the name of that
children’s hospital where Keith worked?” She asked, turning the picture towards Desmond.

“It’s called the
All Saint’s Children’s Hospital,” Doug replied. “Why?”

“Do you know if they ever give out any stuffed animals? Maybe in a toy drive?”

“They’re known for it. Every year, they have a big Santa Claus toy drive for the hospitalized children. From what I understand, the gifts are furnished from a toy manufacturer in Miami called 90-North. It’s privately funded by some big name investors.”

He cursed again.

“Jarvis’ name is on the list, isn’t it?” Desmond asked.

“No,” Doug answered. “Delgano Richards.”

Larke continued to go through the pictures: there were more open teddy bears, wooden toys that had been broken in half, and even a snow globe whose bottom had been hollowed. On the back of one of the photos, someone had haphazardly written the name Lawrence Campbell, and the address to the FBI office in Miami where he worked.

“I think we just found out why Taina was killed,” Desmond told Doug. “So
mehow, her boyfriend found out about Jarvis’ smuggling operation and she must have been trying to get help from her father in the FBI. Someone in Eddie’s camp must have found out and had them both killed.”

Doug swore once more.

“That’s not all he found out,” Larke continued, unfolding a couple sheets of paper.

“Is that a fax?”” Desmond asked.

“Looks like it,” she answered. “It’s some sort of consent form for human trials. For research. It’s for a drug called Trovodine.”

“Never heard of it,” Doug chimed in. “Does it say what it does?”

“No,” Larke skimmed the fax, “but I have a colleague that does regulatory stuff for the FDA, new drug applications, things like that, and this doesn’t look like the official form. This looks more like a private document.”

“Who’s the agreement between?” Desmond asked.

Larke peered closer. “A Dr. M. Lin and E. Jarv. But, the fax was sent to Keith by Walter Vickers.”

“Which would explain why Jarvis murdered Vickers,” Doug added. “Vickers knew that Jarvis was signing off to illegally try this Trovodine on
humans and tried to blow the whistle.”

Desmond nodded. “That makes sense, but why would he choose Keith Richmond?
Vickers was a federal judge and Richmond was a kid struggling to stay out of poverty. Their paths would only cross by coincidence.”

“Which would make him the perfect choice,” Larke finished. “
One, they’d be less likely to tie them together and two, Vickers sent this fax from his office thinking that his office was too heavily guarded for Eddie to find out. He also chose the one kid out of the entire operation that he thought wouldn’t squeal to Eddie. The kid that was already taking pictures of Eddie’s drug empire.”

“Unfortunately for them both, Eddie knew all along,” Desmond added.

Doug ran his fingers through his hair. “Shit just hit the fan.”

A noise outside caught Larke’s attention and she rose to investigate its source. On
the back patio, the furniture remained in place and the pool was still, however it was almost too still. As she moved closer to the glass doors, she noticed that it was not rippling as it usually would. Stepping back, she glanced across the room at the clock on the microwave to find it blank. Then, she flipped a switch and none of the lights came on.

She turned around to alert Desmond but he was already in place behind her scanning the exterior. In the distance, a tree branch swayed awkwardly when compared to the way the other leaves wavered as a breeze blew, and he grabbed her shoulder to move her away from the glass.

“I have about four bodies at the garden doors right next to the keypad,” Doug announced. “They’re trying to break the entrance code. I’ve also got two trucks about four miles out with more troops on them. From the looks of it, everyone on board is armed.”

Desmond noticed the black tip of someone’s hat briefly appear in the midst of the trees before disappearing. “How long can you trip them up?” He asked.

Doug pulled up a program on the computer screen that scrambled the entrance code to the villa every few seconds. “I can keep them off for a little bit. At least, quietly. I radioed in and can get you guys pulled out in about fifteen minutes, but there’s no way they’ll be able to make it up to the villa.”

Desmond grabbed the backpack and tossed it to Larke. “From what you can see, what would be our best way out?”

Doug rubbed his chin as he watched the men at the entrance grow frustrated with their failing decoder. He knew that sooner or later, they would give up and try to blow through the entrance, so Desmond and Larke only had a few moments to use the men’s perceived element of surprise to their advantage.

“They still think that they have you guys cornered,” he explained. “Right now, you’d only have
to deal with the four guys in the front, but if you don’t get out in the next five to seven minutes, you’ll be dealing with the entire squad.”

Desmond looked at Larke. “We’re going to have to take them on,” he
told her while trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest when panic spread across her face.

“If you don’t mind a commotion,” Doug was saying, “I can activate the guns around the house and clear the path for you.”

A loud explosion sounded at the front entrance and the red wooden doors flew across the yard, smashing against the windows in pieces. The four men rushed through the entrance, all dressed from head to toe in black uniforms with their guns pointed forward. Although Larke felt her heart crash into her stomach, she remained poised and ready to follow whatever instruction Desmond had.

“Clear the path, Doug,” he agreed
. Then, he destroyed the phone and pulled Larke to hide behind the staircase before a round of bullets ricocheted out of nowhere at the front of the house, taking down two of the men and sending the other two ducking for cover. When the gunfire finally ceased, the remaining two men slowly emerged from their hiding positions and moved to the front of the house. Desmond pulled out his gun and raised it towards the entrance.

As one of the men crossed the doorway, for the first time in his life, Desmond hesitated. With Larke’s hand resting on his lower back, he was sure that this would be the first time that she’d ever witness a man g
et killed right in front of her, and the fact that she might not ever be able to live with that was enough reason for him to hesitate.

The two men quietly made their way into the living area and surveyed the room, overturned furniture, scoured the kitchen, and checked behind the curtains that bordered the glass doors. Larke watched the veins bulge in Desmond’s forearm as he clenched the gun and wondered at what moment he would take his shot.

As the men inched closer to their not-entirely-inconspicuous hiding place, she noticed him glance at her, and realized why he was hesitant.

W
hile she’d never before seen someone killed, this was a different situation altogether. No evidence was needed in this case. If he didn’t shoot, they would, and that was enough justification at that moment.

She squeezed his arm and when he looked down, sent him a reassuring nod. Without any further hesitation, he fired a shot,
hitting one of the men in the side and taking him down instantly. The other man poised to retaliate and fired a few shots that deflected off of the wall behind them. Shots an amateur would take. Desmond fired a single shot which hit him in the abdomen, and as he writhed on the floor, they realized that he couldn’t have been more than twenty years old. Jarvis and Gano had recruited mere boys to be pawns in their scheme, do all of the dirty work, and shoulder all of the risk. Like canaries in a coal mine.

Larke trailed Desmond as they exited the villa and he did a quick scan to make sure no other bodies were visible. T
hey then went around the side of the house to brave the steep hill that held their only route to safety, and the descent was much steeper than either of them had planned. Their shoes slid along the rich, red dirt of the hillside and Larke slipped several times, cursing each time her palms or elbows hit the rocky earth and skinned. Whenever Desmond turned around to check on her, she would shake her head to let him know that she didn’t need help. Nothing on earth could get her to stop moving at this point as the thunderous rumble of trucks echoed behind them. As long as she kept moving forward, she could live a bit longer, which was her intended goal. After witnessing her family’s grief, she knew without a doubt that she had to get back to them. She had to let them know that she was still alive and that they no longer had to suffer.

Eventually, they got far enough down the hill to be obscured by the trees. Once the ground evened
out, Desmond began to jog through the path, cutting through the trees as though he kept a topographical image of the area in the back of his head. Larke picked up her pace as well and when his jog turned into a sprint, she sprinted, remaining right on his heels.

They continued to run without what seemed like a destination in mind until Desmond fished another small black device out of his pocket. He held it in his right hand and clicked it continuously, his head darting from left to right. After about a quarter-mile, his running slowed and they stopped in the middle of an opening that housed several fallen trees and patches of dying grass. He continued to look around and Larke searched with him. Although she wasn’t exactly sure what they were looking for, she knew that whatever was coming was going to be helpful.

Sure enough, a black SUV came charging into the clearing. When it stopped, two men stepped out and ushered them inside without exchanging any words. Larke and Desmond hopped into the vehicle and they sped back out of the clearing with the same urgency with which they’d raced in.

There were three men in the truck—one drove and the other two sat in the back with them. The two sitting in the back were silent and armed, their gazes fixed outside of the heavily tinted windows.

“Sir,” one of the men nodded at Desmond, “I spoke with Officer Casey. The passports in the bag, he got clearance for them at the airport, but we have to get you guys through in under sixty minutes before the FBI finds out.”

Desmond’s eyes darted between the two men. “Someone’s tracking Doug?”

The man nodded. “He’s not sure who, but he recently got orders to shut the entire Tapley operation down.”

“Orders from who?”

“The US Attorney’s office. Doug said that he can keep them off his back, but he gives them an hour before they shut down the flight arrangements.”

“
US Attorney Robert Dillinger?” Larke asked.

“Yes ma’am,” the man answered.

“Does Robert know I’m still alive? Why can’t we just tell him that I’m still alive?”

“Because
there’s a mole in the US Attorney’s office,” Desmond finally figured out, his brows furrowed with anger. “That’s why Doug didn’t just tell them that you’re still alive. Someone in that office is working with Jarvis. If we give them your whereabouts, Jarvis can track you.”

He cursed under his breath. At this point, they couldn’t even enlist the help of the FBI. Unless…

“Where’s the flight taking us?” He asked.

“You’re scheduled for a straight flight to Miami.”

Desmond grinned. Doug was already two steps ahead of him. There was still one person in the FBI that they could persuade to help them, even if they weren’t sure he could be trusted.

“Is there police at the airport?” He continued.

“Littered,” the man answered.

“So, how are we expected to get through?” Larke asked. Doug was good, but she was pretty sure that the minute their faces were spotted, they’d been in handcuffs.

The second man that had remained silent the entire time fished a bag from beneath the seat. Desmond searched through the backpack and handed the passports to Larke.

“Courtesy of Officer Casey,” the man replied, pulling out a wig, fake beard, makeup kit, and clothing. “We have to transform
you two into the people in those pictures.”

Larke opened the passports. Desmond’s picture looked virtually nothing like him with its full beard and thick, black-rimmed glasses. Hers was even more indistinguishable with an auburn wig with bangs,
flawless makeup, pouty red lips, and beauty mark just below the chin.

She chuckled. “Halloween.”

Desmond looked up. “What’s that?”

“I looked like this for Halloween,” she repeated. Then, realization struck her like a bolt of electricity.