Deliver Us from Evil (28 page)

A rumble filled the air, closer than the growl had been.

Kanya jumped almost into Mai's lap. “It is coming for us.”

“No, it is not.” At least, Mai hoped not. But in case it was, she needed to find a weapon of sorts. The knife was a backup—she had no desire to get that close to any wild animal.

A long stick lay just on the edge of the clearing they had found to build their fire. Mai grabbed it and shoved just the end in the flames. If anything, either animal or man, came at them, she would jab it in the eye.

No way would she not be free. Not after everything she had suffered.

“Do you think they know we are gone?”

Mai considered lying to her friend, then realized she could not. If Fred came after them, both would have to be on the lookout. “I am sure by now they know.”

“What do you think they are going to do?”

“Look for us, I guess.”

Kanya's eyes overflowed with fear. “They will not find us, will they?”

Mai shook her head. “We will rest here for a few more minutes, get warmed up, then head out again.”

“But they will keep coming after us.”

“They do not know which direction we went.”

The growl came again, followed by the snapping of branches and underlying bushes.

Both girls jumped. Mai rested her hand against the stick. Her heart leapt into her throat, burning.

“What is that?” Kanya whispered.

“I do not know.”

“Are you sure it will not come by the fire?”

Mai tightened her grip on the stick. “Animals are scared of fire.”

She really, really hoped that was true.

Wednesday, 6:30 p.m.

US Marshals Office, Howard Baker Federal Courthouse

Knoxville, Tennessee

THEY'D BEEN AT IT for almost another hour. Roark didn't know how much longer he could stand the FBI drilling poor Jefferson Montgomery. They'd asked him the same questions in a million different ways already, and not once had he deviated from his statement. Not even by a sentence.

And Roark needed to let Demott know about the connection between Zimp and McGovern.

The poor ranger's eyes drooped at the corners—all the dim lighting used for interrogation purposes. His shoulders sagged—worn down by the relentless questions.

Roark pushed off the wall. “Hey, guys, why don't we take a break? I sure could use a cup of coffee, and I'm guessing Mr. Montgomery could as well.”

Demott stepped into the center of the room. “I think that's a great idea. Give us time to refocus.” But he shot Roark a look that stated they'd discuss Roark's interference later.

Jefferson sighed. “Thanks, I could use a break.”

Roark grabbed his boss and informed him of what his friend had uncovered.

Demott pulled Daly to their little circle and had Roark repeat what he'd heard. “Is it enough to get a warrant to search McGovern's place?”

The SAC shook his head. “On hearsay? No judge will grant a warrant on a congressman without some tangible proof.” He stared at Roark. “Can you get your friend to fax you a copy of that receipt? That'd be enough, I think.”

“I'll get it.” Roark lifted his phone, texted what he needed, and gave the fax number. “I'll go wait by my fax.” He swung open the door. Brannon was on her feet in a second, her eyes flashing with excitement.

“Listen, I have something important I need to tell you.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him down the hall.

Electric current shot up his arm into his chest as he followed her and Lincoln.

Her words tumbled over one another as she repeated a conversation she'd overheard Congressman McGovern having on a cell phone. The implications of what she said jabbed adrenaline into Roark's every muscle.

“I'm not sure what it means, but considering what I just learned about McGovern, I know he's connected.”

She nodded. “Right.”

“He named a Fred and Betty?”

“And a Nancy.”

Anticipation thrummed against his mind. The congressman linked to the child-trafficking ring—the proof was just out of reach.

“Holland, thought you were going to wait by the fax.”

Roark turned at his boss's voice. “Am about to.”

Demott stood in a cluster with the two agents conducting Jefferson's interview, as well as two other men in navy suits. Demott motioned him to join them. Roark squeezed Brannon's shoulder. “I'll be right back.”

He crossed the corridor, ready to take the chewing out for interfering. “Look, I have—”

Daly narrowed his eyes. “We've just received word from one of our agents that we've gotten the warrant to search Mrs. Wilks's personal safety deposit box. Agents are en route to the bank.”

Demott shot Roark a questioning look. “Has the fax arrived?”

“I'll check in just a minute.” He nodded at his boss. “Brannon overheard Congressman McGovern on a phone conversation, during which he mentioned some names. And specifically talked about the
girls.
”

Demott clamped Roark's shoulder.

“Is she positive?” Daly wore a skeptical expression as he stared down the hall at Brannon.

“Yes.”

“Can she be trusted?”

Roark ground his teeth. “Yes.”

“We need to talk to her ourselves. You go get the fax.” The SAC made strides toward Brannon. “Ms. Callahan?”

As they approached, a man turned the corner, almost running smack into Brannon and Lincoln.

Congressman McGovern straightened his tie and frowned at Brannon. “What are you doing here?”

TWENTY-FIVE

Wednesday, 6:40 p.m.

US Marshals Office, Howard Baker Federal Courthouse

Knoxville, Tennessee

IT SEEMED EVERYONE WAS in the loop. Except him. Warren frowned. “I asked what you're doing here, Ms. Callahan.”

Her face went pale. That Marshal Holland stepped in front of her. A definite protective move. Why?

Holland crossed his arms over his chest. “She's here to sign her statement and answer a few questions.”

“About the rescue?” Hadn't she already been debriefed? What additional information could she have?

“The FBI has a couple of questions for her.”

As if on cue, two agents appeared at his side. “Ms. Callahan, if you'll follow us. We need to go over a few aspects of your statement.” They whisked her toward a conference room, leaving Warren staring after her.

“What are you doing here, Congressman?”

He focused his attention on the marshal. “I understand the witness's stepson has been located.”

“And you heard this where?”

The nerve of this man to question him. Warren struggled not to show his annoyance. “Justice keeps me well informed on this investigation, Roark. I
do
head up the Coalition Against Child Trafficking, which gives me a vested interest in the case.”

Roark's brows shot up. “Really? Then you know the FBI is still questioning the potential witness.”

This marshal dared to toy with
him?
Warren cleared his throat. “Yes, but they're questioning him here, in the marshals' office.” He narrowed his eyes. “Surely you have some information regarding how the interrogation is coming along.”

“I only know what they tell me.”

The urge to smack the arrogant marshal's face tensed Warren's hands into tight fists. “But I understand you've been in the interrogation room throughout the questioning.”

“I'm not at liberty to discuss anything, Congressman. I'm sure you understand my hands are tied.”

“I see.” And he did. They'd gotten some sort of lead from the witness and wanted to protect the information. But what did they know? “Well, I'll go see the director of the FBI and see what information he can share.”

“You do that, sir.” Roark nodded and moved toward Ms. Callahan's partner.

Wait a minute—they needed to ask her questions regarding her statement, but not her partner? Or were they going to question them separately? Something didn't feel right about the situation. And Warren didn't like being uncomfortable.

He spun on his heel and strode down the hall, pulling out his cell phone. He punched in the speed-dial number for his aide and didn't bother with pleasantries. “Kevin, get back in touch with your source in the FBI. Find out what Wilks's stepson has told them and if it's a legitimate lead. Then find out what those rangers, Callahan and Vailes, are doing with the FBI.”

Shutting the phone, Warren waited by the elevators. The sense of getting caught in a house of cards during a windstorm wrapped around him. If only the complications would cease . . .

No, he needed to find out everything he could about what the FBI knew. Until Zimp called back to report the situation was under control, Warren wasn't safe.

He jabbed the elevator button again, feeling the earth shift under him.

Wednesday, 6:55 p.m.

US Marshals Office, Howard Baker Federal Courthouse

Knoxville, Tennessee

HAVING ROARK IN THE room brought Brannon unexplained comfort. He'd slipped inside minutes ago, giving a piece of paper to his boss.

“And you're positive to what you've stated?”

She sighed, weariness creeping into her very being. “For the umpteenth time, yes, I'm positive.”

The special agent in charge opened his mouth—undoubtedly to ask the same question yet another way—when the door swung open and another agent rushed inside. He leaned toward the interrogating agent and whispered, but excitement lifted his voice enough for Brannon to overhear.

“They've retrieved books from the wife's safety deposit box and are on their way here. We need to get Montgomery back in the interrogation room.”

Roark shuffled from his corner. “Are those books encrypted like the ones brought into the office by Wilks?”

The new agent shook his head. “We don't know. All we know is a set of accounting books are on their way.”

Brannon's heart jumped.
Please, Father, let them get the break they need to identify all the people involved in the child-trafficking ring.

The SAC glanced back at Brannon. “I think we've covered about everything.” He nodded to Roark. “Is the congressman still lurking out there?”

“Nah, he stomped off when I wouldn't give him any information. But there's a leak somewhere because he knew we were talking to Montgomery.”

“Fine. Take Ms. Callahan back to the waiting area. I'll have them bring Montgomery back in.” He snapped his fingers at the other agent. “Those books are to come to me as soon as they arrive. Got that?”

The young agent bobbed his head. “Yes, sir.”

“Roark, get Demott and Montgomery and meet us in the interrogation room.”

Before Brannon could mutter a word, Roark had her by the elbow and led her back into the hall. He stopped in front of Lincoln. “This could be our break.”

“What's going on?” Lincoln asked.

“Let Brannon fill you in.” Roark leaned over and brushed his lips against her temple. “We'll figure out how the congressman is involved, too.” Then he hustled down the hall to where Jefferson sat with two agents.

Brannon's pulse continued to race as Roark reached the group and led Jefferson into the interrogation room.

“What's the deal?”

She gestured for Lincoln to return to his seat, then filled him in on the latest development.

“So everything's starting to come together?”

Swallowing, she nodded. “Little by little. Oh, Lincoln, pray they'll be able to understand what's in the books.”

“I will. I hope they have something to do with the ring and aren't some tax return copies or something benign.”

“Don't say that.” She couldn't even think it. This had to be a break. Brannon's heart bled for those poor, exploited children.

Lincoln shoved to his feet. “Why don't we get some fresh air? Who knows how long Jefferson will be.”

“Good idea.” She followed her partner to the elevators, then to the lobby. She picked up her cell phone at the security desk before walking into the crisp evening air.

“I have four missed calls from the station. Steve's probably wondering what happened to us.” She held down the number programmed with the ranger station's number.

The wind swirled around them, snowflakes dancing on the gusts. Brannon took Lincoln's offered arm so she didn't slip on the icy concrete.

The call connected. Steve answered on the first ring. “Abrams Creek Ranger Station.”

“Hey, Steve. Thought we abandoned you?” She leaned against the side of the building.

“Brannon, thank goodness. I've been trying to reach you.”

“What's wrong?”

“We've gotten three different reports of smoke spotted just north of Little River Road. I can't get anyone over at the Elkmont station to reply.”

Elkmont was pretty close to that location. “Is the radio out?”

“Not that I'm aware of. Their reception might have been knocked out by the blizzard.”

Reports of smoke? After the blizzard they'd had? Most likely meant someone stranded by the blizzard. Brannon's hands trembled with adrenaline. “Jefferson's being questioned by the FBI, but Lincoln and I can do a flyby and check it out.” She gnawed the edge of her finger.

“Why's he being questioned by the FBI? Thought you and Lincoln just had to sign your statements.”

“Long story. We don't know how long he'll be tied up.”

“But your ankle—”

“I'll be okay, Steve. I can do this.”

“Well . . .”

“I'll radio you for the coordinates once we're in the air.” She closed her cell before Steve could offer more argument.

“What's up?” Lincoln asked, studying her face.

“Reports of smoke near Little River Road. Steve can't raise Elkmont Station. We need to check it out.”

“Your ankle—”