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Mason Decker: May 2016
When Mason’s wife, Anne, entered the room, he closed the check book register he’d been working on as subtly as he could. Though panic was making his hands shake and his vision blurry, he didn’t want his wife to know anything was wrong. Okay, not wrong. It wasn’t wrong that they had less than two hundred dollars to their names and Anne’s next payday was two weeks away. Being short on funds was simply a fact. An unpleasant fact he wanted to avoid.
So much for being the breadwinner. Currently Mason wasn’t winning at anything. Unless being a loser counted.
Anne eyes him suspiciously. “Everything okay?” She went to the cabinet next to the kitchen sink and pulled out a travel water bottle, then filled it with water from the tap. Her next move would be to leave for work.
He should have waited until she was gone to look at the finances.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”
“You’re looking a little sweaty.” She nodded to the sink. “Want some water or something?”
He had to play this cool, to not feed her inklings. Anne was quick, and after a few pointed questions she’d be able to parse out which of his many failures was eating at him without Mason ever confessing. And money was the hot button for them. Talking about it was a sure fire guarantee they’d end up fighting.
Inevitably he would be presented with the option of starting a new career or getting a second job. But leaving his career in real estate would just be one more failure to own.
Besides, the real estate market was fickle with ups and downs, to no fault of his own. Which meant income had its ebbs and flows too. Currently, the Decker’s were in an ebb state. And telling Anne about it was the last thing Mason wanted.
“Sweaty? Really?” He wiped at his brow, his fingers coming away moist. He had to tell her something. So he went with a half-truth. “I think I’m just worried about this upcoming deal with Daniel Lowe. Nothing I’ve shown him has been up to his standard. He wants it on water, I show him places on water, but he doesn’t like the trees on the land. So I show him land with fruit trees but there’s no water. Geographically I can’t find him what he wants because it doesn’t exist in the commercial real estate market.” Or at least Mason hadn’t found it.
“It seems the issue is more that he doesn’t know what he wants.”
Mason nodded in agreement. “He says he’ll know it when he sees it. But he knows it needs water and trees.”
They’d had this conversation before. Talking about Mason’s client was in the safe zone for conversations. As was the weather, local drama and gossip, college and pro football, and Anne’s students.
Topics not in the safe zone were money, babies, the car they had that needed work, why he couldn’t do more around the house since he had a flexible schedule and she didn’t, the endless amount of paperwork Anne had as a teacher and did at night and over weekend for which she was not compensated, the lack of intimacy between them which always circled back to the baby conversation, and the attitude of each mother-in-law toward the spouse. If it was important to furthering their relationship and happiness, the topic was off the table. With both avoiding confrontation rather than facing it, the strain was tearing them apart.
Anne twisted the top on her travel bottle then picked up her purse and backpack full of teacher paraphernalia like her grade book and stacks of paper.
She paused at the backdoor, her hand on the knob. “I’m not trying to start a fight.”
“But?” There was no point in keeping the irritation out of his voice.
“My dad called and said the sales position was still open and yours if you wanted it.” She was out the door before he could respond. Closing it behind her and not looking back.
Mason glanced at the checkbook then buried his head in his hands. Anne telling Mason her dad said he could work for him selling tractors had led to one of the biggest fights they’d ever had. Mason could only imagine the conversation between Anne and her dad that lead to the initial offer. He’d bet there had been many subsequent conversations which was why the position was still open.
The whole thing probably started with a conversation about children. Anne wanted a baby. Mason said they needed to wait until they were more financially sound, keeping the definition of ‘financially sound’ vague. Anne’s parents, Bob and Debbie wanted grandkids. He was outnumbered. And he was a disappointment. And if he took a job working for her dad, he’d be a cliche. He’d be the washed-up quarterback who’d found success in high school and college only to not find it anywhere else after. Anne was the last best things he’d ever done.
All this made scoring the land deal with Lowe essential as it would ease their money woes considerably.
He had four land plots set up for them to visit. Maybe today would be his lucky day.
Chapter 1
Mallory Bodine clenched her jaw, her gaze bouncing between the mostly dark half-vacant office building across the street, observable through the stakeout van’s window, and the three monitors before her on the built-in desk inside the van. A smattering of lights lit up the building’s second floor but the single light on the fourth and top floor was her focus. This was where her target went about his illegal money laundering and drug dealing business.
The fugitive’s business actions were Mallory’s secondary problem. His warrant for a neighboring state was her first and the main purpose for this entire operation.
And here she was stuck in the van.There was no reason for it. She wanted to be out there with the team making their way into the building. But no, being stuck inside clearly had to be related to ageism. Or sexism. Or some sort of -ism. A few weeks ago, the team celebrated her fortieth birthday and now she was stuck in the stakeout van. Coincidence, she thought not. Chuck Sumpter leading the team was turning forty in a few weeks. Why wasn’t he in the van?
She cut her eyes to the side where her newly minted boss, Steve Harper, sat with his feet up on the counter that held the monitor. A toothpick in his mouth. He too was watching the monitors and probably her. It felt as if he was breathing down her neck.
“No sign of movement,” she muttered, eyes glued to the grainy video feed displayed on the monitors before her. “It’s very quiet, too quiet.” Her gut clenched, a sure-fire sign that her instincts were giving her a warning. She toggled the mouse to wake it up, then clicked through the cameras they’d installed a week earlier. Nothing looked out of the ordinary.
Yet something felt off.
“Keep your eyes peeled,” Harper said, trying to project an air of authority. He was high on the promotion he hadn’t deserved. Rumor was the higher ups promoted him knowing he would fail and then they could get rid of him. Stupidest idea ever, in Mallory’s opinion. Until then she and her co-workers would have to work for him. Worst luck ever.
For a Tuesday night in early October the industrial district of Seattle was eerily quiet, the distant hum of interstate traffic the only sound permeating the air. As Mallory continued to scrutinize the warehouse and monitors, trying to figure out what was off, sweat began to bead on her forehead. A hot flash. Perfect timing of course.
Mallory rolled her eyes as she grabbed a notepad from the dashboard and began to fan herself furiously. Her doctor said perimenopause was what she was experiencing, and she could expect moments of being out of sorts.
Being out of sorts was the worst description ever.
“You finding it hot in here, Bodine?” Harper asked, glancing over at her with a wry grin.
“Something like that,” Mallory replied tersely. She switched the subject. “Doesn’t this fugitive call his mom every night at the same time?”
Before Harper could respond, their earpieces crackled with static interference.
“Status report,” Sumpter barked. “We’ve entered the building and are headed up the north stairs. ETA two minutes.”
“Still no movement from the fugitive’s floor,” Mallory informed him, her voice tight with irritation. “Nothing popping on the thermal cameras either. Lights on second floor in a few offices but no bodies. Your entry looks clear.” She adjusted her headset that was pressing into her ear and adding to her irritation. In her pocket, her cell phone vibrated. Mallory ignored it.
“Should be easy fishing then. He’s not expecting a thing.” Sumpter was an arrogant ass.
Mallory clicked through the cameras again while she reached for the file on their fugitive’s behavior. She plopped it on the desk before her and flipped to the tab about patterns. She was right, he called his mother every day at nine p.m.
“Something’s off,” she told Harper. “He always calls his mother at nine.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s seven minutes after. He hasn’t called. Something’s off.”
Her cell phone had stopped vibrating but started up again. She pulled it from her pocket and slapped it on the table. Her mother’s name was on the screen which caught her off guard because Cici rarely called and when she did it was never midnight Florida time. Never. Dread fluttered in her stomach.
Both Cici and Mallory’s sister always texted as they never knew if Mallory was at work or not. Mallory’s finger hesitated over the screen as she battled with what to do. Take the call or send to voicemail. If she took the call, Harper would probably use that against her. Promising she’d call her mom first chance she got, Mallory sent the call to voicemail. And then felt sick to her stomach.
“Seven minutes isn’t that much of a lag,” Harper said, but he was sitting straight up and had moved closer. The tension in the surveillance van was as thick. “Maybe his mom had plans tonight? Not everyone is like clockwork like you are, Agent Bodine. People tend to be more flexible.”
She did not appreciate his characterization of her. Flexible? What did that mean? As far as Mallory was concerned, she was flexible. She was sitting in the van wasn’t she? Which was certainly not her first choice of roles for this assignment.
“What are the odds tonight his mom was not available?” Mallory asked. When every night for the last month she’d been home.
Harper took over the mouse and flipped through the cameras. They had three monitors with nine cameras. The video management software that did the split screen they usually worked with had picked tonight to be glitchy.
That should have been the first omen to the night, Mallory thought. She dialed up her counterparts in the state requesting extradition. They were supposed to be watching the mom as a precaution.
As she listened to the endless ringing, her call going unanswered, a second wave of unease washed over her. Her mom calling. The fugitive not calling his mom. The agents on the other end not answering. Too much was off. She caught sight of something on the edge of the screen glowing orange as Harper clicked over.
“Go back.” She hung up the phone.
She needed this stakeout to wrap up and wrap up now.
Because Harper wasn’t moving fast enough to her liking, Mallory took the mouse from him. She clicked through the screens quickly to get a feel for which camera she’d seen the image, and once she figured it out, she moved to the next one in the sequence knowing if she’d seen a person they’d have to cross this camera at some point as well.
“I saw something. A person likely.” She stopped on the screen. “Look, there.” She pointed to the edge of the monitor where a slight blur was cast across the floor. “See that, that’s the thermal imagining picking up something. The person knows where the cameras are and is staying out of view.”
“Team leader, be advised,” Harper said into the headset, but paused to look at Mallory’s suddenly vibrating phone. He glanced at her and raised a brow.
Cici. This was the third call. Something bad had happened. Mallory’s mind raced with the possibilities. Cici was no spring chicken, and it seemed the older she got the more adventurous she became. But if something were wrong with Cici, wouldn’t Natalie be calling?
Instantly worry consumed her, afraid something awful had happene to her sister or one of her children. Mallory couldn’t even go to a space where her niece or one of her nephews was hurt. Her brain refused to consider it.
Harper cleared his throat and clicked on his mic. “Be advised. We have an unidentified person in the…”
“South.” She blinked several times to clear her vision, keeping her focus on the screen.
“South stairwell.”
Static came over the headset. “Doubtful it has anything to do with us.”
Mallory wanted to slap herself and Sumpter upside the head. Herself for accepting the position on the same team with him. Him for being such an ignoramus.
She clicked on her mic. “Sumpter, the fugitive is dead, and this person is our first suspect.”
“You can’t know that. I’ll send Murphy and Kimble down to check them out.”
“Sumpter, the fugitive hasn't called his mom, he always calls his mom, and this unknown will be out the door and a block away before you get down the stairs.” Mallory canceled Cici’s call one more time and stood. She knew Sumpter would ignore her and send Murphy and Kimble anyway.
“You going somewhere Marshal Bodine?” Harper asked. “Maybe got some personal business that can’t wait?”
She hated the tone in his voice. Snide and mocking. Had he never been in the same situation? On a stakeout and getting a personal call. Probably not. Men like Harper didn’t have families, they were hatched form eggs.
She strapped on her gun. “Yeah, I’m going to catch this unknown and then I’m going to call my mom and find out what’s going on. When Murphy or Kimble come through the door send them my way, will ya? I’ll be by the south stairs exit.”
She eased open the van door and stepped out. Fortunately for her they’d parked on the east side of the building with easy viewing of the both the north and south exits. The unknown was gonna walk right into her arms.
She pulled up Cici’s name in her text message and whispered a dictation. “I’ll call you in five. Sorry.”
Her phone chimed with an incoming text. Cici.
Doug is missing. It's been 24 hours. I'm scared.
Mallory sucked in a breath. Doug? Doug was her sister's husband of 16 years now and her boyfriend for the four years before that. Doug was just as much family as any of them. Missing? She hadn’t seen that coming. She tucked her phone in her back pocket and told herself to focus on the job. Clinging to the shadows Mallory crept toward the exit as fast as she could while keeping as silent as possible.
Missing? Mallory didn’t like the next thought. Or took off?
She’d seen it before. Men who just got tired of being husbands and fathers just took off and started over with different lives. Doug had never seemed the type but then did any of those guys?
Focus!
Mallory crouched against the building using the corner of it to give her cover. The exit door eased open quietly and she knew the hinges had been oiled. This had been planned. Their glitch with the video management software hadn’t been a fluke. Someone knew the marshals would be there. Why strike tonight though? Because the Marshals were there? To make them look like fools? None of those seemed like a good enough reason as the risk of being caught was too high.
Or maybe, the unknown had picked this place to do his deed for the same reasons the Marshals had. Quiet streets, quiet building, little collateral. The only danger to the unknown were the Marshals, and they’d almost missed him entirely.
A broad-shouldered person stepped out wearing a sweatshirt with the hood pulled up and cloaking his head.
He hit the pavement and eased the door closed, keeping his body angled toward the surveillance van.
Mallory stood slowly, her shadow hidden by the building. She’d already eased her firearm from the hip holster, so she took aim and calmly said, “Freeze, US Marshal.”
There was one streetlight that cast a yellow glow near where they were standing. But neither of them were in the light. He couldn’t make out details about her and she couldn’t about him.
Except that he’d straighten in surprise and hadn’t done as she’d requested. Instead, he’d shifted his weight to his back leg and Mallory knew then he was going to run.
She seriously did not have time for this. She had to call her mom and her sister.
He paused for a second then took off running.
“Dang it,” she said then took off after him. Mallory may have been forty but she still had her long legs and speed. Running had been how she’s worked out all her perimenopause frustrations. While running, she holstered her gun. Mallory caught up quickly. The whole sequence happening in mere seconds. Mallory leapt onto his back and took him down. They hit the ground with a thud and curses. He tried to buck her like a horse. Mallory was quicker to recover and managed to keep him on his stomach so she could straddle him across his back. She pulled his arms behind him and cuffed him.
“I did say freeze,” she said.
A scuffle of running feet came up behind her and seconds later she was joined by Murphy and Kimble.
“Nice,” Kimble said.
Mallory pushed off the individual and stood, then helped hoody man get to his feet.
“What did I do?” he protested.
“You ran,” she said and handed him over to her colleague. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to call home.”
She stepped away but not before hearing Kimble say to her suspect, “Am I going to find a ligature in your pocket? Strangling a man at his desk. I bet he didn’t see you coming.”
Knowing that she would likely get reprimanded for stepping away to make a personal call, Mallory decided she didn’t care. Heck, she’d caught the guy fleeing and the team upstairs were covering that scene. She could fill out the paperwork later.
She dialed her mom’s number. Cici answered on the first ring. “Mal,” she sniffed, her voice sounding strangled. A sure sigh she’d been crying. “She’s sitting in her closet with the door closed. I can’t get her to come out.”
Natalie was hiding, refusing to face what was in front of her. There had only been one other time her sister had hidden away. Not when Nora got her autism diagnosis. Not when Whit was born premature and was in the NICU. Only the day they learned their father had died.
“I’m coming home. Tell Nat I’m on my way.”
