A Soft Place to Fall (37 page)

She had to figure out the phone's importance
and fast. She pressed the power key then watched as green light
filled the display. There was nothing special about the phone, at
least not as far as she could see. No fancy gadgets or internet
capabilities. The one thing that caught her eye, however, was the
red 6 key. How odd. What could be so compelling about the 6 key
that you would make it the centerpiece of the keypad?

She did what any normal person would do under
the circumstances: she pressed it.

Nothing.

She pressed it again and then hit the send
key.

Still nothing.

She pressed AUTO then the 6 key and instantly
a no-nonsense voice crackled in her ear.

"Code number, please."

"I don't have a code number."

"Use of this phone requires a specific code
number. Please speak it into the mouthpiece."

"I can't," Annie said. "I don't know what it
is."

"Please identify yourself by slowly speaking
your name, first and last, with correct spelling, followed by
street address, zip code, phone number, and social security
number."

"I have no idea who you are. Why should I
give you my social security number?"

"Ma'am, you are using a phone restricted for
use by the United States government. Any other use is a violation
of the law."

"You don't understand. The owner has been
arrested and I don't know what to do. I found his phone and –"

"Hold on, please, ma'am. An agent will be
with you momentarily."

"Max," she said to the yellow dog by her
side, "I think we're in big trouble."

Chapter Nineteen

They
were smarter than Sam had figured. Two of the four cars peeled off
when they hit the highway which made them look more like
independent travelers and less like a flotilla.

Smarter wasn't good. He had been hoping for a
lot less in the way of grey cells and a lot more in the way of
conversation. So far the chatter in the car had been limited to gas
mileage and that weird knocking sound under the hood. He'd been
tempted to strike up a conversation with them and maybe ask them
outright what the hell was going on but an attack of common sense
stopped him.

He tried hard not to think of Annie. They
wouldn't send anyone back there for her. If they'd wanted to grab
her, they would have done it when they found them together. She was
safe. He repeated it over and over again, a mantra. She was safe
and he would be back in her arms before the night was over.

When she said "Ciao" instead of goodbye, he
had wanted to send up a cheer. They had ended every phone
conversation with that word since the night at Cappy's when they'd
listened to the Yankee matron trill "Ciao" into the mouthpiece
after each call. Annie knew about the phone. She had listened and
watched and added up the clues. Now all Annie had to do was punch
in a few keys and headquarters would be swarming all over Shelter
Rock Cove in the blink of an eye.

He wouldn't be at all surprised if they had a
little welcome party waiting for them at the airport.

He glanced out the window. They were almost
there. His heart raced so quickly he had trouble breathing. The
cops had to be there. Maybe the feds, too. They would swarm the car
before the driver shifted into park and Sam would be free.

It's not going to be that easy, Butler.
These guys kidnapped you. That's a federal offense. They're not
going to go down without a fight.

Which meant guns. Sweet Jesus, what the hell
was happening? He sank down lower in his seat. If the airport was
teeming with law enforcement types, it was bound to get ugly. He
had the feeling neither side would think twice about opening fire,
and guess who was the only one around for miles without a weapon?
But then, it wouldn't have mattered if he had one because his
wrists were cuffed. A real good news/bad news situation.

The driver made a sharp left and they
proceeded through the gates and out onto a runway that hadn't seen
a repair crew – or anybody else -- in a long time. A small jet
waited some hundred yards away while a man in a pilot's uniform
walked around it. He did everything but kick the tires.

No cops. No feds.

He was on his own.

I love you, Annie,
he thought as they
opened the car door and he stepped out into the afternoon sun.
Whatever happens, I'll always love you.

He let it all out, all of his rage and
frustration and love, every bit of it, in a series of kicks meant
to kill. His first kick took the taller agent by surprise and the
guy dropped like a sack of rocks. The agent clutched his
mid-section and rolled on the tarmac in agony. His second kick
clipped the shorter agent's shoulder but didn't slow him down. He
kept coming at Sam, aiming blows to Sam's head that Sam couldn't
ward off with his hands in cuffs.

Sam's balance was off. He was dizzy. His head
felt like it was spinning. He dug in and tried to center himself
for another kick but he couldn't position himself in time and
space. He heard the sounds of car engines close by, voices, people
running toward them.

You're running out of options, Butler . . .
better make it work . . . better get it right . . . I love you,
Annie . . . love you . . . .

He spun into his third kick but it was too
little and it was way too late. Out of the corner of his eye he saw
one of the agents moving toward him and that was the last thing he
saw before everything faded to black.

#

Warren's home and barn were swarming with
more agents, cops, and detectives than Shelter Rock Cove had
taxpayers. Sam hadn't been arrested; he had been kidnapped and the
question now was by whom. Annie was being grilled by a man named
Briscoe who acted as if she had singlehandedly tried to overthrow
the government. He made innocence feel like it should come with
jail time. He even held out the theory that Sam's kidnapping might
actually be a set-up.

"I don't know who they were or what they
wanted with Sam," Annie said for the third or fourth time. "They're
the ones who kidnapped him, not me." She had trouble even saying
the word. The thought that Sam was somewhere out there being held
captive by God knows who terrified her even more than the thought
of an arrest.

"Nothing about the situation seemed strange
to you."

"I didn't know there was a situation until
they showed up. All I can tell you is that Sam asked why they
hadn't called first and they claimed his phone wasn't working. I
remembered seeing the green light flash when he tried it and – I've
told you this over and over for the last hour and a half. Why are
you wasting time asking me all these questions when Sam's out there
in danger?" With that she did what she'd been trying not to do for
the last hour: she burst into tears.

"You need a shot of whiskey," Briscoe said.
"Any around here?"

"C-can't drink whiskey," she said. "I'm
pregnant." Then she cried even harder.

Tough-as-nails Briscoe turned instantly to
mush and Annie wondered why she had wasted so much of her adult
life being stalwart and independent when it was clear a woman's
best weapon was still a well-placed tear. Briscoe ordered his
colleagues to make her a cup of tea and bring it to them in the
living room right away. He offered her a pillow, a blanket, an
aspirin. She shook her head and kept on crying. She couldn't have
stopped crying if she had wanted to. Fear, joy, wonderment, love,
disappointment, all of the emotions she had felt in the last few
hours washed out of her in a torrent of tears. She was pregnant.
She, Annie Galloway, was actually going to have a baby and the man
she loved, the father of her child, had vanished without a
trace.

Oh, Sam, I drove out here to tell you right
away. I don't know how you're going to feel about it . . . we never
talked about children . . . I didn't think it could happen . . . a
baby, Sam, our baby . . . .

"Here," said Briscoe, handing her a cup of
milky tea in a thick mug. "This'll help."

She thanked him. Max, who had been by her
side every second since Sam was taken away, looked up at the agent
and growled low.

"What's with that dog?" Briscoe took a step
back. "Is he always that protective?"

"Yes," she said, giving Max a kiss on his
yellow head. "He's a great boy, aren't you, Max?"

She took a huge gulp of tea. It was hot,
sweet,and bracing, exactly what she needed. "Please go look for
Sam. I'm afraid he's in danger."

"We're working on it, Ms. Galloway. Believe
me, we want to find Mr. Butler as much as you do."

I doubt that,
she thought as she took
another gulp of tea.
You're not carrying his baby.

"This is my house, goddamnit!" a familiar
voice rang out from the foyer. "Now let me in or I'm going to have
your asses in a sling before you know what hit you!"

"Jesus H. Christ," muttered Briscoe. "What
now?"

Warren strode into the room with all guns
blazing. He was a good thirty years older than anyone in the room
but he dominated the place through sheer force of will. He walked
right toward Annie and bent down to look at her.

"You're okay?"

She nodded. "It's Sam. He's been
kidnapped."

"I heard." He stood up and went toe-to-toe
with Briscoe. "You better have one damn fine explanation for all of
this."

Briscoe repeated the same company line he'd
spun for Annie. They were there in response to Annie's phone call,
not to disseminate information.

"What made you call the feds?" Warren asked
her quietly.

"I used Sam's cell phone," she said. "Press
the big red six and it's hello Washington."

Warren whistled low. "Any idea who kidnapped
him?"

"I haven't a clue," she said, "and I'm not
convinced they do either. Can you believe they suggested the whole
thing might be a set-up?"

Warren pulled his own cell phone from his
shirt pocket and made a call to a highly-placed Washington
official. "They're tracking the progress of a private jet that flew
out of the strip north of here about two hours ago. It's registered
to the wife of one of the big chiefs at Mason, Marx, and Daniels
where Sam worked."

Annie's spirits plummeted. That would only
fuel Briscoe's set-up theory. Warren handed the phone to Briscoe,
who listened, said little, then hung up.

"We may need to speak with you again
tomorrow," Briscoe said to Annie. "Where can I find you?"

She gave him the address and phone number for
Annie's Flowers.

"We'll be in touch," said Briscoe. "Remember:
the public story will be that Mr. Butler was arrested. It's in his
best interest and yours that you stick with that."

#

The news of Sam's arrest spread from one end
of Shelter Rock Cove to the other at the speed of light. By the
time she got home, everyone in town knew that Annie Galloway's
boyfriend had been seen being taken away in handcuffs. Nobody knew
where he had been taken, or by whom for that matter, but that
didn't stop the gossip. Ceil from Yankee Shopper said her
brother-in-law Stan had seen them boarding a private plane at the
landing strip north of town but everyone knew Stan had a deeply
personal relationship with Jack Daniel's and couldn't be counted on
for accurate reportage.

Still, the bare bones of the story stayed the
same no matter who did the telling. Poor Annie had picked herself a
real loser. Oh, the sex was probably great – did you
see
the
way they looked at each other and in public no less– but what good
was great sex if the guy was behind bars? Maybe next time she would
use her head and not her hormones and pick a man like that nice
Hall Talbot. Everyone in town knew he'd been carrying a torch for
her since high school. Wouldn't it be grand to see her with someone
who had grown up in town same as she had?

Warren, who was a world-class worrier, drove
home behind her to make sure she was okay. She invited him in for a
cup of coffee and so he could satisfy himself that no bad guys were
hiding in her closet or under the sleigh bed.

She played back her phone messages then
deleted most of them. Sweeney sounded genuinely concerned. Susan
sounded shocked. Hall sounded almost guilty. "I'm sorry about this.
It's all my fault," he said. "Call me." Too ridiculous to even
think about.

She poured Warren a cup of coffee and they
sat down at the kitchen table to compare notes.

"You've known Sam a long time," Annie said.
There was no point to beating around the bush. "Is there something
you're not telling me? Some deep dark secret, maybe, that –"

"He's not like Kevin, honey."

Her head snapped back in surprise.

"Didn't mean to throw you a curveball but we
don't have time to mince words."

"You knew about Kevin and his . . . " She
couldn't get the word out. She had spent too many years keeping his
secrets from the people who knew and loved him so they could go on
loving him.

"Gambling," Warren said. "He asked me for
money not long before he died."

"And you gave it to him?"

"No." Warren looked sadder than she had ever
seen him and his sadness served as a balm to her aching heart. "I
tried to help him work his way out of it, I volunteered to go with
him to Gamblers Anonymous." He dragged a gnarled hand through his
still-thick white hair. "I was afraid to give him the money. I
figured he'd gamble it away before the ink was dry on the
check."

"You're right," she said. "That's exactly
what would have happened."

"I didn't want to embarrass you," he said. "I
know the way you guarded your privacy. You protected Kevin's
reputation with your own."

"I was wrong," she said. "I should have
shouted it from the rooftops and forced him to get help."