Liars' Games (Project Chameleon Book 1) (35 page)

“I need to talk to the employee who saw him,” she said.

“
Okay, I’ll get her.”

By the time Janna returned
with the employee, Steve was rushing through the doors, bringing with him the cold air from outside. He put his arm around Claire’s shoulders.

“This is my husband, Steve. He’s Marcus’
s father. I need to know who picked up Marcus. Describe him to us.” The director blanched, realizing the situation unfolding.

“He was tall, probably six feet,” the young woman said.
“He had short-cropped brown hair and green eyes.”

“Did he have an accent?”

“Yes. English, or maybe Australian. I don’t know. Could have been Irish. I’m not good at identifying accents.”

“What time was he here?”

Janna brought the sign-out log over quickly and showed it to Claire. The time logged out was ‘3:10 P.M.’ and the name was unreadable, but the signature looked like Callum’s and the description fit him perfectly.

Claire’s mind was whirling and she was confused, and angry at Janna for her shoddy security. How had Callum found them and why had he taken Marcus?

She turned and whispered to Steve, “We need to call Leo.”

They
left and Steve said, “Let’s go to my car. You can call him from there, and find out what we’re supposed to do.”

She followed him and they both got in
to Steve’s car. Pulling out her mobile phone with shaking hands, she autodialed Leo’s phone number and told him what had happened.

“Don’t call the pol
ice,” he said. “I’ll handle it. Go home and wait for me.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CLAIRE SHOOK AND cried as she hung up the phone after talking with Leo. Steve pulled her into his arms, and when she calmed down a bit, he asked, “Do you want to leave your car here? You can ride home with me and we’ll pick up your car later.”

She shook her head, and got out of
his car. Steve followed her home and they walked into the house together.

Once inside, Claire broke-down, collapsed to the floor next to the sofa, and sobbed. Steve pulled her onto the sofa and held her tight until she quieted. They
sat in the living room, waiting to hear from Leo for three-quarters of an hour, neither of them speaking, while the clock on a nearby shelf ticked like a metronome.

Breaking the silence, Claire asked, “What if they can’t find Marcus and Callum? Callum’s managed to avoid capture all this time. He could be on a flight to another state. He might even be in another state by now.”

“Don’t let your mind go there, Claire. They’ll find him. Yeah, he’s avoided the police, but he’s traveling with a child now. That will slow him down. It will make it harder for him to run and to hide.”

She nodded, wiping fresh tears from her eyes. They talked about the watcher—the private investigator John had hired. Then she told Steve about
Brad and about her meeting with Leo. “Do you think Leo is really doing anything to get Marcus back? It worries me that I don’t know anything about him. He could just be blowing it off, like both he and Brad did when I told them about the watcher.”

“I
’m sure he is,” Steve said, trying to assure Claire, but she could see the worry lines on his forehead. “Even though you barely know the guy, it’s encouraging that he has a local office. That’s at least one promising thing.”

“I’m not sure if he’s still here, though. He said it was only a temporary office and th
at he’d be back in Virginia soon.”

“Why would Callum come looking for his son?” Steve asked. “
It doesn’t make sense to try to take a little boy on the run with him.”

“I know. It’s driving me crazy. I keep thinking it wasn’t really him. Maybe the private investigator is impersonating Callum to scare me into paying him to keep him quiet.”

“I suppose that’s a possibility.”

Claire began crying again, and leaned against Steve who stroked her hair and whispered in her ear, “It’ll be okay. They’ll find him.”

She remembered the gun she’d brought home from the school. After she and Marcus had moved into Steve’s house, she’d locked it inside a drawer of the desk Steve had bought for her. She got up and retrieved it. Steve’s eyebrows shot up when she walked back into the living room and handed him the gun.

“Where did you get this?”

She explained how she’d come to have it in her possession.

“You should have turned it over to the police. It could be stolen for all you know.”

“Oh, I guess so. Sorry.”

“Well, we should leave it out for now, considering the situation, but we’ll take it to the police after this is over.” He set it on the coffee table in front of where they were sitting.

Late that night, Claire was curled up on the sofa, her head on Steve’s lap.
Both were trying to sleep and neither was having any luck. A loud knock on the front door startled them. Claire jumped up and ran to the door.

She unlocked and opened it
, hoping to see Leo and Marcus, but gasped as she stared into the face of Jose Rodriguez. She caught something—a movement—out of the corner of her eye. Her attention shift down to his hand and saw a shiny knife, probably the same one he’d used when he and the others had attacked her in her office. She screamed, and tried to close the door. It wouldn’t move. Confused, she instinctively turned her head to see what was stopping it.

Steve. He
had grabbed hold of the door. He pulled the door out of her grasp, opening it wider, holding up the gun she’d left on the coffee table. Before he had the chance to shoot, the boy crumpled.

“What the hell?” Steve said.
He looked around, but finding no initial answer there, bent down to better see the boy.

Claire stepped onto the porch and bent forward to get a look.
Blood was oozing out of the boy.

“He’s been shot. Go back in the house, Claire.”

A loud noise across the street caught their attention and they both looked up. A car was parked alongside the road across the street from their house, with a man slumped over in the driver’s seat. Another man was standing next to the car.

“Oh, my God,” Claire said. “That’s Leo standing by the car.”
Moments later, several uniformed agents appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. Within a couple of minutes, police cars and emergency vehicles began arriving, swarming the neighborhood and filling the night with sirens and flashing lights.

Leo came to their door step
and said, “We need to talk in private.”

Claire introduced him to Steve
. Leo frowned.

After
they all went inside the house and sat down in the living room, Leo immediately said, “You should have called me and told me you’d gotten married and moved.”

“I guess I should have told you but, honestly, it didn’t occur to me. I mean, why would you need to know that?” 

“Why? I’ll tell you why, damn it. We need you alert and clearheaded, not all wrapped up in love, thinking nothing else matters. It makes people do stupid things.”

“You don’t have other married witnesses?”

“Of course we do. Just not newlyweds,” he said. “And especially not before a trial. Even during trial we discourage any romantic entanglements. Once everything is done, case closed, and everything has cooled down, then it’s safe for witnesses to do what they want. That was a really stupid thing you did.” He paused, then continued. “Did you at least tell him you’re in WITSEC?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know what to do with you, Claire. You know the rules.”

She looked at him, her pent up anger finally bursting the dam
. “No matter what I do, handlers are always on my case for what I say or don’t say. I’m like a puppet. Why don’t you just give me a script? Maybe then I could get it right.”

He looked surprised for a moment, then seemed to reconsider
. “Well, it’s done. “

Everyone was silent for a few moments. Then Claire pointed her head toward the door and asked, “What is going on out there? You obviously withheld information from me, too.”

“I couldn’t tell you. It was all part of the investigation. When I took over as your handler, I did some checking into this watcher you’d told Brad about. I sat in front of your condo building and saw the guy. Took a few pictures, showed them to my boss. From that point, we brought in watchers of our own and planted some information, hoping to catch some of the syndicate members.”

“You mean you used me as bait in a sting operation?”

“Something like that. The private investigator who was tailing you is known as a man who plays dirty. We figured he would sell your information.”

“He threatened to do that if I didn’t pay him.”

“Well, he did sell it.”

“How did he know how to find the people who wanted the information?”

“He’s an investigator. He’s a criminal but he’s good at his job, just stupid. After he contacted them, the syndicate hired a hit man to retrieve the information on you. He killed that PI for it. The hit man is in the car across the street wounded, and he’s already beginning to talk to the agents questioning him right now.”

“I can’t believe you put Claire at risk like that?” Steve said
, his anger evident.

“It isn’t our normal policy but sometimes you have to take some risks. She wasn’t in any real danger. Not after I joined the case. I don’t leave my charges hanging out to dry like Brad did. “

“I don’t understand,” Claire said. “When I first met you, you said that you follow the rules and Brad didn’t. Now you’re saying you took risks and did something that isn’t WITSEC’s normal procedure?”

“Brad was close to retirement. He wasn’t really doing his job anymore because he didn’t care. He was getting sloppy and lazy. That’s what I meant about him not following rules. As a marshal you have to be on the ball,
twenty-four seven. You have to see the bigger picture and analyze it, then take appropriate action. You can’t sit on your butt and play phone tag with your charges.”

Claire nodded, then asked, “Who shot Jose?”

“The hit man. Jose just got in the way. He had to shoot Jose because he needed to kill you, Claire, or he wouldn’t get paid.”

Claire gasped and Steve put his arms around her. She leaned into him and let him pull her closer.

“What about Callum?” Steve asked. “Did he take Marcus, or was that a trick?”

“We didn’t expect Callum to show up. But our watcher
first spotted him near the high school and followed him to the preschool. He waited outside. When Callum came out with the child, he grabbed Callum and took him in.”

“Where’s my son?”

“We have him. He’s fine. He’s outside in one of the vans.”

Leo
stopped and called someone on his phone. Minutes later a woman brought Marcus to the house.

Marcus
rushed into Claire’s arms. Claire looked up at Leo. “Why did Callum take him?”

“
Seems he’d been looking for you for a while. Claims he missed his son. Then he heard about the hit man. He said he was trying to protect his son.”

When Claire released M
arcus, he ran into Steve’s arms. Steve held him tightly and stroked his hair.

“We have a vehicle en route to pick up you and your son. You know the drill. You can get your purse and coats. We’re moving you to a secure location until we have permanent arrangements.”

“But I’m not ready. I have work to do at the school.”

“They’ll have to manage without you.”

“What about my husband?”

“I don’t know
, since we didn’t even know about him until now.” Leo looked at Steve, and said, “We need to talk about whether you’re going into the program, or whether you’re going to end the marriage. You have a lot of things to consider.”

“I know
,” Steve said. “Claire and I have already discussed it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

RON AND KIM stood next to the registration desk in the admin office and re-read the note Claire had sent them:

‘
I’m sorry I had to leave without saying goodbye in person. Maybe someday I will be able to explain why to you. I’m going to miss you, all of you at Midland. I’m so glad to hear that you’ve been appointed principal, Ron. You’re going to be great in that position. Keep going with the plans we started and don’t ever give up. Midland is going to be a great school. Good luck.’ CJ.

“I still can’t believe she’s gone,” Kim said.

Ron shook his head.

“Back when she first started I wouldn’t have believed I would say this, but I’m really sad she’s gone. You know, she did tell me once that she doesn’t stay long in one place. I thought she was saying it to placate me. I guess she was telling the truth.”

“I’m going to miss her, too. The whole school will.”

CLAIRE STOOD IN the middle of the living room in their new house and tried to picture
the room with the furniture they’d purchased at the Home Furniture store, being delivered this afternoon.

Steve finished dressing for work and joined Claire in the living room. They’d all slept on air mattresses
the last few nights.

“Well, I guess I’m ready to head over to the university. Wish me luck.”

She kissed him, and said, “You’ll be great. I can easily picture you speaking in front of a packed lecture hall. Are you sure you’re all right with this?”

“I’m
actually excited, Claire. I mean, Amanda. Wow, it’s really going to be tough getting used to new names.”

“It always is.
You’ll get used to it, Joe.”

He laughed. “I always liked that name. I’m glad they gave us an easy last name
. Sinclair is pretty good.”

“It is.”

Joe said, “How is Eric dealing with the name changes? See, I’m getting better. I remembered.”

“I worry about h
im. He usually adjusts quickly, although now that he’s older I think he’s going to have a harder time. We practiced it all day yesterday before he started his new preschool this morning.”

“He’ll be fine. You worry too much.”

“I know, but I can’t help it. You know what worries me the most? What if the syndicate finds us again?”

“Then we’ll proceed with our backup plan, okay?” He pulled Amanda close and kiss
ed her.

“You sure you don’t regret staying with me and entering the program? You don’t regret leaving your job?”

“Of course I will miss family and friends. That’s the toughest part. But I would have missed you and Marcus more. Besides, I don’t mind changing jobs. I’m getting too old to deal with the pressures and stress of the Superintendent’s job. I’d much rather have decent hours and time for my family.” He paused, and studied her face. “Remember, we’ll survive because we have each other and we have a plan.”

She looked into his eyes and smiled. He hugged her and kissed her again, then left for work. She stood by the window, with the curtains pulled back slightly, and watched him back out of the driveway. He was right. They had already discussed the future and came up with their own plan
—Plan B, as they called it—because neither of them wanted to continue with witness protection if they were attacked again. Trying to get fake identification on their own and traveling to Europe or some other foreign locale wouldn’t be easy, especially now that they were expecting a baby. She hoped they wouldn’t have to resort to that plan. But they would do whatever was necessary to protect their family.

When Joe was out of sight,
Amanda sat down on a folding chair in front of the desk they had bought and assembled the day before. She opened up her new laptop computer and turned it on. While she waited for it to boot up, she thought back on the two months they’d recently spent living in WITSEC headquarters while Steve—now Joe—was being processed into the program, and then the transfer a week ago here to Bloomington.

Four days ago, s
he and Joe had both met with the local university’s Board of Regents. Although their new handler and his boss had helped with the introductions and interviews, Joe had insisted they obtain jobs on their own merit and with the potential employers knowing their situation and true backgrounds.

Yesterday, Joe
was offered a full-time job as a Professor of Education. Amanda was also to be affiliated with the university, but as an adjunct visiting professor. She would teach part-time for now, giving her time to continue her research which she’d begun while at Weymouth. If everything went well, she would publish under a pen name.

Late in the afternoon, Amanda heard the rumble of a truck outside. She peeked out the window at the furniture store delivery truck. After a few minutes, two men got out and walked to her front door. She held her breath as she braced herself to face the strangers.

“We have some furniture to deliver to a Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair.”

“Yes, we’ve been expecting you.”

After the
y unloaded everything and assembled the beds, one of the men brought a clip board over to her.

“I just need your signature here to confirm you
r receipt of your furniture.”

“Sure.” She signed her new name and handed the clip board and pen back to the delivery man.”

“Are you new to town, mam?”

“Yes, we are.”

He nodded and said, “Welcome to Bloomington.”

After they left, she walked around the living room
, running her hand over the seat of the tan leather sofa, then looked up at the lovely painting of Pike’s Peak hanging on the wall above it. The same tan color was reflected in the painting, along with grass-green and sky-blue, reminding her of her first date with her husband, when he’d told her about the mountain and the cog-rail train. She smiled, sat down on the sofa, and closed her eyes. Everything was going to be okay.

The sound of a rumbling truck out in front of the house
again made her open her eyes. Then the doorbell rang again.

They must have forgotten something. Ah,
they didn’t give me a copy of the delivery receipt. That must be it!

She opened the door and stared in shock at the barrel of a gun.
Oh God! What do I do?
Her heart pounded so hard she could barely think straight. She tried to slam the door closed, but the man was standing in the doorway. The door hit him hard, knocking the gun out of his hand and he groaned in pain.

Not waiting around, she turned and ran toward the kitchen in the rear of the house, hoping to reach the back door before he caught up to her. Her bare feet tore across the living room’s wooden floor and onto the kitchen’s ceramic tile. As her hand reached out for the doorknob, she thought—
yes, I’m going to make it—
and then
she felt something pierce her in the back as she flew forward and hit the door and her feet gave out from under her.  As the doorknob faded from view, and an intense pain shot through her, she rebounded back onto the hard tile, her last thought being—
Guess I’m not going to make it—
and then everything went black.

STEVE
—NOW JOE—sat at his wife’s bedside, holding her hand and hearing the nearby machines make their periodic beeping sounds, monitoring and apparently providing life support to his damaged wife. He’d driven like a madman to the hospital the moment he’d gotten the call from the police.

The air smelled of antiseptic, reminding him briefly of years ago when his grandmother had lain in a hospital bed hooked up to similar machines, tubing in her nostrils and wires going everywhere, scaring the whole family. He rubbed his eyes and tried to hold back tears.
Amanda’s a fighter. She’ll pull through
. He couldn’t allow himself to think otherwise. The numbers on the machine seemed to look okay to his untrained eyes. His eyes followed the wires back from the machines down to Amanda. She looked almost peaceful until one noticed her sallow features, the grey around her sunken eyes and her shallow breathing. The wires attached to her hands momentarily brought to mind a puppet.
God, how many times had she told him that she felt like a puppet because her life was not hers to control?

Trying to push that thought from his mind, he turned his attention to the nurse,
who was standing at the foot of the bed, writing something on a clipboard. The doctor had already told him that the surgery had been successful, not causing any major internal damage. But now it was more the head trauma they believed she had suffered from impacting the door and then the tile floor after being shot, that was the problem. “Is she going to be all right?” Joe asked. “Has the doctor given you any news?”

She looked up. “The next twenty-fours will tell us more. We’re waiting for the swelling to subside.” She scribbled something else on the chart, then looked back at him. “You know, she may be able to hear you. Stay with her and talk to her. Maybe she’ll respond. Does she have a strong will to survive?”

He glanced at Amanda, squeezing her hand. “Yes, she does.”

AMANDA SMILED AS
Joe helped her ease into the front passenger seat of their car, grateful for his gentleness with her, both this afternoon and during her two week hospital stay. Several nurses, over the past week since she’d awakened from the coma, had nothing but praise for her husband, how he’d sat beside her every day, holding her hand, talking to her, and reading to both her and their son. 

He rushed around to the driver’s side
and entered.

“Dad
packed our stuff and said we’re going on a trip,” Marcus—now Eric—said from the backseat as they drove away from the hospital.

“That’s right, sweetie.” She glanced
sideways at Joe and gave him a half-smile, knowing they were launching Plan B, for better or for worse.