Catch, Release. Carol Ericson
years ago.
She growled low in her throat. “I should’ve dropped him in his tracks.”
“Tough talk from the first and only female Prospero agent.” He clicked his tongue. “But you wouldn’t do that now, would you, Deb? Not while we have Bobby.”
His words twisted a knife in her belly and she bit back a sob. She refused to show this scum any sign of weakness. “Let me talk to him. I’m not going to do anything more until you do. I have to know he’s okay.”
“Deb, Deb, Deb. He’s not with me, or I’d gladly put him on the phone. Rest assured he’s safe and comfortable. We’ll give you proof of life soon enough.”
His phrase proof of life had her sagging against the lamppost. He’d better show her proof of Bobby’s life, or she’d hand Zendaris proof of his own death.
“When? I need something now.”
“You have my word, Deb. That’s all I can give you at the present time—that and the phone you’re using.”
She had an urge to toss the thing and the slick voice coming from it into oncoming traffic. But it represented her only connection to Bobby.
She crushed it against her ear. “What’s the significance of this phone?”
“It will be our way of communicating with you. It’s secure, untraceable, a very special phone. Carry it with you everywhere.”
“So what is it, Zendaris? If that’s who you really are.” Despite the chill in the air, sweat dampened her hairline. She brushed a bead of it away. “What do you want me to do?”
“You Americans, so impatient. You just keep the phone by your side, Deb, and we’ll tell you what to do next.”
“Why the delay? Tell me what to do now so we can end this game.” Silence greeted her plea and she was almost glad of it. A whining, desperate tone had crept into her voice—a tone she didn’t want Zendaris to hear.
She examined the phone and pushed a few buttons. There were no contacts, no phone numbers appeared and it didn’t seem as if she could make an outgoing call. What other special features did it have? A GPS tracking device? A camera? Were they watching her right now?
Closing her eyes, she rested her forehead against the cold metal of the lamppost and dropped the phone in her coat pocket. What was Zendaris after? What did he want her to do?
She swallowed. Why was she kidding herself? He wanted the plans to the anti-drone. He’d had them first, lost them to her Prospero teammate, Cade Stark, and then the plans had been stolen from Cade.
Neither Zendaris nor Prospero knew the location of the plans, but he must think she knew something. Or he planned to use her to get them.
The phone rang again. That was fast. Now maybe they could get down to business.
“What?”
A different voice greeted her this time, rougher, gruffer. “Face east and take the first right.”
She spun around to face the right direction. “Where the man who dropped the phone in my pocket went?”
“Do it.”
With the phone clamped to her ear, she strode to the next corner and turned. “What now?”
“Walk two blocks and turn down the alley after the green awning.”
She spied a flower shop with a green awning in front and aimed her steps toward it. The man on the other end of the line said nothing, but his heavy breathing kept her moving.
Would they show her some sign that Bobby was okay? Maybe Bobby was down that alley. The thought quickened her steps.
She stopped at the entrance to the alley and braced her hand against the corner of the flower shop building. Her gaze tracked along the length of the alley, stumbling over two Dumpsters but nothing else. No Bobby.
Her shoulders slumped. “I’m in the alley.”
“Go to the second Dumpster and take out the black bag.”
Her stomach tightened into knots as she crept down the pavement, avoiding the patches of ice that the winter sun hadn’t melted. She didn’t want to look into that Dumpster. Didn’t want to look into any bag.
Fear had her in its grip. Even though she hadn’t been acting like it, she was a trained Prospero agent, programmed to laugh in the face of fear.
Without cracking a smile, she pushed up the green lid of the second Dumpster with the heel of her hand. She peered inside and eyed a black duffel bag sitting atop bags of trash and stems, leaves and broken blooms from the flower shop. She gagged at the stench of rotting organic material.
Holding her breath, she balanced one foot on the wheel of the Dumpster and hoisted herself up. She reached into the refuse and snagged the strap of the bag and pulled. It didn’t budge.
“I have to put the phone down.”
The man grunted in response, and she slid the phone in her pocket. Using both hands, she propelled herself farther into the Dumpster, grabbed the bag with both hands and hauled it out.
She dropped the heavy prize on the ground and crouched beside it. She dipped her hand in her pocket and retrieved the phone. “I have the bag. Should I open it?”
“Yeah, whaddya think?”
She thought if she made one wrong move they’d harm Bobby. It took her two tries to unzip the bag with her trembling hands. When the bag gaped open, she sat back on her heels, her mouth as wide as the opening of the duffel.
“What am I supposed to do with this stuff?”
“Rob a jewelry store.”
The shock made her giggle and she toppled over. She sniffed and rubbed her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re robbing a jewelry store. It’s a few blocks away.”
“Are you crazy? This is what Zendaris wants me to do? Steal some jewels?”
He ignored her questions and began giving her instructions for the robbery. He stopped after every instruction and asked her if she understood. She’d had him repeat the first few directions as the fog slowly cleared from her mind.
Zendaris was serious. He wanted her to rob a store. She knew the consequences if she didn’t do it. Was this it? Was this all he’d ask of her?
She might get killed in the attempt, and if she were arrested she would never reveal her motivation. She understood what that would mean for Bobby.
“You got all that?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t fail.”
“I don’t plan on it.”
She cleared out her own purse and dumped the contents into the big designer bag that was stuffed in the duffel. She pulled the blond wig over her head and clapped the huge sunglasses on her face.
While sitting on the ground with her back against the Dumpster, Deb slipped a pair of high heels onto her feet. Zendaris had told her to dress professionally. The towering heels must’ve been an afterthought and were more suited to a hooker than the low heels she’d kicked off, but they added to her disguise.
Peering into the mirror Zendaris had thoughtfully provided, she shoved the dark strands of her hair beneath the wig and applied red lipstick.
She crammed the black ski mask into the purse as well, and then tucked the loaded .45 inside—not that she planned on shooting anyone unless Zendaris showed up in the jewelry store.
She pushed to her feet and dropped the duffel bag along with her own empty purse into the Dumpster. She’d put her shoes and everything else from her purse into the designer bag. She tightened the belt of her wool coat and emerged from the alley a new