A Voice from the Field (30 page)

He shook his head. “Okay, but I just want to point out, it's all
your
craziness. I stock shelves at the Pig. I don't do crazy.”

She laughed. “Yeah, agreed.
My
craziness.”

She jumped down off the dock and stood looking up at him. She put her hands around his legs and leaned closer.

“When this is over we're going to sit down. Talk about some things I need to tell you. I want you in my life, Connor, but you have to know what you're getting into.”

He reached out one hand and stroked her cheek. “It doesn't matter what you tell me. I am in your life for as long as you'll let me stay there.”

“Yo, Anderson,” the manager called from the doorway behind Connor. Neither he nor Tia looked around. “I need you for a cleanup on six. After that, stock toilet paper on aisle five.”

He shook his head, smiling at his own reality. Tia laughed, just once.

“I guess duty calls for both of us, huh?”

“Want to switch?”

He stood. “Don't ask me twice—you might wind up grabbing a mop.”

She pushed off his legs and walked backward for a few steps, watching Connor struggle to his feet. For an instant she saw pain in his eyes, saw how awkwardly he moved. In that moment she wanted to go to him, help him. Then he was on his feet and his composure returned. The flash of pity she felt faded when she saw his strength, the solid core of him that no one could take away.

He shot her a crooked grin, but his eyes were serious. “Don't worry about me. Go do what you have to do and be done with it. Remember. You said we were going to figure out a way to put all this behind us.”

He bent over, grabbed the white apron and his book, and turned away. A moment later he disappeared into the grocery store, walking with the sort of quiet nobility reserved for those who had never once failed to answer when called.

 

THIRTY-SIX

The now-familiar scrape of chain against wood woke Angelica from a fitful sleep.
They're coming again,
she thought.
I won't go. I'll fight until they kill me. Today, I find a way to die.

Overhead the door was flung back, and blinding light flooded the pit. Fresh air fell from above like rain, but Angelica found no joy in it. She retreated to the dark corner; her vision returned in time for her to see the ladder drop into the space.

She waited for the familiar, heavy sound of his boots. Of his cackling call, as if she were some sort of farm animal. Light footsteps against the wood froze her in place, fearing the break in what had become a terrifying routine. She saw a woman's bare feet and legs appear in her field of view, moving uncertainly down the ladder. Angelica pushed herself farther into the shadows, hoping for safety in concealment.

The woman, dressed in a bright-colored sundress, reached the bottom. With both feet firmly on the ground, she looked up through the opening. She called out, her voice strong but flooded with emotion, “See? I'm not making any trouble. Let me have them.”

Angelica watched as another pair of feet became visible—the tiny feet of a child. A young boy descended into the pit, lowering himself down the ladder, both hands tightly gripping each wooden rung. He couldn't be more than three or four years old, his face covered in dirt. He stopped halfway, whimpering.

“I'm scared, Mommy,” he said, looking down at the woman waiting below.

When she answered, Angelica heard fear in her voice. “It's okay, sweetie. You won't fall. Mommy is right here.”

The woman was wrong—the boy slipped an instant later and fell—but his mother reached out and plucked him from the air. She held him close, pressing him to her body.

Seconds later another person descended the steps—this one a girl who looked to be about Angelica's age. She was wearing shorts and a jersey, like the soccer players Angelica had seen back in Mexico. Angelica could see her lean muscles—the girl must be strong, Angelica thought. She had honey-colored hair that fell to the middle of her back and her skin was the color of dark copper. She stared up at the hatchway even as she climbed lower and Angelica could see the spite in her eyes.

Partway down, she jumped off the ladder, then called up to whoever was above, “Pass him down to me. I'll catch him.”

Angelica heard a voice she didn't recognize. “No. He stays with me. If you all start carrying on and stirring up a racket, you won't see him again.”

The woman in the bright dress shrieked. She dropped the little boy to the ground and flung herself onto the ladder, climbing frantically. She was nearly halfway to the top when the ladder began to pitch back and forth. She held on but couldn't go higher or lower. After one particularly quick twist, she fell hard to the ground.

From above came the high-pitched, terrified scream of a child, so piercing it shook the dirt under Angelica's feet. The awful sound drew something out of Angelica she hadn't known was still there. The image of the bold one filled her mind—the one who had fought for her. The one who had tried to pull her out of the darkness. Angelica ran to the ladder and bolted up. She was so quick she managed to almost reach the top. She grabbed one of the boy's feet. The ladder was being pushed and pulled in an attempt to dislodge her, but she managed to go up another rung. She wrapped one arm around his waist; with the other, she clung to the ladder. A white man, one she had never seen before, towered over her, holding the boy.

Angelica pulled hard on the now-screaming child, who had begun to flail at the man. She lost her grip on the ladder—but not her grip on the child. She sailed through the air and landed hard, with the boy on top of her. He scrambled to his feet and ran to his mother, who grabbed him and held him close.

In those moments that Angelica spent lying on the floor, dazed from the fall, a man jumped into the pit. She dragged herself to her feet and found herself face-to-face with a man as big as any she had ever seen. She didn't have time to move before he swatted her across the face, swinging his whole arm and open hand, knocking her onto the floor again. He looked at her for an instant, then turned to climb the ladder and leave. The fear that Angelica had carried inside her for so long turned to rage. It consumed her.

Angelica threw herself onto the big man's back. She was ready to fight him now. She would fight like the bold one. Angelica felt strength surge through her body. She felt the spirit of the bold one. She was ready to be free.

 

THIRTY-SEVEN

At half past eight, Tia drove the GTO into the parking lot of the Roadhouse Score and took up a spot in a distant corner. Right on time and true to his word, Delafield pulled in thirty minutes later. He wasted no time getting inside. Tia put the radio next to her ear and listened to the tactical channel, where a half-dozen voices called out locations and activity. The comings and goings from the club appeared ordinary; no one would suspect that a major federal sting was nearing its final act. Tia scanned the crowded parking lot and tried to pick out the close-in surveillance. To their credit, they blended in well.

She reviewed the plan Delafield had laid out for her. He was to take the crooks to a neutral location where, if things went badly, Kane wouldn't have a bar full of civilians to hide behind. Simple. Not great, but good enough. Tia just hoped it went off quick. She'd made a call to the district attorney—the real one, not a fake one like Graham—and let her know to expect a late-night request for a search warrant. She'd heard doubt in the woman's voice, but no matter. Tonight all the doubting would be done.

Stahl's voice came over the radio, higher pitched than usual and full of excitement, like a kid playing with a new toy. “Subjects are exiting the location. They're on the move. All units stand by.”

Tia didn't have as good an angle on the doorway, but she could see the familiar white van pull into view. She risked the use of handheld binoculars, cupping them with her palm to lessen the chance of detection by any countersurveillance. In the dark and from a good fifty yards away it wasn't easy to see details, but she made out Jessup Tanner behind the wheel. The hulking figure of Kane looked to be in the passenger seat. That put Delafield out of view in the backseat, the desired position of most any U/C cop when riding in a car with crooks. It didn't take more than one or two episodes of
The Sopranos
to know why.

The van hit the roadway and Stahl's voice came over the radio. “That's our package. Tanner's behind the wheel and U/C is pinging inside. Surveillance team, fall in. Arrest team, be advised we're on our way to your location. ETA twenty minutes.”

Tia had no formal role in the takedown and she sure didn't want to be accused of burning the surveillance. She held back and watched as the van quickly reached full speed. Before it had gone far, two other vehicles pulled out of the parking lot, followed a few seconds later by a third. All the tail cars followed a little closer than she would have, but feds were like that. Tia waited until the entire caravan of U/C cars was well down the road and nearly out of sight before she started her engine.

Tia moved her hand to the floor-mounted stick shift, then stopped. A deep chill crawled across her skin and she stared at her hand, expecting to see an army of ten thousand fire ants marching there. Overwhelming dread took hold of her and a dark image filled her mind: Trapped. Alone. Terrified. Her heart began a familiar banging in her chest and the voice was as clear as it had ever been.

Ahora, Tia. Ve ahora.

“Go where?” Tia said out loud in a mix of anxiety and anger.
Not now,
she thought. She got nothing back but stone silence.

“Damn it,” Tia continued her one-person argument, “I don't need this right now.”

The follow cars had disappeared. Tia used a shaking hand to drop the goat into gear. She pulled out of the lot faster than she should, filled with fear and needing to escape. A face flashed in the darkness across her windshield and Tia slammed on the brakes with a mixture of shock and terror. The voice practically screamed.

Ir a su ahora.

On the verge of a full-on panic attack, Tia pulled air in through her nose, forced it out through her mouth, and closed her eyes. She rested her head against the steering wheel and forced herself to be calm. Turn right to follow the surveillance vehicles to the takedown location. Turn left and there was no doubt as to the destination. A minute passed. Then another. Tia picked her head up off the steering wheel and sat staring straight through the windshield at the dark landscape across the road. She loosened her grip and rocked her head on her shoulders to relieve the tension. She spoke out loud. “Go ahead. I'm listening.”

The voice was calm and reassuring.

Ahora, Tia. Ella te necesita.

Tia nodded in acknowledgment. She jerked hard on the steering wheel and floored the accelerator. The tires fishtailed in the loose gravel of the lot before gaining traction on the blacktop. Her mind was clear, her decision made. She knew precisely what she had to do. It was ten minutes to the Tanner farm, eight if she drove it hard. She decided to make wise use of the time and plan the best approach into the field.

 

THIRTY-EIGHT

For the second time in twenty-four hours, Tia found herself on a dirt road bordered on both sides by row after row of eight-foot-tall corn. The spongy mud under the tires of the GTO bogged her down and she wished she were still driving the 4x4. She kept the car in first gear until she reached nearly the same spot where she'd parked the night before, judging by the bent cornstalks on either side of the roadway.

When she got out of the car, the summer wind was warm against her face. Conditions were much better than they'd been last night—the sky was full of stars and most of the mud had solidified. She reached the fence and vaulted it with ease. She reached for her phone, planning to once again use the compass, then stopped.

Just listen.

Tia kept walking, the dead stalks soggy under her feet. She felt safe enough, concealed in the darkness. The outline of the Tanner compound began to come into view, black and lifeless. When she was close enough to pick up any movement, she hunkered down and pulled her forty caliber from her shoulder holster. No movement. No light.

The compound appeared deserted. Tia stood and moved forward, holding her gun low, alongside her leg. The shed lay ahead of her, its gray, moonlit silhouette visible through rows of corn.

To her surprise, it was easy to find the spot in the fence where she'd forced her way through before. Mud had filled in the hollow she'd created, but the fencing was still pulled up and out of place. Dropping to her knees and setting her weapon aside but near to hand, Tia had no problem scooping out enough soft dirt to a new pathway. She slipped under, this time without the distractions of the rain and getting stuck on the fence.

The shed was dark and lifeless. After a quick sneak peak inside, between the seams of the wooden walls, she moved to the doorway. She turned the handle and pushed the door open, revealing a black space. Lifting her handgun, she decided to risk using the forward light.

She clicked it on and Delafield's bloodied face came into view.

He sat in a chair atop the same wooden stage where Pepper Hill had been on offer the night before. His arms were pulled behind his back and a rag was stuffed in his mouth. A rope went around his neck and upper body, pinning him against the chair. Tia couldn't be certain, but he looked unconscious, though she could see the rise and fall of his chest. As she stood in the doorway of the shed, highly exposed, with no cover or concealment available, her instincts screamed,
Leave! Abort the mission. Run back to the road and call for backup. Not just backup. The whole state. This is not a situation that can be handled alone.
But she knew better. She couldn't leave him here. With her weapon straight out at shoulder height, she stepped closer, hopped up on the stage.