The Dirt on Ninth Grave

  “What’s in it for me?”

  “Your ability to talk in a normal voice.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  I grabbed his arm, clawing at it, digging my nails into his skin as hard as I could.

  “I get it. I get it,” he said, falling to his knees.

  I let go, and he cradled his injured arm, blowing on the marks I’d left.

  I glanced at him. “People’s lives are at stake, Angel. And all you can worry about is your angle. Your cut.”

  “I’m thirteen.”

  He had a point. “Look, I’m sorry, just go see if the Vandenbergs are there.” When he glared back at me, I added, “Please.”

  He disappeared. I tried to calm down, but I was cold and tired and hungry. And more than a little worried about Mr. V, Natalie, Joseph, and Jasmine.

  Just then I heard a low thud. Nothing too spectacular, but the energy that hit me almost bowled me over. A wall of fear hit me head-on, and I knew before Angel got back that Mr. V and his family were in there. Was the sound a gunshot?

  I stood and started for the cabin. Soon I was sprinting. I would have run right up to the door and burst through it if Angel hadn’t tackled me to the ground.

  We rolled in the brush, and I fought him, trying to get to that family. To those kids.

  “Stop it, damn it,” Angel said, pinning me down.

  I kicked out and tried to claw at him again.

  “They’re okay, Janey. They’re alive.”

  “What was that sound?” I asked, frantic.

  “Mrs. V dropped a pan. The bad guys got mad. They’re okay.”

  I stopped struggling and lay in his arms, trying to calm my breathing. Then I realized how stupid what I’d just done really was. I could’ve gotten them all killed. I put a hand over my eyes as they stung with emotion.

  Angel pulled me tighter. I let him.

  Now I had another big fat dilemma. I’d gotten too close to the house. If they hadn’t seen me already, they very well could when I got up. At the moment, I was hidden by the tall vegetation, but I couldn’t stay there until nightfall. I needed to get them help.

  “Are they okay?” I asked Angel. “Even the kids?”

  “They’re alive.”

  “If only I had a way to —” My eyes flew open. I had a phone. I could call… who? I didn’t have anyone’s number, and it wasn’t like there was a directory for cell numbers. Not that I knew of.

  We were close enough to the house to hear yelling. I cringed when a man’s voice speaking Farsi wafted toward me.

  “I don’t know what to do, Angel.”

  “Me neither.”

  Just when the voices in the house quieted down, my phone rang. At first, I didn’t recognize the sound. Then I realized my pocket was ringing. I scrambled to answer it, hoping the captors hadn’t heard. Who would be calling? No one had this number.

  “Hello?”

  A woman spoke into the phone, her voice calm, soothing. “Janey? What are you doing?”

  I blinked in thought. “Um, nothing.”

  “You’re not lying by a cabin that may or may not have the Vandenbergs held hostage inside?”

  I bolted upright, but Angel tackled me to the ground again. He was right. That was a bad move. Damned reflexes.

  “Agent Carson?”

  “The one and only. And where are you supposed to be?”

  It took me a moment, but I answered, “Anywhere but here?”

  “Brava. You get to move on to the bonus round.”

  “Where are you?”

  “In a very well-thought-out covert position. Unlike, say, you. I had two units that were ready to move until you showed up. I can guarantee, you will also be arrested the minute I can get my hands on you.” She was so testy.

  “What do you mean, ready to move?”

  “They were getting ready to do covert surveillance so we could get eyes in there.”

  “In broad cloudy-with-a-chance-of-rain daylight?”

  “They’re very good. It’s what they do.”

  “Just hold on. Angel, where exactly are the Vandenbergs being held?”

  “They’re all in that corner bedroom,” he said, “except for Mrs. Vandenberg. She’s cooking for them.”

  “Is there a guard with the family?”

  “No. There are three men. Two in the living room and one in the kitchen. The family is tied up, so they aren’t going anywhere.”

  I nodded. “Look, I have inside information.” I told her what Angel said. “If we can distract them somehow once Mrs. Vandenberg is finished cooking, we can get them out. They aren’t guarding them.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I saw it. Through my binoculars.”

  “What binoculars?”

  “The ones I dropped. And no longer have.”

  “Well, thanks to you, the first thing we have to do is try to get you out of there so you don’t get everyone killed.”

  Guilt ate through the lining of my stomach. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

  “Can you see them now?”

  I was just about to say no when Angel nodded. Of course, he could be my eyes.

  “Yes. Yes, I can.”

  “Do you think you can get out of there if we provide some kind of distraction?”

  “No!” I whisper-yelled at her. “No, two distractions in one day? It isn’t like they’re not a tad suspicious already. They’re bad guys. They were born suspicious. I can see them.”

  Angel gave me a thumbs-up, then disappeared.

  “I’ll know when to run.”

  “Janey, if you are wrong and they spot you —”

  “I have this. Just get ready to move.”

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “You said your guys were ready. Are they or aren’t they?”

  “They are, but this isn’t a game, Janey.”

  “I have this. Once the Vandenbergs are all in that back bedroom, I’ll provide a distraction, and you and your men secure that room and get them out.”

  “Janey, I refuse to authorize you to do any such thing.”

  “I’m not asking permission. I’ll give you the okay sign when it’s time to move. Or I might get shot in the head. If either of those happens, move.”

  “Janey, I am ordering —”

  I hung up before she talked me out of doing something stupid. Truth was, I had the advantage over all of them with all of their equipment. I had a dead teenaged gangbanger with an attitude and, well, not a whole lot to lose.

  Angel appeared beside me again. He lay down in the brush, ducking his head as though they could see him. “There’s one guard on the window at all times. I’ll have to do something to draw his attention away.”

  “I have another idea. A really good one. I just need a sharp stick and a lot of blood.”

  I was so nervous, I wanted to throw up. My stomach roiled as I lay on the ground, waiting on word from Angel.

  Agent Carson called back a third time. I told her they were finally letting Mrs. V go back with her family, so it was almost time and she should get her team ready.

  She had reluctantly agreed to let me distract the captors so her men could secure the room. I hadn’t given her much of a choice, but despite that, no agent alive would just let some stranger waltz into her sting operation and “be the distraction.” No way. Absolutely not. There had to be more to that story than met the trained eye.

  “Janey,” she said, growing somber, “these are very, very bad men.”

  “I know. They’re holding a whole family hostage.”

  “The Vandenbergs never stood a chance of survival. These are not the kind of men that let their hostages go.”

  That got the blood pumping. “Got it. They’re super bad.”

  “Are you sure about this?”

  “Positive.”

  “What exactly are you going to do?”

  “I thought I’d play it by ear.” I hung up and glanced at Angel. “Here goes nothing.”

&nb
sp; Angel had found me something better than a stick, but if I didn’t get killed in the crossfire that was sure to come, I would probably die of tetanus or a flesh-eating virus. This couldn’t be sanitary.

  I took the piece of rusted metal he’d found a few feet away and started cutting cut along my scalp line. My first try wasn’t deep enough. I needed more blood. This had to look convincing.

  “Maybe you should stab me with it,” I said to Angel.

  “Fuck that. I ain’t stabbing you. I ain’t cutting you. This was your idea.”

  I closed my eyes and tried again. This time I thought of Joseph and Jasmine and how scared they had to be. The metal sliced through several layers, and blood gushed down my face. I rubbed it into my scalp and shook my head to disperse it, then scraped the metal along my cheek, neck, and chest, making deep – and hopefully convincing – gashes.

  The phone rang again. Agent Carson was probably not liking my plan. Sadly, part of that plan was to smash my phone. I raised the metal and slammed it into the phone over and over.

  “You’re one angry chick,” Angel said.

  I put my hand on his arm where I’d scratched him. “I’m sorry, Angel. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  He stared a moment, then laughed it off. “Please. I’m an asshole. I know that.”

  “You weren’t being an asshole. You were being a thirteen-year-old boy.” I leaned in and kissed his cheek. He lowered his head, embarrassed. “Okay, tell me when he’s not looking.”

  He nodded and disappeared. About fifteen seconds later, I heard the single word “Go.”

  I hopped onto my feet and sprinted as fast as I could to the tree line that circled the house. Once there, I skidded under some brush and waited.

  After another few seconds, I heard another “Go.”

  This time, I ran in the same direction I’d just come, only I stumbled a lot, falling all the way down and having to drag myself back up. I weaved to the back door, knowing they were probably all three watching now, and slammed my palms against it.

  “Is anyone home?” I yelled, my voice hoarse.

  I didn’t wait for them to actually answer. I just wanted them to think I was out of my mind, trying to get help. I walked the perimeter of the house, yelling for someone, anyone, to help my husband. When I got to the front door, I pounded on it.

  “They checked the room, just to make sure nothing was up,” Angel said as he followed me. He disappeared and reappeared again in the blink of an eye. “Now they’re all three up front, watching you. Their guns are drawn.”

  I fell against the front door and pounded, leaving bloody palm prints all over it. “Please, I need to use your phone. Please.”

  “Tell them to go now,” Angel said.

  I dropped one hand to my side and gave Agent Carson the okay signal, praying she saw it, because the door opened. The man had put his gun aside and was studying me.

  It was the same man who sat at Mr. V’s desk for at least two days, but I’d mussed my hair and bled all over my face. Surely he wouldn’t recognize me.

  “Please,” I said, swaying as though I were about to lose consciousness. “My husband. He’s in the car.” I pointed toward the lake then held out my busted phone. “Do you have a phone? Please. He’s trapped.”

  When they did nothing but watch me, I bent at the waist and vomited on their floor. The vomit was real. No way to fake that shit. The fact that one of them was holding an AK-47 on me – I’d seen it through the slit between door and jamb – proved to be all the motivation I needed to empty the contents of my stomach. Then, in a dramatic twist even I didn’t see coming, I fell to my knees and passed out in my own puke. Or, well, I pretended to. I lay as still as humanly possible as one of the men brought his gun around and pointed it at my head.

  20

  Life ain’t all burritos and strippers, my friend.

  —TRUE FACT

  Trust hadn’t exactly been my strong suit, but I was putting my life in the hands of an FBI agent I’d never met and her team. Hopefully, they would live up to their reputation of being excellent shots.

  The men started to panic. They spoke in frantic Farsi, trying to decide what to do with me, arguing among themselves, giving the team precious time to save the Vandenbergs. One of the men shoved another. He wanted to put me in the shed out back. Surely I wouldn’t live long, especially in this cold. The other wanted to bring me inside and put me in a room so they could keep an eye on me. The third just wanted to shoot me in the head. They were too close. They were going back to Mr. V’s store and getting the package that evening, and risking it all by keeping me alive when they were only going to kill me anyway would be stupid.

  I didn’t dare open my eyes, so Angel relayed to me their every move.

  “They keep looking outside to see if anyone saw you come up,” he said. “But none of them have thought to check on the Vandenbergs yet.”

  We just needed a few minutes. Just long enough to get the family untied and out the window.

  “Be right back,” he said, then, an instant later, “Okay, they are all untied, and the team is lifting the children out now.”

  I fought the spike of elation and found I didn’t have to fight it too hard. One of them kicked me in the gut. He was trying to get me off the porch. They’d decided to tie me up and put me in the shed to die, but no one wanted to pick me up, probably thanks to my inspired decision to pass out in my own vomit. It was also an excellent rape deterrent.

  My hair was a mess of tangles. And, sadly, the aforementioned vomit. It stuck to the blood on my face so that even if I’d wanted to see, I couldn’t have. The man kicked me again to roll me another couple of feet. Tears pushed past my lashes as the pain ricocheted through me. He finally gave up and picked up one of my booted feet to drag me across the wooden porch.

  “He’s going to pull you off the edge,” Angel said. He started to panic. “The side of the porch is at least a five-foot drop. The fall will break your neck. Hold on.” He must’ve done his disappearing act again. He came back almost instantly with “They’re coming down the hall.” He sounded more excited than afraid. “Get ready to run.”

  But did the FBI have all the Vandenbergs out? I needed to know.

  “The big one is turning around,” he said, the panic filtering back into his voice again. “I think he heard something.”

  I groaned and pretended to come to for a moment. I gave a halfhearted kick at the man trying to wrench my foot off. It gave me the perfect excuse to protect my head when he pulled me off the porch. I landed with a thud that knocked my breath away, but I’d curled up a little and protected my head from hitting the side of the porch and my neck from being broken, landing on my shoulder instead.

  “You did it,” Angel said. “You got their attention.”

  Then, in an act that defied my imagination, it was so fast and so decisive, three shots were fired almost simultaneously through suppressed rifles. I opened my eyes and scraped at the hair in front of them in time to see the one next to me crumple into a heap. Through the porch slats, in my peripheral vision, I could see the other men crumple at the exact same time, as though the whole thing had been choreographed.

  The team had killed them. A sniper in the trees across the road took out the one closest to me, and the team who’d entered from the back got the other two. All headshots. All perfect.

  I scrambled away from the guy closest to me and, yep, threw up again.

  A female agent brought me a bottle of water as Angel played with the Vandenbergs’ German shepherd and an EMT saw to my self-inflicted wounds.

  “Agent Carson?” I asked.

  She nodded and sat beside me on the back of the ambulance.

  I laughed softly. “We’ve already met.”

  “Yes, we have.”

  “You came into the diner yesterday. Why didn’t you introduce yourself?”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “I couldn’t have told you anything anyway. And I didn’t need anything else from you at that m
oment, so…”

  “I get it. Love ’em and leave ’em.”

  “That’s the kinda girl I am.”

  It was nice talking to her. Comfortable. Like an old pair of jeans —

  “But I still have to arrest you.”

  — that had been rolled in a cactus plant. “No shit?”

  “No shit. You interfered with an ongoing investigation —”

  “Yeah, but you were only investigating because I told you to.”

  “There is that. I’ll talk to my superiors and try to get your charges reduced.”

  I was hoping for dismissed.

  “You cut yourself up pretty bad,” a man said from beside me.

  I turned to see Bobert there. He handed me a cup of coffee, and I kind of wanted to make out with him.

  I took a sip, then asked, “What are you doing here?”

  “Giving Agent Carson a hand.”

  “Can you convince her to drop the charges?”

  “Drop them?” he asked, taken aback. “I was going to see if she’d pile on a few more. Obstruction of justice.”

  “She has that one.”

  “Endangering a law enforcement agent.”

  “I didn’t mean to.”

  “Unlawful use of a… sharp, rusty object.”

  “You know what?” I said, stopping him while I was ahead. “I’m good with her charges. It’s okay.”

  He chuckled. “Wait till you see Cookie. She is not happy.”

  It was my turn to be taken aback. “You told her?”

  “Only because I want to continue being married to her.”

  “Yeah, well,” I said, mumbling to myself. “The name Cookie does not strike fear into my heart. How bad could it be?”

  The moment I said it, a loud shriek that carried over the land far and wide and made children of all ages cringe and dogs whimper sounded from my left.

  “Janey Doerr!” it said. It knew my name.

  Cookie came stomping up, and for the first time I was a little afraid of her. “What the fuck?” she asked, her eyes filling with tears. “What —? How —? I can’t even —!” Then she pulled me into her arms, unaware of how painful it was.

  I looked at Bobert. “What the heck did you tell her?”