Deliverer

Chapter 9

True to his orders, Truman heard Claber's steps stomp past his room and toward the attic entrance a few minutes before six the next morning. Truman stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, half of his face still covered in shaving cream. He tried to discern the other pair of steps with Claber, but he couldn't identify the person.

"Just let Claber handle this," he muttered. But images of Becca flashed in his head and he couldn't let it alone. Toweling off his face, he headed upstairs after Claber.

Claber and Sanders stood a few feet from the stairwell, close to the attic entry. The ladder was down, and Truman surmised that they were waiting for the girls to descend. He approached the two men, earning a nod from Claber. The girls talked softly in the attic, and then jean-clad legs started down the ladder. The brunette. Behind her came the redhead. Truman stepped closer so he could overhear them.

"Maybe now we can escape," the redhead whispered. "Watch for the weaknesses of the house."

Of course, girls who thought themselves clever enough to spy on other people’s business would assume they could find a way to escape. Truman crossed his arms over his chest. "There are none."

The girl let out a cry and almost lost her balance, catching herself before she fell off the ladder. She turned and stared at him, green eyes wide. The thought struck Truman that she was very pretty, but that didn't matter. The first lesson here would be respect. "Where would you go? To the police?" The Montreal police wouldn’t touch them with a ten-foot pole, not once they knew The Hand was involved with them. "Enough. For now, you're my prisoners."

The last girl, the young blond one, started down the ladder. Truman's eyes lifted to her, almost against his will, and he worked hard to keep his face straight. Becca. Just seeing her made a warm feeling erupt in his chest. He forced himself to look back at the redhead, and he pointed at Claber and Sanders. "Go."

They scurried away, making an obvious effort to step around him. Truman ran his hand over his cleanly shaved chin. What had he gotten into?

#

At exactly seven o'clock, a knock sounded on the heavy wooden door to Truman's office. "Come in," Truman said, settling himself on top of the desk. This he couldn't wait to hear.

Claber came in. Truman gestured for him to close the door. "Well? What's your explanation?"

Claber grimaced. "We didn't mean for it to happen."

"Granted." Truman leaned forward, putting a hard tone in his voice. "But it did. And I want to know why. Why are there three girls in my house? And what happened with the fourth?"

Silence answered, and a bad feeling settled in Truman's gut. "Do I need to ask again?” he snapped. “I said no stops. Get the necklace and come straight home. What happened?"

Claber cleared his throat. "We stopped in Idaho Falls to get a bite—"

Truman held up a hand, frowning. "What were you doing in Idaho?" He knew from the news reports that the girls were from there. But that wasn't the route home. His men should never have been in that state.

"Got a call from our contact in Idaho Falls. Said he needed a new cover, that the police were suspicious. So we drove up to take care of business."

Yes, Truman conceded, such a thing could happen. "Why wasn't I notified?"

Claber lifted his chin, meeting Truman’s gaze straight on. "I assumed he called you first. Idaho’s not far from our Montana entry. I figured we’d kill two birds with one stone."

It wasn't what Truman would have done. But Claber had been in charge of the raid. "Go on. What did the contact say?"

“We relocated him and gave him a new cover. Since he knew we were coming, he had already bribed the mall security guard for us. It should've been quick and easy."