23. Daisy
Chapter twenty-three
Daisy
“What’s your story, Daisy?” Bennett asks as we stake out the Bloom residence on the outskirts of Colorado Springs.
Without thinking about it, I fiddle with the pendant around my neck. “There’s no story. We were hired to look into the abductions, and we shared what we knew with you. You haven’t been as forthcoming.”
Bennett sits quietly for a moment, and I enjoy the blessed silence.
It doesn’t last long, though. “I don’t believe that’s true.
You haven’t shared everything, like why you are so invested in this case or who hired the Southern Knights in the first place.
I could have someone hack into your system and find out for myself, but I’d rather you tell me. ”
“Let’s just say this one’s personal because I lost someone very dear to me.”
“Who?”
While I disagree with my team about sharing my tragic past, I did promise to dangle a carrot. If they’re right, then it might even be enough to coax Bennett into opening up and trusting me.
“Sadie Alekseev.”
Bennett chews on that for a moment. “I’m sorry for the loss of your friend. At least it makes more sense now as to why you seem so driven.”
He raises the binoculars to his eyes and studies the home through the lenses.
It’s a pale blue, two-story clapboard home with a small front porch that houses a small table between two rocking chairs.
The lawn is manicured and decorated with garden gnomes that look like they’re having far more fun than I’m having.
“You know, I too have lost a best friend before. Everyone is quick with the platitudes, condolences, and apologies for something they had no control over. What’s worse is when they tell you the wound will heal in time,” he says.
“Or that death is a part of life. I suppose all of that is true, but when someone you care about is suddenly taken from you, it changes a person.”
“The wound does heal. What they don’t tell you is that it leaves a scar.” I look over at Bennett, who lowers his binoculars but keeps his eyes trained forward. “For some, it gives purpose and meaning to life, while others break under the grief. Take Brad, for example.”
With a sigh, Bennett faces me. “Speaking of Brad, what did he say to you that has led you on this wild goose chase?”
I don’t see any reason to keep this to myself, so I tell the truth. “He said that Emily’s brother blames him for her death.”
“Do you mean the nonexistent brother he told you about to get away from the area? I’ll admit that it was a good plan because it worked.”
“We believe that Emily’s brother does exist.” I explain about the fires and the cyberattack; how we speculate that the brother has erased any physical or digital trace of himself.
“The one thing that can’t be erased is memories.
I’ll bet my entire life savings, which isn’t much, that the Blooms have photographic evidence hanging on their walls.
The problem is that they don’t appear to be home. ”
Bennett reaches into his suit jacket and removes a lock-picking kit. “That’s a problem easily solved.”
“I’m not going to break into their house!”
He laughs at my righteous indignation. “I’ll do it, then. It’ll be a quick in and out that will give you enough time to find what you’re looking for, and no one will ever know we were there.”
Before I can argue further, Bennett opens the door and starts walking down the sidewalk.
We’re less than 100 feet from the house when my phone rings, the name “Tech Stud” flashing across the screen. I roll my eyes as I answer the call. “Jerry, you have to stop hacking people’s phones and changing your display name.”
“Nah, there’s too much fun to be had. My wife calls me a ‘stud’ all the time. So if the shoe fits….”
I follow along behind Bennett, though I stop at the base of the stairs while he picks the lock. “I’m currently in the middle of a B that’s all I’m allowed to tell you. Clearly, I didn’t scrub every database if you were able to track down his history.”
“Oh, you did a fine job of that. What you didn’t do was scrub the articles written in local papers about the missing girls. It’s interesting to note that the photos used in the articles were often of the victims in their happiest moments. Does the name Brit Larson ring a bell?”
“She was abducted five years ago at Saguaro National Park,” I answer even though the question wasn’t directed at me. “That’s where I first saw Kenneth Johnson.”
Jerry grunts. “The last name Larson is Brit’s mother’s maiden name, a name that was changed after a messy divorce in Brit’s younger years.
Kenneth Johnson is Brit’s biological father, and the two had a close relationship once the parents began the reconciliation process.
The photo the newspaper used was a picture of Brit in her room, smiling into a mirror.
Do you want to know what she was smiling about? ”
Without waiting for either of us to respond, Jerry continues his monologue.
“I’ll tell you. Brit was smiling in that photo because Kenneth had just submitted his retirement papers so that he could be home for his daughter’s high school years, watch her run track, and attend her swim meets.
It was fortuitous that he was still in his uniform when sharing the news; his reflection in the mirror showed me everything I needed to know to start making some phone calls.
You see, Bennett, to make someone truly disappear, more than a digital footprint needs to be erased. ”
“It doesn’t tell you everything,” Bennett seethes.
“For all I know, he took a job with Dominion or contract work for Brad Callahan, aka Douglas Jenner. Maybe kidnapping his daughter was a test of loyalty to the organization. All I can tell you is that he’s been on our radar for the past five years.
The first time I questioned him, I couldn’t prove he was involved even though I know he is! ”
While both men make a good point, standing on the front porch of a house we’re breaking into isn’t the place to get into an argument. That’s when Jerry lowers the boom.
“We should find out soon enough. The Southern Knights are closing in on Kenneth’s location as we speak and should have him apprehended in the next few minutes. I imagine there will be a conversation while they wait for your return.”
Bennett’s face turns a shade of red I haven’t seen on him since I met him. Gone is the cool and collected officer with an ego the size of Alaska. “They have been given strict orders not to question Kenneth Johnson without me present.”
Jerry laughs, bordering on maniacal. “Owen still wears two hats, one of which is as a special agent directly under the Director of the FBI. There is nothing you can do to stop him from questioning a suspect in an ongoing investigation on American soil. Your demands have no sway over what he can or cannot do. If you need to make a call to stop it, I suggest you do it fast. Oh, wait! Director Ludlow guaranteed the FBI the CIA’s full cooperation. ”
Bennett scowls as he prepares to open the door. “What is with all of you and your hatred of the CIA?”
Jerry stops laughing. “For starters, your former Director sent his goons to kill my wife a little over four years ago and put six foster children in danger. Not cool, but he got his comeuppance. Then there’s the illegal gun and drug smuggling they allowed to happen, cooperation with the cartels on more than one occasion, and a willingness to turn on their own officers.
You’re part of an agency that has gotten so far off track, I don’t know how you’ll ever find your way back.
I pray that one day your eyes will be opened because blind loyalty comes at a cost.”
“Loyalty pays the bills,” Bennett says, opening the door and peeking inside to ensure the coast is clear. “If only there was a way to prove to you that I’m on your side.”
“Helping me get the answers I’m looking for is a good place to start,” I tell him.
As Bennett swings the door wide open so I can enter, he says, “Fine. As I live and breathe, you’ll get those answers, Daisy. You might not like them, but I promise you’ll get them.”
That’s when we both hear it: the click of a device activating.
Before I register what’s happening, Bennett pushes me out the front door and chases me down the steps.
“It’s a bomb!”
I don’t hear the explosion when the device goes off so much as feel a wave of heat wash over me.
The blast forces us both to the ground, the side of my body and cheek scraping along the sidewalk as I tuck my chin to my chest. The weight of Bennett draped over me feels almost as suffocating as the heat itself.
It takes a full minute or two to get my bearings before I roll over and push Bennett off me. “Thank you for saving my life. Honestly, I didn’t expect such gallantry from you.”
I’m expecting a “You’re welcome” or some snarky comment like my brother would say in an attempt to fend off the gratitude. Instead, silence is Bennett’s only response. I turn him over and see a gash on his head, then notice his chest isn’t moving.
Without thinking about it, I check his airway, confirm he’s not breathing, and start CPR.
Before I know what’s happening, a crowd gathers around us to watch the house go up in flames. With my phone nowhere to be found and my hands busy keeping Bennett alive, I shout to anyone who will listen.
“Don’t just stand there and record a video! Someone call an ambulance!”
“You’re a fortunate young lady,” the doctor says while he ties off the last stitch to a gash on my forearm that my brain has yet to register.
“I wouldn’t call looking like roadkill ‘fortunate,’ but yes, I am blessed to be alive.”
The doctor smirks at my quip but doesn’t comment further on my appearance. “So is your friend. You can see him when I finish cleaning your wounds.”
For the next ten minutes, I sit there wincing every time a fresh coat of antiseptic is applied to the scrape on my face.
I’ve been told that my road rash is superficial and won’t leave any scars, but that doesn’t stop my mind from wondering if I’ll scare Angel away when I return to Oregon.
That’s not a reunion that will happen until after I talk to Mason and Gemma Bloom, who, by the grace of God, weren’t home.
“All done,” the doctor tells me. “Your friend is recovering in room 204.”
I hop off the table, thank the good doctor, and then travel down the hallway.
Before I enter Bennett’s room, I look upward and take a moment to thank God for giving me another day.
“Lord, twice this week I’ve come close to meeting You face-to-face.
I’m not sure whether to take the mercy as a sign to back off because it’s a three-strikes-and-you’re-out kind of thing, or take it as a sign that I still have a purpose I need to fulfill.
Either way, gratitude fills my heart for the mercy You’ve bestowed upon me.
And thank You for keeping Bennett alive and the neighbors safe. ”
Taking a deep breath, I knock on the door before entering the hospital room. I find Bennett lying on the bed with IVs and wires hooked up to him to monitor his vitals.
His head lolls in my direction, but there’s no expression on his face that indicates he’s relieved to see me. “What do you want, Daisy? I’m really not in the mood for your ire to be directed my way.”
I sit next to his bed and hang my head. “You may have hidden secrets and kept things from us, but you’ve been honest about your intentions from the start.
I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you; for the way my brother has treated you.
He let his past cloud his judgment, and there have been things that have happened in my life that make trusting people fairly difficult. ”
Bennett’s slow-forming smile is genuine when he asks, “Are you trying to befriend me, Daisy?”
A bark of laughter escapes from my belly. “No, not at all. Once this case is over, I hope we never have to see each other again. However, I do want to thank you for risking your life to save mine.”
“Then you turn around and save mine. I guess we’re even.”
“Hardly. You still owe me answers once you get out of here.” I give his hand a gentle squeeze before standing up, and when he squeezes back, I see something in his eyes I recognize. Loneliness.
“The doctors want to keep me here for a few more days, so those answers will have to wait.”
I let go of his hand and walk to the exit, turning around one last time. “I’ve waited two decades for answers since Sadie’s death. I can wait a few more days.”
“Are you heading back to Oregon?”
I shake my head. “Not yet. I still need to talk to Mason and Gemma Bloom.”
Bennett’s eyebrows furrow until two creases form between them. “Why? The evidence you were looking for was destroyed.”
“I just want to ask them about their son and about what happened to him. They might have a picture of him on their phone. In fact, I’m betting on it.”
“Okay. While I can’t go with you for obvious reasons, if there’s anything I can do, let me know. And before you go, what should I tell the police when they come in here to question me? Our stories need to be straight.”
I wink. “No one will be coming to talk to you, and you can thank our friends at the FBI for that. They took over the investigation into the bombing because it ties into the abduction case.”
When I leave the room, I hear Bennett say, “I’ll see you in a few days to keep my promise. But remember my warning: you won’t like the answers you’re seeking.”