Page 29 of Delivering David

Later that afternoon

“T.J. why areyou in foster care?”

T.J. stopped moving the brush through his sleep-tangled hair. He was almost used to getting up super early so he could leave David’s house and make it back to the Johnson’s before they came home from work. They’d said it was “really wild” and expected it to get wilder as the New Year holiday approached. “People just don’t use good sense,” Mrs. Johnson would say, and Mr. Johnson would just nod. They always looked super tired when they came in and would go to bed soon after they ate. T.J. would have breakfast almost ready for them when they got home. He was getting good at making omelets and frying bacon and some other stuff. He hoped that would keep them from getting suspicious about where he was spending his nights.

He turned to face David who was still at the table in the downstairs den at his house. There had been a huge among of food upstairs, so they just had to carry it down here. They needed, T.J. had warned, to stay downstairs as much as possible so no one would suspect they were here. So far so good. But, geez, the questions the kid could ask.

“My parents got caught passing counterfeit bills,” T.J. said.

“What’s that?” David asked, his cereal spoon half-way to his mouth.

“Fake money,” T.J. explained. “It’s illegal to do that. You know, against the law.”

Curiosity wrinkled David’s face. “Why’d they do it?”

T.J. withheld his sigh of impatience. “I don’t know, little dude. They didn’t tell me.”

David considered this. “Did they have to go to jail?”

“Yep, and before you ask, none of my grandparents wanted me after that, so that’s why I got put in foster care. Enough questions for now.” T.J. put down the brush. “I gotta go. Do you have everything you need?”

“Yeah. T.J., when my grandparents get back from vacation, you can come and live with us.”

The kindness shining on the younger boy’s face nearly made T.J. lose it and he had to bite his lip hard to keep from bursting into tears.

“That’s okay, David,” he finally managed to say. “The Johnsons are okay, so I’ll just stick with them for now. I need to go. See ya, bye.”

And with that, he was out the den’s door and taking the back way to the Johnsons house.

Later that same night.

“They know!” the man bellowed. “Or at least are highly suspicious. If you screw this up, The Cadre will carve you up like a Thanksgiving turkey.”

“I d-did what you told me.” Henry Tate grabbed the chair’s arms to halt their frantic trembling. “Ev-everything by the book. You said it would be easy. How was I to know those other girls would see what happened? Seems to me that the Taylors are to blame for this.”

“The Taylors were careless,” the man snapped. “And now they’re dead. Do you want to be next?”

“N-no, sir.” Sweat ran down Tate’s neck and pooled under his collar.

“Then go get those children from that other shelter and have them at the rendezvous site no later than midnight tonight. Don’t even think about talking to the police. You do, and you’re dead. Now get out of here.”

Tate stumbled from the room and the man fought the urge to throw something against the wall. They’d probably need to kill Tate after he delivered the kids, but later. Three deaths in less than three days would only add to the firestorm of investigation and The Cadre didn’t need that. Things had been going so well until those Campbell girls had opened their mouths to Mercy Phillips and she had told Suzanne Bennett. The sooner that bitch was dead the better before the operation collapsed like a house of cards.

He placed the call to expedite that.

CHAPTER 22

December 29th.

Late Sunday Morning

“Where doyou think Bailey found that delivery truck?” Suzanne asked, re-filling their coffee cups. “Do you really think it’s bullet-proofed all over?”

After they’d returned from Lucinda’s office yesterday, they’d found the oversize white van painted with pictures of fruits and vegetables and the wordsMills’ Farm Fresh Producepainted in red on the side, parked in the safe house garage.

“Count on it,” Kristopher told her as he cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher. “And yes, that winning word was really a word.” After getting back to the safehouse yesterday, they’d spent the afternoon alternately playing cards and then Scrabble, each winning three games until Kristopher earned an astronomical points-with triple letter values and triple word. Dinner was warmed up leftovers, but they agreed, leftovers always made for the best meals. But Kristopher really needed to convince Patrick to rescind the ban on Kristopher cooking. “Do you want to go for a ride later?” he asked.

In the four days they’d known each other, they’d fallen into a comfortable rhythm. Kristopher could not remember the last time he’d felt so at ease in a woman’s company. Of course, the women in his life these past five years were colleagues, and their mission too great to become emotionally involved. One of Kristopher’s hard and fast rules was to never to do that. Too messy.

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