Page 47 of Desperate Creed

“I need to check on her. Call me if you find anything else.”

“Let me know what you find out.”

Hannah had given her the number for Frankie’s burner phone, and Maggie had programmed it into her contacts. It had been a long time since she’d used one, and now she wondered if burner phones had caller I.D. The woman might not answer. She found the number and hit the call button, silently praying for the woman to pick up. Maggie did not want to have to call Hannah. How could she explain to her that she may have already failed her?

On the other end she could hear the phone ringing.

Pick up, Russo. Please pick up.

32

Alabama

Sometime during the early morning hours, Frankie Russo had been at the window watching when she saw them make the turn into the entrance to the luxury hotel. At first, she thought she must be mistaken. She was dead tired. Her eyes could barely stay open. Exhaustion had overwhelmed her after her room service meal, and yet, she still couldn’t sleep.

So at four o’clock in the morning, she had perched in front of the window, staring out from her fourth floor window, almost as if she had expected them. She had chosen this hotel because it had just one entrance into the parking lot. And now in the dark, with only the pole lights to illuminate the inside of the vehicle, Frankie could see the huge square head of the driver, like a block on top of shoulders that looked like a tank.

At that time of morning, the parking lot was empty of people but packed with vehicles. Instead of driving around, the black sedan pulled up under the carport. He got out of the car and there was no doubt in her mind that this was the man with the scar on his neck even though she couldn’t see the scar. She knew it was the same man she saw kill Tyler; the same man she saw at the airport searching for her. The other passenger stayed in the vehicle and out of sight.

Frankie had scouted out and planned her escape route before she had even gone into her room. She’d even timed it. Her bag stayed packed, and after her shower she’d put on fresh clothes instead of pajamas. When she saw the car, she slid into her shoes and gathered the few items she’d scattered on the desk and in the bathroom. One glance out the window had told her it was still parked at the front door.

Within minutes, Frankie had taken the back stairs to an exit at the rear of the building. She had parked her Ford Escape just a few steps from that door where it was out of sight of the front entrance. The one entrance to the parking lot had been an advantage for her to see them, but she knew she’d need to leave another way. In the back of the hotel she’d found a landscaped berm that connected the hotel’s lot to another parking lot next door. Just as Frankie had hoped, her small SUV glided over the area without trampling any of the plants. She was on the interstate in less than ten minutes.

Now here she was, just an hour outside of Montgomery. She was still gripping the steering wheel. Her eyes continuously watched her rearview and side mirrors. She knew the only thing she had going for her was that she was ahead of them. But she’d have no idea when, not if, they discovered she had left the hotel.

Were they an hour behind her? Two hours? Twenty minutes?

How the hell had they found her?

Ever since she left—as soon as she could breathe again—her mind kept trying to go over what she’d done that might have tipped them off. How was it possible? If they were able to track her phone, they might know she was in the Nashville area, but how did they know exactly what hotel she had chosen?

She had told no one, except Hannah. And Hannah wouldn’t have told anyone. Except... Did Hannah tell the FBI agent?

Frankie’s mind went back to what her assistant had said about the men waiting for her at the agency. They told her it was something “official.” Was it possible they were law enforcement?

“No,” she told herself. She shook her head and met her eyes in the rearview mirror. The FBI agent was a friend of Hannah’s. Someone she trusted.

“You’re just getting punchy from too little sleep. Come on, Frankie,” she told herself out loud. “Law enforcement officers don’t gun down computer hackers in the street.”

At her last stop for gas—and gas only—she texted Hannah to let her know she was on her way. She didn’t share with her friend anything else. Hannah was already worried sick. Frankie wouldn’t add to that. Besides, there wasn’t anything else her friend could do for her.

She was so paranoid she kept the burner phone off. It didn’t help matters that dark storm clouds were gathering on the western horizon. It was warm and muggy, but the rain had washed everything clean. After a long Chicago winter, Frankie should have been enjoying all the green with pops of color along the roadsides. Instead, she couldn’t take her eyes off the vehicle’s mirrors.

Somewhere behind her, she knew they were following.

33

Florida Panhandle

Brodie dreaded the visit from her mother, but she had promised Ryder that she would allow it. Now that it was here, she didn’t want to think about it.

“You need to cut her some slack,” Ryder had told her.

“But why aren’t you close to her?” Brodie wanted to know.

The silence that followed told her more than his answer.

Those first days in the Omaha hospital were such a blur. Brodie had been dehydrated, malnourished and battling the residual effects of being drugged. She remembered waking and seeing Ryder sitting beside her bed, but in the beginning she wasn’t even sure who he was half the time. He was a man instead of the fourteen-year-old boy she had left behind. Complicate all that with the nightmares, along with Iris Malone’s voice still occupying a segment of her mind.