Entangled, p.1
Entangled, page 1
Cover design copyright © 2019 by Covenant Communications, Inc.
Cover Design by Hannah Bischoff
Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.
American Fork, Utah
Copyright © 2019 by Traci Hunter Abramson, Clair M. Poulson, Gregg Luke, & Stephanie Black
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., P.O. Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. The views expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of Covenant Communications, Inc., or any other entity.
Bridge of Trust by Traci Hunter Abramson—CIA Disclaimer: All statements of fact, opinion, or analysis expressed are those of the author and do not reflect the official positions or views of the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) or any other U.S. Government agency. Nothing in the contents should be construed as asserting or implying U.S. Government authentication of information or CIA endorsement of the author’s views. This material has been reviewed by the CIA to prevent the disclosure of classified information. This does not constitute an official release of CIA information.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are either products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real, or are used fictitiously.
First Printing: September 2019
ISBN: 978-1-52441-090-2
Bridge of Trust
Traci Hunter Abramson
Chapter 1
Ethan scanned the quiet neighborhood as he drove past the rows of identical houses on the south side of Phoenix. The houses weren’t much bigger than the guesthouse that had occupied the space near the garage of his childhood home.
A pang stabbed deep into the tender spot where he kept the memories of his parents. His father had worked so hard to build a good life for their family. Unfortunately, his accumulation of wealth hadn’t helped him when his heart had given out at the age of fifty-eight, nor had it saved his mother from a distracted driver a year later.
His mom had reached the hospital alive but hadn’t lived long enough for Ethan to get there to say goodbye.
He pushed the regret aside, along with the loneliness that often came with it. Sure, he had his sister, but she had a family of her own now. With his move from Chicago to Arizona, he would no longer get to enjoy their weekly visits or the memories they had so often shared.
This was a good move, Ethan reminded himself. He had been ready for a change when the transfer had come, ready for a fresh start. Now he needed to find a way to create a new life for himself here.
He pulled up to the curb when he reached the address of interest, noting the tidy desert landscape surprisingly free of weeds. A path had been worn beside the front walk in the otherwise evenly spread gravel.
A huge saguaro cactus dominated the center of the yard, a vicious-looking prickly pear living in its shadow. He shifted his attention to the currently empty carport and noted the baby stroller parked next to the door. Could he have the wrong address?
He checked his information again and then confirmed the location. If his sources were correct, Lanny Valo had already left town, but the rumor of a big deal pending had brought him to the top of the FBI Phoenix office’s priority list.
Perhaps the stroller was a prop Valo had used to hide the fact that this house was being used as a hub for criminal activity. Ethan wasn’t sure why he had gone through the trouble of requesting a search warrant for the home of this suspected drug dealer, but something had kept nagging at him until he’d pushed his request through the proper channels.
The street was quiet when he stepped out of the car. The sun beat down, making Ethan appreciate the invention of air conditioning, even though it was only May. Just as that thought passed through his head, he noticed the hum of a window cooling unit. He wondered briefly why it would be on if Valo had left town. Maybe the man had been in too much of a hurry to close down the house.
Ethan knocked on the door, not surprised when it went unanswered. He pulled his tools out of his inside jacket pocket, leaned down to work on the lock, and, thirty seconds later, turned the knob. Always cautious, he pushed the door open and shouted his standard greeting. “FBI!”
The scent of lemon and pine hung in the air as he stepped inside. Furniture gleamed from a recent dusting, and the kitchen sparkled. Ethan barely suppressed the urge to take off his shoes before stepping onto the freshly vacuumed carpet. He took a cursory glance of the living areas before moving into the hallway leading to the bedrooms.
He looked through the open doorway to his left to see bright-blue walls with a rainbow painted from one corner of the room, up across the ceiling, and down the opposite wall. The crib and changing table left Ethan once again questioning the validity of the address he had been given.
Opposite the crib, a toddler bed boasted a Spiderman bedspread, and a soccer ball lay on the floor beside it.
Feeling very much like an intruder, he began formulating an apology in his mind in the event he discovered it was indeed someone else’s home. He glanced across the hall to the bathroom, and instantly, his hand went to his gun. A red smear on the otherwise clean floor matched the handprint on the wash basin.
His pistol in hand, he stepped back into the hall, noticing for the first time the faint odor of blood. Quietly, he padded to the last doorway. Sunlight filtered through the closed blinds to give light to the otherwise dark bedroom. He stepped forward, poised for anything he might encounter.
When his gaze dropped to the floor, he realized he hadn’t been ready for everything after all. Bruised and battered, a woman in her midtwenties huddled under a blanket in the corner. Across the room, a man was sprawled on the carpet. A pistol lay in the empty space between them.
Ethan flipped on the light, relieved to hear a whimper from the woman. At least she was still alive.
Instinctively, he took a step toward her before his training took over. He finished his search of the bedroom and master bath to confirm his suspicion that no one else was inside. After sheathing his weapon, he checked the man for a pulse, but the skin was cool, the life already drained out of him. The presence of the gun gave him a good clue as to the cause of death, but he would leave that detail to the coroner. For now, all he could do was treat the living.
Crossing to the woman, he knelt beside her. Dried blood matted her blonde hair, and the thin arm that clutched the blanket was darkened with bruises from wrist to shoulder. If he looked close enough, he was sure he would be able to see the outline of the fingers that had done this to her.
He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and called for an ambulance.
“Everything is going to be all right. An ambulance is on the way,” Ethan said.
She didn’t respond.
He retreated to the bathroom long enough to dampen a washcloth.
“Can you hear me? I’m going to clean this cut so I can see how deep it is.”
She winced when he pressed the cold, wet cloth to her temple. Ethan cleaned the blood from her face, finding that the cut had begun to scab over. The woman was lovely, despite her current condition. Delicate features, dark eyelashes against tanned skin.
He drew the blanket down to check for other injuries. There, nestled at the woman’s side, was a baby boy, no more than five or six months old.
Free of the blanket, the baby rolled from his side to his back. His big, blue eyes focused on Ethan, and his cherubic face broke into a huge grin. Except for his soaked diaper and clothing, he appeared completely unharmed.
Ethan spoke to the infant, reaching a hand down to touch the soft brown hair. “Hey there, little guy.”
The baby gurgled happily, his chubby fingers grabbing onto his mother’s arm, which was wrapped securely around his waist.
“He took my baby,” the woman whispered desperately. “Please don’t let him take my baby.”
“Your baby is right here.”
She struggled to shake her head. Her voice was barely audible when she spoke again. “There were two.”
Chapter 2
“What do you mean you didn’t get both of them?” Lanny’s voice rose a decibel. He looked into the living room, where his three-year-old son, Henry, was curled up on the couch.
“Your wife had a gun. She shot Mario. We weren’t going to stick around and let her take target practice on us.”
“She did what?”
“Mario roughed her up a bit when we were putting Henry in the car,” Nigel said. “She kept screaming and clawing at him. When he tried to get the baby from her, she reached under the bed and came up shooting.”
“Unbelievable.”
“Ricky stayed behind. He has a friend who is willing to help us out.”
“What kind of friend?” Lanny asked, suspicion coloring his voice.
“Just trust me on this one.” Nigel glanced at the toddler on the couch. “For now, I suggest you focus on our upcoming deal. You said yourself that this will change everything for us.”
“I’ll do my part,” Lanny said, “but I expect you to finish yours.”
“Give me another day. I’ll take care of it.”
* * *
Something cool on her forehead brought Summer back to the present. Painful memories tumbled over each other, and she prayed it was all a bad dream. The lack of warmth beside her, despite the blanket draped over her shoulders, sent a fresh wave of trepidation and terror through her. The pain in her ribs and ankle t
“Hey, take it easy. The paramedics are on their way.”
The voice was meant to soothe, but that didn’t stem the new wave of panic that washed over her. “My baby.”
“He’s right here.”
Summer forced her eyes open and looked at the man kneeling beside her. It took her a moment to lower her eyes to the floor where little Wyatt lay on a clean blanket. His soiled clothing had been removed, and he now wore only a fresh diaper.
She reached out and placed her hand on the baby’s stomach but didn’t have the strength to lift him.
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep him safe,” the man assured her. As if she could stop the worry. Didn’t he understand that someone had ripped her heart out, stomped all over it, and left it there to wither and die?
Apparently, this man was completely clueless, because he kept talking.
“My name is Ethan Flanagan. I’m with the FBI.” He paused as though waiting for a response. When he got none, he continued. “You said someone took your other baby. Can you tell me who it was?”
A tiny glimmer of hope flickered, and she forced herself to answer. “Ricky was one of them. I didn’t know the other three.”
“Is that man over there Ricky?”
She shifted her gaze, and the horror came flooding back. The sound of someone at the front door, Ricky charging inside and knocking her to the ground on his way to Henry’s bedroom.
She could still hear the echoes of her screams as she fought to put herself between Ricky and her oldest son, another man’s hands grabbing her arm and throwing her from the room.
The struggle, the fist to her side when she tried again to get to her oldest, the heartbreaking decision to protect Wyatt to make sure they didn’t get both of her children.
“Is that Ricky?” he repeated, pulling her out of the memory.
“No, that’s not him.”
She heard the deep voice speaking again, but the words slurred into a low hum as she struggled to focus. In the distance, she heard a door open, followed by more voices, but they drifted off as she once again let the darkness take her under.
* * *
Ethan parked outside his office, the scene at the Valo house firmly planted in his mind. He knew he was supposed to keep a professional distance when working a case, but this one tugged at his heartstrings and tied them into a messy knot. The haunted look on Summer Valo’s face was something he would remember for a long time.
He passed through the reception area and made a beeline for Ray’s desk, the clean surface only interrupted by a desktop computer and a photo of Ray’s wife and three kids.
“Did you find anything on Valo?” Ethan asked.
“The alerts are out, but so far, there’s no sign of where he’s hiding out and nothing yet on the missing child.”
“What did you find on Valo’s family background?” Ethan asked, anxious to join in the search.
“Married to his wife, Summer Valo, for four years. Two children. Henry just turned three, and Wyatt is five months old.”
“Any idea why he would suddenly turn on his wife?”
“Ex-wife. She filed for divorce while she was pregnant with baby number two. The divorce finalized three months ago.”
Ethan let this new information sink in. “From everything I saw at the house, it looked like the ex-wife was living there.”
“Which means Lanny was living somewhere else.” Ray leaned back in his chair. “That would explain why our informant was so quick to give up the address. Either he knew Valo wasn’t there, or our informant is still working for the Lobo family.”
“Exactly. He wasn’t worried about retribution because he didn’t expect us to find anything.”
“At least not anything useful.”
“I’ll start checking out known addresses for Valo,” Ethan said.
“We have units rolling to two already.” Ray grabbed a paper off his desk and offered it to Ethan. “Here’s the complete list.”
“What’s going on with the other two?”
Before Ray could answer, Ethan heard his name called.
“Flanagan.”
He turned to see his boss heading toward him. “Hey, Elias. We were just working on known addresses for Valo.”
“Ray can handle that. I need you to go to the hospital.” Elias motioned him toward the exit. “Mrs. Valo is refusing treatment.”
Ethan fell into step beside Elias. “Why?”
“Something about not letting her baby out of her sight.”
“I don’t know what you expect me to do about it.”
“You’re the only person who’s managed to pull any information out of her,” Elias said.
“Wouldn’t you rather have me track down her missing child?”
“Ray is already coordinating with the local authorities. For now, I need you to question Mrs. Valo. See if you can get her to cooperate.”
Deflated that he wouldn’t be able to join in the search, Ethan forced himself to nod. “I’ll do my best.”
* * *
It never failed. Ruth Bennington should have known better than to fix a nice dinner on a night she was on call. Her husband would undoubtedly enjoy the lasagna she had labored over tonight, but her best-case scenario would be a late-night serving of leftovers.
Four minutes before the timer had gone off, her boss from Child Protective Services had called with an emergency placement order—an injured woman with an infant son who needed to be cared for.
Ruth changed into her work clothes and returned to the kitchen as the timer sounded. She removed the lasagna from the oven, only to have tomato sauce splatter onto her favorite blouse. Furious that she had forgotten to protect herself with an apron, she set her husband’s dinner on the stovetop, changed a second time, and hurried out the door.
For the entire ride to the hospital, she played phone tag with three potential emergency foster parents, but when she finally found a couple who would be the perfect fit and confirmed they were available, someone cut her off on the freeway, and Ruth slammed on her brakes. Her phone dropped out of her hand and went flying onto the floor in front of the passenger seat. Great.
She arrived at the hospital five minutes later, circling the parking lot three times in search of a parking spot. The first one to open was literally the farthest away from the entrance.
She parked the car and left the engine running while she reached down and retrieved her phone. She called the foster parents back, apologized for the interrupted phone call, and confirmed they would remain on standby for her. She then collected the paperwork and tucked it into her soft-sided briefcase.
Taking a moment, she reminded herself that she was here to protect the best interest of the child in question. She mentally prepared for the worst but hoped for the best. With any luck, the mother would be unconscious. Ruth really wasn’t in the mood for hysterics today.
Chapter 3
Ethan wasn’t sure what to expect when he followed the receptionist’s directions through the ER to examination room three. He’d been an FBI agent for six years now, yet here he was babysitting the victims instead of searching for the criminals.
Reminding himself that Summer might have knowledge that could lead to the recovery of her son, he knocked on the door, which was hanging slightly ajar. When no one answered, he slowly pushed it open and peeked inside.
Summer Valo lay on the bed with her eyes closed, her arm wrapped around her baby’s waist, much like when Ethan had originally found her. A white bandage covered the cut on her forehead, but he couldn’t see any other evidence of her receiving treatment.
A middle-aged woman wearing gray dress pants and a fussy white blouse occupied the single chair in the room, a cell phone pressed to her ear.
“I’ll let you know as soon as they get here.” She looked up at Ethan as though just noticing his presence. “I’ve got to go.” The woman stood. “Who are you?”
“Ethan Flanagan. FBI. Is everything okay here?”
Summer stirred, and the woman waved toward the door. “Perhaps we should discuss this in private.”
Ethan followed her out, noticing the way she positioned herself outside the partially open door so she could watch Summer while speaking with him.
