Chapter 6 - THE SECOND SAFE HOUSE
The second safe house was a laundromat.
I would have mocked Adrian for that too.
Later.
If later survived.
Sofia drove south.
The black SUV stayed behind her.
Marco tracked her phone through a family emergency application she believed she had disabled three years ago.
She would kill me for that.
Again: later.
The laundromat sat in Pilsen between a bakery and a closed travel agency.
Twenty-four hours.
Bright fluorescent lights.
Security cameras.
People folding towels at eight in the morning.
Public.
Smart.
Sofia pulled into the alley.
The black SUV stopped across the street.
We were six minutes away.
I called.
She answered immediately.
“You’re tracking me.”
“Yes.”
“I hate you.”
“Get in line.”
“Lena can hear you.”
“Good. She should know families are unpleasant.”
From the back seat, Lena said, “I knew.”
I almost smiled.
“Where’s Father Joseph?”
“With us.”
“Why did you take him?”
“He refused to let children leave with a woman he had not seen in twenty years.”
Fair.
“Get inside the laundromat.”
“We are.”
“Stay visible.”
“I know how surveillance works, Dominic.”
“Then stop changing locations without telling me.”
“I told you why.”
“You could have called.”
“Someone may be listening.”
“Whose phone?”
“Mine. Yours. Everyone’s.”
That was not paranoia anymore.
That was Tuesday.
We arrived through the rear alley.
Marco entered first.
I followed.
Lena saw me through rows of washers.
Her face loosened.
Noah was asleep.
Father Joseph sat beside them holding a paper coffee cup.
Sofia stood at the folding table.
She looked exactly as she had at every Christmas of my childhood.
Silver hair.
Pearls.
Dark coat.
The sort of woman who made waiters stand straighter without ever raising her voice.
I walked toward her.
“You took the children.”
“I moved the children.”
“Without telling me.”
“I sent a video.”
“After.”
“Which is when I knew the route was safe enough to send it.”
I stared.
She stared back.
Marco looked fascinated.
No one wins against an aunt.
I moved on.
“Evelyn?”
Sofia’s expression changed.
“Not with me.”
“What?”
“She refused.”
“Where is she?”
“Another location.”
“You brought yourself to the church but left her somewhere else.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she believed I was followed.”
“She was right.”
“Apparently.”
I looked through the front windows.
The black SUV remained across the street.
“Who’s inside?”
Marco checked through a zoom lens.
“Driver. Passenger. Can’t ID.”
“We let them wait.”
Sofia nodded.
“Good.”
I hated agreement when it came from her.
“Evelyn’s statement.”
She touched her handbag.
“I have a copy.”
“Original?”
“No.”
“Where?”
“With her.”
“Of course.”
Lena tugged my sleeve.
I looked down.
“Can Mom come here?”
Rachel.
I had promised.
Not yet arranged.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“You say soon like adults say maybe.”
I crouched.
“She is in jail. There are lawyers and judges involved.”
“Can you get her out?”
“Not by ordering it.”
She looked genuinely surprised.
“Why not?”
Sofia laughed.
I glanced at her.
“Enjoying this?”
“Very much.”
I looked back at Lena.
“We are working on it.”
“That means maybe.”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
She accepted honesty faster than comfort.
I stood.
Noah woke and reached toward my tie.
Lena shifted him away.
“He’ll pull it.”
“People have tried worse.”
Noah reached again.
I let him.
He grabbed the silk and smiled.
Sofia watched.
Her expression softened.
“You look ridiculous.”
“Thank you.”
“Your father never held babies.”
“Another reason I avoid copying him.”
She looked at me carefully.
That sentence meant more than I intended.
The front door opened.
Everyone tensed.
A woman entered pushing a stroller.
Normal customer.
Then a man in work clothes.
Normal.
Then an older woman with laundry bags.
Public space.
Safety through witnesses.
Adrian had understood something my father never did.
Sometimes visibility protects better than walls.
Marco’s phone buzzed.
He looked.
“Vehicle plate comes back to federal fleet.”
My face changed.
“Agency?”
“General Services.”
Not helpful.
Federal car.
Whitmore had federal relationships everywhere.
Sofia whispered, “He sent government men.”
“Maybe.”
I took out my phone and called Elena.
My lawyer answered.
“I’m filing emergency motions.”
“Good.”
“Rachel’s attempted-murder charge has problems.”
“How many?”
“Enough. Arresting officer’s report was amended twice. Security footage from Kessler’s office was never produced.”
“Convenient.”
“More convenient: the weapon recovered from Rachel has no usable prints.”
I frowned.
“She admitted holding it.”
“Yes.”
“Then why no prints?”
“Exactly.”
Someone wiped it.
After arrest.
“Can you get her released?”
“Not today without a hearing.”
“Arrange one.”
“Already.”
“Evelyn?”
“I need her statement.”
“You’ll get it.”
“Dominic.”
“What?”
“If Whitmore is involved, this stops being city-level corruption.”
“I know.”
“Then stop calling people you cannot fully trust.”
I looked at Marco.
He heard.
His face remained neutral.
“Too late for that.”
I hung up.
Sofia said, “She’s right.”
“Everyone is very comfortable saying that lately.”
“Because you spent twenty years surrounded by people paid to say the opposite.”
That annoyed me because it was true.
The SUV doors opened.
Two men got out.
Dark overcoats.
No visible weapons.
Marco moved closer to the entrance.
They crossed the street.
One held up identification.
Federal agents.
Real badges.
Maybe.
The taller man entered.
“Dominic Moretti?”
“That depends who’s asking.”
“Special Agent Aaron Pike. FBI.”
Sofia’s eyebrows rose.
Not Whitmore’s private men.
Or excellent actors.
Pike looked around.
“Can we speak?”
“Here.”
“Privately.”
“No.”
His eyes went to Lena and Noah.
“That the child?”
My voice changed.
“What child?”
Pike looked at me.
Good answer.
He lowered his voice.
“We received evidence concerning Senator Whitmore, Alderman Kessler, and an infant witness.”
“Infants rarely testify.”
“DNA does.”
Sofia went still.
Pike continued.
“We’ve been investigating Kessler financial crimes for eleven months.”
“Why have you done such a poor job?”
Marco coughed.
Pike ignored it.
“Adrian Moretti contacted us nine months ago.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“My brother.”
“Yes.”
“He worked with you.”
“He provided preliminary information.”
“Then he died.”
Pike’s expression tightened.
“We believe his death may be connected.”
“You believe.”
“We need evidence.”
“You have his files?”
“Some.”
“Why did he keep his own?”
“Because he did not fully trust us.”
That was definitely Adrian.
“Why now?”
“Because someone sent us a copy of a video last night.”
“What video?”
“Your restaurant hallway. Briggs demanding access to a child.”
I looked at Marco.
He shook his head.
Not us.
Pike continued.
“Attached was Adrian’s old FBI contact code.”
Sofia whispered, “Evelyn.”
Maybe.
Or Rachel.
Or someone else.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“Protective custody for the children.”
Lena immediately stood.
“No.”
Pike looked at her.
“I understand you’re scared.”
“No, you don’t.”
He softened.
“We can protect you.”
“Like they protected my mom?”
That hit.
Pike looked at me.
I said nothing.
Lena held Noah tighter.
“I’m staying with Mr. Moretti.”
Every federal agent in America would hate that sentence.
Pike did not laugh.
“Lena, Mr. Moretti is not exactly—”
“Safe?”
She interrupted.
“He fed us.”
That was her standard now.
Simple.
Terrible.
Pike looked at me.
I could have enjoyed it.
I did not.
“Agent, before you ask an eleven-year-old to trust a system that kidnapped her from her mother, bring me proof your side is clean.”
His jaw tightened.
“Your side is hardly clean.”
“I didn’t claim it was.”
That surprised him.
Good.
Outside, the second agent turned toward the black SUV.
He touched his ear.
Then shouted.
“Pike!”
The laundromat window exploded.
Not from gunfire.
A black canister came through.
Smoke.
People screamed.
Marco moved.
I grabbed Lena and pushed her behind the steel bank of washers.
“Stay down.”
Noah cried.
The front door burst open.
Not the agents.
Two masked men.
Pike drew his weapon.
Marco tackled the first.
The second ran toward us.
Sofia hit him with a laundry basket.
I am not joking.
A seventy-one-year-old woman swung a metal basket like she had trained for this since 1955.
The man stumbled.
Pike’s partner took him down.
Smoke filled the room.
Sprinklers activated.
Customers rushed out.
I covered Lena and Noah with my coat.
“Can you move?”
“Yes.”
“Back exit.”
Father Joseph led.
We moved through the alley.
Marco followed.
Pike shouted behind us.
“Moretti!”
I turned.
He held one attacker’s phone.
On the screen was a message.
GET THE INFANT BEFORE FBI TAKES HIM.
Sender name:
C.K.
Kessler.
Maybe.
Too obvious.
Then another message arrived.
Pike read it.
His face changed.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“Abort. Whitmore knows.”
Everything stopped.
Kessler’s men had been ordered to take Noah before federal agents could.
But the second message implied Charles feared the senator too.
This was no longer one conspiracy.
It was three factions collapsing at once.
Pike said, “We need to move.”
“For once, Agent, we agree.”
Then Lena screamed.
I turned.
Noah was not in her arms.
For one impossible second, I saw only empty blanket.
Then I saw Sofia.
She was holding him near the alley door.
Safe.
Lena ran to her.
I breathed again.
Sofia looked at me.
“Stop having heart attacks. We already lost one Moretti that way.”
Not funny.
Still almost laughed.
Then Noah began crying harder.
Not fear.
Pain.
The nurse’s earlier warning flashed through my mind.
Underweight.
Dehydrated.
Stress.
His face had gone pale.
I touched his forehead.
Hot.
Very hot.
“We need a hospital.”
Lena panicked.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“They’ll take him.”
“Not this time.”
“How do you know?”
I looked at Agent Pike.
At Marco.
At Sofia.
At the child.
“I don’t.”
I opened my coat.
May you like
“But I’m going with him.”
And this time, everyone else could decide whether they were brave enough to try to take him from me.
