Her Hardest Heart Link Part 3
“Get off me!” Connie tugged at her captor as he dragged her down a hallway.
“Be quiet,” Agent Johansson barked, finally reaching the door and shoving it open. He pushed her into the room and shut the door.
“NO!” she cried, banging on the door as she heard the lock click. I’m locked in! NO!
“Hello Miss Kendall.”
She fumed about her predicament before slowly turning around.
A man casually sat at a desk, one light on, his feet up on the desk. “We meet for the first time. Richard has told me so much about you. Switzerland was an amazing time with him. Did you know he wants to go back?”
“No, he doesn’t. I don’t care what he said. He can’t go back,” Connie snapped back.
The man chuckled. “Oh, Miss Kendall. What little faith you have in your silly boyfriend.”
Connie balled her hands into fists, eyes glaring. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you?”
He took his feet off the desk and stood up, sighing. “Let’s make this as painless as possible. Right now, you are a prisoner. You have been kidnapped and are a ransom for Mr. Richard Maxwell. If he doesn’t turn himself in by tomorrow, I will personally see to it that you take his place on that trans-Atlantic flight. One life for another,” the man sneered, up close and personal in her face.
She backed up against the door, her fierce personality fading to a hard realization she may die.
“Now, where was Richard Maxwell supposed to meet you today?”
“What if I don’t tell you?”
His fist connected with her cheek. She fell, gasping from the impact. “I’ll break you just to the point of death. But you won’t slip to death. You’ll just agonizingly wait for your savior, or that plane.” He got to his knees, leaning close to her ear. “Do I make myself clear?”
Connie gulped. Richard, please tell me you’ve got something else up your sleeves. “Whit’s End, sometime today.”
*
Special Agent Peter Bourland entered Whit’s End, Agent Johansson right behind him. “She said Whit’s End?” Johansson asked, glancing around the front area.
A kind, old, frail looking man sat at one of the chairs in front of the soda fountain, chatting with an equally frail, old, but kind looking man on the other side. A man who looked about 20 stood beside the old, frail man, chatting with them. A few others were in booths or at tables within the main area.
“Hello,” called the old, frail man at the counter called. “What brings two fine men to Whit’s End today?”
Bourland stepped up to the counter, Johansson right behind him. “Who is the owner of this establishment?”
“That would be me. John Avery Whittaker.” Whit held out his hand in greeting.
Bourland shrugged it off. He pulled from his pocket a mug shot of Richard Maxwell and showed it to him. “Have any of you seen this man today? His name is-“
“Why, Richard Maxwell. I haven’t seen him in over a year,” the old, frail man, named Tom Riley, sitting on the chair said, his lie highly convincing.
“You know this man?” Bourland questioned, eyes narrowed.
“Why, we all do. Richard used to live in this town,” Whit confirmed, nodding.
“You say you haven’t seen him in over a year?” Johansson asked over Bourland’s shoulder.
“Before I answer that, may I ask who you are and why you’re looking for a man who hasn’t been seen in this town in over a year?” Whit asked, suspicions rising.
Bourland snarled. “Special Agent Peter Bourland and pipsqueak here is Agent Kyle Johansson.” He pulled his badge from his pocket and showed it to them.
“So, agents. Which branch?” Nick Mulligan, the 20-year old, asked.
“FBI. You have not seen him in over a year?”
“I think we’ve stated that plenty, Agent Bourland,” Whit replied, looking towards the door.
“Bureau of Investigation? What ever did Richard Maxwell do?” Nick asked, astonished.
“We can’t speak of that. Well, if you haven’t seen him, and if you do at all in the future, please call us. We have important matters to speak with him about,” Bourland said, handing them a card with his name and cell number.
“Of course, Agent Bourland, Agent Johansson,” Whit nodded, the door his direction of nodding.
They walked out and stopped on the landing. “Suspicious?” Bourland asked.
“They’ve seen him today. He’s been here or he is here. Get the local police?”
“We’ll give him a little time. Remember, we have a hand-in for tomorrow; we just need to know if Maxwell is willing to let his love die in his place.”
*
The office was quiet. While Mitch was snoozing, Richard sat at the desk, pen in hand. He had to write. His mind was racing. Give up, let go? Or let Connie suffer? I don’t know what they will do with Connie. Sigh. It’s hard when there are no pieces to the puzzle.
A gentle knock at the door made Richard look up. “Come in.”
Whit smiled as he quickly entered, closing the door behind him. But he grew somber. “They have shown their faces.”
Richard’s face paled. “They had to have known somehow. Did they leave anything?”
Whit shook his head. “Sorry.”
Richard let the pen hit the desk. He leaned back and rubbed his temples. Connie, Connie… how my heart hurts right now.
Whit was about to leave when Richard whispered, “If they come back, tell them I’m here.”
Whit stopped short. “No.”
“Yes. I can’t leave Connie with them.”
“My conscious tells me that I can’t give you up,” Whit said quietly, looking back at his friend.
Richard sat up, sighing. “What did you tell them down there?”
“None of us has seen you in over a year.”
Richard groaned. “Never mind. You can’t tell them if you’ve seen me anyway. They’ll take you in for treason. They’ll realize you were lying.”
Odyssey Police! The cry from down in the shop was loud and obnoxious, even to them in the office.
Mitch awoke with a start, sitting up from the couch. “What the?”
Richard stared at Whit. “Never mind. They already figured that one out.”
*
“Hey!” Nick was pushed against the floor, handcuffs applied. All in the shop were handcuffed and sat in chairs or booths, groaning and muttering angry spouts of words.
Agent Bourland and Agent Johansson stood next to Odyssey’s Police Captain, Captain Richard Quinn. They surveyed the scene and all three came up with the same conclusion. “Where is Whittaker?” Captain Quinn asked.
“The old man? He was here not long ago. Make them check the upstairs,” Agent Bourland said, nodding to a few men to go upstairs.
“If they find Maxwell?” Agent Johansson asked, glancing at his boss.
“We’ll book the three for lying and let everyone else go. 25 years in prison should set the three straight.”
Captain Quinn heard the discussion, but kept quiet. He wasn’t letting his friends go to jail because they protected another friend. With what Captain Quinn had gathered from the short answers from the two government agents, Richard Maxwell had not finished something and was being taken out for it. Government agents… I knew our government couldn’t be trusted. And look at me, I’m a police officer.
It took a few minutes to search, but the four that had gone upstairs now came back with two figures, both unnoticeable to the trained eye. “What the?”
Two officers put the captives on their knees. “Show your faces,” Bourland instructed, starting to get impatient.
Mitch looked up, and then so did Whit. “Back so soon?”
Bourland groaned and turned, walking out of the shop. “Oh Agent Bourland!” Agent Johansson called, following after him.
”What do we do?”
“Interrogate Mitchell, and put Mr. Riley, Mr. Whittaker, and Mr. Mulligan in a holding cell at the Odyssey Police HQ. We need to find Maxwell.”
“Yes sir!”
*
Mitch sat in an interrogation room, twiddling his cuffed hands. He’d been there for two hours, waiting for someone or something. They need info from me, right? Oh the lovely workings of a small town police force.
Agent Johansson entered promptly, ignoring the time of two hours and getting straight to the heart of the matter. “Where did Maxwell disappear to?”
Mitch looked at the table, contemplating. “Four?”
A hand smacked his face, turning it red. “Smart-aleck.”
“I’ll tell you if you let Mr. John Avery Whittaker, Mr. Tom Riley, and Mr. Nick Mulligan go home.”
Agent Bourland stepped into the room, shaking his head. “You are in no place to bargain. No deal.”
“Then no Maxwell. Or on second thought… how about you give me Connie, and then we talk business about the bad boy?”
The second slap didn’t hurt as much as the first. This is wimpy.
“Again, you are in no position to make a deal. We need to know where Maxwell is. He needs to be found immediately.”
Mitch just grinned.
“Life in a federal prison can be tough, Agent Mitchell. Solitary Confinement can also be hard to handle… for life,” Agent Bourland threatened, a sly smile on his lips.
Mitch stared, laughing on the inside.
“Fine.”
The two agents left the room silently.
“What do you make of that?” Agent Johansson asked.
“He knows.”
*
"Let me out!' Connie cried, banging on the sealed, metal door. It was futile though. No one was there, and no one was listening.
She slid to the ground, deflated. I have to get out of here. I need to find Richard before they do.
"God," she started to pray out loud, "let good come from this. Someone has to die...'
*
Gower's Field was the perfect stopping place. Richard collapsed on the ground, worn out, falling to pieces.
He'd escaped Whit's End out the back, leaving Whit & Mitch. He'd entrusted a letter to Whit to give to Connie later. He was hoping it was his best choice.
Too tired...
He fell asleep, unknown to the eyes that had followed him.
*
"Well, what do you want to do now?" Agent Kyle Johansson asked, sitting at Captain Quinn's desk.
"Push Mitchell to reveal Maxwell. To be honest, I'd rather have Maxwell on that plane then that Kendall girl," Agent Bourland replied, leaning against the clear wall.
The door opened, an officer peaking his head in. "Might want to come out front, sirs."
They got up, shrugged at each other, and followed the officer out into the front of the station. The officer then disappeared, leaving them to their own devices.
"Well, well," Agent Bourland breathed, a smirk on his lips.
Richard sat, handcuffed, looking exhausted and beaten.
"Turned yourself in, did you?"
Richard looked away, unwilling to speak.
"Well, our jobs are done," Agent Johansson said in a matter-of-fact tone, smiling.
"Slow done now. We still have to get him on that trans-Atlantic flight," Bourland stated.
"Yeah, yeah. Are we going back to HQ?"
"Take him back there. I've got Mitchell to handle." He smirked. There was always a pawn in this whole scheme.
"Okay. Come on, Maxwell," Johansson pulled Richard up off the chair by his upper arm and dragged him out of the police station.
Bourland headed back to break Mitchell - and then blow the whole thing out of the water.
*
Connie had gotten comfortable in a corner, falling asleep to the sound of her own breathing. She'd been tired. Even though she'd done nothing to deserve her predicament, she was worried: for herself, Whit, Mitch, Richard...
Time had passed before she was yawning and nimbly stretching. The handcuffs were worse for wear, starting their chaff on her wrists.
"Hi," a voice came. She jumped, her eyes searching the room.
Richard sat in the corner kitty corner to hers, black & blue & purple, handcuffed and down-faced. He was no worse for wear, apart from the obvious beating and the look of exhaustion.
Oh, God, no. She silently prayed, standing up and hurrying over to him. "You don't look good. What happened?" She knelt beside him, taking his hands in hers.
"Haven't really slept in the past two weeks. They beat me. I've been run ragged with attempting not to get caught... I didn't come willingly. I'm sorry," he whispered. His selfishness could have gotten her killed.
"I don't care. I'd rather have been in your spot than not at all. Now..."
He leaned his head against the wall, sighing. "This is not how I wanted to end my life."
"Seriously, I think you just messed with my plans."
He slowly opened an eye to look at her, suspicion in his eye.
"I can't lose you. What do I look like to you?"
He gave her a small smile, a gracious look. "Thanks, Connie... but just so you know, I've accepted this. I've had a lot of time to think over the past week, and, you know, if God wants me home, I'm okay with that. This world is already a mess. I don't need to add to the mayhem any longer."
"God..." she let it trail.
"Yeah, God."
She was silent as she realized he'd accepted God, His plan, and salvation. She felt tears start down her cheeks.
"Hey, hey, don't cry," he quietly spoke, reaching up and wiping her tears away. "What's Heaven if we can't see each other again?"
"But you're leaving me here on earth."
He pondered that, the word earth seeming so relative. "Someone has to be a sacrifice."
"The situation doesn't leave many options..."
"It's the government, Hun."
They grew silent. It was deafening, but Connie was out of words... and felt like she should have been out of tears. Richard was exhausted and holding onto hope... even if his acceptance was hard core.
He leaned his head against the far wall, closed his eyes, and hoped for sleep.
Connie noticed he was tired. Let him sleep... take in the moment. It could be our last together. She silently took off her bathrobe and draped it across his form. She huddled next to him as she sensed him fall into a much needed sleep.
God, for what it's worth, I'm thankful for this time. Regardless of what may come, may we all come to terms with the predicament at hand. You are our Father... and we're scared.
*
The book hit the wall. Bourland was mad. "Mitchell just upped and left. And now I have two bozo's sleeping together in the next room. Our plane leaves in two hours, and I'm still unsatisfied."
Agent Johansson sat at a desk, unwavering from the outburst. "We have Maxwell, be thankful."
"'Be thankful'. Psh. You try taking orders from a numskull like James. Its hard juggling two head leaders."
Johansson was silent.
"Thanks for the help. Okay, fine, get Maxwell out of that room and into the car. Dump Kendall off at her apartment. I want no trace of our existence in this town."
Johansson was up out of his seat in an instant, nodding and heading for the door.
"And Kyle," Bourland hissed, eyes burning into his back. "Don't mess up."
Johansson slammed the door, rolled his eyes, and crashed open the door leading into Connie's and Richard's room. The crash woke them both, sending Connie into defense mode.
"Up," he barked, throwing a pair of handcuffs at Connie. "And put those on him, now."
Connie stood, eyes glaring. She turned and reached a hand out for Richard. He blinked, his heart racing, his mind going in a million directions.
"UP!"
He took her hand and she helped him to his feet. She silently obeyed orders, slapping on the cuffs to Richard's wrists. She kept her eyes on her job, silent and invisible.
Johansson grabbed her arm and pulled her close. "Meet again, do we." He smirked as he pulled another pair of cuffs out of his pocket and slapped them on. He pushed her out of the room and ordered the same for Richard.
The three walked down the hall, two being prodded by one.
"Into the car, both of you," Johansson ordered as they stepped out into the sunshine. They walked to it and climbed in. The door was shut behind them.
"Great, now what?" Connie muttered, grasping her love's hands in hers.
There was no answer.
*
Connie sat at the counter at Whit's End, slowly turning her straw. Whit had no influence on her mood, his attempts at helping her cheer up over before they even had started. He knew she was depressed. After she'd been dropped off at her disheveled apartment, she'd felt the crushing weight of her loss.
She'd whispered, "I love you," to him before they'd dragged her out of the car. She didn't want to abandon him. The last thing she saw of him was his face, pale, but smiling, at her. He mouthed, "I love you," back and the door slammed shut. That was the last she'd seen of him.
She'd walked to her apartment, sighed, and walked in. She'd glanced at the mess, attempted to clean up, and finally got fed up. She had been shedding tears and forcing back emotions for to long. She locked her door, dropped the key in her pocket, and walked to Whit's End. She'd ordered a milkshake, and hadn't breathed a word since.
What do I do? Whit wondered, glancing over at his befallen employee.
The bell jingled as a slightly familiar face entered.
Robert Mitchell had disappeared the day before when Agent Bourland had gone to interrogate him for the second time about Maxwell. It was a hinting suspicion that Captain Quinn had let him go, along with releasing Nick, Tom, and Whit, but no one knew. Agent Bourland had been highly unimpressed. But he had just stalked off to take care of other business away from the Odyssey Police Force.
"Hello," Mitch called, nodding to Whit and Nick beyond Connie. They acknowledged him, smiling and nodding. Then they left him to Connie.
"Hi," he offered, sitting down beside her. Connie stared at her drink, not glancing over.
"What, cold shoulder? What did I do?"
She looked away from him, sighing.
Mitch sat silent for a few minutes before finally saying, "Time is slowly passing. My flight leaves in two hours."
She finally looked at him, glaring.
"Oh, so, now you want to communicate. What is going on, Connie?"
She looked down. "He's gone."
"And what do you want me to do about that?"
"Oh, come on. You could have stopped Bourland. You could have actually managed to save your partners life. Now he's going to get on that plane and die."
Mitch was quiet. "I know. But I'm just a man. I'm not a superhero."
"Then what are you doing here? Right now, I need a superhero, or a grave, okay?" Connie snapped back, her anger showing through.
"Do you love him?" Mitch asked, finally catching her eye.
She paused. And she thought..."Yes, but-
"Then I'm going to go save your guy. Just so you know - you're really nice, Connie. But not my type," Mitch said, kissing her cheek, standing up, and disappearing out the door.
She sat there, a sad look on her face. Be careful.
“Be quiet,” Agent Johansson barked, finally reaching the door and shoving it open. He pushed her into the room and shut the door.
“NO!” she cried, banging on the door as she heard the lock click. I’m locked in! NO!
“Hello Miss Kendall.”
She fumed about her predicament before slowly turning around.
A man casually sat at a desk, one light on, his feet up on the desk. “We meet for the first time. Richard has told me so much about you. Switzerland was an amazing time with him. Did you know he wants to go back?”
“No, he doesn’t. I don’t care what he said. He can’t go back,” Connie snapped back.
The man chuckled. “Oh, Miss Kendall. What little faith you have in your silly boyfriend.”
Connie balled her hands into fists, eyes glaring. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you?”
He took his feet off the desk and stood up, sighing. “Let’s make this as painless as possible. Right now, you are a prisoner. You have been kidnapped and are a ransom for Mr. Richard Maxwell. If he doesn’t turn himself in by tomorrow, I will personally see to it that you take his place on that trans-Atlantic flight. One life for another,” the man sneered, up close and personal in her face.
She backed up against the door, her fierce personality fading to a hard realization she may die.
“Now, where was Richard Maxwell supposed to meet you today?”
“What if I don’t tell you?”
His fist connected with her cheek. She fell, gasping from the impact. “I’ll break you just to the point of death. But you won’t slip to death. You’ll just agonizingly wait for your savior, or that plane.” He got to his knees, leaning close to her ear. “Do I make myself clear?”
Connie gulped. Richard, please tell me you’ve got something else up your sleeves. “Whit’s End, sometime today.”
*
Special Agent Peter Bourland entered Whit’s End, Agent Johansson right behind him. “She said Whit’s End?” Johansson asked, glancing around the front area.
A kind, old, frail looking man sat at one of the chairs in front of the soda fountain, chatting with an equally frail, old, but kind looking man on the other side. A man who looked about 20 stood beside the old, frail man, chatting with them. A few others were in booths or at tables within the main area.
“Hello,” called the old, frail man at the counter called. “What brings two fine men to Whit’s End today?”
Bourland stepped up to the counter, Johansson right behind him. “Who is the owner of this establishment?”
“That would be me. John Avery Whittaker.” Whit held out his hand in greeting.
Bourland shrugged it off. He pulled from his pocket a mug shot of Richard Maxwell and showed it to him. “Have any of you seen this man today? His name is-“
“Why, Richard Maxwell. I haven’t seen him in over a year,” the old, frail man, named Tom Riley, sitting on the chair said, his lie highly convincing.
“You know this man?” Bourland questioned, eyes narrowed.
“Why, we all do. Richard used to live in this town,” Whit confirmed, nodding.
“You say you haven’t seen him in over a year?” Johansson asked over Bourland’s shoulder.
“Before I answer that, may I ask who you are and why you’re looking for a man who hasn’t been seen in this town in over a year?” Whit asked, suspicions rising.
Bourland snarled. “Special Agent Peter Bourland and pipsqueak here is Agent Kyle Johansson.” He pulled his badge from his pocket and showed it to them.
“So, agents. Which branch?” Nick Mulligan, the 20-year old, asked.
“FBI. You have not seen him in over a year?”
“I think we’ve stated that plenty, Agent Bourland,” Whit replied, looking towards the door.
“Bureau of Investigation? What ever did Richard Maxwell do?” Nick asked, astonished.
“We can’t speak of that. Well, if you haven’t seen him, and if you do at all in the future, please call us. We have important matters to speak with him about,” Bourland said, handing them a card with his name and cell number.
“Of course, Agent Bourland, Agent Johansson,” Whit nodded, the door his direction of nodding.
They walked out and stopped on the landing. “Suspicious?” Bourland asked.
“They’ve seen him today. He’s been here or he is here. Get the local police?”
“We’ll give him a little time. Remember, we have a hand-in for tomorrow; we just need to know if Maxwell is willing to let his love die in his place.”
*
The office was quiet. While Mitch was snoozing, Richard sat at the desk, pen in hand. He had to write. His mind was racing. Give up, let go? Or let Connie suffer? I don’t know what they will do with Connie. Sigh. It’s hard when there are no pieces to the puzzle.
A gentle knock at the door made Richard look up. “Come in.”
Whit smiled as he quickly entered, closing the door behind him. But he grew somber. “They have shown their faces.”
Richard’s face paled. “They had to have known somehow. Did they leave anything?”
Whit shook his head. “Sorry.”
Richard let the pen hit the desk. He leaned back and rubbed his temples. Connie, Connie… how my heart hurts right now.
Whit was about to leave when Richard whispered, “If they come back, tell them I’m here.”
Whit stopped short. “No.”
“Yes. I can’t leave Connie with them.”
“My conscious tells me that I can’t give you up,” Whit said quietly, looking back at his friend.
Richard sat up, sighing. “What did you tell them down there?”
“None of us has seen you in over a year.”
Richard groaned. “Never mind. You can’t tell them if you’ve seen me anyway. They’ll take you in for treason. They’ll realize you were lying.”
Odyssey Police! The cry from down in the shop was loud and obnoxious, even to them in the office.
Mitch awoke with a start, sitting up from the couch. “What the?”
Richard stared at Whit. “Never mind. They already figured that one out.”
*
“Hey!” Nick was pushed against the floor, handcuffs applied. All in the shop were handcuffed and sat in chairs or booths, groaning and muttering angry spouts of words.
Agent Bourland and Agent Johansson stood next to Odyssey’s Police Captain, Captain Richard Quinn. They surveyed the scene and all three came up with the same conclusion. “Where is Whittaker?” Captain Quinn asked.
“The old man? He was here not long ago. Make them check the upstairs,” Agent Bourland said, nodding to a few men to go upstairs.
“If they find Maxwell?” Agent Johansson asked, glancing at his boss.
“We’ll book the three for lying and let everyone else go. 25 years in prison should set the three straight.”
Captain Quinn heard the discussion, but kept quiet. He wasn’t letting his friends go to jail because they protected another friend. With what Captain Quinn had gathered from the short answers from the two government agents, Richard Maxwell had not finished something and was being taken out for it. Government agents… I knew our government couldn’t be trusted. And look at me, I’m a police officer.
It took a few minutes to search, but the four that had gone upstairs now came back with two figures, both unnoticeable to the trained eye. “What the?”
Two officers put the captives on their knees. “Show your faces,” Bourland instructed, starting to get impatient.
Mitch looked up, and then so did Whit. “Back so soon?”
Bourland groaned and turned, walking out of the shop. “Oh Agent Bourland!” Agent Johansson called, following after him.
”What do we do?”
“Interrogate Mitchell, and put Mr. Riley, Mr. Whittaker, and Mr. Mulligan in a holding cell at the Odyssey Police HQ. We need to find Maxwell.”
“Yes sir!”
*
Mitch sat in an interrogation room, twiddling his cuffed hands. He’d been there for two hours, waiting for someone or something. They need info from me, right? Oh the lovely workings of a small town police force.
Agent Johansson entered promptly, ignoring the time of two hours and getting straight to the heart of the matter. “Where did Maxwell disappear to?”
Mitch looked at the table, contemplating. “Four?”
A hand smacked his face, turning it red. “Smart-aleck.”
“I’ll tell you if you let Mr. John Avery Whittaker, Mr. Tom Riley, and Mr. Nick Mulligan go home.”
Agent Bourland stepped into the room, shaking his head. “You are in no place to bargain. No deal.”
“Then no Maxwell. Or on second thought… how about you give me Connie, and then we talk business about the bad boy?”
The second slap didn’t hurt as much as the first. This is wimpy.
“Again, you are in no position to make a deal. We need to know where Maxwell is. He needs to be found immediately.”
Mitch just grinned.
“Life in a federal prison can be tough, Agent Mitchell. Solitary Confinement can also be hard to handle… for life,” Agent Bourland threatened, a sly smile on his lips.
Mitch stared, laughing on the inside.
“Fine.”
The two agents left the room silently.
“What do you make of that?” Agent Johansson asked.
“He knows.”
*
"Let me out!' Connie cried, banging on the sealed, metal door. It was futile though. No one was there, and no one was listening.
She slid to the ground, deflated. I have to get out of here. I need to find Richard before they do.
"God," she started to pray out loud, "let good come from this. Someone has to die...'
*
Gower's Field was the perfect stopping place. Richard collapsed on the ground, worn out, falling to pieces.
He'd escaped Whit's End out the back, leaving Whit & Mitch. He'd entrusted a letter to Whit to give to Connie later. He was hoping it was his best choice.
Too tired...
He fell asleep, unknown to the eyes that had followed him.
*
"Well, what do you want to do now?" Agent Kyle Johansson asked, sitting at Captain Quinn's desk.
"Push Mitchell to reveal Maxwell. To be honest, I'd rather have Maxwell on that plane then that Kendall girl," Agent Bourland replied, leaning against the clear wall.
The door opened, an officer peaking his head in. "Might want to come out front, sirs."
They got up, shrugged at each other, and followed the officer out into the front of the station. The officer then disappeared, leaving them to their own devices.
"Well, well," Agent Bourland breathed, a smirk on his lips.
Richard sat, handcuffed, looking exhausted and beaten.
"Turned yourself in, did you?"
Richard looked away, unwilling to speak.
"Well, our jobs are done," Agent Johansson said in a matter-of-fact tone, smiling.
"Slow done now. We still have to get him on that trans-Atlantic flight," Bourland stated.
"Yeah, yeah. Are we going back to HQ?"
"Take him back there. I've got Mitchell to handle." He smirked. There was always a pawn in this whole scheme.
"Okay. Come on, Maxwell," Johansson pulled Richard up off the chair by his upper arm and dragged him out of the police station.
Bourland headed back to break Mitchell - and then blow the whole thing out of the water.
*
Connie had gotten comfortable in a corner, falling asleep to the sound of her own breathing. She'd been tired. Even though she'd done nothing to deserve her predicament, she was worried: for herself, Whit, Mitch, Richard...
Time had passed before she was yawning and nimbly stretching. The handcuffs were worse for wear, starting their chaff on her wrists.
"Hi," a voice came. She jumped, her eyes searching the room.
Richard sat in the corner kitty corner to hers, black & blue & purple, handcuffed and down-faced. He was no worse for wear, apart from the obvious beating and the look of exhaustion.
Oh, God, no. She silently prayed, standing up and hurrying over to him. "You don't look good. What happened?" She knelt beside him, taking his hands in hers.
"Haven't really slept in the past two weeks. They beat me. I've been run ragged with attempting not to get caught... I didn't come willingly. I'm sorry," he whispered. His selfishness could have gotten her killed.
"I don't care. I'd rather have been in your spot than not at all. Now..."
He leaned his head against the wall, sighing. "This is not how I wanted to end my life."
"Seriously, I think you just messed with my plans."
He slowly opened an eye to look at her, suspicion in his eye.
"I can't lose you. What do I look like to you?"
He gave her a small smile, a gracious look. "Thanks, Connie... but just so you know, I've accepted this. I've had a lot of time to think over the past week, and, you know, if God wants me home, I'm okay with that. This world is already a mess. I don't need to add to the mayhem any longer."
"God..." she let it trail.
"Yeah, God."
She was silent as she realized he'd accepted God, His plan, and salvation. She felt tears start down her cheeks.
"Hey, hey, don't cry," he quietly spoke, reaching up and wiping her tears away. "What's Heaven if we can't see each other again?"
"But you're leaving me here on earth."
He pondered that, the word earth seeming so relative. "Someone has to be a sacrifice."
"The situation doesn't leave many options..."
"It's the government, Hun."
They grew silent. It was deafening, but Connie was out of words... and felt like she should have been out of tears. Richard was exhausted and holding onto hope... even if his acceptance was hard core.
He leaned his head against the far wall, closed his eyes, and hoped for sleep.
Connie noticed he was tired. Let him sleep... take in the moment. It could be our last together. She silently took off her bathrobe and draped it across his form. She huddled next to him as she sensed him fall into a much needed sleep.
God, for what it's worth, I'm thankful for this time. Regardless of what may come, may we all come to terms with the predicament at hand. You are our Father... and we're scared.
*
The book hit the wall. Bourland was mad. "Mitchell just upped and left. And now I have two bozo's sleeping together in the next room. Our plane leaves in two hours, and I'm still unsatisfied."
Agent Johansson sat at a desk, unwavering from the outburst. "We have Maxwell, be thankful."
"'Be thankful'. Psh. You try taking orders from a numskull like James. Its hard juggling two head leaders."
Johansson was silent.
"Thanks for the help. Okay, fine, get Maxwell out of that room and into the car. Dump Kendall off at her apartment. I want no trace of our existence in this town."
Johansson was up out of his seat in an instant, nodding and heading for the door.
"And Kyle," Bourland hissed, eyes burning into his back. "Don't mess up."
Johansson slammed the door, rolled his eyes, and crashed open the door leading into Connie's and Richard's room. The crash woke them both, sending Connie into defense mode.
"Up," he barked, throwing a pair of handcuffs at Connie. "And put those on him, now."
Connie stood, eyes glaring. She turned and reached a hand out for Richard. He blinked, his heart racing, his mind going in a million directions.
"UP!"
He took her hand and she helped him to his feet. She silently obeyed orders, slapping on the cuffs to Richard's wrists. She kept her eyes on her job, silent and invisible.
Johansson grabbed her arm and pulled her close. "Meet again, do we." He smirked as he pulled another pair of cuffs out of his pocket and slapped them on. He pushed her out of the room and ordered the same for Richard.
The three walked down the hall, two being prodded by one.
"Into the car, both of you," Johansson ordered as they stepped out into the sunshine. They walked to it and climbed in. The door was shut behind them.
"Great, now what?" Connie muttered, grasping her love's hands in hers.
There was no answer.
*
Connie sat at the counter at Whit's End, slowly turning her straw. Whit had no influence on her mood, his attempts at helping her cheer up over before they even had started. He knew she was depressed. After she'd been dropped off at her disheveled apartment, she'd felt the crushing weight of her loss.
She'd whispered, "I love you," to him before they'd dragged her out of the car. She didn't want to abandon him. The last thing she saw of him was his face, pale, but smiling, at her. He mouthed, "I love you," back and the door slammed shut. That was the last she'd seen of him.
She'd walked to her apartment, sighed, and walked in. She'd glanced at the mess, attempted to clean up, and finally got fed up. She had been shedding tears and forcing back emotions for to long. She locked her door, dropped the key in her pocket, and walked to Whit's End. She'd ordered a milkshake, and hadn't breathed a word since.
What do I do? Whit wondered, glancing over at his befallen employee.
The bell jingled as a slightly familiar face entered.
Robert Mitchell had disappeared the day before when Agent Bourland had gone to interrogate him for the second time about Maxwell. It was a hinting suspicion that Captain Quinn had let him go, along with releasing Nick, Tom, and Whit, but no one knew. Agent Bourland had been highly unimpressed. But he had just stalked off to take care of other business away from the Odyssey Police Force.
"Hello," Mitch called, nodding to Whit and Nick beyond Connie. They acknowledged him, smiling and nodding. Then they left him to Connie.
"Hi," he offered, sitting down beside her. Connie stared at her drink, not glancing over.
"What, cold shoulder? What did I do?"
She looked away from him, sighing.
Mitch sat silent for a few minutes before finally saying, "Time is slowly passing. My flight leaves in two hours."
She finally looked at him, glaring.
"Oh, so, now you want to communicate. What is going on, Connie?"
She looked down. "He's gone."
"And what do you want me to do about that?"
"Oh, come on. You could have stopped Bourland. You could have actually managed to save your partners life. Now he's going to get on that plane and die."
Mitch was quiet. "I know. But I'm just a man. I'm not a superhero."
"Then what are you doing here? Right now, I need a superhero, or a grave, okay?" Connie snapped back, her anger showing through.
"Do you love him?" Mitch asked, finally catching her eye.
She paused. And she thought..."Yes, but-
"Then I'm going to go save your guy. Just so you know - you're really nice, Connie. But not my type," Mitch said, kissing her cheek, standing up, and disappearing out the door.
She sat there, a sad look on her face. Be careful.