Baltimore 03 - Did You Miss Me?

from prison that went unanswered by the old man, Mitch hit delete. Delete. Delete. Fifteen calls, all deleted.
    Now you know how it feels . His good mood restored, Mitch went to his closet and pulled out the uniform he’d stolen especially for this occasion. Minutes later he was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, straightening his tie.
    The previous owner of the uniform was a West Virginia state trooper. Mitch had gotten some good stuff out of that heist. The trooper had excellent taste in baseball cards, guns, vintage Playboy editions, but most importantly, the guy was exactly his size so the uniform fit like a glove.
    He placed the hat on his head. ‘This will make all of this worthwhile.’
    A banging on his door had him wheeling around, startled. Checking his Glock, he went to the door, his heart banging in his chest. Who knew he’d be here? Chill . Nobody knew he had this place. Must be a salesman or a Girl Scout selling cookies .
    He looked through the peephole in the door and his heart crashed to a halt. On his doorstep, his shirt bloody, his face haggard, swollen, and stained with tears, was his stepfather.
    Thursday, December 5, 12:15 P.M.
    ‘What the hell are you doing, kid?’
    Ford looked up from tying his shoes. Deacon was standing in the doorway of his hospital room, fists on his hips, glaring. Ford glared right back.
    ‘I heard you on the phone, talking to Carter. I’m going to that cabin, even if I have to hitchhike to get there.’
    ‘You’re staying right here, so sit your ass back down.’
    Ford ignored him, pulling on the sweatshirt Gran and Maggie had brought him when they’d visited. He walked carefully across the tiled floor, every step painful, like there were millions of needles in his feet.
    Deacon blocked his way. Face to face, Ford was startled to find he had to look up to meet the Fed’s eyes. Because Ford had been sitting or lying down every time they’d talked, he hadn’t realized Deacon was so tall. The guy had to be six-three. The stark contrast of his white goatee and bronze skin combined with those weird bi-colored eyes and the whole leather getup made him look like one bad motherfucker.
    But Ford wasn’t scared, because he was feeling like one, too. ‘Get out of my way, Deacon. I mean it.’
    ‘I could take you down with one pinkie, kid. You’re weavin’ on your feet.’
    Ford stowed his rage for a moment. ‘I know. I also know that getting help for that girl was what kept me walking, even when it hurt like hell.’ He thought of his mother’s face as she’d told her story. ‘My mom’s with Carter, isn’t she? She’ll go to that little room where Beckett held her cousin, even if Heather’s not there to save. She needs the closure. When she comes up, she’s going to be so . . . upset. I need to be there for her. So if you won’t drive me there, please, just don’t stand in my way.’
    There was a long pause. ‘Okay,’ Deacon finally said, his voice gruff. ‘On the condition that you remain in my vehicle until I tell you it’s safe to come out. Agreed?’
    ‘Yes.’
    Deacon pinned him with a hard gaze. ‘If you break your word, I will use a helluva lot more than my pinkie to take you down. Got me?’
    ‘Yes,’ Ford said. ‘Thank you.’
    Deacon rolled his eyes. ‘Carter’s gonna have my ass for this.’
    ‘No, he won’t. I’ll tell him I snuck after you and hid in your car. He already knows I’m willing to play dirty to get what I want.’
    ‘I somehow doubt that,’ Deacon said dryly, but Ford knew differently.
    Carter had taken him aside earlier that morning when his mother was getting an update from the doctor. The FBI agent had asked him what he’d held over his grandmother’s head to get his own way. When he’d told him, Carter looked torn between laughter, respect, and dismay – the last because Ford had seen what he’d seen and been forced into trading secrets for his mother’s welfare at an early age.
    ‘Agent Carter knows what I’m willing to do to keep my mother safe. He won’t blame you. Trust me. Let’s go. We’re wasting time.’
    Thursday, December 5, 12.20 P.M.
    ‘I know you’re in there, Mitch!’ More banging. ‘Let me in!’
    Mitch made himself breathe. His stepfather was making such a scene, people would come out to see. I need to get him out of here . Fast .
    From his backpack Mitch grabbed one of the syringes of ketamine he’d prepared before leaving Baltimore. A small dose would make the old