Free Don't Lose Her by Jonathon King

Manuel Escalante, Mr. Freeman. And I know you and Mr. Manchester are smart enough to be aware of that particular businessman’s connections and outreach. If in any way my assistance …”
    â€œYour name doesn’t come up, Johnny. I’m not DEA. This is freelance and it’s mine alone,” I said, knowing there was an edge to my voice.
    â€œOK, OK,” Milsap said quickly, raising his palms. “I’m just saying.”
    â€œYeah, I know what you’re saying, Johnny.” I reached into my pocket to pull out another disposable cell phone and dropped it on top of the cash.
    â€œI know you’ve used one of these before, Counselor. Untraceable, with a single number loaded into it. I’ve got its mate, also untraceable. You get anything, you call me. No way to connect it back to you.”
    The attorney’s hands were now moving across the desk to enfold the phone and the pile of cash.
    â€œAnd if something good should come of my information,” he said, pulling in the money as though he’d just won a huge poker pot. “Perhaps one good turn from a fellow member of the Florida Bar might someday be returned by Mr. Manchester himself?”
    I stood and gave the lawyer another eye-to-eye look.
    â€œDon’t push it, Johnny.”

Chapter 12
    D iane didn’t know how long she’d been asleep or how long she’d been dreaming. She’d tried to stay awake; had felt her eyelids fluttering, and resisted. She jumped several times when her head bobbed forward. But in the end, she failed.
    She’d tried to be brave. I’ll fight these bastards. I’ll kick someone in the balls and escape. I’ll scratch someone’s eyes out . Instead, she lay down on the mattress. She’d tried to cry, conjured a face for her baby, pulled a vision of Billy and his smile, and then squeezed her eyes tight to force the glands to produce moisture so she could feel the tears run down her cheek. That failed, too.
    Instead, in exhaustion brought on by anxiety, she slept and dreamed. She’d gone back to the time when she was a child, to the first time she’d felt vulnerable and alone, unloved and scared. She might have been six, maybe seven. She’d had a fight with her parents, both of them at the same time, which was rare.
    While on a vacation in southwest Florida, she’d been left in a rustic cottage with a babysitter while her father the judge and her mother had gone to some exotic Florida dinner at the nearby Rod and Gun Club and denied her even the possibility of being left alone. She’d argued she was old enough to be left on her own. She’d thrown a tantrum, replete with tears, and declared loudly that she was no baby.
    She’d stalked to a room and closed herself in, refusing to even meet the sitter. Then she’d snuck out through a window and onto the grounds of the old Everglades City hotel. She’d bumbled about near the docks and boats and marshland that surrounded the near-century­-old place in the half-dark, and had become frightened by the unfamiliar calls of night birds and insects and the moonlit splashes of feeding fish and the underbrush rustle of nocturnal hunters. She’d found misguided refuge in a worn, wooden boathouse and cowered there until she was found by a collective staff of anxious searchers and her frantic parents.
    The dream seemed so real—the sensation of wet tears on her face, the fear of being abandoned, the exhaustion from searching the darkness for a way back, hunger from a missed meal, the smells of damp canvas and caustic oils, and the shouts of unfamiliar men’s voices calling out her name. Why had her parents abandoned her? Why had they not protected her? Why was she all alone?
    When Diane jolted out of the dream, she blinked open her eyes and was met only by the darkness and the cloying feel of the hood still over her face. She could feel the moisture of tears against her cheeks