Frost
The drive to Folsom State prison took about an hour and forty minutes from Oakland.
It used to be the California State prison only housed the most dangerous and difficult criminals, but currently, they also detained level one inmates. Seth’s father was in for armed robbery. What a fucking life for a kid to grow up in.
During the drive to the prison, Noah had called. On speaker phone, Noah told him, Roscoe, Wild, and Storm the story of how Rossi and Stefano had rescued Seth from a shit hole the boy had ended up in after his dad went to prison. Frost had to wonder what kind of man puts his sixteen year old son in charge of tapping into jewelry store security cameras. What kind of man had his son break the fucking law for personal gain?
He squeezed the steering wheel.
“Careful there,” Roscoe said from the passenger seat. “You don’t want to go in there and blow up. They’ll kick you out.”
“I won’t blow up,” he said through his teeth.
“He’s been missing forty eight hours, our window isn’t closed yet.”
He couldn’t look at Roscoe. “A lot could happen in that amount of time.”
“Did you talk to him after he left the other day?”
“No,” he gritted out harshly. Guilt and regret hung bitter on the word. If he’d been with Seth, none of this would have happened.
“Don’t beat yourself up, Frost. If you had been there, we might be looking for you both,” Wild said from the back seat. Frost glanced into the rearview mirror. Next to Wild sat a silent Storm. The man’s gaze met his.
Frost didn’t believe a single fucking word. If he had been there, he would have either saved Seth or be dead because he damned well knew he’d have died to keep Seth safe.
Roscoe handled everything via phone before they got to the prison. They still experienced push back at the main office when they arrived. The warden was called and they stood waiting. Frost paced, he couldn’t stand still.
“It’s official FBI business.” Which it was. “Kidnapping is a federal offense,” Roscoe told the warden when he finally appeared.
“Your staff is obstructing justice.”
“My apologies, gentlemen. We’re getting the prisoner ready now. You guys can go into my private conference room and speak to him there.”
The conference room was roomy. In the middle of the room sat a table with two chairs, one on each side. The room had a camera in the far corner. Wild set about disabling the sound system.
Roscoe’s eyebrows lifted. Wild flashed Roscoe a quick grin. “I’m a man of many talents.”
Storm grunted from where he’d taken up position against the wall.
Wild flipped Storm off and Roscoe turned a look of disbelief on him. Frost just shrugged. No way in hell could he explain those two and he wasn’t even going to try.
Ten long fucking minutes later, the door finally opened and a man shuffled in. He didn’t have chains on his ankles, but his wrists were shackled. The man must have been in his late fifties, although the years hadn’t been kind. His shock of red hair was threaded with gray and his green eyes were tired, his face lined with wrinkles that spoke silently of a hard life. Frost now knew where Seth’s green eyes had come from. Although, the father’s eyes were faded, while Seth’s glowed brightly when he was happy.
“Finnegan O’Leary?” Roscoe asked.
“Yeah?” The old thief’s gaze was wary. It should be. It was all Frost could do not to lunge, but he’d promised Roscoe.
Wild walked to the camera in the corner and lifted on his toes. He placed a small piece of tape over the lens and then he stood in a position near the door.
Storm’s impressive form took up a spot on the far wall near the corner and out of the light, giving the man a menacing appearance.
Roscoe pointed to a chair at the table. “Sit, Mr. O’Leary. These men have some questions for you,” the FBI agent said.
O’Leary glanced around at each of them before he shuffled over and sat down. Frost positioned himself directly across the table from the guy.
Roscoe gave him a nod. “I’ll be right outside.” And then the FBI agent quietly left the room and shut the door.
“I’m a friend of your son’s,” he said, turning to the man after Roscoe left.
“You are?” O’Leary looked suspiciously at Storm and Wild and then back to Frost. “What kind of friend?”
“What the fuck does that matter?” Frost growled, and the older man shrank back in his chair.
“It, it, don’t matter,” O’Leary stuttered. “You just don’t look like computer geeks.”
“I’m not a computer geek. Your son and I are dating. You know, the funny thing is, Seth hasn’t said shit about you,” Frost lied, staring at O’Leary.
“Seth doesn’t talk about me at all?”
“No,” Frost said abruptly. Other than one brief moment, Seth hadn’t mentioned his father at all. Frost was sure Seth would have talked more about his family if he hadn’t treated him like shit. He squeezed his hands into fists.
“So, you’re his boyfriend?” O’Leary’s brow furrowed.
“We haven’t been dating for long.”
More like not dating at all, but he wasn’t getting into that with this man. As far as he was concerned, Finn O’Leary had made Seth’s life a living hell. He was grateful all over again for his own father and the stable life he’d had growing up.
“Where’s Seth?” Finn O’Leary asked, worry pinching his mouth and narrowing his eyes.
“That’s why we are here. Seth has gone missing,” Wild said.
The old thief’s eyes expanded and he sucked in a quick breath. Guilt swam in O’Leary’s gaze and it was all Frost could do not to reach across the table and choke the life from the guy.
“So you better start fucking talking,” Frost snarled.
“Are you the law?” O’Leary skeptically asked.
Frost came up out of his chair and leaned over the table. The convict shrank back and almost toppled from his chair, but Storm was there. The operative slammed the chair back down onto four legs. O’Leary’s gasp was loud in the room and he shrank sideways to avoid Storm.
“No, we’re not the law. We’re something darker. Something more lethal than you’ve ever come into contact with,” Storm rumbled low and menacing near the man’s temple. O’Leary shuddered and swallowed.
Frost moved, leaning across the table and getting into O’Leary’s face. Deliberately lowering his voice to a threatening snarl, he said, “What we do is beyond anything you could imagine.”
The man’s eyes widened and then darted to the covered camera before his face turned gray. Finn O’Leary looked like he might have a heart attack at any moment.
Frost didn’t give a fuck. He wanted answers and wanted them now.
“What did you and Seth talk about when he was here a few weeks ago?” he asked from between clenched teeth.
Wild moved from the door, advancing across the room. Finn O’Leary’s eyes grew even wider. Storm planted his feet apart and crossed his arms over his massive chest. O’Leary squeezed his hands together and sucked in a sharp breath. Seriously, what did this guy have to lose? Seth was missing and this asswipe was already in prison!
At the very end of what little patience he had left, he generated every ounce of rage in his eyes and slammed his hands down on the table. A sudden look of horror came over the man’s face. Storm grabbed and hoisted the chair in the air with Finn O’Leary in it, then slammed it back down as if he weighed nothing.
Seth’s father sang like a fucking canary.
The yard around the house was a pig sty. The house itself appeared dark and unoccupied. He stepped in something and didn’t even need to look down to confirm it was dog shit. The smell wafted up from his boot. He kept his gun trained on the porch as he slowly made his way up the cracked stairs.
They had devised a quick plan. Wild. Allison, and several agents would take the back. Roscoe, Kane, and another agent would cover each side of the house in case someone tried to make a break for it out a window. That left him, Storm, Noah, Mac, and his partner Jake, along with two more agents, all going through the front door.
Frost nodded and the agent kicked in the door.
“Federal Agents,” the man shouted, and Frost quickly moved inside, gun aimed and ready. Storm and Noah fanned out to each side.
Frost went through the living room constantly searching, eyes moving, gun aimed. He kicked in a bedroom door and aimed the gun at an empty mattress.
Dread churned in his gut. Stanley Starr was their prime suspect and it looked like he’d flown the coop. The fucker could run, but he wouldn’t be able to hide for long.
He stopped next to a bathroom and reached to turn the knob. Pushing the door open, he found a woman huddled between the bathtub and the toilet. He quickly pulled his gun up and away. Sitting on the sink was a mirror with white powder, a razor blade, and a rolled up dollar bill. The woman was sniffling and her eyes were wide saucers in her too thin face. Frost would put her in her late forties or early fifties. Way too fucking old to be doing this shit and want to live a long life. But then, some addicts could not be saved.
He hoped to hell she didn’t have a gun as he eased into the room. Her eyes darted to the closed shower curtain.
“Ma’am, I’m going to need to ask you to come out of there.” He held out his hand.
She shook her head violently and slapped at his hands when he reached for her. He tucked his gun in the waist band of his pants and grabbed onto her with both hands.
Screaming, she scratched at him and shouted at the shower curtain. “You keep your fucking mouth shut! Do you hear me?! Don’t you say a fuckin’ word or I’ll kill you!” she shrieked.
Frost grunted and pulled the woman up hard and fast. He shoved her out into the hallway and into US Marshal Mac Mackenzie’s waiting hands.
“You’re not killing anybody, lady,” Mac growled.
Lady was too good of a term to use on the druggie, but he had greater concerns behind that shower curtain. He pulled his piece and nudged the gun against the curtain.
“If you have a weapon, throw it out on the floor.”
Nothing. Then movement sent the curtain shaking. “Put it down now or this bullet finds your head,” he commanded.
After another moment, a long, caramel-colored object tumbled out from the side of the curtain. Frost did a double take just to be sure it was indeed a bamboo back scratcher that had landed at his feet. He then yanked the curtain back and found a set of wide, brown eyes gazing fearfully back at him from the face of a cherub.
The little boy must have been about five years old. Dirty and malnourished. Bruises covered his cheeks and arms. His clothing was riddled with holes and filth and hung on his tiny frame. The kid tumbled backward and landed hard on his elbow. Tears sprang to his eyes, but he didn’t make a sound. Scrambling up, the boy crouched in the scum-filled tub, holding his arm.
“Clear,” Noah shouted from somewhere in the house.
“Clear,” Roscoe and Allison echoed along with Wild and Storm.
“Clear,” Frost said to Mac.
Frost tucked his gun away and squatted next to the tub. “Hi there. My name is Asher. What’s yours?”
The boy tilted his head curiously as if gaging the sincerity of Frost’s voice.
“Austin,” the boy whispered after a moment.
“How old are you, Austin?” Frost asked, keeping his voice soft.
The boy held up five fingers on one hand and then two more on another. So, not five after all, just really fucking small for his age. And perhaps a learning delay.
“Where’s your mommy and daddy?”
“Daddy’s not here and mommy…” the kid pointed after the woman. Jesus Christ, the woman had looked horribly aged from drugs. The boy had probably been born hooked on junk.
Frost rubbed a hand over his mouth and pulled on the short hair around his chin. Fuck, his heart hurt. When had the little boy last eaten or had a bath or even a fucking kind word?
“I’m going to take you out of here, Austin.”
“They always bring me back.” The boy’s eyes were too old and jaded for his sweet face. The boy suddenly found the shampoo bottle in the shower fascinating and it took his attention.
“Austin?” Frost whispered softly, gaining the boy’s attention.
“I don’t want to come back,” Austin whimpered just as softly.
“To here?”
Austin nodded, but then said, “And the strangers.”
“What strangers?” Frost asked, trying to follow the boy’s thought process. All the while, bile churned in his gut.
“The strangers that come to the house.”
The boy chewed his cut lip. Frost clenched his fist to avoid going after the mother in the other room. Did she trick the boy out to pay for her habit? Frost swallowed hard as horror punched a hole in his heart.
Austin glanced past Frost. Frost gave a quick look over his shoulder. Mac, having passed off the woman to someone, stood silent and waiting, his expression soft and warm on the boy, but Mac’s eyes were filled with a quiet horror.
“Okay, Austin. Well, this time you’re coming with me. And I’m never bringing you back,” Frost promised, making an executive decision.
“Are you going to hurt me?” The boy chewed at his bottom lip and stared at him through fearful eyes welling with tears.
Mac made a sound in the back of his throat.
Frost froze for a moment. He swallowed several times before finding his voice. “Never. I promise.” He crossed his heart and held out his hand.
After a long moment, Austin took his hand and he gently lifted the boy from the tub and into his arms. Thin arms wrapped around his neck hard, clinging. He turned and found Roscoe and Noah had joined them.
“This is Austin and he’s coming with us.” He held Mac’s gaze over the little boy’s head.
“I’ll call social services,” Roscoe said.
“You do that. But he’s not going with them until we can figure out why he’s being sent back to this shit hole,” he rasped.
“Ro?” Mac said.
Roscoe turned back and looked at Mac. “Yeah?”
“She threatened his life. I heard everything,” Mac said, gazing at the boy in Frost’s arms. “As a US Marshal, I’ll take temporary custody.”
“Perfect. I won’t spend time calling them then,” Roscoe said and disappeared back down the hallway. The agent could be heard giving orders to his men a few moments later.
“Austin?” he said, rubbing a hand down the boy’s boney back until the boy lifted his tousled head.
“This is Noah and that’s Mac. They have a really cool house on the beach. I think they might let you stay there.”
Austin looked at Mac for a long time. “You think that would be okay?” the boy asked, hopeful. “I never been to the beach.”
Noah visibly blinked and held out his arms before Mac could. “I even have a room for you,” Noah said with a smile.
“Thanks, you guys,” he said.
“Find him. Find Seth,” Noah said, taking a deep breath.
“I will,” he vowed.
“My daddy is at the engine shop.”
What was the saying? Out of the mouths of babes. “Thanks, Austin,” Frost said, ruffling the boy’s hair.
He went in search of Roscoe while Noah and Mac took Austin out the back to get the boy settled in one of the SUVs.
Roscoe looked up when he entered the room.
“Starr has an engine shop or car repair, small engines, I don’t know. Get me that address,” Frost ordered.
Roscoe nodded, giving the command to his agents.
“Let’s tear it up.” Storm’s deep, rumbling voice filled the room.
“Wait! Don’t be tearing up my things!” the woman sitting in cuffs on the sofa screamed.
Frost held up a hand and the team stopped.
“Where is Stanley Starr?”
The woman scrunched her lips together.
“You’ve lost custody of your child. You’ll never be allowed to see him again. You can make it easy on yourself and tell me where your husband took Seth.” Because he very much doubted that Starr would use his own machine shop for a kidnapping.
“Fuckin’ kid’s lying! I haven’t done anything to that little shit!” she yelled.
Storm cleared a book shelf with one swipe of his arm and the woman screeched. Wild stood with his arms crossed over his chest, long hair hanging free, looking like a wild man if there ever was one.
Frost moved right into the woman’s face and regained her attention. She yelped and lifted her hands in front as if to ward off a blow. “You have one chance to speak. Better make it good,” he sneered low and deadly.
“It’s an office building near the waterfront,” she said, gasping for breath.
“Address,” he barked, and loomed over the woman with his fists clenched.
“I don’t know!” she screeched again. “But it’s just off of Second Street in Oakland.”
Frost looked up and caught Storm’s gaze. The operative nodded and left the room with Wild at his back.
“Book her,” he told Roscoe. “Accomplice to kidnapping, child endangerment.” Hell, the woman threatened to kill the kid in their presence. He hoped they threw the fucking book at her.
“Now wait a damned minute. You said I could go free.”
“I said you could make it easy on yourself,” he corrected her. “As for going free, that’s for a jury to decide.” He turned away and left the woman as she screamed and wiggled, trying to get away from the agents carrying her out of the house and to the waiting police car.
“Fucking bitch,” Frost heard one of Roscoe’s men snarl, dabbing at a scratch where the woman had clawed him. Frost silently agreed.
Seth
An old man shuffled slowly across the pavement. When he reached the partially hanging flap, Seth tensed. A bottle of water being held in the homeless man’s hand came forward and he gestured to the boy to take it.
After several gestures, the boy finally reached out and tentatively took the water. The man waved his dirty cloth-wrapped hand toward Seth and mumbled something. Seth rolled his head to the side and noticed the same type of dirty cloth around the homeless man’s feet. Makeshift shoes.
The boy held the bottle of water up to Seth’s mouth so he could drink. The water was warm, but Seth gratefully swallowed as much as he could. If he ever got out of this mess, he was going to buy that old man a pair of shoes.
“What’s your name?” Seth whispered through swollen lips. Blinking hard, he tried to focus in on the boy’s face. After a moment, his vision cleared.
“I’m Jordan.”
“Thank you, Jordan. My name is Seth.”
“I think they’re coming. Quiet.” Jordan hurriedly pulled a blanket over his head. Seth froze. Shit. He was a sitting duck lying here.
Willing his body to stop shaking, Seth strained to listen. In the distance, people were shouting and someone screamed to leave their basket alone. The quiet that followed sounded ominous. He was so cold, his teeth started chattering. It was a spine numbing cold. He flexed his hands but couldn’t feel his fingers. Damn it to hell.
He drifted in and out of consciousness. He heard voices and then silence. Asher, he needed to call Asher. Were they still together? No, wait, that wasn’t right. Asher was with another man.
It was too much of an effort to keep his eyes open and he faded. It was hot, boiling hot, the next time he woke.
“Why doesn’t he love me?” he mumbled. He kicked at the blanket. It smelled like old sweat and filth. Using his hands and feet, he shoved at the stiff, scratchy thing until he got the cover off of him. Who had covered him? It was too hot for covers. He gasped for air.
“Shhh,” Jordan whispered close to his ear. “They’re coming back this way, you have to stay still and be quiet.”
Seth stilled and tried to swallow around his dry throat, then gagged at the putrid smell of the enclosure he was in. Jordan placed a hand over his mouth and his nostrils flared, trying to draw breath through the blood-crusted opening. He fought to calm his panic.
“Shhh. It’s okay,” the boy hissed, and then lifted his hand away. Seth sucked in gulps of rank air, fighting to remain as quiet as possible. Jordan covered his head with the blanket again and left him there.
Several minutes passed. Seth strained to listen over the pounding of his heart. Somewhere in the distance, there were sounds of crashing and glass breaking. The quiet roar of people growing angry filled the air. Seth shivered. He couldn’t have moved even if he wanted to. All he could do was lay there helplessly until the bad guys or Phoenix found him. He wasn’t sure which one would be first. After several moments, the roar of the angry crowd dulled and faded out with only an occasional shout.
A few moments passed before Jordan returned and pulled the blanket away from his face. “Okay, it’s clear. They went the other way.”
Seth clenched his teeth and his body violently shook. At least he was quietly shaking. Jordan drew another old, ratted blanket over him and gave him several more sips of the warm water.
“I don’t have much time,” Seth whispered. “I need you to call 911.”
“No! I can’t do that. The cops will come.” Jordan’s fingers gripped at the dirty coat he wore and pulled it firmly around his skinny form, holding it tight.
Seth’s head lolled on the blankets. “Okay, will you call a friend for me? Please, Jordan. Please.” He wasn’t beyond begging.
“Oh, oh, ok,” Jordan finally stuttered. A shock of dirty hair fell over the boy’s forehead and his blue eyes were dim from who knew how many years on the street, but beneath the dirt was a striking boy. He was scared and nervous, but appeared willing to call for help.
“I’ll have to find a phone,” Jordan said, rubbing his hands down his dirty shirt.
Seth softly recited a number and a name, watching as Jordan tugged a small metal box onto his lap and lifted the lid. He rummaged around a bit and then produced a well-used pen. Carefully, the boy wrote the number on his hand.
“Tell him, tell him that Seth needs him. Tell him,” Seth’s breath caught when pain sliced into his stomach, “to hurry.”
“I will. You better not die, Seth,” Jordan worried. “I mean it.”
Seth gave the boy a tired smile. “I’ll try.”
He wanted to cry when Jordan hunkered down next to him. He opened his mouth to protest that Jordan go now, but more shouting, this time sounding farther away, traveled across the distance. Seth held his breath and Jordan flipped the blanket over his head again.
Tears seeped from the corners of his eyes and soaked his temples. A moment later, Seth gave up and let the darkness take him.