The woman was medium height, a muted blonde, dressed in office clothes, and was fumbling with an overstuffed plastic shopping bag as she unclasped the buckle on the safety seat.
Joanie’s incessant chattering faded into a distant tremolo as the blood rushed to Jet’s ears and her heart began trip-hammering. She heard herself mumbling some vague assent to the annoying woman in response to yet another suggestion that she write something up on the house, and then time grudgingly creaked forward again, and the slow-motion state she’d found herself in for a few seconds shifted back to reality.
The blonde lifted the toddler out of the seat and set her gently on the driveway, where she stood unsteadily and then trailed the driver to the front door on the chubby, slightly wobbly legs of a healthy two-year-old.
She was absolutely beautiful.
The most gorgeous sight Jet had ever seen.
There was no mistaking her. Even from thirty feet away, she could see herself in the tiny face, the cast of the eyes, the nose. That was her daughter. Her Hannah. A flutter of Jet’s essence shifted in her abdomen, a momentary recollection of the life she’d carried to term, its tiny heart beating in cadence with her own.
Transfixed though she was, Jet forced herself to look away. She didn’t want to raise the smallest amount of suspicion with Joanie or do anything memorable — which was relatively safe, given all the agent could see or hear was an opportunity to make a sale, preferably today.
“Joanie, I really appreciate the tour, but I just realized the time. I have to get going to a meeting. I’ll give you a call in the next day or two after I finish looking around. This house is a strong contender. It has everything I want.”
Joanie visibly deflated as the words registered. Her hopes of a quick offer dashed, she tried one more time, but didn’t have much enthusiasm left.
“Well, I’ll be showing it more regularly once the weather turns, so if I was you, I’d act quickly. It’s a creampuff and so cozy. And safe. And the bank-”
“Yes. I know. The bank is motivated — I got that loud and clear. Look, thanks so much for taking the time to show it, Joanie. I appreciate it, and I’ll be touching base shortly.”
Jet ventured a final sidelong glance at her daughter then turned away, pausing to shake Joanie’s meaty hand before returning to her car, the world threatening to spin dizzily out of control at any second.
She slid the key into the ignition and started the engine, fighting to calm her breathing — while outwardly she was unflustered, internally it was all she could do to keep from running into the house and grabbing Hannah there and then.
But that wouldn’t be a lasting solution. She needed to get to her — that was a given. But she also needed to be clever about it and cover her tracks, so once she had her back, she would have her permanently.
Jet shifted the car into gear and pulled slowly from the curb, throwing Joanie a curt wave as she drove away, mind whirling with conflicting emotions. Her daughter was mere footsteps away, healthy and beautiful, and yet Jet was forced to drive off as though she didn’t exist. The unfairness of the situation rankled as she turned onto the larger street that led to the main boulevard. She had done nothing wrong, and yet her child had been stolen and given to another woman to raise — by David: the man who was her father, a man Jet loved but could never forgive for stealing Hannah away.
The bitterness of the betrayal rose in her gorge as she thought of it, and then a wave of grief washed over her as she remembered his last moments, trying to make amends for doing the unforgivable; all in the interests of keeping those he loved safe.
Jet brushed the tears of frustration from her face as she pulled to the stop sign, looking in both directions before rolling through it.
What was done was done. David was dead and was never coming back, and she was now in Nebraska and had the most important job of her life to do.
She’d found her Hannah.
Finally.
Now she needed to get her back.
In the end, the rest was noise.
Getting Hannah back was the only thing that mattered.
Chapter 3
Jet pulled the stolen Toyota Camry to the curb thirty yards from the house, having shut off the headlights as she inched to the curb. All the surrounding homes were dark, with the exception of a few porch lights glimmering in the shadows of midnight. She exited the vehicle, hoisted a black nylon backpack she’d bought earlier that day, and made her way to the vacant home she’d toured three days before with Joanie.
She edged to the porch and stooped, quickly finding the agent lock box and turning the combination to the numbers she’d memorized when Joanie had opened it. Her latex gloves squeaked on the slick surface as she fished inside for the key, and after unlocking the front door, she returned it to its hiding place, spinning the dial so it stopped on a random digit.
Once inside the empty house, she quickly pulled night vision goggles from the bag and put them on — courtesy of an overnight delivery from an internet vendor. She knew better than to purchase anything specialized in Omaha. Caution was an indelible part of her makeup when preparing for any kind of an operation, and rescuing her daughter was no different.
The interior of the house illuminated in the green glow of the goggles — a common commercial version that would be suitable for tonight’s task — and she extracted the rest of her gear.
Jet sat cross-legged on the floor and watched the street out front for forty-five minutes, wary of any movement or signs of life. Nothing. No cars, no dog walkers. The neighborhood was completely still.
She crept to the back door and eased it open, then took cautious steps to the fence that separated the yards. Seeing nothing suspicious, she climbed over the wood slats and moved to the rear entrance of Hannah’s house, ears straining for sounds of movement inside.
The lock took fifteen seconds. She slowly twisted the knob, careful not to make any sound, and when the latch freed, she pushed it open, the hinges silent from the drop of oil she’d applied to each before jimmying the lock.
The house was the twin of the vacant one next door, so she knew exactly where the master bedroom and the guest bedrooms would be. It was a better-than-even chance that Hannah would have her own room.
Her running shoes made no sound as she crept along the hall to the bedrooms. If she had any luck at all, Hannah’s putative parents would sleep with their door closed. If not, and they awakened, she was prepared to deal with them, but she hoped she wouldn’t have to hurt them. They were probably innocent in all this, considering how David had operated. Every player would be compartmentalized from the others, and nobody would know more than they absolutely had to.
She’d ruminated on how he had found these people, eventually deciding that it really didn’t matter. Because of his work with the Mossad, David had been granted access to far greater resources than she could have imagined. The most probable scenario was that he’d arranged to have Hannah delivered to a couple waiting for an adoption. There were myriad ways of achieving anything, she knew, if enough money was thrown at a problem, and he had told her that his operational budget was vast and untraceable.
The master door was closed, so she moved to the first guest bedroom — the likeliest of the two she would have used for a children’s room based on her tour of the home’s twin. The lever handle opened with a click.
Inside, she saw her first problem — a transmitter that would carry any noise Hannah made to a speaker in the master bedroom. Her fingers felt for a pocket knife, and she lifted the wire with a steady hand and severed it with a single slice. Hannah stirred in her toddler bed but didn’t make any noise, still sleeping, unaware of her mother only a few feet away.
Now was the moment of truth.
She leaned down and lifted Hannah, who struggled momentarily in her arms and then snuggled against Jet’s neck as she held her close, still out cold. Jet was surprised how much she weighed — around thirty pounds — and for a brief second, she was struck by how little she actually knew about children and mothering.
