The Truant Officer v5 Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Description

  Chapter One

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Chapter 92

  Chapter 93

  Chapter 94

  Chapter 95

  Chapter 96

  Chapter 97

  Chapter 98

  Chapter 99

  Chapter 100

  Chapter 101

  Acknowledgments

  Excerpt from The Trials of Max Q

  The Truant Officer

  Derek Ciccone

  Copyright© 2011 Derek Ciccone

  Published by Derek Ciccone Books

  Facebook: Derek Ciccone Book Club

  Twitter: DCicconeBooks

  Email: [email protected]

  To view other books by author: US / UK

  or go to www.derekciccone.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Places, events, and situations in this book are purely fictional and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental

  The Truant Officer

  To have and to hold from this day forward...

  Darren McLaughlin thinks he’s having a nightmare as he watches his wife, Lilly, being abducted from a gas station in Chandler, Arizona. Things then go from bad to worse, when it’s revealed that her captor is one of the students she taught at a local high school.

  For better or worse...

  In Manhattan, US Attorney Aaron Eicher cringes upon learning the identity of the man who abducted Lilly McLaughlin. Nick was the one thing holding his case together against the son of Russian crime boss, Viktor Sarvydas—but now his star witness was on the run, and in mortal danger. It is just the latest surprise in a case that went against everything he’d learned in school—when it came to the Russian Mafiya 1+1=3.

  Seeking refuge in Israel, fleeing the fallout of his son’s arrest, Viktor Sarvydas smiles when he learns the news about Nick’s escape. He knows that it’s now just a matter of time before he comes face to face with the man who was going to testify against his son.

  With the FBI, media, and dueling Russian assassins in a cross-country race to get to Nick and Lilly, it becomes clear that the only one who can truly save them is Darren. Will he get to them first, or will...death do us part?

  Chapter One

  Jorge DeRosa was half watching the monotonous security feed when she pulled up to the pump.

  He observed the woman step out of the pricey SUV, unable to take his eyes off the black mini-dress that hugged every curve of her toned body. All of a sudden his job didn’t seem so bad.

  As the dark-haired beauty began to fill the tank, her body language suddenly turned flustered, and she headed in Jorge’s direction.

  She entered the food mart, her heeled shoes clicking loudly on the linoleum floor. He recognized her as Mexican, like himself, but she sure didn’t look like she came from the same South Phoenix neighborhood as he did.

  She approached the register. “My card didn’t work in the pump. A message said to see the attendant—is that what you people are calling yourselves these days?”

  When Jorge looked closer, he noticed something that surprised him. She did come from the same neighborhood as him. He hadn’t seen her in at least ten years, but despite the fancy clothes and uppity tone, he was sure it was her. “Liliana?”

  His words snapped her out of distraction. “Excuse me?”

  “I’m Jorge DeRosa. Our families lived in the same apartment complex on South 40th Street. You went to school with my brother, Estaban.”

  She smiled at the remembrance, but it seemed fake. It was obvious to Jorge that she wanted to leave her old life behind. He knew the feeling—the gang-infested section of South Phoenix was a hard place to escape, and once you got out there was no looking back. Jorge got as far as this night manager job in suburban Chandler, but by the looks of things, Liliana had gotten much further away.

  As if reading his mind, she mentioned, “It’s been a long time since someone called me Liliana.”

  She handed him her Visa card. He ran his fingers over the plastic as if he were reading Braille. The name had changed to Lilly McLaughlin.

  She began impatiently tapping her manicured nails on the counter. People like Lilly McLaughlin always seemed to be in a hurry—perhaps by never stopping, they would never be forced to look back. Jorge didn’t bother to ask her about her mother Rosie, or her six brothers. The youngest, Manuel, was killed in the crossfire of a gang war. The thought reminded Jorge of the dangers of present day.

  He held up the credit card. “I’ll run it in here, and watch you on the monitor.”

  Her eyes narrowed with suspicion, but his intentions were honorable. He pointed at the stack of Sunday editions of the Arizona Republic that were wedged between bags of Doritos and other assorted chips on the overstocked shelves. The headline screamed at them: Abducted!

  It was the Valley’s third such abduction in the last month, and the source was familiar to Jorge and Lilly. It was an initiation ritual in which a prospective gang member would travel to suburbia with the intent of kidnapping a woman from a public place. The first victim was an Arizona State University student who was doing some late night grocery shopping at a Safeway in Tempe. A forty-one-year-old mother of three was next, taken from a park while walking her dog, right here in Chandler. Then just yesterday, a thirty-year-ol
d real estate agent was snatched from outside a home in Scottsdale. The good news was that the first two women were found alive. The bad news was that they were beaten and raped—their lives never to be the same—and were either unable or unwilling to identify their attackers.

  The headline seemed to soften Lilly. By removing her shield of aloofness, she now more resembled the girl that Jorge remembered. The one who wore hand-me-down clothes and tirelessly helped teach English to the many immigrants in their neighborhood.

  She smiled at him. This time it wasn’t fake. It was a tough smile from the old neighborhood. The one where you never showed a hint of weakness. “That stuff doesn’t faze us, does it, Jorge?

  He smiled back at her, noticing that she dusted off the accent for his benefit. He was now talking to Liliana. “Because we’re from South Phoenix?”

  Her smile turned into a chuckle. “South Phoenix wasn’t so tough. I teach high school English. Teenagers—now those monsters scare me.”

  She sauntered toward the door.

  Jorge turned his attention back to the security feed, watching Liliana return to her vehicle. When she finished filling the SUV with gas, she took out her phone and appeared to be snapping a photo of herself. Jorge looked on curiously—whatever she was doing, she seemed to be enjoying herself. Now that they were homies once again, he would feel comfortable asking her about her theatrics when she returned to retrieve her credit card.

  But the picture quickly changed. It happened so fast he couldn’t respond. All he could do was watch in horror.

  A dark figure in a ski mask rolled from underneath the car with knife in hand. Lilly’s scream pierced the night.

  Even without the knife, the man looked like he could tear apart the petite woman, limb by limb. In a matter of seconds, he grabbed her by the neck, opened the back door of the vehicle, and threw her in like a piece of luggage. He ripped the nozzle from the tank. He then climbed behind the wheel.

  The SUV tore out of the gas station as Jorge looked on in horror.

  Chapter 2

  Darren McLaughlin peered into the bathroom mirror and wondered how he could have aged fifteen years in one day. He was quite certain that he was thirty-eight when he got up this morning. The flight to New York was supposed to lose hours with the time change, not gain years.

  He splashed water on his weary face and attempted to maneuver his short-cropped hair into place without much luck. All he wanted to do was fall into his bed and get his sleep for tomorrow’s flight—he couldn’t believe he let Treadwell convince him to join him for a night on the town. Since this was their last trip together, he was unable to say no.

  “You should just shave it off and go Vin Diesel,” Ron Treadwell’s loud, drunken voice shot through the bathroom, while he relieved himself in a grimy toilet-stall.

  “What?” Darren asked, coming out his trance.

  “Your hair—or should I say lack of it. Just shave it off. It will take ten years off you.”

  Darren took another look at himself. “I don’t think it’s that bad.”

  Treadwell snorted a laugh. “Then I must be really hammered because I’m either looking at a bald spot or you’re wearing a yarmulke. And I figure you’d discuss it with your mentor before converting.”

  Darren hated to acknowledge that Treadwell might actually be his mentor. But he did know that despite Ron’s infantile nature, numerous vices, and general obnoxiousness, he owed him his life. Not for saving the day during one of the many flights they had piloted over the years, but for introducing him to Lilly.

  “Lilly says it doesn’t look that bad when it’s cut short.”

  “Lilly lies.”

  Darren angered. “Lilly is the most honest person I know.”

  “Ease off the throttle, big guy,” Treadwell said, putting up his hands in surrender. Darren really was a big guy, standing a shade under six-four.

  He joined Darren at the sink. “I mean she told a fib to make her aging warrior feel better about himself. A good lie.”

  Darren nodded acceptance, too tired to fight for his woman’s honor. He took one more look in the mirror and decided to stop fighting reality and put on his navy-blue pilot’s hat. “Why are we still wearing our uniforms again?” Darren asked.

  “Because the only thing chicks dig more than a fighter pilot, is a man in a uniform. So that means we have the best of both worlds. Haven’t I taught you anything?”

  “Fighter pilot? Have you been watching Top Gun again?”

  Ironically, Darren was the military man who did over three thousand flying hours after graduating as an officer from the Air Force Academy. Treadwell took the civilian route to commercial airlines, getting his pilot’s license at just sixteen with the goal of impressing girls. His early start was why he was ahead of Darren on the pecking order of the airline they flew for.

  Treadwell reclaimed the Bloody Mary he’d rested on the sink, swirled it with the celery stick, and took a sip. Darren had given up on reminding him that the rules stipulated he stop drinking at least eight hours before a flight, and they were getting close to the deadline. Treadwell looked in the mirror and played with his rat’s nest of curls. “You know how I keep my hair?”

  “I thought you wore a wig.”

  Treadwell ignored him. “Because I have remained permanently single. Marriage adds like fifteen years to people.”

  By permanently single, Darren assumed his friend forgot to factor in his two divorces and three kids.

  “Speaking of which, what do you think of Carrie? Please fasten your seat-belts because we’re preparing for landing…in my room tonight,” Treadwell said with a slurred grin.

  Darren just shook his head. But had to admit what Treadwell lacked in looks, intelligence, charm, and maturity, he sure made up in confidence, and did usually make that “perfect landing” with the opposite sex.

  “Her name is Kelli, not Carrie. Remember, she introduced herself as Kelli-with-an-i and you responded, ‘I’m Ron with an eye for you?’ I also think I’m a third wheel, so I am going to take a cab back to the hotel. That way one of us will be in shape to fly tomorrow.”

  They had an eight a.m. sign-in for the final day of their three-leg trip. They would fly from New York to Miami and then to San Juan, before arriving home to Phoenix deep into the night.

  Treadwell looked mortally wounded. “You can’t leave. You’re my wingman.”

  “I’m actually your first officer.”

  “Exactly. And as your captain, I order that you stay!”

  Darren was promoted to captain starting next month, after four-and-a-half years as a first officer. Aside the fact that he would be making more money, it also meant that he and Treadwell wouldn’t fly together again, as a captain always flies with a more junior first officer. That’s why they both bid on this trip for a final voyage of student and mentor. So Darren was guilted into staying.

  Treadwell dragged him back into the bar area. It was a typical sports bar filled with loud televisions and even louder patrons. Darren had been to so many cities that the only way he could tell them apart was by the sports teams the locals rooted for. In this case it was the Yankees and the Rangers—New York.

  “Kelli said she has a sister who might be stopping by. If she looks anything like Kelli, then you will be flying first class tonight, my friend,” Treadwell said, maintaining his mischievous grin.

  “What are you talking about? If you haven’t forgotten, I’m married!”

  “Yeah, but you’ve been whining for weeks about how you’re afraid the spark is gone.”

  “That doesn’t mean I’d ever cheat on Lilly. It’s until death do us part, you know, for better or worse.”

  Treadwell grabbed his head like a migraine had swept through it. “You just gave me a bad flashback to my first marriage. One thing you can count on is that it will always be worse. You know what your problem is?”

  Darren braced. Nothing like getting marriage advice from the twice divorced.

  “Lilly is a s
picy sauce and you’re mild. It’s a bad mix.”

  Darren looked at him, perplexed. “You’ve been telling me for years that we’re a perfect fit because she’s salsa and I’m a chip. Salsa is worthless without a chip, so we complement each other like yin and yang.”

  “More like yin and bor-yang. All I’m saying is your relationship has become too much chip and not enough dip. There’s a lot of chips that would like to be in that dip, and if you don’t dig in then someone else will.”

  Darren wanted to write it off as the ramblings of a drunken fool, but the comment stirred his insecurities. Darren never fit the image of the confident pilot. Which is another reason why he and Lilly were so compatible—where he would stick his toe into life with doubts and hesitations, Lilly would leap right in to the deep end without fear. As long as he had Lilly he wouldn’t need confidence—she had enough for the both of them.

  But lately she’d been distant and distracted. Maybe Treadwell was right, and she had grown tired of the mild chip. Perhaps it was the middle age that had surprisingly crept up on him. Or the failure to have that baby they tried so hard for.

  But the one thing he was sure of was that he couldn’t lose her.

  Chapter 3

  Kelli was waiting for them at their table, still sipping on the same vodka tonic. Treadwell brazenly moved right in for a kiss.

  Darren shook his head. Treadwell had spotted Kelli sitting alone at the bar when they arrived, declared that they’d be having a “layover” at his hotel later that night, and now he was well en route to making it happen. In his single days, it would have taken Darren a week to build up the courage to talk to a woman at a bar, and even that was a long shot.

  Kelli was attractive, but lacked a usual trait of Treadwell’s women—what Lilly often referred to as “stripperness.” Kelli gave off a vibe of sophistication that matched her short, stylish haircut and designer suit. She also spoke with the hint of an accent that Darren couldn’t identify, but didn’t feel comfortable inquiring about, perhaps Eastern European. She appeared out of place in the testosterone-filled sports bar, but explained that she was a big hockey fan and had stopped off on her way home from her Manhattan office. Her work was that of a lawyer, which explained the suit and the long hours.