Kline gripped the wheel hard. He didn’t ask for details; how and why Sabrina had ended up there didn’t matter at the moment. “Where?”
His man gave him an address and told him how to get there. Kline wouldn’t put it into the car’s GPS, just in case someone did track the car to him. Highly unlikely, but why take chances?
“I drove by there, and it’s under surveillance,” his man said. “There’s a guy in a car down the block, and one out back, in the alley. They’ve been there for a while.”
“Did either one make you?”
The guy laughed. “No way. They had no clue I was there. When I left, they stayed put. No one followed me. You want me to head back over there?”
“I’ll handle this,” Kline said.
The man hesitated. “You sure?”
“Yes.”
Kline ended the call without another word, then drove to a Walmart. He parked, pulled out his phone, and got on Google maps. He studied the area where Rosa lived and quickly devised a plan on how to approach. Then he went into the Walmart and paid cash for a black ski mask and gloves.
Back in the rental, he drove to a park over ten blocks away from Rosa Gutierrez’s house. If the police—or any other agency—searched for him later, trying to find surveillance video on the surrounding houses, they wouldn’t look this far. He found a place where no one was around, left the car, and jogged down the block, keeping his head low. A lone car drove past him, but it didn’t stop. The driver probably barely noticed him; he was just someone out for a run.
Kline stole into the park, thick with trees that cast long shadows. He ran fast in the stillness, and once on the other side of the park, he went a few more blocks, then cut into an alley.
He stayed low, using trash cans and dumpsters to shield himself from view. He was alone, so he donned the ski mask and gloves as he sneaked along. This was all the kind of thing he’d done before, and he knew how to keep quiet. As he drew closer to Rosa’s backyard, he spotted a dark vehicle parked near a garage next door to her house. He crouched down and immediately saw a man sitting in the driver’s seat.
Kline knew about surveillance. The man had probably been there for hours. He would be tired and bored, not paying as much attention as he should have. He’d be looking for obvious movement, obvious signs of someone approaching. Kline eased back carefully, his actions quick and efficient. Once out of sight, he hopped a fence and went into a back yard, then quietly sneaked into the yard next door to Rosa’s. There was no fence here, doing him a favor. He watched the house for a moment. It was still, no one home.
He crossed the yard and pressed himself against the side wall of the garage. His movements brought no action, so he took out a Sig Sauer P229 from his pocket, stole to the edge of the garage, and peeked around the corner. The man was still in the driver’s seat, his gaze focused on the alley. Kline crab-walked around the back of the vehicle, so low to the ground he wouldn’t be seen. He edged around the corner of the sedan, and in one quick motion, he flicked open the door and pressed the pistol to the man’s forehead.
“Don’t move,” he hissed. “Hands on the wheel.”
The man did as Kline ordered. He started to say something, but Kline quickly reached in and put his forearm around the man’s neck. He squeezed hard, choking the man until he was unconscious. Then he pulled him out of the vehicle and used his shoelaces to tie his hands behind his back. He bound his feet next. Lastly, he stuffed the man’s own sock into his mouth.
Kline shoved him face down into the car and eased the door shut. The whole process had taken less than sixty seconds. The man would be out for several minutes, and when he came to, Kline would be long gone.
He listened for a moment, the stillness in his ears. He wasted no time sneaking into Rosa’s back yard. The neighborhood was quiet as he ran to a back door and tried the knob. It was locked, so he used a knife to jimmy it. He got the door open, and he stepped inside just as Sabrina came around a corner. She must’ve heard something.
He pointed the Sig Sauer at her with one hand and put a finger to his lips with the other. Her jaw dropped, but she didn’t let out a peep. He took a couple of quick steps toward her, spun her around before she knew what was happening, and pinned one arm behind her back. She gasped as he held the pistol to her forehead.
“Who else is here?” he whispered in her ear.
“My mother,” she said. She raised her free hand and pointed to a doorway.
Kline propelled her down a short hall to an open door. A woman with salt-and-pepper hair was lying on a bed. When she saw Sabrina and Kline, she started to yell. Kline pointed the pistol at her.
“Shut up.”
The woman stopped, her mouth still open, her eyes as wide as half dollars. Kline shoved Sabrina into the room.
“Sit down.”
She sank onto the bed next to her mother, who still lay prone. Kline glanced down the hall.
“Who else is here?” he repeated.
Sabrina was shaking. “Just us. My friend isn’t home from work yet.”
Kline moved the pistol slightly. “If you’re lying, I put a bullet in your mother’s head.”
“I’m not lying!” Sabrina whined.
“Why did you talk to the police?” he snapped at her.
“What?” Sabrina asked, as if having trouble finding words. Her mother kept quiet.
“We told you if you talked to anyone, you’re dead,” he said.
Sabrina’s hands were up, trembling. “I wasn’t going to, but a woman from the bank came to talk to me. She said she could help me, and that I should tell the police what I know. I shouldn’t have talked to her or the police, but I didn’t know what to do.”
“What woman?”
“She was in the bank during the robbery.”
“A hostage?”
“Yes.”
Kline thought about the men outside. “The police offered you protection?”
She nodded. “They did, but by then I was scared. If the man who wanted my help saw me with them, he’d know I talked. I figured I’d hide out until . . .”
