The Girl Who Knew Too Much: A Suspenseful Action-Packed Thriller

By Nolan Thomas

"a gritty, action-packed thrill ride of plot twists, foreign intrigue, blackmail, and murder." - Maurice Possley, Pulitzer Prize winning journalist

“This book will grab you and not let you go until the last page has turned." – Donald J. Hurzeler, Amazon bestselling author

A homeless mom overdoses. Her ten-year-old daughter, Riley, is whisked away by a corrupt social worker . . . along with any records the little girl ever existed. Fate catapults Riley into a dangerous, clandestine world of corruption and blackmail. What she learns could jeopardize a covert Russian operation, headquartered in Washington, D.C., targeting the United States.

Riley knows too much. She must be eliminated.

Time is running out. Riley must try to outrun and outsmart Agent Nika Rolinska— fiction’s most shocking, ruthless new villain.

• Language: English
• Publisher: KilgallenPerry
• Release date: May 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781662904516

Book preview

1

NATHAN GRINNED AND PUSHED OUT his right hand in an awkward attempt to shake hands. He’d seen how men do this in movies when they met. Now it occurred to him he should do that too. After all, his new foster mother had told him all about these special parties for children in foster care—kind of like a birthday party to start your new life. This nice man even gave kids presents. As he and the Judge clasped hands, Nathan beamed in anticipation hoping his gift would be a bicycle. His smile barely left room for his chubby cheeks.

Mesmerized, the Judge took in the boy’s perfect skin. The crisp evening air had tinged his cheeks with just a hint of crimson. Nine-year-old Nathan was a little small for his age, but pudgy. Soft. His golden-brown eyes were full of trust. The Judge liked that. Yes. Nathan was as good as promised.

Please come in, the Judge said. I have the party all set up for us in the other room.

Nathan, holding the hand of his attractive, young foster mother, entered the house. His smile grew even wider as he eyed a plate full of cookies. He knew this was going to be a good party. Maybe he should add a PlayStation to his wish.

His foster mother knelt on one knee. Let me help you with your coat, sweetheart.

She gently unbuttoned his coat and pulled his arms free. Although perfectly capable of taking off his own coat, Nathan enjoyed this new kind of attention. It felt good.

Handing the small coat to the Judge, she enfolded her arms around Nathan and gave him a big hug. I want you to have a wonderful time this evening.

This must be what heaven is like, Nathan thought as he felt the warm, loving energy encircling him. He squeezed her back with all his might.

She gently kissed Nathan on the forehead.

I’ll be back to pick you up in an hour. That’s plenty of time to enjoy your evening and still get to bed on time. Growing boys need their sleep.

She stood and turned to the Judge.

I want Nathan ready to go as soon as I return.

Surprised by the stern tone of her voice, Nathan wondered if she might be a little mad because she wasn’t invited to the party. She had told him these were foster-children-only parties.

As his foster mother walked towards the door, Nathan called out, Aunt Dixie!

She turned.

Nathan blurted, I love you.

He wasn’t sure where that had come from, but ever since that day she’d said it was okay to call her Aunt Dixie, she had felt like a mother to him.

I love you too, Nathan.

She blew him a kiss and went out the door.

The Judge bent to take Nathan’s hand. Come with me, son. I have things all ready for us in the next room.

THE JUDGE WALKED back into the living room carrying the boy in his arms. Nathan had stopped fighting him long ago. The Judge didn’t enjoy inflicting pain, but sometimes it was necessary. These children had to know who was boss.

He bound the boy to a wooden chair with rope. Nathan, his battered body in shock, only managed a soft whimper. Saying nothing to the boy, the Judge left.

Not long after, the front door opened and Aunt Dixie walked in. Seeing Nathan tied to the chair, she hurried across the room, stopped directly behind him, and whispered his name as she placed her hands on his small, deflated shoulders.

The boy raised his head from his chest and cried, Aunt Dixie! Tears of relief streamed down his cheeks.

Aunt Dixie swiftly and professionally snapped Nathan’s neck.

2

JESSICA SINCLAIR NEEDED A FIX. She had only agreed to meet with this do-gooder journalist because her ten-year-old daughter, Riley, had pestered her about it ever since she’d learned he’d be interviewing locals in the diner, just down the street from their car—currently their home.

Jessica couldn’t give her little girl much, so if Riley wanted to talk with this Billy Daniels guy, why not? At least there was a free meal in it for them.

"I only showed up today because my Riley got all excited after she looked you up on the Internet. Says you’re a Pulitzer Prize winning journalist with the Chicago Post. Seems to think that’s a big deal."

Mom! Riley admonished.

Billy smiled. That’s okay, Riley. I was a finalist for a Pulitzer, but didn’t win. Besides, it’s not about prizes. It’s about telling the story so things get better.

Jessica rolled her eyes. Whatever.

Billy steered them to a booth at the back of the diner. It’s quieter back here. We can talk more easily.

A heavy-set, blond waitress with a beat-up badge declaring her name to be Trisha came and took their order.

Y’all give me a holler if ya need anythin’ else. I’ll git this order in ASAP. Trisha turned and hurried to the kitchen order window where she tore the paper from her pad, clipped it to a wheel for the guy at the grill, then yelled, Three burgers, fries and Cokes!

So what’s your story anyway? Jessica asked. What’s a Chicago guy doing here in DC?

I’m doing research and plan to write a series of stories on homelessness in America. Thought I’d start in our nation’s capital.

Trisha returned, setting their Cokes in front of them. Here ya go.

Well what exactly is it you want to know? Jessica asked. I don’t want the two of us in some newspaper so people can feel sorry for us, or blame us, or feel better than us because they think they’re too smart for this to happen to them.

Billy nodded and leaned in closer to the table’s edge. I want to know who you are and how you got here. You have my word. I won’t use your names or feature you in any story without your consent.

Jessica stared at Billy, taking the measure of this new character in the story of their life.

What do you think, Riley? Do you still want to do this?

Yes, Riley said, nodding her head. But I have one condition for Mr. Daniels.

What’s that? Billy asked.

Riley grinned. After we answer your questions, I get to ask you some questions.

Only if you call me Billy. He extended his arm across the table. Do we have a deal?

Riley smiled, then reached out and took his hand. Deal.

Billy spotted Trisha heading their way, expertly balancing a tray full of food.

Perfect timing, Billy said. Thank you.

Riley nodded her head in agreement, but couldn’t say her thanks because she had already popped a large fry into her mouth.

As they ate, Jessica shared that her well-to-do family had disowned her. She was well educated; fell in love with Mr. Wrong; became a drug addict; claimed to be clean now; couldn’t keep a job; lived in a car; loved her daughter; and couldn’t find a way out. Though hauntingly gaunt, the remnants of a once-beautiful woman peeked through.

How about some dessert? Billy asked. Looks like they’ve got ice cream sundaes.

Not for me. I’m stuffed, Jessica said. This lunch was great and all, but I’ve got nothing more for you.

Jessica’s hand slightly trembled as she lifted the glass to her lips to polish off her Coke. Beads of sweat covered the glass; beads of sweat covered Jessica’s forehead. Jessica pretended Billy hadn’t noticed.

Riley didn’t mention it, but she too had spotted the tremor. That’s okay Mom. We can leave now.

No baby. You haven’t told Billy your story or asked him your questions yet. Jessica slid out of the booth. Besides, you love hot-fudge sundaes. You stay here with Billy and finish your talk. I’ll meet you back home later.

I don’t need ice cream. I’ll come with you.

No. I don’t want to hear any more about it. You’re going to stay right here, young lady. Jessica turned her head and her attention to Billy. I have an appointment. Two things my Riley loves are ice cream and asking questions. There’s no reason for her not to enjoy her afternoon. Thank you so much for lunch and good luck with your research.

Jessica leaned over and kissed Riley on the forehead. Love you, Baby Girl.

Love you more. Riley watched her mother walk away.

3

RILEY COULDN’T REMEMBER THE LAST time she had this much fun, or even the last time she had a hot-fudge sundae. Having successfully scraped the bowl for the last chocolaty bits of her dessert, Riley burped, put her hand over her mouth, and giggled.

Oops! Excuse me.

Billy chuckled. In some countries that’s considered a compliment to the chef.

Really? I never knew that.

Speaking of not knowing things, what school do you go to? Billy asked. I’m guessing you’re in fifth grade.

That’s a good guess. I’ve been to a couple of different schools, but when we live in our car, I mostly don’t go. She quickly added, I was in school straight through third grade, and most of fourth. When my mom’s having a good day, she teaches me math and history.

Why doesn’t school work out for you? I can tell you’re very bright and you’ve got a great personality.

Riley blushed and shifted in her seat.

Billy waited for Riley to find her voice.

Promise you won’t tell my mom? I wouldn’t ever, ever want to make her feel bad.

I promise.

Riley dropped her head. It’s kind of embarrassing to live in a car.

Her throat tightened. She never talked to anyone about this. The last thing she wanted was to be a big crybaby.

I’m listening, Billy prompted.

Riley looked up and inhaled deeply. It’s hard to make friends when you can’t invite them to your house. You’re not really a part of anything—it’s like you don’t belong. Like you become invisible. People don’t see you at all.

That must be very hard for you.

Riley shrugged. You know what’s worse than being invisible? It’s being afraid they might actually see you.

And then her words poured out in a rush.

Or worse yet, you’re afraid they might find out where you live. You can’t be part of anything. Can’t make friends. No sleepovers. Even when we had an apartment, my mom was usually high.

Riley stopped herself. Do you swear you won’t tell my mom?

Billy placed his elbow on the table and offered his pinky finger to seal his oath. Yes, I swear.

Riley curled her little finger around his. Pinky-swears also make us friends.

Billy smiled and nodded his agreement. Friends.

Feeling better now that she and Billy made their friendship official, she leaned back in the booth and continued her story.

After-school activities are out—no money. Besides, I need to get home to find something to eat and settle in the car, and make sure my mom’s okay.

That’s a lot of responsibility for someone so young.

It’s okay. My mom doesn’t have anyone else to take care of her. I don’t mind. When I’m old enough to get a job, I’ll be able to get an apartment for us.

Shouldn’t it be the other way around?

Riley’s instinct to protect her mother kicked in. My mom’s sick, not lazy. She just can’t always take care of herself. Her eyes welled with tears, knowing her mother left the restaurant to get a fix. "I love her, but I hate the drugs!"

Wise beyond her years, Riley understood her mother was a good person who loved her. Fighting back her tears, she told Billy more about her life. Riley’s story flowed—her strength and courage amazed him.

Placing her hand on her throat, Riley asked in a pretend-raspy voice, May I please have another Coke? All this talking is making me thirsty.

Billy grinned. Of course. He motioned for Trisha to bring them each another Coke.

When their drinks arrived Riley took such a big sip through her straw she had trouble catching her breath after she swallowed.

Billy chuckled. Take it easy. There’s more where that came.

A now comfortably breathing Riley smiled back at him. We have a deal. It’s my turn. I get to ask you questions.

A deal’s a deal. Ask away.

Have you ever been an actor?

Billy laughed. What on earth would make you ask that?

You’re handsome. You look like you could be on TV or in the movies.

Nope. Next question.

Okay. How old are you?

I’m thirty-one.

Wow. You’re even older than my mom.

How old is your mom?

No fair. Only I get to ask questions now.

I think you’re making up rules as you go along, but that’s okay. Next question.

Did you always want to be a journalist? Even when you were a kid? Riley asked while holding a half-eaten, cold French fry.

No way. I wanted to be a professional baseball player.

Really? That’s cool. What made you change your mind?

I wasn’t good enough to get a scholarship, and I didn’t have enough money to pay for college without one.

Riley leaned in, her arms folded on the table. What did you do?

In need of a new career direction, I enlisted in the Navy when I graduated from high school.

Were you scared?

A little. But the military was good for me. It got me away from home. I grew up.

Did you have to fight in the Navy? Is that where you got that scar?

Billy unconsciously touched the right side of his chin.

I did see combat, but I got this when I was a kid.

Really? How did it happen?

Nothing interesting. Just kid stuff. The Navy is where I discovered I wanted to be a journalist.

Billy didn’t want to tell Riley that he had gotten the scar during one of his Dad’s nastier drunken episodes. Seven-year-old Billy had intervened when his Dad threatened his mother with a kitchen knife. Mom was unscathed, but Billy had been left with a gash to the right of his chin. Afraid of the legal consequences, his parents hadn’t taken him to the emergency room. Without stitches, an uneven scar had formed.

The wound to his heart never healed.

Nerve damage from the wound had paralyzed most of the right side of his face. For months afterward, Billy had spent hours in front of the mirror willing his face to form a smile. But it wouldn’t cooperate. Very slowly, over time, feeling and movement returned.

But to this day his smile was a little crooked due to nerve damage, yet hardly noticeable when his eyes joined in.

"I went to college after the Navy, focused on my studies, and became a journalist. I caught a break when the Chicago Post hired me."

Do you think I could be a journalist?

Riley, you’re an impressive young lady. You can be whatever you want to be. But it won’t be easy. You’ll have to study and work very hard.

Really? Anything? Do you think I could even be an interior decorator someday?

Billy smiled and nodded. Anything.

Moved by Riley’s vibrancy and resilience, despite her circumstances, Billy knew she had to be the face of his story.

Mind if I take your picture? Billy pulled out his phone. Say cheese.

Cheeeez!

Neither had any idea he had just taken the most important picture of Riley’s life.

4

RIVER FALLS, ILLINOIS    25 years earlier

BILLY’S LEFT EYE SWELLED SHUT from his dad’s powerful backhand—his reward for trying to stop his dad from screaming at his mother. Rod Daniels was a fun-loving, charismatic insurance salesman everyone loved to be around. But when the after-work audience left his VFW drinking hole, and he went home in his daily alcoholic haze, Rod Daniels transformed into a frightening figure, hell-bent on belittling and hurting the people closest to him.

Billy ran out the apartment door and rushed down the flight of rickety stairs, his legs moving so quickly his feet barely touched the steps. He held onto the banister to steady himself as he performed this half-run, half-slide maneuver down the steps. He stormed through the back door onto the stoop of the duplex, crying and swearing under his breath, jaws tightly clenched.

Why don’t you do us all a favor, you son of a bitch? Eat shit and die! Billy muttered, pacing across the stoop, swinging his small arms in a punching motion for emphasis. After a few minutes of pacing, air-punching, and mumble-swearing, he collapsed onto the top step of the stoop and gave in to the tears.

Is that paper being crinkled? Billy thought. He looked in the direction of the noise and jolted a few inches off the step when he saw a small figure sitting next to him. That girl Maeve from the apartment below his sat next to him, dressed in her pajamas. An old blanket full of fuzz balls and snags draped across her shoulders and arms as she expertly unwrapped a Snickers. Billy later learned that lots of candy was one of the perks of someone’s mother having different boyfriends all the time. Maeve carefully broke the candy bar in half. She held the two pieces of candy next to each other and lifted them towards the street light so she could examine her work. The pieces were pretty even.

Billy thought, Not bad work for a girl.

Without saying a word, Maeve, who wouldn’t earn the nickname Casey for three more years, handed Billy one of the pieces. Billy wiped the snot from his nose with his shirt sleeve and accepted the gift.

Thanks, he whispered. I’m Billy Daniels.

I know, she whispered back. I’m Maeve Callahan.

I know.

Maeve and Billy sat there for two more hours without saying another word. Slowly the sounds of chaos coming from their apartments tapered off to occasional bursts, and eventually all was quiet.

Maeve stood, gathered up her ponderous blanket-world, and shuffled off to her apartment.

See ya, Billy, she yawned, poking her arm out from the blanket and waving at him.

Billy smiled. See ya.

WASHINGTON, DC    current day

Billy braced himself and rang the doorbell, not sure how she would react to seeing him. He heard rustling on the other side of the door, and was certain Casey saw him through the peep hole. Just as he convinced himself she would never answer the door, it swung open.

You’re such a shit, she laughed as she affectionately tousled his wavy-brown hair. Why didn’t you call me?

Several years had passed since that promised phone call.

Billy froze. Casey Callahan always got to him. She stood there in her bare feet, wearing lightweight gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt that stated in small block letters A diamond is a girl’s best friend. Underneath the words was the outline of a baseball diamond. On the left sleeve was a small embroidered Chicago Cubs logo.

Not a classic beauty, but pretty in that Irish-American sort of way, with fair skin and light freckling, shoulder-length auburn hair, smiling blue eyes, and a not-so-perfect nose. It all came together with a killer smile she aimed right at him.

Before he could say anything she reached up, wrapped her arms around him, and pulled him into a welcoming embrace.

Get in here, she said, pulling Billy through the doorway and leading him into her kitchen, then gently pushing him into a chair.

So what brings you to my doorstep?

I’m in DC working on a new story. There’s no way I could be this close and not see you. I wasn’t sure you’d even open the door for me.

Why on earth would you think that?

Oh, let me think. Perhaps it’s that I haven’t returned a phone call in a few years.

Casey laughed—a warm, friendly laugh. Let’s not forget your brusque responses to any email I sent you as well.

Look, I’m so sorry. You know I’m not good at that kind of stuff.

Not good? Casey teased. How about terrible? Better yet, you’re a word-man. How about awful or appalling? Oh . . . oh, I know. Atrocious?

These childhood best friends laughed just like the old days, as if no time had passed at all.

As she looked across her kitchen table into Billy’s stunning green eyes, still tempered with a hint of sadness, Casey saw that nine-year-old boy who had given her the nickname Casey because she could swing a baseball bat with the best of them. All the kids jumped on the nickname. That day Maeve Elizabeth became Casey, and fell deeply and permanently in love with Billy. She had a new name she could face the world with. A name that suited her. Tough yet friendly, strong yet fun, and most importantly—incredibly cool.

Billy smiled. Okay, okay. I get it. You’ve made your point. I’m a complete shithead.

There you go. I knew a word-man like you would come up with the perfect description. Lucky for you I have a soft spot in my heart for shitheads!

Casey reached across the table and squeezed Billy’s hand. It’s wonderful to see you.

She brought Billy up to date on her work as the Legislative Director for Sam Hennessey, senior US Senator from their home state of Illinois. Casey loved her work researching, crafting, and shepherding legislation.

Billy talked about his time in the military and his advancing journalism career. He told Casey about his current research, and about this amazing ten-year-old girl, Riley, he had just interviewed.

The two sat at Casey’s kitchen table, drinking, talking, and laughing well past midnight. Casey insisted Billy stay in her extra bedroom for the night so their conversation could continue with breakfast together in the morning.

5

PHONES RANG. CHILDREN CRIED. PEOPLE rushed across the cramped, maze-like office in every direction. Voices buzzed and permeated the air. Stacks of administrative paperwork buried desks, their dull putty color barely visible.

When Regina became a social worker, she imagined the job would bring her much respect. Grateful clients would regularly send her flowers. Newspapers would be filled with accolades about her service to the community. But like everything else in her life, reality fell short of her expectations. She expected to have a date to prom. Although Regina willingly gave her virginity to get that date, he took the cheerleading captain.

She expected her time would come in college. It didn’t.

Transforming herself into St. Regina the Social Worker, she thought she would change the world through her wisdom and benevolence. She never got canonized.

What she did get was a job in the Washington, DC, Department of Children and Families Services. For the last thirty years she worked her ass off for all the ingrates. No flowers. No accolades. Only one lousy promotion in all that time and a workload that just kept getting bigger and bigger, along with her waistline.

The desk clerk barked, Regina, I got one for you.

Regina peeked above piles of paperwork on her desk and saw a frightened young girl.

Sit there, honey, while I talk to this nice lady. The clerk pointed to a metal chair with a thinly padded plastic seat next to Regina’s desk.

The girl dropped her chin towards her chest and sat motionless, except for the slight shivering she tried hard to hide.

Regina whined, Isn’t there anyone else?

The clerk shrugged. Boss said you were up.

Great, Regina said. Her sloped shoulders drooped even further.

The clerk handed Regina a thin manila file. Not much to report on this one. Cops found her in an alley this morning with her mother. The mother died from an overdose. Pointing to the girl, the clerk continued, A doctor checked this one out. She’s fine physically.

The girl didn’t move. It seemed as if she wasn’t breathing. Even her shivering had stopped.

"It appears the kid hasn’t had any breaks in her short life. Her father was arrested eight