Find You First

by Linwood Barclay

  “You bribed his employee for private information,” Lana said. “If I were him I might have threatened you, too.”

  “I don’t think he knows how I got the names.”

  “He knows you got it from somewhere.”

  Dorian looked at Lana. “Isn’t there anything you can do? At least the Bureau could find the remaining kids—okay, they’re not really kids anymore—and warn them?”

  “What would you have the FBI tell them?”

  “That they’re in danger,” Miles said.

  “From whom?”

  “Granted, that’s not clear yet.”

  “And why are they in danger?”

  “Chloe had a theory. If you reduce the number of people I was intending to give the money to, whoever’s left gets a larger share.”

  “That suggests that one or more of these people who you had believed were your biological children could be behind this. Doesn’t that seem a little out there? How would they even know? You’d not yet communicated your intentions to them, and there’s nothing to suggest any of them, except for Todd Cox and Chloe, availed themselves of the services of WhatsMyStory.”

  Miles sighed.

  Lana wasn’t done. “Let’s suppose the FBI were to impart this sketchy information to these people. How are they supposed to act on it? What would you have them do?”

  “Be on guard,” Miles said.

  “Be on guard,” Lana said. “Suppose someone came to you, out of the blue, and said you might be about to disappear but they didn’t know why and they didn’t know who might make it happen. How would you handle that?”

  Miles was searching for the words but could not come up with any.

  “I haven’t got enough to go back to the Bureau and open a file on this. Certainly not officially.”

  Miles said, “Couldn’t you at least go to the various local law enforcement agencies involved, including the police in Paris, and ask them to provide whatever information they had? Then you could look for commonalities? I’ll bet none of the departments working these cases are even aware of the possible connections with other departments.”

  “If there are any,” Lana said.

  “I give up,” Miles said.

  Lana gave him a sympathetic look. “Mr. Cookson, I want to ask you something and I mean no disrespect at all. But I need to pose the question.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Is paranoia one of the symptoms of your disease?”

  Miles eyed her icily. “No.”

  “Okay,” she said. She gave Miles and Dorian a concluding nod and rose from her chair. “If something develops, get in touch. Dorian, Mr. Cookson.”

  And with that, Agent Murkowski departed.

  Miles looked dejected and defeated.

  “Miles,” Dorian said, “maybe she’s right. Maybe it’s time to step back, let this go. You’ve done what you could. But everything has changed.”

  “What if it happens again?” he asked. “What if the others start to disappear? What if there was something we could have done? How will we feel then?”

  “But maybe nothing will,” Dorian said.

  Miles closed his eyes, as though suffering a migraine. He lowered his head for several seconds, then suddenly raised it and opened his eyes.

  “I didn’t know about Heather’s mother.”

  “It just happened.”

  “You’ll send flowers to her hospital room?”

  “Of course.”

  “We can’t impose on her for the next few days. And our friendly, neighborhood FBI agent doesn’t give a shit. So the next step is up to me.”

  “Next step?” Dorian asked.

  “Did you charter a plane? Because I’m going to Fort Wayne to find Travis Roben. And then I’m heading to the west coast.”

  “Alone?”

  “If you’re asking whether Chloe’ll come along for the ride, I’d say fat chance.” He paused. “But I’ll give her a try.”

  Dorian nodded and got up. “I’m on it.”

  Miles, too weary to get up and follow her out, sat there for a moment, gathering his thoughts.

  His cell started to ring. He took it out of his pocket and saw that Heather was calling.

  “Heather,” he said. “I heard about your mother. How is she?”

  “We thought it was a heart attack but now it’s looking like it may be some kind of severe muscle spasm. They’re going to release her later today. Thanks for asking.”

  “Take all the time you need,” Miles said.

  “I appreciate that, but listen, that’s not what I was calling about.”

  Miles felt his body tense. He didn’t know how many more surprises he could handle. “Go ahead.”

  “Gilbert came to me,” she said.

  “What?” The idea that Gilbert would approach the firm’s investigator was right out of left field.

  “He said he’d been to see Dorian about this, but then came to me with it, too.”

  “What?” Miles asked.

  “He told me about what Caroline had done before, the game she ran on the Google exec. I got the idea that this was something you’d brought to his attention, so now he was on guard, watching for that kind of thing. He was worried she was at it again. That she might have set up some fake corporation, Excel Point, and was billing Cookson for thousands.”

  Miles thought back to something his brother had said, before they went for the ride in the Porsche, before he’d handed over the keys.

  “He’d mentioned the name,” Miles said.

  “So I did a little digging.”

  Miles held his breath, waiting. The last thing he needed was more dissension between himself and his brother over things Caroline might have done.

  “Gilbert was right. There was a dummy corporation, and you’ve been paying it some substantial sums.”

  “God,” Miles said wearily. “Caroline is something else. She gets caught, and she tries something else.”

  “But it wasn’t Caroline,” Heather said.

  “So someone’s been sending us bogus invoices and we’re just paying them? How could we be that stupid?”

  “The thing is, Miles, no one was raising questions because it was being done internally.”

  Miles held his breath for a second. “Someone on the inside.”

  “That’s right. I followed the money, Miles.”

  He didn’t want to ask, but he had no choice. “Where did it lead?”

  “Dorian.”

  Miles was sure he’d misheard. “That can’t be.”

  “I wish I were wrong,” Heather said.

  Me too, thought Miles.

  Forty-Nine

  Providence, RI

  “So he conned you?” said Chloe’s mother, Gillian, early the next morning.

  “It’s not like that,” Chloe said, “and I wouldn’t say no to a little more support and a little less judgment.” She rummaged through the top drawer of her bedroom dresser, dressed only in underwear and a long T. The bed covers were a mess, and she had only been up for a few minutes. “I should’ve done a load last night. I’ve got nothing for work.”

  “I did it. The basket’s right out in the hall,” Gillian said. “You’re lucky they’ll take you back, the shifts you’ve missed without giving them any kind of notice.”

  “Yeah, what a break. The shittiest diner in Rhode Island isn’t going to fire me.”

  “This guy, this Miles, he walks into the diner and tells you some wild story that he’s your father and you just leave with him?”

  “I’m telling you, he believed it! He thought I was his daughter.”

  “Sure,” Gillian said. “With no proof. At least with this Todd Cox there was proof from that testing company. But Miles, he tells you he’s seen the file. Did you see the file?”

  “No.”

  Gillian nodded knowingly. “Exactly.”

  “And he never said he’d seen the file. He had this detective lady get the names from the clinic.”

  “So he says.�
��

  “Jesus, Mom, you really think some guy from New Haven hatches this elaborate scam to come all the way to Providence to tell some piss-poor waitress that he’s her dad and he’s got a fatal disease and he wants to give her a shitload of money? Why would someone do that? What sense does it make?”

  “The world is full of strange people,” her mother said. “I told you it was a bad idea. I told you not to send in your DNA sample.”

  “This had nothing to do with that,” Chloe said, turning to look at her mother and banging her fist on the dresser in exasperation. “Jesus! You seemed so understanding about this when I phoned you. I never should have told you about any of this.”

  “You should have told me everything at the beginning, when he first approached you. But instead you head off all over the place and then spend the night at his home?”

  “What, Mom? Are you worried someone who thought he was my dad came on to me?”

  “There are plenty of cases of real dads who’ve come on to their daughters. They have a word for that.”

  “I can’t take this anymore.” Chloe’s eyes began to mist. “I think he was pretty devastated.”

  “About what?”

  “When he got the results of my test. To see if I had the disease he’s got. When we were talking to that doctor, and Miles got the call. I didn’t know what it was about at the time, but that was when he found out there was nothing between us. He looked … crushed.”

  Chloe sat down on the end of the bed. “He’s not my dad but he’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to one. That day with him, even when the creepy shit was happening at Todd’s place, was one of the best days ever. Those hours, while I was really believing it, they were pretty amazing.”

  Gillian sat next to her and pulled Chloe’s head into her shoulder. “I’m sorry, honey. I am. All I’ve ever wanted is for you not to be hurt. In any way. That’s all.”

  Chloe got her arms around her mother, hugged her, and let the tears come.

  “I was hateful to him,” she whimpered.

  “Oh, sweetheart, he’s the one who owes you an apology.”

  “No, no, he was trying to do the right thing. He’s dying. And I just fucking lost it and abandoned him.”

  “You have to look after yourself. This is his problem. Not yours.”

  “But maybe it still is my problem. What about the others? Even if Miles isn’t their father, they might still be my half brothers and sisters. What about the ones that are missing? What about the ones that are still around?”

  “Have you seen anyone suspicious hanging around?” Gillian said. “I sure haven’t. No strangers coming to the door or watching the house. No one’s looking for you.”

  Chloe’s cell phone, sitting atop her dresser, lit up and began to ring. She untangled herself from her mother, reached for the phone without having to get off the bed, and looked at the screen.

  “It’s him,” she said. “It’s Miles.”

  “Don’t answer it,” Gillian said. “You were smart to walk away when you did.”

  Chloe had her thumb poised over the screen. “I think I should—”

  “No,” her mother said, and snatched the phone from her daughter’s hand and pressed the button to decline the call.

  “Mom!”

  “It’s the right thing!” her mother said forcefully. “Put this behind you. I’m serious.”

  Chloe held out her hand, waiting for the phone to be returned to her.

  “Are you going to call him back?” Gillian asked. When Chloe did not answer, Gillian asked again.

  Finally, Chloe said, “No, I won’t.”

  “Promise me.”

  Chloe waited a beat before saying, “I promise.”

  Gillian gave her back the phone. Chloe noted the time on the screen: 7:30 A.M.

  “I’m gonna be late. I’m supposed to be there by eight.”

  “Get dressed. I’ll drive you. Tomorrow, we’ll drive up to Springfield and get your car back.”

  After her mom left her bedroom, Chloe noticed that she had a voice mail. Miles had left a message.

  “Chloe, I’m sorry about how things have turned out. But I feel like we’re still a team. I’m heading out to Fort Wayne, then the west coast. I’m not letting this go. I could use your help. I can send Charise to pick you up. But it’s up to you. I’ll understand if you want to be done with all of this. And with me. Let me know.”

  She deleted the message.

  Chloe made it to the diner by ten after eight—her mother blew through all the stop signs and one traffic light—just as the place was starting to fill up. She exchanged only a few words with the other staff, getting straight to work, and she was so consumed with thoughts of what had happened over the last couple of days that she got something wrong on nearly every order. One guy who asked for his eggs over easy got them scrambled. A woman who wanted decaf coffee got tea. She mixed up all the orders for one table with all the orders for another table.

  Vivian, who worked the cash register and waited tables when they were short-handed, said to her when the shift ended at two, “You okay, honey?”

  Chloe shook her head. “No.”

  Vivian gave her a hug. “You messed up big-time today, but hey, nobody died. You’ll be back on top of your game soon. I don’t know what happened, and it’s none of my business, but if you ever want to talk, I’ll listen.”

  “Thank you.”

  “How you getting home, sugar? Saw your mom drop you off this morning.”

  “I told her I’d walk. I need to clear my head.”

  “We’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

  Chloe nodded, dropped off her apron in the back room, and left out the side door. She heard the limo before she saw it as the tires crunched on the gravel parking lot. When it was up alongside her, the front passenger’s-side window powered down.

  The driver, a man, called out to her: “Chloe?”

  She looked. It wasn’t Charise, but maybe she’d taken the day off.

  “Yeah?” she said.

  “Someone would like to talk to you,” he said, pointing his thumb toward the back seat.

  But did she want to talk to Miles? She’d promised her mom not to call him, but she hadn’t promised not to talk to him if he came all the way up here to see her. The message he’d left her made it clear he was trying to make things right.

  And the truth was, she wanted to apologize for how she’d left things. Getting out of the car, leaving him at his lowest point—the more she thought about it, the more she regretted it.

  “Okay,” she said.

  The driver hit a button and she could hear the car doors unlock. She opened the back one on the passenger side and got in.

  Once she had the door closed, she turned to look at the other person in the back seat.

  It wasn’t Miles.

  It was a woman.

  “Who the hell are you?” Chloe asked.

  That was when the woman gave her a shot of pepper spray and the driver floored it.

  Fifty

  Fort Wayne, IN

  Travis Roben had not left the house for a day and a half.

  Except to go to the bathroom and have meals, he had barely left his bedroom. It was on the second floor of the house with a view of the street, and he spent most of his time perched by the window, watching for the police to show up.

  So far, nothing.

  There hadn’t even been anything on the news about the woman Sandy hit with the bat. The back side of that warehouse was clearly not a well-traveled spot. Travis thought the occasional security guard might have wandered that way.

  Unless …

  She didn’t have to be dead. Sandy had given her a good whack in the face, but it didn’t have to be a fatal blow. Could be the woman’s partner took her to the hospital, got her fixed up. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as it looked, but holy fuck, it sure had looked bad. That would explain why a body hadn’t been discovered. And if those two were fake cops, it also explained why there hadn�
��t been a story about the woman being attacked. If they weren’t real cops, they wouldn’t be going to the authorities to report what had happened.

  Or …

  They were real cops, but the whole thing was being kept secret until he and Sandy were found and arrested.

  Regardless, Travis still couldn’t figure out why they would want to kill Sandy and him. For trespassing? Seriously?

  Nothing about it made any sense, which made it even scarier.

  Sandy was as freaked out as Travis. So far as he knew, she was hiding out at her place just as he was hiding out at his, afraid to go out in public in case anyone was looking for them.

  Travis’s mother repeatedly asked what was wrong, and he’d done his best to persuade her he had some sort of stomach disorder, although the fact that he was still able to consume the meals she made for him had left her unconvinced. He wasn’t ready to tell his parents what had happened. First, he’d have to tell them he had an actual girlfriend, which was going to make the story sound pretty fantastical before he’d even got started. (His mother had noticed his slightly less nerdy appearance of late, and when asked about it Travis had said he’d simply looked in the mirror one day and decided a change was in order.)

  He and Sandy had texted back and forth several times, each asking the other whether they had seen or heard anything.

  Nothing.

  Until this morning, when that car with an Uber symbol in the windshield stopped in front of the house.

  Travis had left his bedroom lookout point for only two minutes to take a leak, and when he returned, a black Prius was at the curb. There was a man in the back seat. Fortyish, moving kind of slow, dressed casually in a sports jacket, jeans, and a pair of high-end runners. He opened the door, got out, stood in front of the house and took it in.

  “Fuck,” Travis said. This was not good.

  But this man couldn’t be a cop. Nothing about him said law enforcement. First of all, what cop showed up in an Uber? And he didn’t look cop-like. He didn’t have the bearing or the swagger, and it didn’t look like he had a badge clipped to his belt or a holstered weapon under the flap of his jacket.

  So who was he and what was he doing here?