“Give me what you’ve got. Rest in fifties or hundreds.”
Buck made a show of counting the bills into her palm. She wanted desperately to check on the four men but needed to be sure he paid her the correct amount.
“Amy,” Melissa whined, “I wanna go. I’m hungry.”
“Okay, honey. You’ve been very patient. We’ll go get something in a minute.”
As soon as Buck finished, Amy shoved the stack into her purse and pulled the strap over her head.
70
Loren was getting nauseous being bounced around by the Ford’s poor shocks, but she was only a couple of miles from her exit.
As she prepared to get off the freeway, she hoped that her assumptions were correct. She figured that if Amy were still at the hospital, she would have used the pay phone to update Loren since Loren had no way of finding, or contacting, her. That left only one other option: the Sands.
If Amy was not at the motel, she would swing by the hospital. That carried more risk because any contact with people and witnesses could place Loren in SLO, narrowing her hopes of getting out of this whole—with her career intact.
At the moment, that was only a secondary concern.
She exited 101 and looped around, following the GPS instructions on her burner phone. She pulled into the Sands’ rectangular parking lot.
There would be no badge flashing here—her goal was to find Amy and Melissa quietly and without confrontation.
Those hopes suffered a blow when she saw a man who bore a strong resemblance to Keller backed into a spot no more than thirty yards away.
He started his car and pulled out, headed right. Loren followed, wondering if it was Keller or if she had him on her mind and was thus imagining it.
He went over a speed bump and exited the lot, turning left on Garfield Street. Loren did likewise. They continued through the middle-class residential neighborhood, the driver giving no indication he was concerned about the vehicle behind him—or was even aware of it.
A block later, he hung a right onto Graves and then swung a quick left onto Abbott. His speed increased.
So much for him not being aware of her presence. It likely was Keller. Had he seen her face? Or did he realize she was shadowing his random maneuvers?
She reached over to the passenger seat and gathered up the light cube, then rolled down her window. It grabbed the metal roof—a magnet to steel. She switched it on and Keller accelerated.
Well that wasn’t supposed to happen.
She followed him under the El Camino overpass along Grand Avenue and sped up—the old engine downshifted with a two second hesitation and then a loud roar—and she closed the distance between them as she came up alongside his driver’s side rear door.
But the Lincoln had a large engine, and Keller punched it up to seventy-five along the straightaway and widened the gap once again.
They sped along Grand, going way too fast for a quiet area like this. As the road curved left, Loren saw the signs for the university approaching. She could not continue a high-speed pursuit though a college campus. Keller knew this.
Despite his shady work for Tait Protection, he was not one to risk hitting, and killing, an innocent person.
She had to believe that, at his core, Keller was still the same person she had worked with. She wanted to believe that. But it was not something she could count on because, truth was, she had no idea. And when you affiliated yourself with a company like Tait, sooner or later you were forced to make a decision that tested your moral base. You either succumbed to money or you preserved your scruples and got out.
Keller was still with Tait, which was disturbing. However, he had a longtime relationship with Bill Tait, so perhaps that bought him an exception. Perhaps not.
Business was business.
And that was what bothered her most.
AS KELLER CLOSED ON the location of large student housing buildings on the right, he realized he had made a tactical error. Because he did not know the area well enough, he found himself on a college campus. He should have pulled a 180, but that could have allowed Ryder to block his path.
This was not much better.
And by now she had radioed in and other agents or cops would be responding.
With few choices, he pulled to the curb in front of a line of parked cars and got out of the Lincoln. He walked briskly down the sidewalk and, after having traversed a block, glanced over his right shoulder. Ryder was pulling in front of his vehicle and angling it so that it was pinned in—just in case he circled around and returned to it. So that option was now eliminated.
This was not turning out as he had planned. He took off running.
LOREN GRABBED HER radio and sprinted down the street in pursuit. He had a decent lead on her, but she was a runner and had endurance on her side. She had no idea what his fitness level was, but she recalled that he had been in the military, Special Forces if she remembered correctly—and he still looked to be in shape.
No matter what happened, she was not going to be the first one to shut it down. She was determined to outrun him in time and distance, so the only thing she had to be sure of was that he did not find a way to disappear between cars or inside a building.
“Mickey,” she yelled. “Stop.”
A few students who were walking and riding bikes in the area swung their gaze in her direction.
From her years of training and fieldwork, Loren almost yelled “FBI”—but caught herself: she didn’t want to draw anyone’s attention to her identity. Absent security cameras, there would be no definitive proof of her presence on campus. If she remained careful.
“Mickey…please, I need your help.”
71
Amy glanced up at the mirror, where the men were watching her.
She was more than uncomfortable—but tried not to show it. In court, she had never been one to back down. She assumed that attitude now, hardening her brow and jawline, making eye contact and holding it. Amy hoped that conveyed the right message.
She took Melissa’s hand and turned toward the exit. “C’mon, honey.”
“Can we eat now?”
“Yes,” Amy said, keeping her gaze steady and in front of her. “Great idea.”
One of the men stepped out of the adjacent aisle near the entrance. He looked Amy over, nodded acceptance—as if to say, “Nice piece of ass, you’ll do”—and then pushed open the door for her.
Amy muttered “Thanks,” and passed right by him, Melissa corralled against her left hip, as they exited to the sidewalk. Brad was gone, which was not surprising given how long the transaction had taken.
She turned right, not wanting to look lost or confused, and started walking. They pressed the crosswalk button and waited for the white icon to proceed. She took those seconds to casually glance around and take in the shops in the vicinity. If there was a place to eat—a café, a restaurant, even a dive—they would head there to use the phone to call a cab.
Her hearing was focused behind her, listening for any steps or movement. She was concerned about the four lowlifes in the pawnshop—but perhaps Buck, who seemed to know them, told them to back off. It would be bad for business if word got around that people were robbed after coming out of his store with cash.
Off to their right, about a block away, was an old, red neon sign advertising pizza.
Perfect.
As soon as the light changed they crossed and headed for the parlor. Once inside—an interior that did not disappoint, as it was as dilapidated as the exterior—Amy ordered a couple of slices and cold drinks, then asked to use the phone.
The man—who looked to be in the same condition as his restaurant—made a face, like she had asked a major favor. “Phone’s for business.”
“This is important. I need to call a cab.” She gestured at Melissa. “My daughter needs a nap.”
“Do you know a local cab company?”
“Normally no, but there’s one’s got a number that’s all threes. Always thought that was stupid, but guess it works.” He dragged a finger around the dial—Amy had never seen a rotary phone in person—and the call connected.
She ordered the taxi and asked for the food to go.
Five minutes later the man opened the horizontal oven door and slid the two warmed slices onto a couple of paper plates, then put them in a paper bag.
By the time they walked outside, the cab was pulling to the curb. They got in and Melissa immediately pushed the plastic mask from the hospital off her face, then grabbed at the package to extract the pizza.
“San Luis Obispo,” Amy said to the driver. “The Sands Motel.”
72
Keller was winging it, always a dangerous proposition but sometimes unavoidable. It was something he had done all his career—when his unit was in the shit and their backs were against the wall in some third world country or when an unstable perp had unexpectedly taken a hostage.
Sometimes it worked out. Sometimes it did not.
Most were life-threatening situations. And usually the other guy got the worst of it.
But this was someone he cared about. It was different.
Could he shoot Ryder if he needed to?
That was a question he could not answer until the pistol was in his hand and his finger was on the trigger. For now it was tucked into the small of his back, to the left of his spine and nestled against his kidney.
Fight or flight.
At the moment he was fleeing. But that could change in an instant.
“Mickey…please, I need your help.”
Keller slowed, then turned and faced her, his right hand behind his back. “Don’t come any closer.”
Ryder broke her stride and allowed her momentum to carry her forward several more feet before dropping her speed to a walk.
“That’s enough. Right there.”
“Or what? You gonna shoot me?”
“Do we really need to find out?”
Ryder stopped.
He noticed that she was wearing her old undercover wig. And blue contact lenses. Why? It surely wasn’t for him. “What do you want?”
“I need to find my sister-in-law.”
He chuckled inwardly. That makes two of us.
LOREN WAS ABOUT THIRTY FEET away from him, meaning she did not need to shout, but their exchange was loud enough that they had attracted a crowd. Campus police would be responding shortly if this escalated. She did not want that—and she imagined Keller did not, either.
“What makes you think I know where she is?”
“Seriously? Let’s be honest with each other. Can you do that?”
“Always have been.”
“Good. Then where is she?”
Keller sighed, then pivoted toward the gawkers. “What’re you looking at?” he said to them. “Don’t you have classes?”
A few walked on, glancing back over their shoulders because they sensed something juicy was about to happen. One had his cell phone out and pointed at them.
Shit. She turned her body slightly, subtly, to reduce the quality of his angle. And the wig and contact lenses could provide some cover if she had to deny the images were of her.
Then again, if they kept calm there would be nothing of interest to film. It would end up deleted rather than uploaded.
Keller was likely thinking the same thing because he took a deep breath to calm himself. “Amy and the girl were at SLO Medical Center. I lost them after they left.”
“You lost them? Doesn’t sound like you.”
“Tell me about it.” He chuckled. “I went to the motel because that’s the only other place I knew about. That’s when you showed up.”
Loren advanced on him slowly. “And why are you even here?”
“I thought we were being honest with each other.”
Loren bit her bottom lip. “Fine. That girl. It’s probably Amy’s.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“I was hired by the parents to get their daughter back.”
“And?”
“And I did my homework. I put two and two together, extrapolated a little, and reached some likely conclusions.”
Loren stopped about ten feet away. “And you’re still trying to bring Melissa back?”
“It’s my job. I can’t pass judgment. I’m paid to—”
“Bullshit. You? Not passing judgment?”
“I know, right? Part of the problem I have with this job. But I need it. I don’t have a wealthy spouse.”
Loren let the dig roll off her back.
“It’s a lot of money. Can’t turn it down. Besides, I say no, my boss’ll just bring someone else in. And trust me—I know the guy—that definitely won’t be in your sister-in-law’s best interests.”
“And your job. To bring Melissa back?”
“Like I said.”
“But Amy is a loose end. With the IPO, billions at stake, how can they take the chance that she won’t talk? Even an unfounded report could tank the offering. Too much money involved.”
“I know. Just let me bring the girl back and everything’ll be okay.”
Loren canted her head to the side. “Okay? Christine Ellis abuses her daughter.”
“You have proof of that?”
“And the Ellises conspired to commit arson and insurance fraud. They’re going to prison.”
Keller did not reply.
“Unless Amy is taken care of,” Loren said. “Eliminated. And then there’d be no one to report it. No one with any proof.”
“All I know is I’ve been paid, very well, to bring Melissa home. That’s my job. I gotta do my job.”
Loren had crept forward to the point where they were now almost a normal talking distance apart. Most of the onlookers had dispersed. At the moment, they were two adults having a conversation—an odd one that started off with a foot chase but had devolved into something seemingly civil.
“Mickey,” Loren asked gently, “what happened to you?”
“Don’t look at me that way, Loren.”
“What way is that?”
“Disgust. Disapproval.”
“If the shoe fits.”
“You’ve got a habit of judging me.”
“Don’t give me a reason and I’ll stop judging you.”
“That’s not fair. Working for Tait Protection isn’t what I wanted to be doing, but the situation presented itself. And you do what you gotta do, you know?”
His smartwatch vibrated. He twisted his wrist and glanced at the display: “BT” was calling. Bill Tait. Great timing, pal.
Loren reached behind her back and pulled out her handcuffs with her left hand and her Glock 9mm with her right. She kept the pistol at her side, at the ready…just in case. “I do know. And that’s why you’re under arrest.”
“Under—are you crazy? I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m a private investigator trying to find a missing child so I can bring her home. Since when is that against the law?”
“Put your hands above your head, where I can see them.”
He did not move.
KELLER THOUGHT ABOUT running.
If he was going to collect on the payout, he could not get stuck in a police station answering questions while Amy left town with Melissa. He might never find her again—or, with time getting short, Tait would lose confidence in him and dispatch Sinbad.
None of those were acceptable.
But something about this interaction with Ryder seemed wrong. It did not smell like she was there on official Bureau business.
She could have worn the disguise so that he would not recognize her from a distance. But she was here without a partner and without backup anywhere in the vicinity.
That said, she was a federal agent and officially or not, she still had the authority to arrest him. And he was carrying an illegal weapon.
Once you got into the system, all sorts of things could bubble to the surface from your past. While he considered all that, Ryder had snapped the cuffs on his wrists.
73
Hill’s phone rang. He lifted it as he read a file. “Jimmy Hill.”
“It’s Timo. Tran’s not answering his phone.”
“He went to take a leak. Why?”
“Potential break on your case.”
“Which case?”
“Robbins. I’m sending you a video. We got a hit on a traffic cam, facial recognition. Lots of false positives. I need a confirmatory ID before I alert local PD.”
Hill navigated to his email and found Tim Gates’s message. He opened the attachment and watched the looping clip.
“Whoa. Yeah. Not only is that Amy Robbins, that’s Melissa Ellis. The girl. She’s got some kind of—what is that, a mask?”
“That’s my guess. Maybe a disguise?”
“Maybe. Where is this?”
“Diablo Canyon.”
“Where the hell’s Diablo Canyon?”
“Just outside San Luis Obispo.”
“And yes, Loren turned on her radio. Was only on a couple minutes. I took me awhile but I triangulated and it was coming from Greenfield, a few miles south of Soledad.”
“Soledad. You sure?”
“Lots of mountains around there,” Gates said. “And service is spotty, so I’m fairly sure. Not guaranteed. Somewhere near there. That’s what took me so long. More than that I can’t do without diverting a lot more resources. Mountain signed off on this, but that’s all you’re gonna get. She turns it on again, we’re not gonna know. I won’t be ‘listening.’”
The Lost Girl (A Mickey Keller Thriller Book 1) Page 25
