The Lost Girl (A Mickey Keller Thriller Book 1)

by Alan Jacobson

  “For tonight.”

  Loren looked at Zach. It was difficult enough for her to process this…she had no idea how her husband, a stranger to this life, would handle it.

  She noticed an envelope on the table from Advanced Genetics. “When did this come?”

  Zach looked up. “Looks like a couple of days ago based on the postmark. I went by Amy’s mailbox this afternoon on the way back from the market.”

  “The DNA test Amy sent in.” Loren sat down beside Zach and handed it to him. They both stared at it.

  “Should we open it?” Loren asked.

  “Should we?” Zach repeated mockingly. “You—the woman who couldn’t wait until the boys were born to find out their sex? You made the doc tell us as soon as he did the ultrasounds.”

  “I just want to make sure we’re on the same page with this.”

  “Yes, we should open it.” He handed her the letter. “You should open it.”

  Loren bit her bottom lip. “What if Melissa’s not her daughter?”

  “You mean her biological daughter? Does it matter?”

  Loren slipped her thumb nail under the flap—and then stopped. “If Melissa’s not hers, do we tell her?”

  “I’m not gonna tell her unless she asks. But you know what? I think she already knows. She doesn’t need a test. She doesn’t need computerized verification of what’s in her heart.”

  Loren withdrew her finger. “So don’t open it?”

  “Hell yes.” Zach reached for the envelope, but Loren yanked it away.

  She ripped off the end and pulled out the DNA report. She flipped the pages to get to the conclusions.

  “Thank God.” Her eyes found Zach’s. “Melissa’s our niece.”

  84

  Amy and Melissa sat down on the bed inside the Sunbelt Motel room. It was an economy inn off the freeway a few hours from where they bid good-bye to Loren. Originally an old truck stop, the facility had seen few upgrades over the years and now served as overflow temporary housing for the migrant community during central California’s wine-growing season.

  Keller dropped them off at the curb and waited for them to go inside before leaving to visit the local Walmart a few miles down the road with a list of items to pick up for the next couple of days, including a car seat.

  As instructed, Amy secured the door with the deadbolt and swing bar lock. It looked strong and unbroachable.

  Melissa was still half asleep, having been woken from her nap only minutes ago.

  “Where are we?” she asked, rubbing her eyes with a fist and having a tough time of it because of the plastic mask.

  Amy sat on the edge of the bed beside her. “This is where we’re going to sleep tonight. And then, tomorrow, we embark on a new adventure. Just you and me.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” She wiped Melissa’s bangs from her eyes. “You don’t have to go home.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise. We’re going to find a new place to live.”

  “What about ’Selle?”

  Amy took a deep breath. She had thought there would be some questions about why they were doing this. Maybe even some concern over not seeing her father. Perhaps those would come later. Tomorrow. The day after.

  And perhaps not.

  “She won’t be able to join us. I’m sorry.”

  Melissa looked down, seeming to process that. She reached out to pull her closer, but the bump in the adjacent room caught her attention.

  Amy jolted upright and listened.

  “What was that?” Melissa asked.

  “You heard it too?”

  Melissa nodded silently.

  Amy bit her bottom lip. The noise could’ve come from the unit next to theirs. But that’s not what it sounded like.

  It sounded like someone landing after jumping. Someone big.

  Coming through a bathroom window.

  85

  Keller had pulled out of the lot and used his sat phone to call Bill Tait on the way to Walmart.

  “Bill,” Keller said, maneuvering the handset to his left ear to facilitate reception.

  “Mickey. Tell me it’s done.”

  “All’s good on my end. I assume Martinez told you we got the fifty million?”

  “He did.”

  “You got some proof for me that Robbins is taken care of?”

  “Yeah, like I said, it’s all good. Just gotta return the kid tonight. Gonna meet the mother, hand her over.”

  “I know, Christine Ellis called me.”

  “Great.”

  “But I need to give our client some proof. Peace of mind. Satisfaction.”

  “I had her on the phone when I…took care of it.”

  “She told me that, too.”

  “Okay.”

  “She spent fifty million, Mickey. We owe her tangible proof. Where’s the body?”

  “Gone. I took care of it. Bill, what the fuck’s the problem here?”

  “I want to make sure nothing comes back to bite us in the ass. I don’t want unhappy clients. Unhappy clients make problems.”

  “She’s not goi—”

  “And this was a really difficult thing for you to do. But you seem to have put it behind you. Very easily. Too easily.”

  “Yeah, well, like you said. Fifty million’s a lot of money.”

  “I don’t want you to take this personally, but I tried calling before. When I didn’t hear back, I sent Sinbad to check up on things, make sure everything went according to plan.”

  “Sinbad?” Keller licked his dry lips. “When’s he due here?”

  “Already there. Sent him yesterday. An insurance policy in case you got cold feet. Told him to hang out nearby in case we needed him.”

  Keller felt a lump in his suddenly parched throat. Holy Christ.

  He hung a left—cutting across traffic—and barely missed hitting an oncoming truck.

  “Where exactly did you send him? Oakland?”

  “No. Where you are. I had Martinez track your signal. He’s at the Sunbelt Motel right about now.”

  Keller pushed his foot to the floor and the car downshifted.

  “Mickey. Mickey, you there?”

  Keller disconnected the call and powered off the phone. His heart was beating a forceful, irregular rhythm against his chest wall. His breath was short, his vision narrowing.

  Get hold of yourself, Mickey. Get there alive.

  86

  Amy got up from the bed and walked over to the bathroom door. She rested her right ear against the painted wood surface and listened. No movement, no breathing, no running faucet.

  She thought about ignoring what she had heard, but if there was one thing she had learned about her years of depression, ignoring something and hoping it would miraculously disappear was a highly ineffective approach.

  They had to get out. Just in case.

  She turned toward Melissa—and felt the breeze of the door flying open behind her. She spun and saw an enormous man standing there. He reached forward and snatched her shirt with a thick fist and pulled her inside, whipping her head back. Amy opened her mouth to scream but his other hand clamped down across her lips.

  “Quiet,” he said in her ear. “Or I’ll kill the girl.”

  Amy’s eyes bulged at the mention of Melissa. She forced her gaze to the extreme left and saw Melissa cowering against the headboard.

  “Be quiet or I’ll kill your mother,” the man said in a restrained, though menacing, tone. “Understand?”

  Melissa started to cry but no scream emerged from her throat.

  “Understand?” he growled, baring his teeth like an animal.

  She nodded comprehension, her gaze locking on Amy’s face.

  “What do you want?” Amy asked.

  He
bent his neck and brushed his wet lips against her left ear. “I want you.”

  87

  Keller threw the Lincoln into park and left the front door open as he ran toward the motel room. He shoved the key card in, got the green light, and pushed. It opened an inch—and caught. Amy had done as he had told her. The swing bar lock was thrown across the top of the jamb.

  Under normal circumstances, his was the worst approach one could use to breach a door with an armed felon potentially inside. But these were anything but normal circumstances: a young woman and her daughter were likely in the company of a psychopathic killer.

  Keller pulled his Beretta, leaned back, and smashed his right shoulder into the wood door. It splintered and flew open.

  He landed off balance at the side of the bed and saw Sinbad, all six-foot-eight of him, huddled over Amy on the mattress nearest the bathroom.

  Melissa was cowering against the headboard inches away from Keller. Duct tape was wrapped across her mouth and around her neck, arms strapped behind her back.

  Keller shifted the Beretta to his left hand and gathered Melissa against his body with his right. He pulled her off the bed and shoved her out of the room—all while keeping his gaze, and gun, on Sinbad. “Wait outside, Melissa.” Keller leveled his pistol at Sinbad’s head. “Get off her.”

  Sinbad rolled backward, off the bed, Amy tucked tightly against his body—much as Keller had done with the girl. Sinbad was holding her up, her head against his, her feet dangling a foot off the ground, a rag doll at the whim of its owner. Like Melissa, her mouth was taped shut, her wrists fastened together.

  “Fuck off, Mickey. If you’d done your job, I wouldn’t be here.”

  “I’ve got this,” Keller said, trying to avoid an escalation.

  He kept his handgun trained on his target—but who was he kidding? There was no way he could shoot. Sinbad was holding Amy’s head against his.

  “I’ll take care of her,” Keller said. “That’s my job. What I’m being paid for.”

  “I’m getting paid, too. And my job is to clean up your mess, do what you don’t have the balls to do.”

  Amy’s eyes widened and she cried out—a weak moan against the tape.

  Keller had only one option—other than backing off, which was not going to happen—and that was to confront Sinbad physically so that he had no choice but to drop Amy. She might then be able to run out of the room and get somewhere safe with Melissa.

  Keller did not know if Sinbad was armed, but Sinbad was a guy who liked killing with his hands, not guns or knives. He would likely not draw his weapon even if he was carrying.

  Yet despite Keller’s martial arts training, a physical confrontation played to Sinbad’s strengths, literally: the giant had several inches and a hundred pounds on him.

  Keller made eye contact with Amy, then lowered his Beretta and fired off two rapid shots, striking Sinbad in both ankles.

  The killer let out a guttural yell and dropped Amy as he fell to his knees. Amy scrabbled away, clambering awkwardly across the beds.

  Keller pulled out a knife and sliced through her bindings. “Get Melissa and get in the car.”

  He holstered his pistol and stepped closer to Sinbad. “I told you I was gonna handle this.”

  “Fuck you, Mickey. You’ve lost your mind. Not to mention your job.”

  Keller brought his boot back and swung it squarely into Sinbad’s jaw, like a placekicker sending a football fifty yards downfield toward the uprights.

  Sinbad’s head snapped backward and his eyes rolled up into his head. His torso slumped into the doorjamb.

  As he stepped into the cold night air, Keller heard sirens. A couple of people were in the dark parking lot, keeping their distance.

  He got into the car, where Amy and Melissa were huddled together in the back. “We’re gonna be driving for a bit while I find somewhere safe for us to stay.”

  “Who was that?” Amy asked as she got Melissa situated.

  “That,” Keller said with a chuckle, “was my ex-colleague.”

  He pulled out of the lot and entered the freeway, then looked at Amy in the mirror. “You two okay back there?”

  Amy held Melissa against her body as she stroked the child’s hair. “You okay, Missy?”

  Melissa nodded but kept her chin down. Keller had a feeling the girl was going to need some time to process all she had been through the past few days…perhaps even some counseling. But for now, they were both safe.

  Keller turned on the satellite handset and dialed Tait. “Bill, have Martinez get a fix on Sinbad’s cell. He’s back at the motel and needs medical care.”

  “Mickey. This is not—”

  “I don’t have time to debate this. I’ve gotta catch a flight.” He turned off the device, then powered down his personal iPhone. As soon as they found a place to stay, he would destroy the SIM card and replace it with one of the new ones he kept with him for situations such as this.

  As he accelerated to the speed limit, he felt good about what he had done but was fairly certain that Sinbad was right: he’d probably be looking for a new job.

  88

  The following morning, Loren did not wait to be called into her boss’s office. She knocked on Zeke Bailey’s door.

  “Come in.”

  She stepped inside.

  His face drooped at the sight of her. “Close the door.”

  Loren complied—knowing that a private conversation in such situations was never a good sign.

  “Take a seat.”

  She sat. “Any news on my sister-in-law?”

  “Maybe I should be asking you that.”

  Loren drew her chin back. “Not sure what you mean.”

  “Loren. Can we talk honestly?”

  “Always, sir.”

  “Hill filed a report last night at…” He consulted something on his desk. “One o’clock. In the morning.”

  “It was a late night.”

  “Yeah, that’s what it sounds like.” He lifted a thin sheaf of papers from his desk. “Just to be clear, your sister-in-law, who lives a half mile from you, abducts a young girl and you suddenly go off the grid for twelve hours?”

  “Was it that long?”

  “Close enough.”

  “I got a flat t—”

  “Flat tire. Yes, Hill mentioned that in his report.” He paged to the right spot and followed the words with an index finger. “You fell into a ditch and lost consciousness for several hours. And your cell battery went dead. Around 10:00 AM? Does that sound right?”

  “Something like that, yes. Must’ve forgotten to charge it the night before.”

  Bailey nodded slowly, maintaining eye contact with her the whole time. “Uh-huh. And your radio? You turned it off.”

  “I don’t remember doing that.”

  “I bet you don’t.” He shook his head. “And during the hours you were unconscious, lying in a ditch, your sister-in-law was spotted near San Luis Obispo, only about ninety minutes or so from Soledad, where you had that flat tire, dead phone, and unfortunate trip and fall.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Well that’s awful convenient.”

  “Convenient?” Loren canted her head left. “Sir, don’t take my word for it. Have someone in the office check my phone records, email, text—”

  “Don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot, Loren. I know how to work a case.”

  “Sorry sir.”

  He leaned across the desk and extended his thick right index finger. “If we find anything, anything placing you near San Luis Obispo, you can kiss your career good-bye.”

  “Understood,” Loren said. “I’d expect nothing less.”

  “No,” he said slowly. “That much I believe. You’re a damn good agent and I’d hate to have you throw away everything you’ve worked for. Just to
help out a family member.”

  Loren took a deep breath. “You know, there are worse things in life than making sacrifices for family. Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

  “Yeah.” Bailey narrowed both eyes. “Hypothetically speaking. You better hope we don’t find anything because if we do—”

  “If you do, you’ll have my badge, my creds, and my gun, within the hour.” But not my integrity. Or my family.

  Bailey maintained eye contact a long moment. Loren stared back, not willing to give in to him. Finally he leaned back in his seat and pulled a document from the stack to his right. “There is one other thing that hit my desk this morning. Know anything about Christine Ellis?”

  Loren glanced at the ceiling, searching it for a moment. “Which case?”

  “Same one. Mrs. Ellis is Melissa’s mother. Melissa is the girl your sister-in-law abducted.”

  “Okay.”

  “She was found dead at the lake.”

  Loren leaned forward. “Dead?”

  “Apparent suicide. Or murder. Not sure yet what the hell happened. Ate her gun. Looks like some bruising on the lips, like the barrel was forced against her teeth.”

  “Whose gun?”

  “Hers. She had a concealed carry permit.”

  “Hmm. Was she depressed?”

  “OPD just started investigating. But as you know there aren’t many cameras around the lake.”

  “No eyewitnesses?”

  “Nothing yet. OPD said they’ll share whatever they get.” He sat forward again. “Where were you between 9:00 PM and 1:00 AM?”

  “I was…in the car with Hill. He dropped me off…I don’t know, sometime around 9:30 or so. I was with my husband after that.”

  “He’ll corroborate?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Bailey nodded but held her gaze a long moment.

  “Are we done here, sir?”

  “For now.”

  Loren nodded. “Thank you, sir.” She rose and walked out, headed for her cubicle.

  89

  Having transferred Amy and Melissa to Butch Thurston the following morning in Bakersfield, Mickey Keller had much to think about going forward.