“That’s okay. Who have you got?”
“Hold on a minute. I’ve already written them down.”
That was convenient. Miranda grabbed a pen and paper from the desk and jotted down the list of names Wendy rattled off. After about fifteen, Wendy was out of ideas.
Miranda said goodbye and started dialing. The girl had known a few of their numbers, others she’d have to look up. Systematically, she called each one and asked casually if the teen had spoken with Mackenzie Chatham recently.
“I’m planning a surprise party for her and I want to make sure the guest list is complete,” she told them. No one questioned her, and everyone was cooperative. But none of them had heard from Mackenzie or knew who the mysterious Ambrose was.
Trying to keep her hopes up, Miranda rose and went to check on her team.
“I found three stores that sell prepaids near Lenox,” Holloway told her. “But nobody remembers a fifteen year old girl with dark hair buying one. It’s the weekend help, anyway.”
Who probably weren’t very helpful. Miranda wondered if they’d have to go from store to store and go through the records themselves.
Wesson came around one of the cubes where she’d been sitting. “I’ve got something.”
“What is it?”
Her green eyes glistened. “I found the Uber driver who took Mackenzie to the airport.”
“No way.”
“I used the app to report an item I said I’d left in my ride, and somebody in the area called me back. Just happened to be that driver.”
“And he took her to the airport?”
Wesson nodded. “Picked her up just before six thirty. He asked for ID and she gave him one that said she was eighteen.”
“Where’d she get that?”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know, but he dropped her off at Hartsfield-Jackson forty minutes later.”
“Okay. Great job, Wesson. You, too, Holloway.”
He gave her a scowl.
They could go to the airport and look up flights that left for Boston around that time. If she did go to Boston. Maybe someone would remember seeing her.
She pivoted, about to tell Parker what Wesson had learned when Becker jumped up from his chair.
“Huzzah!”
Miranda hurried over to the counter. “What? Did you get in?”
“We sure did,” Becker chortled. “We did a tweak to the algorithm, bypassing the module that parses the—”
“Never mind, Becker. Just tell me what you found.”
Becker pointed to the screen. “This.”
Miranda peered at a document, her stomach starting to drop again. “Is that what I think it is?”
“It’s the flight itinerary,” Parker said darkly.
“For the plane ticket Ambrose said he’d get for Mackenzie in his text,” she said, half to herself.
Behind her, Wesson let out a yelp. “Oh, my gosh. You’re amazing, Dave.”
Furiously Miranda scanned the data on the screen. “According to this, Mackenzie’s flight left Atlanta about half an hour ago.” She must have waited in the airport a long time.
Becker tapped a finger on the screen. “And will land in about an hour and forty-five minutes from now.”
“If she used this ticket, she went to Logan Airport,” Parker said.
Miranda’s heart nearly stopped. “In Boston.”
“They allowed her on the plane?” Holloway challenged.
“She’s fifteen,” Parker told him. “Just old enough not to require the Unaccompanied Minor service.”
Right. She just waltzed onto that flight and no one questioned her. “Can we get the local police or airport security to grab her when she lands?”
Parker rubbed his chin. “We could try that. But in the eyes of the airline, Mackenzie hasn’t done anything wrong. Even if we could convince authorities we have no relationship with to coordinate such an effort, it would take longer than two hours.”
Miranda sank down into a chair, trying to breathe. She couldn’t get air into her lungs. They were burning.
“Boston,” she said after several gasps. “We have to go to Boston. We have to find her.”
Suddenly the reality hit her and the room began to spin.
Chapter Nineteen
Miranda’s chest began to palpitate. She pressed her fingers into her temples as the floor tilted again.
Boston? Her precious daughter, the baby she’d held in her arms when she was three weeks old, had gone to Boston to meet a stranger she’d met on the Internet?
It was a mother’s worst nightmare.
She stood up—too fast, as it turned out. Feeling as if she might pass out, she stumbled over to the oval table and leaned against another chair.
“Are you all right, Steele?” Wesson’s voice rang with genuine concern.
Parker was at her side in a flash, an arm at her back. “Perhaps you should take a break.” He reached for a bottle of water on the table.
She waved it away and shook her head. “I can’t take a break now, Parker. My daughter went to Boston.”
Parker glanced back at the team, and they turned away, embarrassed for her. “We’re doing all we can,” he murmured. “And we’ll do more. But we have to keep up our strength.”
Words of wisdom, but she shook him off and turned to Becker. “Ambrose sent that itinerary by email, right?”
He nodded.
“Can you trace the IP address?”
Becker’s shoulders slumped.
Parker answered for him. “The boy used a generic mail service. We might be able to trace it with some of our tools, but it will take time.”
She drew in a breath and straightened. She was better now. “Okay, then. Wesson, Holloway, how soon can you be packed and at the airport?”
Wesson glanced at her watch. “Traffic shouldn’t be too heavy now. Maybe forty-five minutes?”
“Okay, it’ll take Parker and me about as long. Becker you go home and do your searches there.”
Becker squinted at her. “Home?”
“Right. Home. Fanuzzi needs you. Coco said she’s feeling bad again.”
“She is, but—”
“But what?”
He held up his hands. “Steele, Mackenzie’s missing. Joanie would kill me if I stayed home.”
“She needs you.”
“Doesn’t matter. She’ll want me to be with the team trying to find your daughter.”
Suddenly Miranda’s heart melted at Fanuzzi’s undying friendship. She didn’t want to take Becker away from her, but she could use his help. She decided not to argue.
She walked over to the counter and slipped Mackenzie’s phone into her pocket. “I’ll call Fanuzzi and make sure, but okay. We’ll get a flight and text you the details. We’ll meet up at TSA in about forty-five minutes.”
His back rigid, Holloway gave her a serious marine salute. “Roger that.”
Miranda pointed to her daughter’s laptop. “Take that with you, just in case.”
“Will do.” Becker got up and started to unplug it.
And they packed up the rest of the equipment and headed out the door.
Chapter Twenty
The numbness was closing in again as Miranda headed back to the penthouse with Parker.
Her mind blurred while they rode up the elevator to the top floor and ascended the spiral staircase to the bedroom where she had learned about her missing daughter hours ago.
She tried to pack, but she wasn’t doing it right.
Parker took the lightweight clothes out of her hands and replaced them with sweaters and woolens. “It’s still winter in Boston now.”
“Oh. Right.”
“We’re going to find her, Miranda.”
“I know. I know.” At least, she was forcing herself to believe that.
She’d hunted for her daughter for thirteen years. She’d found her only a year and a half ago. It couldn’t be possible that was all the time she’d have with her.
No. That was the worst case scenario. She flushed it from her mind, finished packing, and headed back downstairs.
Somewhere on the way to Hartsfield Jackson, Parker called Colby and Oliver and told them they had a viable lead and were flying to Boston to check on it.
How he kept the adopted parents calm while delivering that news, Miranda would never know.
At the airport checkpoint, the team was waiting for them. They boarded the non-stop flight Parker had booked and buckled into their seats.
The pressure of the takeoff didn’t do much for Miranda’s stomach. Or her dizziness. But since there was nothing to do now, it was a good time to try to relax, if she could.
Parker sat next to her, regarding her tenderly.
“I’ll be okay,” she told him.
“I know you will.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “It’s a two and a half hour flight. Try to get some rest.”
She nodded, then peered across the aisle to where her team sat.
Holloway was at the window with his eyes closed, Wesson was snuggled up in the middle with a pillow behind her head. Becker had taken the aisle seat. Since they couldn’t use cell phones, he was on his tablet, playing some video game, shooting noisy ray guns at growling green monsters.
She’d had enough real monsters to deal with lately. She didn’t need a game.
“Psst,” she said to him.
He jolted and turned to her, wide-eyed. “What do you need, Steele?” he whispered.
“Didn’t you hear Parker? We’re supposed to get some rest.”
“Okay. Sure thing.” He looked like he wanted to finish the round, but he put the tablet away and closed his eyes.
“What a stern boss you’ve become,” Parker murmured quietly.
She squinted at him. “I learned from the sternest.”
His brow rose in surprise. “I’ll take that as a complement.”
He’d made her smile, at least. She gave him an air kiss and turned over to follow her own orders.
As she felt Parker stretch out beside her, her muscles began to let go. Things were going to be okay.
The best case scenario was Mackenzie with this guy, Ambrose, safe and sound, and just having a good time.
It could be true. Why not? Hadn’t her daughter had enough trauma in her life lately?
Miranda decided when she found her, she wouldn’t yell at her, or shame her, or try to make her feel bad in any way. She’d just hold her in her arms and relish the feel of her.
But then her mind drifted to Becker’s remark about sexual predators on the Internet. They’d dealt with fiends like those recently. She thought about Los Angeles, the explosion they’d survived, and the strange figure she’d seen in the smoke there.
And then the vision of thin red lips flapping in her face came back to her. She had been bound to a chair in a dingy room, and a bitch from hell had been screaming at her.
She’d told her about the history of the club named Udar. About the boy named Sasha who had become a thug in their criminal organization. And she’d told Miranda about the head of that organization.
“I know him only as the Man in Boston.”
The Man in Boston.
The man Parker hadn’t wanted to go after. The man she’d wanted to hunt down. He was rich and powerful, and Miranda was convinced he was the head of Group 141.
He couldn’t have anything to do with this.
Could he?
Chapter Twenty-One
Mackenzie sat up and buckled her belt as the pilot announced they were nearing their destination.
Pulling the buds from her ears, she peered out the window at the billowy dark clouds. The stormy sight and the sad song she’d been listening to on her prepaid made her think of Ella.
The girl who’d almost killed herself yesterday.
It didn’t matter how many times her mother told her what Ella did wasn’t her fault, Mackenzie knew it was.
She knew Ella didn’t care that much what Rachel thought of her. It was Mackenzie’s opinion of her that mattered. They had talked. About personal stuff. Really personal stuff. Mackenzie had known she had a really bad upbringing when she was little. And Ella knew about her background. A little of it, anyway.
And yet, when Rachel came along with her lunch tray on Friday, Mackenzie had snubbed Ella and gotten up and followed Rachel like a lost puppy.
How could she have done that? What was wrong with her?
She didn’t want to think about it anymore.
Outside the window, masses of tiny buildings began to appear far below. There was snow on the ground here. She was glad she’d worn her coat.
The plane dipped and the harbor came into view. The water was a beautiful deep gray blue.
The sight took her breath. She thought of history lessons in school about the colonists dumping tea there. This was such a historical city. Ambrose had promised to take her to the Paul Revere House and the Old State House Museum. She’d looked those places up online and they had both seemed magical.
A rush of excitement rippled through her as the plane dropped lower and huge docks for cargo ships came into view. They were much bigger than the ones they’d had in 1773.
On the prepaid phone, she scrolled to the photo Ambrose had sent her of himself.
She liked his wavy brown hair and the smile in his eyes. He was cute. And smart. Captain of the chess club at his school. He played soccer, too, so he wasn’t just a nerd.
She wondered if he would be that cute in real life. She didn’t know, but she couldn’t wait to meet him in person.
It might have been dumb to run off like she did. She knew her adopted parents would probably ground her until she graduated. And her mother would give her a long lecture. But she didn’t care. She had to get away from home.
And the next day or so was going to be so exciting.
The plane touched down and taxied to a gate. Mackenzie reached for her backpack and got out of her seat. Slipping the bag over her shoulder, she thumbed a quick text.
I’m here. Debarking now.
Ambrose had told her he’d meet her at the airport, but he hadn’t said exactly where.
She waited for the passengers in front of her to move, then made her way down the exit ramp under the bright fluorescent lights. At last, she reached the seating area. Here people waited in the generic seats, while others milled about, greeting friends or relatives who had just landed. Still others were pressing through to the concourse on their way to their next destination.
She’d never traveled by herself before. When she’d gone to the skating competitions, she’d always been with her adopted mother, her coach, and other skaters.
Feeling a little lost, she scanned the rows of seats, but she didn’t see anyone who looked even close to the boy in the photo.
She checked her phone again. No message.
Ambrose hadn’t stood her up, had he?
Why would he do that after buying the ticket for her? Maybe he’d been delayed in traffic. She didn’t even know if he had a car. Maybe he was coming by bus.
Deciding to head for the main terminal, she stepped out into the center walkway and looked for the signs.
There. Main concourse.
She started in that direction, turned a corner—and came to a dead stop.
Near the entrance to a lounge stood a figure holding a sign. She stared at the handwritten letters on it.
Mackenzie Chatham.
But the figure wasn’t Ambrose. It was a grown man. Tall and gray-haired, he was dressed in a dark double-breasted topcoat and suit. The kind of clothes her father wore to the office. His dress shoes her perfectly shined.
She wasn’t sure whether to go up to him or head the other way.
Before she could decide, he took a small step toward her. “Mackenzie? Is that you?”
She pushed her hair behind her ear. “Um. I’m looking for someone named Ambrose.”
He chuckled in a friendly way. “Yes, I know. I’m sorry. Ambrose had a chess
match this afternoon. I’m his father.”
“His father?”
“Yes, didn’t he mention me?”
She blinked at the man. Ambrose never talked about his family.
“Never mind. I know he’s excited to meet you in person. I told him I would pick you up and take you to lunch.”
His Boston accent sounded funny, with elegant l’s and long a’s. A little British. Sophisticated. Ambrose’s family must have money.
“Lunch?” Mackenzie didn’t know what to think.
Ambrose hadn’t said anything about a chess match today. Maybe he wasn’t as interested in her as she thought he was.
“I was thinking the Four Seasons. Did you check any luggage?”
“No, I just have my backpack.” She touched the strap.
“Very well. I’ll carry that for you,” he said, taking it off her shoulder before she could say no. “The car’s this way.”
He started off and she followed him.
Did she have any choice?
“Welcome to Boston. I hope you find our fair city fun and entertaining.”
“I’m sure I will.”
As they passed the concession stands and advertising posters on the wall, he began to tell her details about the city and its financial prowess. He was a business man, so it seemed.
He led her out the door to a waiting limousine. Surely it was safe to go with him. This was Ambrose’s father.
And he must have money if he had a limousine. Not that that mattered to her.
But as she stepped out into the brisk wind, she felt a strange chill go through her and wondered if it was from more than the weather.
As the man opened the door for her, and she slipped into the limo’s back seat, Mackenzie couldn’t help wondering why Ambrose’s father looked so much like Mr. Parker.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Miranda’s plane landed at Logan airport at three twenty-one on the dot.
After exiting the aircraft with Parker at her side and her team behind her, she marched through the waiting area, into the crowded walkway to the concourse—and stopped.
What now?
Ignoring the travelers cussing at her as they moved around her group, she pulled her phone out of her pocket, took it off airplane mode, and consulted the map of the airport.
Predator Page 8
