Predator

by Linsey Lanier

  She glanced at the time in the corner of her screen. Three hours since they’d landed in Boston. Paul Revere’s ride couldn’t have taken this long.

  She wondered if Steele and Mr. Parker had made any headway at the airport.

  Across the glass topped coffee table, Holloway sat in a cozy arm chair, his long legs stretched out on a tiger-print ottoman as he frowned at his tablet. He was making about as much progress as she was.

  Becker was at a table near the window staring intently at his laptop screen and waiting, waiting, waiting.

  She thought about the way Steele had looked back in the lab that morning when she told them about the missing girl. She’d held it together, but Janelle could tell she was rattled.

  She had known Steele had a daughter, but she rarely mentioned her, and Janelle had sort of forgotten about her. She had assumed they didn’t have much of a relationship.

  She’d been wrong.

  On their way to the hotel, Becker had filled her and Holloway in on the details. A few years ago, Steele had come to Atlanta to find her daughter. That was when she’d started at the Parker Agency. Mr. Parker had eventually pulled some strings and gotten some birth records. They discovered the girl had been adopted by the Chathams. Janelle didn’t know the family.

  If she had known Steele’s history when she first started at the Agency, Janelle might have been nicer to her back then. She had thought the woman was a loser and didn’t take the work seriously. She’d learned a lot differently since she’d been assigned to Mr. Parker’s dream team, as she like to call it.

  Best job she’d ever had. And now she was proud to work with someone like Steele. She really felt for her.

  Her mind went back to Los Angeles. Almost two months ago, she’d been in a similar situation, going insane when her sister’s daughter went missing. It was only right she return the favor Steele had done for her. The woman had risked her life.

  Janelle was determined to do the same if she had to.

  Thinking of Los Angeles made her think of Simon Sloan. FBI agent extraordinaire, as she dubbed him in her mind. She’d thought of him often since then. Simon Sloan with his wicked good looks and flashing blue eyes.

  She thought about tailing that killer through a warehouse on the movie set. She thought about taking the shot that stopped him.

  And she thought about kissing Simon Sloan. That lightning bolt kiss. Like nothing she’d ever experienced in her life. And Janelle had kissed a lot of guys.

  But it probably would never happen again. She hadn’t spoken to Sloan since Mr. Parker had asked her to deliver a message to him two weeks ago on his secure phone. Sloan had a way to contact her, but he hadn’t. She wasn’t going to be the one to chase after him.

  With a sigh, she picked up her tablet again.

  Another doomed relationship. Par for the course for her. But she’d never felt much for anyone she’d dated. This time had been different.

  And that kiss.

  She had never in her life remembered a single kiss for over two months. After that amount of time, she would barely remember the guy who kissed her. Unless it was a particularly bad kiss.

  But this kiss hadn’t been bad. This kiss had been mind-blowing.

  Shake it off, Janey, she told herself.

  Good thing she did. At that moment the door to the suite jangled.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Miranda barely noticed the clean lines, floral displays, and polished surfaces of the luxurious hotel lobby as Parker checked them in and they made their way up the marble elevators to the sixth floor.

  Three luxury suites and a luxury SUV. Parker was spending too much, she decided as they stepped out of the elevator and found the room assigned to Holloway and Becker.

  The thought didn’t stay in her head long.

  When she opened the door, stepped inside, and found her three team members lounging around the living room, she nearly lost it.

  “What’s going on here?” she snapped. Her daughter was missing and they were goofing off? On Parker’s ticket?

  She glared at the scraps of food on the table.

  Becker sat up in the corner. “We’re working Steele. Uh, Mr. Parker told us to order something to eat.”

  He did. Of course they were working, what was wrong with her? She pressed a hand to her head. “Sorry. I’m just on edge right now.”

  Putting her feet on the floor and slipping on her shoes, Wesson studied her warily from the sofa. “I take it you didn’t make any headway at the airport.”

  Miranda paced over to the window and stared out into darkness. “We found her on one of the surveillance tapes.”

  “You did?” The team said in unison.

  Miranda turned to them. “She looked like she recognized someone and then walked out of the screen.”

  “You couldn’t see who it was?”

  “No.”

  Holloway leaned forward. “Another camera didn’t pick her up again?”

  “They didn’t have cameras in that area. And we aren’t authorized to access the rest of the airport footage.”

  Becker raised a finger in the air. “I might be able to get into it.”

  Miranda shook her head. “Don’t bother with that, Becker. It’s not worth the risk. Tell me what you have so far.”

  Becker’s lips thinned. “I’m afraid not much, Steele.” He pointed to one of his laptops. He had three open on the desk, one of them Mackenzie’s. “I’m running a face recognition search on the photo of Ambrose from Mackenzie’s phone, but I don’t think the kid’s got a record. No hits yet. I wasn’t sure whether I should try the DMV. We could get in trouble there, too.”

  Yeah she knew that. “Don’t until it’s necessary.” She turned to Holloway. “What have you got?”

  “I’m looking at social media sites.”

  “Sounds good. And you?” she said to Wesson.

  “I’m looking up local high schools. Trying to sort out the ones with chess clubs.”

  “Good idea.”

  “I’ve got a bunch so far, but they’re closed, of course. No idea if Ambrose is a student at any of them.”

  “He’s got to be at one of them,” Miranda said.

  Wesson lifted a shoulder. “It would take a long time, but we could visit them one by one tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow was Monday. It was as good a plan as any.

  “If we don’t get another lead, we’ll do that.”

  “You’ve all done well, so far,” Parker said. He’d been standing near a floor lamp taking in the conversation. “This type of work is painstaking and time consuming. We appreciate your patience.”

  Miranda closed her eyes. “Yes, he’s right. Sorry I didn’t say it first.”

  “It’s all right, Steele,” Wesson said with warmth in her voice. “We know you must be going through hell.”

  Miranda was surprised by her empathy.

  Suddenly Holloway shot to his feet, holding his tablet in front of him. “I think I just got something.”

  “What is it?” Miranda hurried over to have a look at the tablet, but Holloway showed it to Parker first.

  “I just found a social media page belonging to ambrose-chessmaster. I was using a version of Becker’s photo recognition and it matched the picture. It’s the same one in the text messages from Mackenzie’s phone.”

  Miranda’s heart began to bang. “That’s great work, Holloway.”

  “He doesn’t post very often, but I found this one from earlier today.” Holloway showed it to Parker.

  As he read it, Parker’s face took on a dark scowl. Miranda couldn’t tell if he was annoyed by Holloway’s secretiveness or the content of the post.

  Then he read it aloud. “Hot chick coming to see me. I’m jazzed.”

  Miranda’s lip curled. “Hot chick?”

  “I didn’t want you to get upset, Steele,” Holloway said.

  It wasn’t just that. Holloway would never completely accept her as the leader of this team. She didn’t have time
to deal with the attitude now.

  She spun around to Becker. “Can you get an IP from that message?”

  His thick brows twisted. “You mean the location’s device from where the post was sent?”

  “Whatever. Can you get that?”

  He frowned, the wheels in his head turning. “Not directly. But I can set up a fake site and a fake user account. Then I can send ambrose-chessmaster a message with a link to it. If he clicks on it, we’ll have his location. I can set up an alert so we’ll know if he does.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “To set up the site and the account? Probably not more than fifteen minutes. But I have no idea when he’d click the link. If he does at all.”

  Sounded like a long shot. If the kid was with Mackenzie, he wouldn’t be sending social media posts.

  “It’s something, at least,” Parker said.

  “Okay, go ahead and do that. Good work, Holloway,” Miranda told her colleague. And even though he could be a pain at times, she meant it.

  “So now we have to wait for results.” Parker stared down at the leftover scraps on the coffee table.

  The only thing left was half a sandwich.

  Clearing her throat, Wesson began cleaning up the mess. “I’m sorry, Mr. Parker. We ordered you both something but you didn’t show up. Holloway ate your sandwich, and I ate half of Steele’s.”

  Parker smiled sadly. “That’s fine, Detective. Miranda and I will have something in our room. I suggest you all take a break before you get back to work.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Miranda gazed at her handsome husband. He was the real leader of this team and always would be. Right now, she didn’t care.

  All she wanted was to find her daughter.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Miranda stepped into the luxury suite down the hall from Holloway and Becker’s and moved like a robot to the window.

  It was dark now.

  She stared out at the bare black nests of tree branches in the park below and the blaze of city lights beyond. Mackenzie was out there. Somewhere.

  Why couldn’t they find her?

  She felt Parker’s hand on her arm. “Why don’t you take a shower and a nap before dinner?”

  Determined to make her eat, he’d ordered room service on the short walk over.

  She turned and melted into his arms. The touch of his strong hands pulling her close to him were meant to soothe, and they did, but she couldn’t help it. She burst into tears.

  “Oh, Parker. What am I going to do? I can’t lose her again.”

  Gently he stroked her back. “You won’t lose her. You can’t let yourself think that way.”

  Softly Parker brushed his lips over her forehead, despising the sense of helplessness raging inside him. He’d always advised her to be objective. To be patient. But his own patience was wearing as thin as the sole of an old shoe. There was a niggling suspicion in the back of his mind about the boy named Ambrose, but he forced himself to push it away.

  He took her face in his hands. “We have to be positive Miranda. Most likely Mackenzie is with this boy. We’re making progress in finding him. It won’t be long before we do.”

  Miranda stared into those loving grey eyes. He was right, she told herself. He had to be right. Mackenzie was with this boy playing chess, talking about school things, and what was cool in music and clothes these days. Teenage things. Maybe Mackenzie would have her first kiss from this boy.

  If only she could convince herself.

  Parker’s arms went around her again and his lips found hers in a soul-soothing kiss. She kissed him back hard, drawing strength from his love.

  His hands caressed her, then moved slowly to her blouse. Gently he began to unbutton it.

  “You should change and shower,” he murmured in her ear. “It will do you good.”

  She lifted her fingers to his shirt and did the same to his buttons. “You need to change, too. I’ve ruined your shirt.” She’d ruin so many of his shirts with her tears since she’d met him.

  Their clothes dropped to the floor. Leaving them there along with their shoes, he picked her up and carried her into the peach marble bathroom.

  He turned on the shower and put her under the hot steamy water, letting it pummel her flesh.

  It felt so good, she had to let go of the tension in her tired muscles.

  He grabbed soap and washed her back, her hair, kissing her neck. She turned, kissed him back. Their arms went around each other, and he made love to her as the water pounded over them, washing away their mutual pain.

  When they were done and dry and wrapped in the soft terrycloth hotel robes, they ate.

  Parker had ordered something called a Seafood Tower for them to share. The huge plate seemed to have everything on it. Lobster cocktail, oysters, shrimp, and a delicious crab salad. All, five-star quality. There was also something called a salmon poke. Large cubes of the delicate fish marinated in a fiery sriracha and sesame sauce and mixed with sweet onions, avocado, and fresh cilantro. That was all for her.

  It was scrumptious, but she still had to force herself to finish half of it.

  Parker watched her carefully. He wanted her to eat more because he loved her. She knew that, appreciated it. But it was all she could get down.

  As she sipped a glass of the Pinot Noir he’d ordered, Parker reached across the table for her hand.

  “You should take a nap, get some rest. You’re exhausted.”

  She put down her glass and grimaced. That was an understatement. She never felt so tired in her life. “Maybe, but I can’t sleep.”

  “You need to try.”

  He rubbed a thumb over her hand, and she let the tender gesture sink in deep.

  She glanced at her cell next to Parker’s on the table. They’d kept their phones out, waiting for word from the team.

  It was nearly eight o’clock. Twelve hours since Colby Chatham had called them in a panic that morning. The first twenty-four hours were crucial to finding a missing person.

  But that wasn’t the case here. Mackenzie was with the boy named Ambrose, Miranda reminded herself again. Her daughter was probably having the time of her life with him. Maybe she would spend a couple of days here in Boston, then he’d put her on another plane and send her back home.

  Suddenly, she sat up straight. “Parker?”

  He tensed with her. “What is it?”

  “He didn’t buy her a return ticket.” She didn’t have to explain who she was talking about.

  “No, he didn’t.” Parker’s expression was stern. He’d already thought of that.

  Nerves in her stomach came to life again. “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Now he sounded more worried than she was.

  There had to be a plausible explanation. Ambrose was a forgetful kid. Right? He was thinking about chess, about Mackenzie. Before she could convince herself of that, Parker’s phone rang.

  Miranda glared at the screen. It was Holloway.

  Parker picked it up.

  “I think we’ve got something, sir,” she heard Holloway say through the speaker. “Can you come over?”

  “We’ll be there in five minutes.” Rising, Parker hung up.

  Miranda got to her feet as well. “What did he find?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  She raced to the bedroom, and pulled on jeans and a sweater from her unpacked bag. Before she could find her shoes, Parker was dressed.

  He found her sneakers in her bag and handed them to her. She shoved her feet into them and raced with him out the door and down the hall.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “What have you got?” Miranda demanded as soon as she marched into the suite and found everyone in the same positions as before.

  Holloway pointed to the couch. “It was Wesson who found it.”

  Miranda turned to her red-headed colleague. “What did you find, Wesson?”

  “An article about a
chess match.” Wesson rose and brought her tablet over so Miranda and Parker could see it. “Well, first I found the Massachusetts Chess Association’s site. They list several tournaments held back in November. I looked up the players’ names and lo and behold, there was an Ambrose Eaton listed.”

  Miranda glanced at Parker. “Ambrose Eaton? Is that his last name?”

  Wesson held up a finger. “I wasn’t sure until I found this online magazine covering local high school activities. I had to dig hard, but I came up with this article about the local winner of the chess match in November. And here he is.”

  Miranda stared down at the photo of the wavy brown-haired kid. She pulled out her phone and scrolled to the copy of the social media message from ambrose-chessmaster and held it next to Wesson’s tablet.

  The photos matched. It was the same guy in Mackenzie’s text messages on her phone.

  “This is great, Wesson,” Miranda told her.

  Wesson scrolled through the web page. “According to the article, Ambrose Eaton attends Boston University Academy. He’s president of the chess club, plays goalie on the soccer team, and is a straight A student.”

  “So he really is a brainiac.”

  “BUA is one of the most prestigious private schools in the area,” Holloway said.

  Miranda had to catch her breath. They had a name and a school. They could meet this kid as early as tomorrow morning when BUA opened.

  “Yahoo!” Becker cried from the corner.

  Miranda nearly jumped. “What are you doing over there?”

  He waved both hands at one of his laptop screens. “I ran the name through the Agency’s databases and got a hit. I’ve got an address.”

  “You did?” She hurried over to see.

  “Excellent work.” Parker followed her.

  They both stood peering over his shoulder at the text. Wesson and Holloway bunched in behind them.

  Miranda read the address. “Where is that?”

  “A local neighborhood called Allston,” Holloway replied. He’d switched from tablet to phone and was looking it up. “About five miles away.”