It was by design meant to be bright and airy, conveying a feeling of optimism. A place where physicians could unwind between shifts or sit with concerned family members and discuss ailments or options.
Even in the time since, when it had clearly been repurposed, the look had been kept in place, meant for placation.
It had no such effect on Amber Denman.
Standing opposite of the loveseat, she beat a steady path back and forth across the tile. Able to go no more than five steps in the narrow confines, time and again she covered the ground, her shoes squeaking against the polished floor. Hands folded behind her back, her fingers never stopped twitching, furling and unfurling themselves in a variety of patterns.
“What did he say?” Josh asked.
Positioned on the front edge of the left side of the loveseat, his hands ran down the front of his thighs. Like her, he had been awake through the night, heavy bags hanging under his eyes. His thinning hair had been finger-combed into position on his head, a perfect depiction of the mood inside the room.
Put together, but only just barely.
“Said he’s on his way,” Amber said. The words were stated without relief, or emotion of any kind. There was no long exhalation, no feeling that they now had a leg up on things.
Calling Hawk and asking him to come was the last thing in the world she wanted to do. He was the reason her sister was gone, why she would never get to see her niece grow up.
No amount of time would ever change that.
“And you’re sure...?” Josh asked, letting his voice trail away.
She wasn’t sure, not by a long shot, but it’s not like she was considering his arrival a certainty of anything.
“The man spent his career finding people that didn’t want to be found,” Amber replied. “If anybody can help track down Elyse, it would be him.”
Which was the reason she made the call. Why she had bit back the venom she felt, had managed to keep the acid off her tongue as they spoke, and had asked for his help.
This wasn’t about her. Wasn’t about her sister or her niece. Damned sure wasn’t about Hawk.
It was about her daughter. Right now, she was willing to throw every possibility she could think of at the wall, hoping just one of them stuck.
“When?” Josh asked.
Standing along the far wall, close enough to the window to feel the warmth of the sun streaming through, Elyse paused as a knock rang out. Glancing at Josh, she said, “Said he’ll be here by nightfall,” before raising her voice toward the door and saying, “Yeah?”
An instant later, the heavy knob turned, the sound similar to the same din she heard every time she was at an appointment and the doctor swung in. Pushing through, Officer Tysinger was the first one inside. In the same attire as the night before, he looked like he’d been awake as long as the Denman’s, fresh growth seeming to have sprung from his face in the time since they last spoke.
Behind him was a man at least a decade older than Amber and her husband. Dressed in black slacks and a tan sports coat, he had a pencil mustache and short receding hair pushed to the side. Already rife with gray, wire-rimmed glasses were pressed flush against his cheeks and brow.
“Mr., Mrs. Denman,” Tysinger opened, “thanks for meeting with us. This is Detective Ben Russo from Missing Persons.”
Stepping past Tysinger, Russo moved into the center of the room. He regarded Josh and Amber in turn, making no effort to extend his hand in greeting to either. “Lieutenant Detective Benjamin Russo, Missing Persons Division, Nashville PD. Pleased to meet you.”
Nothing about his tone or demeanor indicated he was pleased in the slightest, a sentiment Amber very much matched.
Turning at the waist, Russo looked back at Tysinger and said, “Thank you for the handoff, Officer. I’ll take it from here.”
Unsure how to respond, Tysinger’s jaw sagged slightly. A small sound escaped his throat, his gaze locked on the detective.
“I said, thank you, Officer. That will be all.”
Glancing at Amber, Tysinger remained fixed in place for another moment. Bit by bit, realization flooded in, followed in order by incredulity and finally, hostility. His cheeks flushed as he clamped his jaw shut, muscles clenching along his neck.
“Sure thing,” he mumbled, exiting and slamming the door behind him.
In his wake, the sound permeated the air, echoing off the walls.
“Well then, that was unnecessary,” Russo said, turning back to face them again. “I asked for this meeting today so that the officer could introduce us and I could get a few baseline facts from you before moving forward.”
Shifting his attention to Amber, he asked, “I assume you have a recent photograph of your daughter?”
Looking over to the couch, she watched as Josh slid a hand down into the top of her purse. A moment later, he pulled out a glossy 5x7, extending it between his index and middle finger.
Even without seeing the front, Amber knew what the image was, having grabbed it just an hour before.
“That’s from a family cookout two weeks ago,” she said.
In the shot, Elyse was sitting in a lawn chair, a plate of food on her lap. Wearing shorts and a tank top, her skin was tan, her hair hanging down over her shoulders.
Most importantly, she was smiling, safe and protected, displaying the kind of carefree spirit that only youth can truly allow.
Accepting it, Russo glanced at the image. “Hmm.”
Snapping it down to his side, he asked, “Have you heard from anybody else this morning?”
Not sure what his response was meant to relay, Amber felt her brows come together slightly. With it, she could sense her ire rising, already taking an intense dislike of the man before her.
“No,” she replied.
Grunting softly, he asked, “If I may, what are your respective vocations?”
Confusion spread over Amber’s face as she tried to focus on the question, not sure where it had come from or how it applied.
“What I mean to say is,” Russo added, as if sensing her reaction, “are either of you in the public eye? Affiliated with high finance or law enforcement? Someone that might be a target of some sort?”
“I own a pair of coffee shops,” Josh replied, answering before Amber could, drawing her attention his way. “My wife works as an interior decorator.”
“So, no,” Russo replied.
Falling silent for a moment, he considered the information before turning and heading toward the door. “I’ll be in touch.”
He was gone before Amber could think to voice another word.
Chapter Twenty
Kaylan was on her feet the instant I hit the front steps outside the Hawk’s Eye Tours office. By the time I had ascended the three stairs and made my way to the front door, she was around the desk that extended almost the width of the building, hands waving by her side.
“Where the hell have you been?” she asked. “I have been calling non-stop for the last hour.”
I was aware. At least, I was aware that she had been calling one time after another for the first fifteen minutes after I got off the phone with Amber.
After that, I had turned the sat phone off. She was the only person with the number. Anything she would be calling me with could wait the extra half hour until I made it back.
It’s not like there was anything else I could do between then and now anyway, even if there was an emergency.
Closing the door behind me, I didn’t say a word. I kept my face neutral, turning to the right and heading straight for the corner of the room. There we had a small sitting area for the occasional client that came early, a pair of chairs grouped around a small table. Off to the side was a small stand, a coffee pot atop it, cups and cream and sugar on the shelf below.
Going straight for it, I snapped up a Styrofoam cup and filled it with the dark black brew. Keeping the pot in hand, I downed the first cup in one long pull, ignoring the scalding heat as it slid down my throat, before ref
illing it and thrusting the pot back into place.
The day before me promised to be a long one. I was going to need the caffeine.
Only once it was in place did I turn back to Kaylan, ready to explain.
“Burned your tongue on that first one, didn’t you?” she asked. A smug look crossed her face as she folded her arms.
“Little bit.”
“Yeah, I just made it,” she said. “You’d know that if you cared to share a damn word with your partner anymore.”
Five years younger than me in actual age, it still amazed me how large the gap between the two of us could at times be. I had been around the world with the navy and DEA, had faced death down more times than I could count, had experienced loss on a scale that I hoped nobody else ever had to.
In sum, I had learned there were things to sweat over, stuff that a person was right to get angry about, and there were things that just were the way they were.
Kaylan had not yet learned that distinction. Now in her thirties, she too had unfortunately begun to experience some hardship. The gap between us was slowly closing.
But it wasn’t there yet.
“Okay,” Kaylan said. Releasing her folded arms, she held them to either side. “Let’s back up. You have a brother?”
Folds of skin formed around my eyes as I stared at her. How, or why, she’d decided to back up to that particular question, I hadn’t a clue.
“What?”
“You said Amber was your sister-in-law,” Kaylan said. “I didn’t even know you had a brother.”
The same tightening in my stomach returned, the same one that flared up when I heard Amber’s name earlier and when I heard her voice shortly thereafter.
The same one that arose each time the memory of my wife came to the fore.
“I don’t,” I replied. I considered explaining further, falling short instead, waiting to let her piece things together.
It took less than a minute.
I could visually see the instant things snapped into place, Kaylan’s eyes expanding, her mouth dropping open. A hand rose to cover the bottom half of her face.
“Oh, my God, you mean...”
“Yeah,” I said, nodding slightly, not particularly wanting to push any further on the topic. “We haven’t spoken in years, since everything happened.”
Turning my head to the side, I lowered my gaze toward the floor, taking in the scarred wood beneath my feet. I replayed everything that she had shared with me, the loose plan I had worked out in my head on the way back.
“There’s trouble at home,” I said, slowly returning my gaze to look at her. “I have to go back. I’m on the three o’clock out of Bozeman.”
Lowering her hand back to her side, Kaylan managed to close her mouth. She swallowed slowly, remaining silent as she stared at me.
“I called Paul,” I continued, “he was at Old Faithful, agreed to go down and look after the Gentry’s for the night and bring them back tomorrow. I told him he could have the whole fee for covering for us.”
I left out the parts about Gentry being irate as he saw me pack up to go. About how my explaining that there was a family emergency in Tennessee I needed to get back for did nothing to stem his verbal onslaught.
How I needed to get chest-to-chest with him before he finally understood that I was not one of his corporate underlings that was impressed by a little man with a loud voice.
“I would appreciate it if you could help coordinate with his office while I’m gone,” I continued. “I know it’s short notice, and I apologize.”
There was no need to add any more. She was the one that had taken the first call from Amber. She knew that I had no way of knowing beforehand, that it truly was an emergency.
Even if she had no idea what exactly that was.
Lifting the cup to my lips, I swallowed half of the second cup, going slow enough that it didn’t strip away any remaining flesh as it slid down. Pausing, I added, “I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone. Hopefully, just a few days.”
Once more, I pulled up short of stating the obvious, knowing she would understand that if something was bad enough to send me heading to the airport, I likely wouldn’t be returning until it was over.
No matter how long it took.
Taking a moment to process, I watched as all the vitriol she had carried upon my arrival evaporated. In its place were equal measures of surprise and concern. What had started with a tongue lashing ended with her simply asking, “Do you need a ride to the airport?”
Chapter Twenty-One
Much like the night before, Ronell Brinks could feel anticipation thrumming through his veins. Feeding off the adrenaline coursing through his system, it had his nerves on end, his senses heightened as he sat in the front seat of the same Honda he’d been in the night before.
With an elbow resting on the window sill, he had a thumb jammed into his mouth, his front incisors working at the nail. His opposite leg moved up and down in a steady rhythm.
This was arguably a much larger hurdle than the one he’d faced the night before. That was part of an actual tryout. He had been given a task, was told to go out and find an automobile and bring it back.
This part, snatching the girl and presenting her to the S-2, was his own doing. He had gone off-script, hoping that the show of initiative and the offering of the girl would catapult him up in the rankings.
His own involvement with the organization was no more than a couple of months old, but already he had seen enough to know how things worked. Like any business entity in the world, the ones that ascended, that excelled, were the ones that asserted themselves. Those that didn’t were left in neutral, thirty-somethings still working in the garage, nothing more to show for their time than a script tattoo on their forearm.
That was not going to be Ronell. He had already spent more than enough time idling along, stuck in the hellish prison that was living with his stepfather.
This was his time. The girl was his opportunity.
Staring out the window, he watched as the familiar trappings of the warehouse owned and operated by the S-2 came into view. The energy he felt seemed to ratchet up a degree as they drew closer, the structure fast approaching on the corner.
Turning away from the window, Ronell pressed his chin into his shoulder. He glanced back to see the girl sitting behind Jamal, a black rag tied around her eyes, her shoulders rigid.
“We get in here, don’t you say a word,” Ronell warned. “Don’t even make a sound.”
The girl said nothing. Her body was so tense, it looked like she might burst at any moment.
“Got that?”
The girl drew in a sharp breath, a small moan sliding out. Her lower lip quivered as she managed a weak nod.
“And for the love of God, do not even think of crying.”
His face twisted into a scowl, Ronell turned back to face forward. He watched as Jamal pulled up to the roll top door on the opposite end of the same line Ronell had used the night before and stopped. Leaning out, he raised his chin toward the camera.
A moment later, the door slowly moved upward, the world within coming into view.
Unlike the bays on the opposite end, this one held no equipment. No workers were on hand. Just an empty slab of concrete, framed on all sides by cinder block painted white. In the center of the wall was a plain metal door, a second camera mounted above it.
Nothing more.
“What the...?” Jamal murmured, easing the car forward before pulling to a stop.
“For things that they don’t want anybody to see,” Ronell said. Reaching for the door, he added, “Keep your asses inside until I signal for you.”
A pair of grunts was the only response as Ronell stepped out. The sound of the door slamming shut echoed through the small confines of the room as he stepped to the front of the car. Raising his fist, he pounded twice on the door before taking a step back and staring up at the camera.
Tamping down the roiling energy he felt inside, he hel
d his position, looking straight into the lens, waiting for what felt an eternity. Heat rose to his skin as he fought the urge to fidget.
Beginning at one, he slowly began to count off the seconds, doing anything to occupy his mind.
He made it as far as sixty-three before the door finally opened, the heavy release of a push bar echoing through the room.
Taking another step back, Ronell felt the nose of the Honda press into the back of his legs. Buckling his knees forward an inch, he used a hand to brace himself, his attention aimed forward as Big Man stepped into the room.
By his side was Peanut, the white sweatbands he’d been wearing the night before swapped out for black. In his hand was again a clipboard, the bottom edge resting in his palm, the rest of it tucked up along the inside of his forearm.
Neither said a word until they were through and the door shut tight behind them, standing side by side, sizing Ronell up.
“She inside?” Big Man eventually asked, nudging his chin toward the car.
“Yeah,” Ronell said. “Backseat.”
Flicking his gaze from Ronell to the car, Big Man said, “You know, this isn’t how things are usually done.”
A sensation passed over Ronell’s skin, his body almost tingling, feeling as if there were bugs crawling the length of him. Moisture glazed his forehead as he nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Shifting his focus back, Big Man leveled a glare on him. “Especially for someone that hasn’t been inducted yet.”
This time, Ronell opted to say nothing. He’d expected some sort of dressing down, knew that at this point it was better to remain silent and ride things out.
Groups like the S-2 survived and thrived because they acted under the strictest of rules. That was what kept such a large group of guys on the same page, allowed the organization to operate without running afoul of the law. And for most of the men inside, that was a good thing. It kept them from doing anything foolish, from bringing unwanted attention.
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