by Barb Han
“Does that mean you’re officially onboard?” She seemed to seize on the slip.
Traffic stopped again and he took the opportunity to glance at the photo on the seat in between them where he’d set it.
“She deserves to be found.”
The next couple of seconds seemed like the air had been sucked out of the cab at the implication they’d be looking for a body. It had been two weeks since she’d last been seen. He wasn’t in the business of creating false hope.
“I won’t make promises that I can’t keep. To be clear, she’s probably already dead or in such bad shape you’ll wish you’d walked away while you still could.” Another stop. Another glance. It was true. Two weeks of an almost constant drip of heroin or crack would make an addict out of almost anyone. Because if she was alive the possibilities of what had happened to her were stark, especially now that he knew she’d gone missing in Jamaica. “Either way, we’ll find her and bring her home. What happens after that is up to the two of you.”
Clara had turned to face the passenger window and, based on her sniffles, she was crying.
Damn. He wasn’t trying to be a jerk. He just wanted to prepare her for the worst-case scenario. A piece of him could be man enough to admit that he also wanted to push her away. The attraction he felt sizzling between them had no place in his life and based on her reactions to him so far she felt the same.
Besides, there was a camp who most likely believed Ashlyn had started dabbling in drugs, got mixed up with a local trying to score some and then got herself abducted because everyone but probably this kid knew that a blond American girl would fetch a damn high price in a human trafficking ring. It sickened him to think about a child being used in this way—sold to twisted bastards—but it happened every day. Human trafficking was a global-fucking-epidemic.
He thought about the picture of Ashlyn, the innocence she portrayed. Anger fired through him at the thought of that innocence being taken away, the thought of another kid being damaged or hurt.
“Tell me about the vacation,” Daniel said. He needed to hold onto that anger and channel it into a relentless search. Human traffickers—if that’s what they were dealing with and he could only guess at this point—had sophisticated systems in place. Systems that would be difficult to infiltrate.
A few seconds passed before his passenger cleared her throat and straightened her body, facing forward again.
“They left the weekend before the fourth of July. The DeSanchos family always travels that week and Ashlyn had gone with them before. They used to have a lake house, big place on Lake Travis and would take her there on family trips,” she said. “This was the first time they were traveling out of state let alone out of the country with her. I didn’t like it.”
“How’d you feel about Ashlyn going with them to their lake house?” He wanted to gauge her overall comfort with her niece traveling with the family. Could be that she overreacted about every situation or there could be something deeper with the DeSanchos that she had yet to reveal.
“My sister knew how I felt,” she admitted.
So, she didn’t like it.
“Boats and alcohol don’t mix very well. The lake is downright crowded on a good day. Make it a holiday weekend and forget it,” she blurted out.
“Are the DeSanchos drinkers?”
“Socially. My sister said they never drank around the kids,” Clara said.
“Was Ashlyn a good swimmer?”
“Great. Stella started her young in swimming lessons. Even took her through that survivalist training program where the teacher throws the kids in the water fully clothed at like six-years-old,” she said. “I thought it was too aggressive but my sister reminded me that this is Texas. Home of multiple days of hundred-plus degree summers. Seems like everyone has a swimming pool in the backyard. Ashlyn needed to be prepared for anything in case she fell in by accident.”
“Sounds like something a good mother would think about.” He was too ashamed to admit that he had limited experience dealing with the psychology of mothers. His wife had run the show when it came to their daughter while he was off fighting the enemy. Or so he’d believed. Turned out that in his line of work the enemy wasn’t always as he or she appeared.
“What Ashlyn needed was self-defense class,” Clara admitted and then became a little too quiet. “My sister did her best. She did a much better job than I ever could.”
“Are there any siblings in the picture?” he asked. “Does your sister have other children?”
“No.”
“What about stepdad? He come into the marriage with any kids?”
“None that I know of.” Again, he picked up on the note of dislike in her tone.
“You’re a shrink—”
“Psychologist,” she corrected.
“Same difference.”
“Not at all,” she said.
“My point is that you must have a professional opinion about your sister’s husband. I’d like to hear it,” he said.
“Bottom line is that I just don’t like Timothy Durango,” she said on a sigh. “It’s probably because he and Ashlyn never really got along because God knew he took up all my sister’s time after the two met. He kept her wrapped up in his life, tennis with his boss’s wife, cocktail parties almost every weekend. My sister had quit that game years ago when Ashlyn came along.”
“Your sister seemed to take extra care when it came to her daughter. Extreme swimming lessons, the works. Seems like she was trying to make sure the girl was prepared.”
“I guess I would’ve done things differently with Ashlyn,” she admitted with a shrug.
“How bad did it get between your niece and her stepdad?” he asked.
“Bad enough that Ashlyn started staying with me or her father as much as possible. Stella didn’t like it and it caused friction between us. Ashlyn and I have always been close but when my sister started dating Timothy the two of us bonded even more.”
“Which upset your sister.”
“Stella thought Ashlyn was running away from the situation rather than dealing with it. She wanted the two of them to get along and thought forcing them together would magically fix everything.” Clara pinched the bridge of her nose.
“What beef did the two of them have?”
“Timothy swears Ashlyn had been stealing from his bar, which was extensive. I’m not sure the guy knew how much he had accurately.”
“Are telling me he was a straight-up liar?” He figured this wasn’t the time to share some of his teenage exploits.
“She might’ve been pushing the boundaries.”
“Teenage years are all about pushing back against rules. Trying to figure life out,” he added.
She rocked her head. “Exactly. Was she pulling stuff? Sure. It was pretty typical for her age, though.”
“Someone in your profession would know all about those different phases.”
“I’ve seen rebellious teen angst and families in crisis play out first hand in my office,” she said. “But what’s been going on with Ashlyn and Stella is different.”
“How do you mean?”
“Ashlyn fundamentally is a good kid. Last year, for her birthday rather than ask for presents she had everyone bring a new stuffed animal to be donated to a children’s hospital,” she said.
“Sounds like a good kid.” He didn’t see the need to remind her there was a big difference between a twelve-year-old and a thirteen-year-old. It sounded like a lot had happened to the kid in the past year, as well. “I have to say. There’s a reason attorneys don’t try cases involving their own family members.”
Based on her reaction she didn’t much care for the implication.
“Surely you realize that you’re not going to be objective when it comes to your niece,” he stated.
“Ashlyn was a terrific student. She put a lot of pressure on herself to make grades. She ran track and was getting good at it. School is a lot more pressure now than when we were kids. I’m not
saying that she couldn’t have sampled alcohol in order to blow off steam. I just don’t think she’d be stupid enough to keep doing it once Timothy figured her out. Not unless she was trying to start a fight with him, which I seriously doubt.” She was massaging her temples now. “She’d mentioned that her fights with him were starting to put too much pressure on her mother. Mentioned that she didn’t want to be the cause of another divorce.”
“Why did she think that?”
“Kids blame themselves for everything that happens at that age. I’ve seen it over and over again in my practice,” she admitted. “I hated that she believed Andy and Stella had split because of her. They never told her the real reason.”
Before he could ask another question, Clara pointed to the exit sign for Main Street in Frisco off the Dallas North Tollway. “This is ours. We need to take this exit.”
Daniel made sure he was clear before zipping into the far right lane, just making the exit safely.
An hour had zoomed by while they’d been locked in conversation.
After a couple of left- and right-hand turns, they pulled up in front of a grand two-story brick house that had a couple of saplings planted in the front yard.
The place resembled a small castle and every other house on the block had a similar look and feel. Solid large wooden doors were at the front of every home. Green grass that was no doubt thanks to an automated sprinkler system. The house looked newly built and the landscape immature.
As soon as they parked, the front door opened and a woman wearing athletic clothes rushed out, jogging toward them.
He and Clara exited his rented truck.
The family resemblance was apparent. Both sisters had blond hair. Stella looked several years older than Clara, with a deeply bronzed tan on a fit body. She wore a tennis visor and her hair swished back and forth in her ponytail.
She had a death grip on a handkerchief that she used to dab at her eyes.
Clara’s body went rigid as she made physical contact with her sister, Daniel noticed as he rounded the front of the truck.
He gave them enough space to greet each other but not so much that he couldn’t hear if either spoke. As much as Clara might think she could be objective under the circumstances that couldn’t be further from the truth.
Stella broke free in dramatic fashion and that’s where the similarities between sisters ended. Clara was much more simple beauty and no-nonsense mentality whereas her sister wore heavy makeup and had an overall made-up quality to her.
“Who’s this?” She made a show of looking Daniel up and down.
Up close, her eyes were dry. She dabbed them again anyway. Daniel gave her the benefit of the doubt considering she’d been dealing with the loss of her daughter for weeks already but filed her behavior away as odd.
“This is the man I hired to help look into Ashlyn’s case,” Clara said and a flicker of—what? Panic? Shock?—passed across the backs of her sister’s eyes like rolling clouds in a windstorm. Of course, she could just be exhausted from the investigation and lack of results. And then there was medication to consider.
“I’m Daniel Damon.” He offered a handshake. She took his hand and he noticed that her palms were moist like she was nervous.
“Come on in,” she said, abruptly turning and walking toward her still-open front door.
Clara took in an audible breath, like she was trying to fortify her nerves. Her sister bounced on toward the opening seemingly unaware that no one had followed.
Daniel put his hand on the small of Clara’s back and waited for her to take the first step.
After another sharp inhale, she glanced at him and took a few forward steps. He walked beside her, stopping at the door to let her walk in first.
A constant yip-noise echoed throughout the dramatic two-story entryway.
Hanging back gave him more perspective, so he kept his distance once inside, preferring to stick by the front door.
The large entry housed a winding staircase to the right. Hardwoods covered the floors as far as he could see. Double French doors to his immediate left led to an office.
The doors were closed and a little cotton-haired dog bounced up and down, yipping wildly.
The little thing looked like it would scratch through the glass if left ignored for much longer.
“Oh, hush, Berkley,” Stella chided.
“What’s Ashlyn’s dog doing in his office?” Clara asked quietly, but there was a whole mess of accusation in her tone.
“I didn’t want him running out the door when you came,” Stella said, defensiveness ringing loud warning bells in her tone.
A missing child would cause cracks in any family dynamic. He tried not to judge too harshly.
“Berkley’s not allowed in there.” Clara folded her arms.
“I’ll get him,” Stella said with a little dissatisfied grunt. She trotted over to the door. It was morning, but August in Texas was hot and she wore one of those long-sleeved Yoga hoodies with holes cut out for her thumbs. The hoodie seemed out of place even though the A/C was set low in order to cool the massive space.
Stella opened the door and bent down to scoop up the little fur ball. She lost balance on the way down and plopped down hard on her butt.
She released a curse as the dog immediately darted around her and zigzagged around the room. Berkley whizzed past Daniel and Clara, dashing in and out of them, and then between their shoes. The little streak of white fur made an awful lot of noise for such a tiny thing.
Daniel was by Stella’s side in a split-second, offering a hand up. The older woman’s cheeks flushed as she accepted his hand and he helped her to her feet.
“Thank you, Daniel,” Stella said with as much dignity as she seemed able to muster.
The dog jumped up and down at Daniel’s feet.
“Berkley, no,” Stella chided like she was scolding a kid. “Get off that nice man’s pants.”
The flurry of activity seemed to rattle Stella’s already on-edge nerves. A couple of real tears broke loose, dripping onto her cheeks. She sniffed them back. “I’m sorry. Everything’s just a mess and I miss my girl.”
This close, Daniel recognized the scent of alcohol on her breath. He glanced at Clara who seemed to notice too.
“Come on in. He’ll settle down in a few minutes,” Stella said before closing the doors to the office. Her gaze locked onto something on the rug through the glass. “Dammit.”
“What?” Clara asked, looking stunned based on Stella’s reaction. Pure panic washed over the older sister’s features.
“Berkley! Not again.” There was anger in her voice now. Surprisingly, a few more tears sprang down her cheeks as she stalked into the next room and back with a roll of paper towels tucked underneath one arm and a bottle of some kind of carpet cleaner in the other.
She practically ran into the office and dropped to her knees next to a small yellow spot on the light carpet.
“I should’ve known better. It’s my fault. Bad, Berkley,” she practically barked at the little fluff ball who immediately charged into the entry way. He ran a few circles around Daniel’s feet and then darted toward Clara, who bent down to scoop him up.
She caught him on the fourth try as Stella squirted then blotted, squirted then blotted.
A river of tears trailed down her cheeks as she cursed the little dog and then herself.
The woman seemed emotionally unstable and under the circumstances he couldn’t fault her. But there seemed more to the story. She had dry eyes a few minutes ago but put on a show for the two of them when they’d first arrived. And now the dog urinated in the home office and she practically unraveled?
Daniel glanced around at the office space. A neat desk was in front of him. Everything had a place and seemed to be in it. In fact, it had that pristine look of a showroom rather than a real working office.
“It’s Timothy’s and he doesn’t like the dog to be in here. Says it’s the only place in the house he can get away from—” Stell
a glanced up with a look of shame, like she’d just overshared.
“Where is he?” Clara asked. Her spine went ramrod straight every time the man’s name was mentioned.
“At work, like every normal person at this hour,” Stella bit back.
Daniel had seen people freak out over a lot of things in his day, but if this woman rubbed the carpet any harder her knuckles would bleed.
Chapter 9
Stella looked up at Daniel. “What branch of law enforcement do you work for?”
“I’m freelance,” Daniel said, helping Stella to her feet. She reeked of breath mints and alcohol. She walked a straight line, though, and her speech wasn’t slurred. She didn’t give away any other signs of hitting the bottle, which meant she was a practiced drunk.
Daniel thought back to what Clara had told him in the truck about Timothy accusing Ashlyn of drinking his alcohol. Now he wondered if Stella was a closet drunk. It was nine-thirty in the morning and she’d already hit the bottle.
He couldn’t imagine the horror of a child going missing. One minute the kid had been on vacation with a friend, the next…nothing. No information. No cooperation. No daughter.
So he gave Stella a little leeway on the day drinking.
Couldn’t say he’d do the same thing if he was in her position but he’d want his mind to stay sharp. He’d spend every waking hour searching for his child. He’d keep going until he found her, answers, or was killed in the process.
But then everyone dealt with life differently.
There was nothing about the woman that made him believe she was somehow connected to the disappearance. The hollow cast to her eyes said she’d been grieving. He had no doubt that she loved her child even though her new husband seemed to take priority. Him, she seemed afraid of. He’d met her when she was her most vulnerable and the bastard had most likely taken advantage of that state. He seemed to be taking measures to isolate her from her daughter, from the world. It was a common trick among abusers and Daniel ground his back teeth thinking about the kind of men who got a rush out of hurting or controlling women.
