by Dana Mason
Ryan stared at him for a long moment, not totally sure he liked where this was leading. “Sir, are you seriously investigating this as if Bailey left with Dex of her own free will?”
“What else is there to suspect?”
“You said yourself there wasn’t any proof she left willingly,” Vince said.
Ryan felt heat rise in his face. “I just told you, she wouldn’t have left with Dex willingly, and if she did, you have to remember—she didn’t know about her family, and he did! Isn’t it obvious that he’d do something to shut her up?”
“I said we couldn’t confirm she went willingly, but we also can’t confirm she didn’t. I’m just trying to tell you, it’s a possibility she chose to leave with him.”
“You’re a mother fucking idiot!” Ryan shouted. He snatched the note with the address where Bailey was last seen and tipped his chair over as he stood and turned toward Lucas, who was heading up the boots-on-the-ground searchers.
Before he had a chance to say anything to Lucas, Sharpe approached him from behind and said, “Ryan.”
“No. I made it perfectly clear to you—nobody knew Dex was married when Bailey was seeing him. We. Didn’t. Know.” He pointed to Sharpe. “Has it occurred to you maybe he snatched her off the street to keep her from talking to you? He couldn’t have known Bailey’s DNA had a match.” He shook his head, the realization settling in. “Jesus Christ! He thought she was submitting her DNA today. That’s what we told him last week. Fuck! He was trying to get her out of the way before she had a chance.”
“Ryan, take a deep breath, okay?” Sharpe held out a calming hand. “All of this has occurred to us. That’s why Agent Scofield’s speaking with the family. We haven’t given up on Bailey, but we have to look at all possibilities.”
Ryan pointed to his chest and said, “Any possibilities that don’t involve Bailey being taken against her will are a waste of fucking time.”
Vince grabbed Ryan’s arm. “Ryan, you need to calm down, son.”
Sharpe nodded at them. “It’s fine. I understand why you’re upset. I really do.”
Ryan stepped back and was met by Lucas’ hand on his shoulder. He took a deep breath and shook it off as best he could. Finally, he said, “I get that you’re doing your job, but Bailey’s in danger, and unlike you, we don’t have the luxury of being objective about it. While you question her motives, I already know she’s in danger.”
“Ryan, nothing’s changed. We’re also concerned, and we haven’t changed the focus of our search. I assure you, Bailey’s safety is very important to us.”
“Thank you,” Vince said. “We hope you’ll continue to update us as you learn more.”
Sharpe nodded and took the hand Vince extended to him. “Of course. I’ll do what I can to keep you informed.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
It was nearing nine p.m. on the fourth day of Bailey’s disappearance, and they were all exhausted. Ryan spied his dad at a corner table, head resting on his folded arms, sound asleep. Many of the searchers had called it a day. Some lingered, mainly to offer support. He looked around the room, taking in all the friends who had remained. He was so thankful, but it was hard. Hard to do anything but think about Bailey and what she could be going through. Worry consumed him, and he wasn’t sure what to do next. The Lake Tahoe area was so large, and they couldn’t even be sure Dex hadn’t taken her out of the area.
When his phone rang, he pulled it out and saw Agent Sharpe’s number on the screen. Ryan hit the answer button. “Hello?”
“Ryan, we have some news.”
“Shoot,” he said, anxious to hear it all. Lucas had just exited the kitchen when the phone rang, so he walked over to join Ryan.
“Nicole Dexter hasn’t heard from her husband since he left for work on Friday morning. She’s been trying to make contact with him, but he won’t return her calls, and he hasn’t been home since then.” Ryan heard paperwork shuffle in the background, then Sharpe said, “And she was completely unaware her husband was having an affair.”
Ryan almost rolled his eyes. No shit. He didn’t need the FBI to tell him that. “There’s more, I assume.”
“Yes. We’ve had hundreds of tips since we released the information about Dexter’s truck. It seems a lot of people noticed it around the lake on Friday.”
“Anything that might lead us to Bailey?” Ryan asked.
“I’m on my way over to the club to give you an update. Will you be there?”
“Yeah, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Okay, I’ll see you in about ten minutes.” Sharpe ended the call, leaving Ryan with a sense of dread. What could he have learned that couldn’t be shared over the phone?
About ten minutes later, as promised, Sharpe walked through the front door of the club.
“I just interviewed a couple of people on the west side of the lake who claim to have seen Dexter launch a boat on Friday.”
Ryan met Lucas’ eyes. “Where on the west side? Which launch?”
“Cave Rock. Are you familiar with it?”
“Yes,” Lucas said. “It’s the launch Dex usually used when he brought his boat up here.”
“They confirmed it was Dexter’s truck they saw. They recognized it from the photo, and when shown a photo of Mr. Dexter, they confirmed it was him driving the truck. They watched him launch the boat. They also gave us detailed information about the boat.”
“Really? Any particular reason why they remember so much detail about him?”
Sharpe nodded. “They thought he was suspicious from the beginning. For one, he was alone and seemed to be muttering to himself as he launched the boat. He was also rushing. She said a couple of teenagers offered to help him, but he screamed at them to get away and threatened them.”
“There’s more.” It wasn’t a question. Ryan knew Sharpe was holding back. “What else?”
“They also stated it looked as if he was hiding something in the rear of the boat. He had a blue tarp tied over the back seats.”
“And that could’ve been Bailey.”
Sharpe’s eyes grew soft for a moment, and that made Ryan very nervous.
“It also could’ve been fishing equipment or just about anything else,” Sharpe said.
“So when he got there, the tarp was tied over the boat?”
“No, just over the back. The witness specifically said ‘over the back seat.’ That could be anything.”
Ryan nodded. “And they didn’t see a woman with him, so…” He nodded again, feeling a bit smug. “So Bailey wasn’t willingly going out on the lake with Dex.”
“No. He was alone,” Sharpe confirmed.
“Anything else worth noting?” Lucas asked.
“They made a comment, joking of course, that he must’ve been heading out to dump a dead body.”
The wind left Ryan’s lungs in a rush. “Fuck.”
He leaned forward, bracing himself on a chair for support, his heart having lurched in his chest. He placed a hand over his stomach to try to get his bearings.
Lucas took over the questions from there. “I guess it’s safe to assume they didn’t suspect there was a live, struggling person in the back of the boat.”
Sharpe shook his head. “Dexter returned over an hour later, with wet clothes and acting erratically. The tarp was no longer in the back of the boat. He trailered the boat in a rush and spun his tires when he left the parking lot.
“She’s…she’s not dead,” Ryan stammered.
“No. Of course not,” Lucas said. “But she may have been unconscious.”
Ryan swallowed back the bile and nodded. “Yeah, that’s possible.”
Sharpe’s phone rang, and he turned his back on them to answer.
Ryan didn’t pay much attention until he heard the abrupt “Where?”
Lucas and Ryan both watched him closely as he spoke.
“Text me the address…or the closest address.” A moment later, Sharpe nodded at them. “I need to go.”
“
Agent Sharpe?”
Sharpe pointed at Ryan. “Stay here. I’ll stop by later to talk to you.” His look was grave, and it was enough to make Ryan sick to his stomach.
* * *
Bailey woke to the sound of a radio. It wasn’t inside with her but sounded more like it came from outside somewhere. She couldn’t make out the words but knew for sure it was a radio by the sound alone. She waited a moment, then tried to roll over. She couldn’t see anything; it was completely dark. There wasn’t even the slightest glow from the moon outside the windows. At this point, she couldn’t even be sure there were windows. The only reason she was certain she was in the same trailer was the godawful smell.
She lay there for a long time, waiting for something to happen. For anything to happen, but nothing did.
Was she alone?
Was Dex coming back?
Was she going to be sold to the highest bidder by Snaggletooth or killed as Dex had instructed?
She started to cry against her will. Between the aches and pains, the upset stomach, and terrible headache, she couldn’t hold in her tears. She rolled the rest of the way over and lifted her hands to wipe her face. The rope around her wrists had rubbed her raw and bloody. Every movement sent sharp pains through her arms, but her body also ached from lying in the same spot for too long.
Get up, Bailey.
She needed to get up and get the hell out of there. She sat up and tried to stand, but her feet were still tied. She fell back onto the mattress to ward off the dizziness. Whatever Snaggletooth had injected her with was still affecting her ability to function. The injection site burned as well. She looked down at the bruise at the crook of her arm and prayed whatever he’d given her wouldn’t have any permanent effects. She scoffed tearfully as she reached to untie the ropes around her ankles. For all she knew, that was his plan—to kill her by overdose. And only God knew what kind of disease she’d contracted from the needle he used.
Moving her hands around was terribly painful, but the promise of escape spiked her adrenaline. She pushed through the pain and had the last knot around her feet untied when the beam of a bright flashlight bounced into the trailer. She tensed, not sure what was going to happen next. Snaggletooth was panting and pacing the small area like a caged animal as his wide eyes darted around the trailer. Something had obviously spooked him.
When the stream of curses started, she shrank farther back onto the bed as far as she could, trying to stay out of the glow of the flashlight, but she scooted back too far and lost her balance, sliding off the bed.
“Hush now,” Snaggletooth said, stopping his pacing for a few moments. “I need to think, and I can’t with all that noise.”
She sat perfectly still, hoping he would forget about her. When she quieted, he resumed pacing again. Then he opened a couple of cabinets and threw some things into a bag. He stayed stock-still for a moment. She could see him by the glow of the flashlight.
After seemingly coming to a decision, he grabbed a dirty rag out of the small sink in front of him and started to wipe everything down. He didn’t seem to miss anything. He ran the rag over every surface in the trailer then threw it back in the sink.
Afterward, he turned and shined the light on her as she fought to get to her feet. “Oh, no, you don’t.” He rushed over and pushed her back down on the floor, pressing a boot to her chest. He held her still for a moment before rushing back into the other room.
Bailey fought to get up, but her limbs were too weak, and she was too slow from the drugs. She glanced over and watched as Snaggletooth reached for his bag and pulled out a hypodermic needle.
“No!” Bailey screamed through her attempt to calm her breathing. She inhaled slowly and exhaled, concentrating on each breath. “I’m fine. I don’t need…you don’t have to…please, don’t drug me again!”
“Calm down, girly. It’s okay. Just a prick,” he said before sticking the needle between his lips and slamming her back to the ground. He placed a knee on her chest, pulling her tied hands onto his lap. She could hardly fight due to the effects of the last injection he’d given her. She bucked up and down, but it made no difference. He tied a strap around her upper arm, and, seconds later, she felt the prick. She wasn’t sure how he could even see what he was doing, but he’d obviously hit his mark because she felt the instant rush of heat and confusion.
He scrambled to his feet and held her head to the side as she threw up again. It was nothing but the little bit of water she’d had and bile. He picked her up off the floor, and she moaned as her thoughts seem to drift away from her physical body.
Like magic, all her pain dissipated, and she felt heavy and sleepy. Yes…she could sleep. She would like to sleep and forget…forget everything. A few minutes later, she thought she heard a car start, but she couldn’t be sure. She wasn’t sure of anything just then.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
It had been five days, and Ryan ached. Everything on his body hurt; it was a clear reflection of his emotional state. He downed his beer and dropped the empty bottle on the bar. His eyes drifted up to the big screen on the wall behind the main bar. The picture of Dex flared his anger again. If it weren’t for the fact that Bailey would be pissed at him for doing it, he’d throw his empty bottle at the TV.
At least the son-of-a-bitch was dead. He reached over and poured another glass of whiskey. The beauty of being a bar owner was having all the booze you wanted. Lucas came up behind him and grabbed the glass and bottle of whiskey before walking behind the bar and dumping it in the sink. “I think you’ve had enough.”
Ryan pointed to Lucas and said, “I think you’re right.” He slid off the barstool and swayed a few times as he started to pace. He ran through everything he knew about William Dexter as he wandered around the room in a haze. The man liked to ski; that’s how they’d met him. He knew how to handle a boat. But that was the extent to which Ryan knew Dex.
“Why the fuck didn’t I pay closer attention?” he shouted to the empty room. “Why the fuck didn’t I ask more questions? Why didn’t I take the time to learn more about him?”
“Ryan, there’s no way you could’ve prevented this. Nobody could’ve prevented this,” Wade said as he stepped around the bar to face Ryan.
“That’s fucking great, man,” Ryan slurred. “That’s fucking great, but, Wade, man, that’s just not enough.” Ryan tried to lean on a chair, but fell to the ground, taking the chair with him in the process. As he balanced on a knee to stand back up, he said, “You see…man…I’m pretty sure…she’s…she’s dead. I mean, why keep her alive?” He turned toward Wade when he finally got to his feet. “I mean, seriously, Dex didn’t expect the FBI to get a DNA match since he didn’t know we met with them a week earlier than planned. So…so, of course, he just needed to get rid of her to get out of this mess.”
“She’s not dead! Don’t say that again!” Mae shouted, entering the bar from the dock stairs. “Fuck you. She’s not dead. If you want to sit here and wallow in your beer and feel sorry for yourself, go ahead, but I’m not giving up on her.”
“Mae, he’s just upset,” Lucas said, taking her arm.
“What the hell do you think I am?” She snatched her arm back. “I’m upset, but you don’t see me getting shit-faced.”
Ryan plopped down into a chair. She was right. He was a complete fuck-up.
Wade walked over and sat a cup of coffee down in front of him. “It’s okay, Ryan. You have time to sober up.”
Ryan took the coffee and drank it down. They were right. He wasn’t doing his job. He was supposed to protect Bailey, but he didn’t. He was supposed to look for her, and he hadn’t. He was supposed to find her, but he couldn’t.
He tried to focus, tried to rid his system of the buzz. His eyes were drawn to the TV again. The Rosa Trials was on. He hated Rosa Sikes, and he hated her show. She had gained popularity by trying to debunk truths on her news show. The problem was, the truths she uncovered weren’t truths; they were usually lies, or they were purposely e
xposed secrets exaggerated to hurt people. She pretended to be a serious journalist, but her late-night show was a rag—a tabloid that held mock court trials on popular news issues. She and her network made money by spreading lies and destroying people’s lives.
When a photo of Bailey and Dex appeared, Ryan sat up straighter. “What’s she talking about?”
He stood quickly and stumbled over to turn the volume up. Rosa was interviewing someone over the phone, and they were talking about Dex and Bailey. Where had they gotten the photos? “How’d they—”
“What the hell are they saying?” Wade asked.
“…so you’re telling us,” Rosa said. “William Dexter and Marianne Spatz—or I should say Bailey Morton—were lovers. You think they ran off together.”
“Um…yes,” the caller said. “I’m sure they did.”
“But he’s dead, and she hasn’t been found.”
“Finally, you’re catching on,” the caller said.
“Whoa,” Rosa said, holding her hands up. Her gaudy fingernails were easily an inch long. “That’s a serious accusation. Why, if Ms. Morton ran off with Mr. Dexter, would she kill him? What on earth would her motive be?”
The caller, a female voice Ryan didn’t recognize, said, “I guess that’s why I’m calling you. You’re the investigative reporter, you figure it out.”
Rosa laughed heartily at that, slapping her hand on her knee. “Okay, challenge accepted.”
