Finding Bailey: A Lake Tahoe Romantic Suspense Novel

by Dana Mason

  Ryan looked over at Wade. “What the fuck?”

  “Who the hell was that?” Wade asked. “Did you recognize the voice?”

  “No.”

  “That fucking bitch! Both of them,” Wade raged, now pacing the length of the bar. “How could she report something so, so…irresponsible? My God, what purpose is there in trying to prove that Bailey isn’t really missing and painting her as a murderer? That’s ridiculous!”

  Ryan plopped back down into his chair and glanced out the window at the group of people out on the dock, all working to find Bay while he sat around and drank. He bowed his head and said, “I’m sorry, Wade.”

  Wade stopped pacing in front of him and leaned forward, gripping Ryan’s shoulder hard. “It’s okay, Ryan. We’ll get her back.”

  Before Ryan could respond, someone entered the club from the front door. It was after midnight, and almost everyone had gone home, except for the ten or fifteen people out at the Dock Bar.

  “We’re closed,” Ryan said over his shoulder, but then froze when his eyes rested on Agent Sharpe. He looked tired. Exhausted, actually. Ryan’s pulse jumped, and as hope bloomed, so did respect for Agent Sharpe. He’d obviously been up since the last time Ryan had seen him.

  “Wade, will you grab Agent Sharpe a cup of that coffee?” Lucas asked.

  Sharpe lifted a placating hand as Ryan rose from his chair. “I have some updates, but we haven’t found her yet.”

  “I think we’ve already seen most of the updates on TV,” Ryan said, trying not to sound as irritated as he felt.

  “I know. Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner,” Sharpe said, sitting down in front of Ryan. “Dexter was hiding out in a rental cabin off Genoa Peak Road. He knew about the place because he and his wife had rented it over Christmas a few years ago. I’m assuming he thought he could stay there and lay low without being noticed.”

  “Apparently not?” Wade said, setting down two cups of fresh coffee, one for Sharpe and one for Ryan.

  “Thank you.” Sharpe sipped the hot brew and continued. “The homeowner came into town to work on the house. He happened upon William Dexter.”

  “You’re not telling us anything we haven’t already seen on the news,” Ryan said.

  “Well, Ryan, it’s an ongoing investigation. There’s a lot I can’t share. I came here to update you as a courtesy.”

  “Yeah, I know, but surely you can give us something.”

  Sharpe gave a slight nod. “As I stated before, Dexter was hiding out in a rental cabin.” Sharpe met Ryan’s eyes. “He didn’t have Bailey with him, and we couldn’t find any evidence she’d been at the cabin.”

  Ryan lowered his head and nodded, fighting to ignore the ache in his chest.

  “The homeowner is a retired police officer. He had a license to carry, and he was armed. When he arrived at the house, he knew right away there had been an intruder. He quietly slipped into the house through the back door and started searching. When he entered the bathroom, Dexter was hiding behind the shower curtain. He lunged at the homeowner with a kitchen knife and was shot square in the chest.”

  Ryan looked up finally and met Sharpe’s eyes. “Was the homeowner hurt?”

  Sharpe spared him a crooked smile. “Not seriously. Dexter was dead before the EMTs arrived.” Sharpe’s mouth stretched into a yawn, then he said, “The shooting will be investigated, but we’re pretty certain the DA won’t press charges against the homeowner. All the evidence points to self-defense.”

  “How badly does this hurt our chances of finding Bailey?” Ryan asked.

  “Well, we would’ve had a better chance with Dexter alive, but there’s no guarantee he would’ve told us anything. The truth is, I can’t be certain either way, Ryan. I’m sorry.

  “Thank you.” Ryan felt bad. As much as he wanted to find Bailey, he could see from his bloodshot eyes and wrinkled suit that Sharpe had been out there for her. “Thank you for working so hard to find her.”

  Mae, Lucas, and Wade had all taken a chair near the table. They all sat quietly for a moment, and it was as if the room had taken a collective sigh.

  “So, what’s being done now?” Vince asked from behind Ryan.

  “We’re trying to get as much as we can out to the press, hoping someone saw something. We’re searching around the lake. We even have patrols on the lake.” He looked around at all their faces. “We don’t think he was working alone. We think he had help, and we think whoever was helping him is holding Bailey somewhere.”

  “That makes sense,” Lucas said.

  Ryan felt sick. The alcohol in his system churned in his stomach.

  Sharpe leaned forward and looked directly into Ryan’s eyes. “We haven’t shared the details of Dexter’s death with the press yet, so please, keep it to yourselves for now.”

  “You fucking need to,” Ryan said. “The Rosa Trials is speculating Bailey killed Dex. Nobody will bother searching for her if they believe she’s a murderer.”

  Before Sharpe could respond, the front door opened again. Everyone in the room looked over at the couple slowly entering the bar.

  “Is this still the search center for Bailey Morton?”

  Wade was the first to respond. “It is. Are you here to volunteer?”

  Ryan gave the couple a friendly nod and got up to greet them. If Mae’s rant and The Rosa Trials hadn’t been enough to sober him up, Agent Sharpe had. “Thank you for coming. We can use all the help we can get.”

  “Um, actually, we didn’t exactly come here to volunteer.” She handed over one of their flyers. “We drove over from North Shore after finding this and seeing the news coverage about Bailey’s disappearance.”

  Ryan stood straighter, his buzz completely dissipating. “Have you seen something?”

  “Well, yes.” She nodded. “I saw the man from the news on Friday. On the lake.”

  Ryan looked over at Sharpe as the agent stood to greet the couple.

  “You said you saw Mr. Dexter on the lake Friday? Do you remember the time?”

  The woman nodded. “Not exactly, but it was late afternoon. He was driving a boat. I saw him park it at a private boat dock.”

  Agent Sharpe pulled his notepad out from the inside pocket of his jacket. “Where exactly did you see him?”

  “Well, that’s the problem. I don’t know the lake well, so I don’t know exactly where. I was on a paddleboard near North Shore.”

  “If we showed you a map, would that help?” Ryan asked.

  “Oh, yes, that would help. I know where we rented the paddleboards and which direction I paddled.”

  Wade held up a finger. “I’ll grab a map. Be right back.”

  After Wade turned away, Ryan held out his hand. “I’m Ryan Walker. Thank you so much for coming. This is Special Agent Sharpe.”

  The woman’s eyes grew wide. “Hello, I’m Amanda Gomez. This is my husband, Michael.”

  “It’s great to meet you both. Have a seat. Wade should be right back—”

  “I’m right here,” Wade said. He laid out a map of the lake and said, “These are the most common rental places around the lake.” He pointed to two or three places.

  “We were on North Shore,” Amanda said. “I believe it’s around here.” She pointed. “And we paddled in this direction for some time.”

  Sharpe looked closely at the map, then jotted a note. “You rented the boards at Kings Beach?”

  “Yes.” Amanda nodded as she answered.

  Sharpe looked up from his notepad. “How do you know it was Mr. Dexter?”

  “Well… I’m not totally sure, but his physical stature matched the description on the news, and he looked a lot like the photos, and, well, I wasn’t that close to him, but I’m pretty sure it was the same boat described on the news.”

  “What were the similarities—of the boat?” asked Sharpe.

  “Oh, I don’t know anything about boats, um, but it was a ski boat. It looked like the photo they showed on the news. It was white with blue and black ho
rizontal markings. White seats.”

  “You said the boat stopped at a private dock?” Sharpe asked.

  Amanda’s eyes lit up like she’d remembered something important. “Yes. It was a little odd. He seemed to wrestle around for a few moments, then lifted something wrapped in a tarp and threw it over his shoulder.”

  Ryan drew in his eyebrows, his body almost jerking with the words. “He threw a tarp over his shoulder?”

  Sharpe held out his hand to Ryan as Amanda answered the question.

  “Yes, weird, I thought. It seemed a bit heavy…and it wasn’t folded, but sort of rolled.”

  Ryan met Sharpe’s eyes.

  “That’s what made me remember it,” she said. “It was as if he was hiding something wrapped in the tarp.”

  Ryan stood and paced around the table while Sharpe finished his questioning.

  “What color was the tarp?” Sharpe asked.

  “Oh, blue,” she said.

  “So,” Sharpe said. “You rented at Kings Beach and paddled toward— Where did you see the boat?”

  “You said this way,” Wade said. “This is Crystal Bay.”

  Sharpe wrote something and said, “Paddled toward Crystal Bay.” He then placed his notepad down and pulled out his cell phone.

  Amanda pointed. “Yes, we were just past this little outcrop here.

  “This is Stateline Point. Did you circle all the way around it, or was he somewhere on the point?” Wade asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “We circled around. I remember passing this beach. I was ahead of Michael, so he didn’t see.”

  Sharpe looked back down at the map. “Okay, you passed this beach and circled around the point, is that right?”

  Amanda smiled. “Yes. And over here somewhere”—she pointed to the cove inside Crystal Bay—“he parked the boat at the private dock.”

  Sharpe stood, dialing a number, and walked away from the table.

  Ryan looked at Lucas. “Get a group ready.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Bailey lay there in the quiet, trying hard to remember where she was. She could only see out of one eye, but it didn’t matter since it was pitch black. The other eye was swollen shut for some reason. Someone had hit her, and there was an awful smell or, actually, many awful smells. One was distinct—vomit. She vaguely remembered throwing up, but that seemed like days ago. She also vaguely remembered Dex, and she was pretty sure he was the reason her eye was swollen shut.

  Her mouth was so dry, she could barely open it, and her entire body felt like lead. She didn’t bother trying to move. Instead, she focused on sound. She heard what sounded like chewing or clawing and scurrying…one of those, or maybe all of them. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Knock. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Knock, knock, scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Knock. Repetitive, but not enough for her to ignore it, like white noise. The poor creature was probably clawing to get out or clawing to get in. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. There was also a fly in the room. She heard it buzzing and banging to get out, trying, like her, to stay alive long enough to breathe fresh air and drink water.

  When the scratching and knocking stopped suddenly, Bailey tried to lift her head. No use. And what was the point? She closed her eye again, and that’s when she heard it. Barking. Even the fly was quiet, waiting in suspense to hear something else, just like her.

  More barking.

  It was getting closer. Bailey tried to call out, but her throat was so dry, she could hardly make a sound.

  Voices and barking. Still getting closer. She tried to lift herself up, but the rough rope wrapped around her wrist shifted and dug at the rawness, reminding her why she hadn’t tried to move sooner. Where was she? God, she was so confused. Barking. Whose dog is barking?

  Voices. Couldn’t they be quiet? She was trying to rest. She needed to rest. She was so tired. Knocking. The knocking was back, but louder now.

  She closed her eyes again when the knocking stopped. More voices and lots of barking. What was all the racket? A loud bang and noise erupted around her so abruptly, she couldn’t understand what was happening. Squeezing her eyes closed, she tried to block out the beam of light when it hit her eyes.

  Then she felt cool hands touch her face.

  “Ms. Morton?” asked a nervous and very loud man’s voice.

  Bailey shook her head, trying to get out of the light. “What?”

  “Ms. Morton? Bailey Morton?”

  “Shh…” she said, because it was the easiest thing to get out of her dry mouth, and she had a vicious headache.

  She heard radio static, followed by a man’s voice. “We’ve found her.”

  * * *

  Ryan wanted to be sick. His knees nearly buckled when his eyes rested on her. She was covered in bruises. Every inch of exposed skin was black and blue. Her hair was matted and dirty, and she was covered in vomit. Those were just a few of the details he could see from the glimpse he got as the paramedics loaded her into the ambulance.

  Someone grabbed him by the upper arms and pulled him away as the paramedics slammed the doors. “She’s dehydrated, Ryan. I’m sure that’s the worst of it,” Vince said.

  “What?” His voice cracked, but he didn’t care. “Did you fucking see her?”

  “Yes. I also paid attention to what the paramedics said.” His dad frowned at him, rubbing his hands up and down Ryan’s upper arms in comfort. “Her pupils were constricted, her breathing shallow, and she’s overheated. I think he drugged her. Probably an opiate. That would keep her calm, but she’ll be fine, son. We got here in time.”

  Ryan gave in and dropped to the ground. He didn’t know what to feel first. Fear of the unknown or relief that she’d been found. He tried to talk to her, but she was too out of it. Damn, he prayed she heard his voice. He rested his head in his hands and gave in to the despair for a moment. He just needed a moment.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder. “Ryan, she really is going to be okay.”

  Ryan nodded and took a deep breath. Okay, moment of weakness gone. Time to get to her.

  * * *

  Bailey woke to the sound of beeping. What the hell was that? She tried to lift her head, but it hurt. Every inch of her hurt. The room wasn’t completely dark. Glowing lights were coming from a couple of different places. She tried again to lift her head and sit up, but there were things attached to her. What the hell? She leaned up on her elbow and realized she had no idea where she was. Something started beeping louder, and several lights came to life in front of her.

  She forced herself up and looked around, fear pulsing through her, giving her strength. As soon as she sat up, she heard a voice.

  “It’s okay, Bailey. You’re okay.”

  “Ryan?” Her head swiveled around and focused on the outline of his face in the dark. “Ryan?”

  “Yeah, Bay, I’m here.”

  The overhead lights flashed on, and she had to close her eyes tightly against the burn. Bailey blinked away the light and tried to focus again. A woman in purple scrubs approached her with a confident smile.

  “Good morning, Bailey. Can you lie back down? I don’t want you to get dizzy.” She leaned forward and gently pushed back on Bailey’s shoulders. “There you go. How do you feel?”

  “Confused.”

  “Do you know your name?”

  “Yes, of course. Bailey Morton.”

  “Okay. Good. Do you have any pain in your head?”

  “Yes, serious headache,” she said, squinting from the light

  “I’m sorry about the light. Your heart monitor went crazy. I’m sure that has to do with waking up in a strange place. I’m Marissa, your nurse.” She smiled. “You’re going to feel a little pressure on your arm from the blood pressure cuff. I’m going to leave that on for a while so we can monitor it for the rest of the morning. Do you need anything?”

  “Yeah, I need to know where I am.” She looked over at Ryan. His eyes were black from obvious exhaustion, and his hair stood on end. He scowled, forcing a clear crease between hi
s brows and his mouth into a frown.

  “Is there something…” She looked down at herself then met Ryan’s eyes. “Is there something seriously wrong with me?”

  “No, nothing you can’t recover from,” Marissa said. “You just need some rest.”

  “You’re going to be fine, babe,” Ryan said, his mouth finally turning up at the edges.

  She reached out to touch him. “If that’s true, why do you look so worried?”

  “I’m just glad you’re okay. I’m glad we found you when we did.”

  The word found flipped around her head for a moment, reminding her she’d been tied up for a long time. She looked down at her bandaged wrists, and her breathing instantly kicked into overdrive. A moment later, the heart monitor started beeping again.

  “Bailey,” Marissa said. “You’re safe. Take a deep breath.” She placed a hand on Bailey’s stomach. “Take a breath from here. In through your nose and slowly exhale through your mouth.”

  Bailey did as she said and finally lay back, exhaling long and slow again. As she rested her head, the ache faded a bit. She looked down at her hands then up her arms. Bruises covered her all the way up and down, some larger and darker than others. When her eyes focused on the crook of her elbow, her head shot back up. “He drugged me.” She rubbed at the puncture bruises. “I remember. What was it?” Her mouth started to tremble. “What did he put into my body?”

  Bailey pinched at the IV in the back of her hand. “What is this?” Her eyes grew wide, and she started to pick at the medical tape. “I don’t want any more drugs. Take it off!”

  “Bailey, look at me.” Marissa rested her hand on top of Bailey’s then gestured toward the IV. “This is saline. It’s flushing the drugs from your body and hydrating you. It’s not drugs. Basically, it’s just water.”

  She leaned back and looked up at the bag Marissa was pointing to. With another deep breath, she tried to calm herself. “Do you know what he gave me? What he injected into me?”

  Marissa nodded and gave Bailey a severe look. “It was an opiate. Street heroin. We’re sure he did it to keep you calm.”