by Lisa Harris
“Holl—” His voice cracked.
“Frankie?” She’d never actually called him dad. Not after the first time, and the way her mother had laughed at her for twenty minutes. “What’s wrong?”
There was a shuffle on the other end of the line. After that, a voice came on. “We have your father.” It sounded like a recording, like in one of those kidnapper movies.
The voice sent a shudder through her, and she swallowed. “What?”
“I won’t repeat myself.”
Only this wasn’t a movie.
“Who are you?” She’d stood up to plenty of bullies in her life. She straightened her shoulders and didn’t betray one ounce of fear in her tone. “What do you want?”
The voice let out a low chuckle, detached and emotionless. “They told me you could be cold. Now I believe them. We have your father.”
“Where is he? Don’t hurt him.” She gasped out a breath. “What have you done with him?”
“Enough questions.” The voice said, “He stays with us, and we’ll send instructions. If you don’t do as we ask, he dies. If you involve the police, he dies. If you fail to respond…” The voice didn’t finish.
“I get it.” Hollis squeezed the phone so hard her hand started to cramp. “I need to speak to—”
“Don’t waste my time.”
“No—”
The line went dead.
“Frankie!”
Hollis lowered the phone and stared at the screen.
Kidnapped. This was insane. What was she supposed to do, sit around and wait for instructions? She was supposed to be at an interview! And yet, suddenly, the interview and her plan to leave seemed so pointless.
Trying to leave town.
Starting a new life.
He dies.
Her hand shook, and she had to fight for a steady breath. We have your father. He’d been kidnapped. Father. That was the word he’d used. Interesting, considering it said he only knew what he’d been told about Hollis. This wasn’t someone she considered a friend—who’d know Frankie was no relation of hers.
She looked at the packed suitcase and her purse. She’d been about to walk out the door, leave town, and never come back. Now she was going to have to do…what?
Hollis glanced around her apartment. What could these people even want? And worse, what would they ask her to do to get him back? She didn’t even want to imagine. It had to be serious, otherwise why go to the trouble of kidnapping a man and holding him hostage?
She shifted her phone in her grasp and tried to steady the shake in her hands.
She could call the police. Conroy, the Last Chance police chief, was a long-time acquaintance. His fiancé was always nice when she came into the diner to order their lunch. The police detective, Savannah Wilcox, was someone Hollis liked. She could probably consider them all friends. But Hollis didn’t have friends. It was just easier that way.
Less of a chance her mother could make a mess of everything, the way she’d been doing for Hollis’s entire life.
She winced. Her mother.
Hollis slipped her cell phone into her purse, grabbed her suitcase, and locked her apartment. She slipped the door key into an envelope and put it in her purse so she could mail it after she accepted the new job. The suitcase went into the trunk of her little compact SUV, the car Frankie had handed down to her for a year of low payments when he’d upgraded his own ride.
She drove over to her mother’s townhome where Sharleen lived by herself—that is, when she chose to be alone. The other times, when she didn’t want to be by herself, she invited over whoever she wanted. But not Hollis. Sharleen had kicked Hollis out the day she’d turned eighteen, walking away from the lease on their tiny rental house to buy a classy townhome.
Hollis had slept in the diner on the cramped office couch for a month until she found a place of her own.
Before she walked up to the front door, Hollis switched out the suit jacket for her leather one. The brown jacket would hopefully distract her mom from making any sort of conclusion that Hollis had been headed to an interview—or maybe a funeral. Her mom likely wouldn’t care either way, but Hollis didn’t want to field any questions right now.
And it was none of Sharleen’s business.
Her mom answered the door. She took one look at Hollis’s jacket. Jealousy flashed in her eyes, but she didn’t comment. Then she flipped her hair back and said, “What?” while bracelets slid down her slender, bare forearm.
Hollis lifted her chin. “I need to talk to you.”
Sharleen said nothing, even though she had to know something was wrong. She also didn’t move. Just stood there in a blouse that probably cost more than what Hollis made in two days, and a pair of jeans Hollis wouldn’t be able to fit into even if she went on a starvation diet for two years. Which she knew all too well about—because her mom had actually put her on one. That is, until Hollis had figured out that fast food places had dollar menus. From then on, she’d supplemented her food intake with money she found on the sidewalk on her way to school.
“I need to come in.”
Her mom opened the door, but only wide enough for her to get her own body through. Hollis had to turn sideways. Her mom still didn’t budge, so Hollis had to squeeze her way in.
This was a mistake.
Hollis walked all the way to the open living and kitchen area. Then she turned around.
“Frankie’s been kidnapped.” She took a breath and tried to figure out how to continue. “I’m not supposed to involve the police, but I need help. Why would someone kidnap him?”
“How should I know?” Her mother strode to pour herself a drink at the breakfast bar and slung it back in one gulp. “Why should I care?”
“Maybe you didn’t hear me, but he was kidnapped. I have to do whatever they want, or they’ll kill him.”
“Like I said. I’m supposed to care?”
Hollis wanted to scream at her. “There’s no one else I can go to. Surely you know…someone who might know who took him. Or why. Or maybe they know who did. You have contacts in town, right?”
Her mom was the only person in Last Chance who might be able to help her and not put Frankie in danger.
Sharleen only chuckled. “I am connected. Maybe I can make some calls.”
“I would appreciate it.” Hollis gritted her teeth.
“You can do whatever with the information.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” Her mom slung back another drink. “I haven’t done anything.”
Hollis stood between the leather couch and the entryway table and waited.
Her mom just stared at her. “What?”
“You’re going to make some calls.”
“With you here?” She tipped her head back and laughed.
Hollis strode around the breakfast bar and got in her mom’s face. This was exactly why she had to leave.
“I know Frankie isn’t your favorite person. You both have your own things going on.” It had been years since they were together. “But you must still feel some kind of affection for him. Or are you as cold and heartless as you tell everyone I am?”
“Of course, I think fondly of the good times,” her mom said. “We aren’t all like you.”
Hollis didn’t have time to even touch that. “So, make your calls, because I’m getting him back.”
“You?”
“At least one of us cares.”
“Because you’ve gotten all emotional, suddenly that means you care?” Sharleen poured another glass. “It just means you can’t handle yourself.”
She lifted the glass to her lips.
Something snapped within Hollis, and she swung out with her arm and hit the glass out of her mom’s hand. It hit the sink across the kitchen and shattered into tiny, glinting pieces.
Her mom actually flinched.
Hollis said, “As soon as I get him back, I’m leaving town.”
“I know, dear.” There was no affectio
n in the word, though it was technically an endearment. Sharleen was the sun, orbited by every planet in the solar system. Shining its light. Shame this sun had no warmth to it whatsoever.
Hollis didn’t need to get on a tangent about how her mom could’ve possibly known that. “Find out who has Frankie.”
Hollis had no idea who was holding Frankie, or what they wanted. Maybe her mom could help, or maybe she’d make everything so much worse that Hollis would regret involving her. The way she always regretted involving her mother in anything…for as long as she could remember.
Frankie was the closest thing she had to family. It wasn’t like she would leave without getting him back. She’d never be able to live with herself.
Didn’t matter that her family was fractured. If you could even call it a family. Her stepdad cared about the diner. Everything—and everyone—else was a distant second. She’d planned to tell him goodbye, but doubted he’d have stopped her from going to her interview. Or that he’d have done or said more than give her a hug and wish her well.
“Why do you even care, if you’re leaving anyway?”
She turned back and saw something in her mom’s expression that she couldn’t decipher. Not surprising. Sharleen gave nothing away. But that only made Hollis all the more curious. “Because it’s Frankie.”
Her mom shrugged like she was confused.
“He can hire another general manager.” She shrugged. “But he needs to know why I’m not showing up for work on Monday.”
She didn’t want to leave him in the lurch. And on the off-chance he’d be worried, or even compelled to file a missing person’s report, she’d rather have communicated clearly to him.
Not that she expected anyone to come looking for her.
But then, that was the whole idea.
She said, “Just tell me if you come up with something. Because he can’t help himself at all right now. He’s been kidnapped, Sharleen.”
Her mom rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I know. I said I would make calls, and I will.”
Hollis closed the front door behind her. She strode to her car, looking at her mom’s street. It was the other end of town from where she lived. Between the two houses were her stomping grounds—all the places she’d walked her whole life. History.
Don’t get nostalgic.
The grass wasn’t greener anywhere else, but that wasn’t what she wanted, anyway. She was only looking for different grass where no one knew her. A place she could make a fresh start with genuine relationships.
Her phone buzzed. She climbed into the front seat of her car and pulled out her phone. An image sent by text. A private number.
Frankie had been roughed up. His hair was matted down on one side, and he had a swollen black eye. He’d been gagged by a roll of cloth.
A whimper escaped her lips. She sent a reply text.
don’t hurt him.
She could imagine the voice on the other end of the phone laughing. Could remember the amusement in his tone. A tear rolled down her cheek. Why take Frankie? What could they possibly want and why hurt him? She could only assume they needed her to do something.
It had to be bad if they thought they needed that much leverage. And it had to be something she could do—an asset, or a scapegoat.
Hollis swiped away the tear, and then sent another message.
just tell me what you want me to do.
Chapter Two
Will shut the door to the interview room in the Last Chance Police Department and tossed the file on the table. “I’m FBI Special Agent Will Briar.”
The man across the table lifted his brows. “Yeah, I remember you.” Stuart Leland had lived in Last Chance for a few months. This was a good guy. A solid guy who was now married to the police department receptionist, Kaylee.
“Yeah?”
“We were in Utah, when Kaylee was kidnapped.” Stuart studied him. “Tate said he was bringing the FBI.”
“Ah.” Yeah, he’d been in on that operation. Taking down a facility owned and operated in secret by a man who talked his way up to the CIA Director job. The FBI had arrested him, lost him and then Last Chance cops had helped them get him back in custody. Will had a hand in that, but it was mostly their doing bringing down Pierce Cartwright.
“Thanks for your help, by the way.”
Will nodded. Kaylee had been the focus of Pierce Cartwright’s attention, but she was safe now.
And despite Jess Ridgeman and Ted Cartwright’s recent attempts to bring in the local bad guy “West,” he wasn’t so sure they’d actually accomplished it.
“And this is about…”
Will pulled out the chair and sat. “This isn’t a formal conversation, and you’re not in trouble.”
“But you are fishing for information.” Stuart’s eyes narrowed. “About what?”
Will saw movement out the door, in the hallway. Conroy—the police chief—stood there, watching. Beside him was Kaylee, this man’s wife and the receptionist. She might be happy, married to Stuart, but she wasn’t happy right now.
He was out of options. Will had been living in Last Chance for nearly a year now, using the persona of a biker and going by the name “Hammer.” A guy who had a spider web tattoo on the side of his neck.
“You work at Hollis’s diner, correct?”
Stuart shrugged. “Everyone knows I cook there.”
Will could’ve opened the file, but he knew what was in there. He’d written it. “A week ago on Tuesday, Hollis left the diner around four pm.”
“I doubt it,” Stuart said. “Considering she never leaves before six.”
“And that specific day?”
“Can’t say I remember specifics on a random Tuesday.”
“Only last week. So, try.” Will had a lot riding on this. He needed Stuart to give him something he could go on, because they’d all been trying to bring down West for months. Had they cut off the head of the snake? Will didn’t think so.
He’d even tried getting close to Hollis to see if she would let him into her life. All the way in. Because too many things had pointed in her direction.
She hadn’t opened up, though.
“Tuesday was the day a couple of kids spilled soda in their macaroni,” Stuart said. “I remember because I ran out, so I told them they’d have to wait while I remade it. The mom didn’t want to. She got mad. I talked to her, but Hollis wound up giving them something else for no charge. The lady still stomped out.”
Will nodded. He’d seen Hollis handle irate customers before and respected the way she was with people. She gave modestly. Neither was she a pushover. Some people would simply never be satisfied.
Will said, “What time did she leave that day?”
“After she closed out the cash register and doled out the tips it was after five.”
That was the same time Will had in his notes from the surveillance he’d been doing. “She’s the one who handles all the money?”
Stuart nodded. “Though, if I asked, she would let me look at the books. She said that to me the day she hired me. Straight up, if I wanted to make sure I was being paid fairly, I could just ask.”
“And she logs all the tips?”
“Notes it all down. Her records are meticulous.” Stuart frowned.
Will wasn’t going to explain why he was asking about Hollis and the diner money. Her being meticulous could be both a good and bad thing as far as Will was concerned. Either she insisted on everything being above board, or she was particular because she was hiding something and needed to make sure the deception was all straight. So, which was it?
“That’s what you want?” Stuart leaned back in the chair. “Information on whether Hollis is dirty, like she’s hiding something from everyone? The FBI has better things to do than investigate a waitress in Last Chance. Surely.” He shot Will a look.
One he had little trouble deciphering.
Stuart thought Will was an agent no one cared enough about to give significant assignments to, and so he’d b
een relegated to this.
It was on the tip of Will’s tongue to tell this Last Chance resident his current theory about West’s real identity. Considering he had no evidence it would only sound outlandish. What he needed was to get the FBI colleague who operated as his handler—FBI Special Agent Eric Cullings, a guy with plenty of local contacts—to send him the tax records for Hollis’s diner. Then he might have more than a theory.
He might know for sure who “West” was. The criminal behind every bad guy activity in Last Chance was a person who remained elusive the past few months while Will had investigated drug smuggling. Then the founders emerged, and the cops had been taking them down, one by one. Going up the ladder while the police searched for West as well. A series of cases had led them through the founders of Last Chance—all the way to the boss. The head of the snake had been outed as the fire chief, responsible for most of the crime in town.
Only problem was, the cops were convinced he was “West.”
Will was not.
Someone else pulled the strings, and the fire chief was simply the last in a line of scapegoats.
Hollis was a business owner. The diner had been in her family for years, right? He had reason to believe she was “West.” Alternatively, if she wasn’t, and he was wrong, then Will was almost positive she knew who West really was.
At one point, he’d believed “West” to be a group of people even. Now there was an unpopular theory. But it had weight nonetheless. West, a collective persona. He had that possibility on the back burner, and he would continue to until he figured out exactly what Hollis was hiding.
Will had an idea. “You said she would show you the books if you asked. How about you make me a copy.”
Stuart snorted. “Wow.”
“Something funny?” If he could get the financial records, then maybe he could prove she was receiving money she should never have access to. Washing it for the criminals in town so they could have it back as legit bills.
“You want me to copy it all to a flash drive while she’s not looking?”
“I’m sure you can find the motivation to cooperate.”
“All her records are on paper.” Stuart shook his head and got up. He strode to the door. “Good luck with your fishing expedition. Though, I’m not thinking your odds are great for catching anything.”
