The Owner's Secret Client

by Elana Johnson

  “Of course I remember your mother,” Gail said. “Come in.” She leaned on her cane and backed up, opening the door a little wider.

  Serenity wasn’t sure she wanted to go inside, as it looked like a cave behind Gail. Smelled like one too. But she stepped past Gail and into the house, immediately sensing danger.

  “I can’t stay,” she said, even as Gail closed the door, trapping them in the dim light.

  “Let me get some lights,” she said, maneuvering slowly in the small space.

  Serenity felt trapped, and everything inside her screamed at her to get out. Get out now. She hadn’t experimented with drugs, but even she knew the skunky smell of marijuana.

  The lights snapped on, and Serenity swept the room, half-expecting several other people to be there. She saw no one, but her skin continued to crawl.

  Gail didn’t seem high or stoned as she smiled and continued around the corner and into the small kitchen. “Bring them in here, dear.”

  Serenity complied, putting her hand in her pocket and touching her phone as she did. She couldn’t see any plants, but they were definitely growing here somewhere. It didn’t smell like smoke, just the plants, but she couldn’t believe this little old lady who taught crocheting at the church’s community center would be growing pot.

  She touched the volume button on her phone, making it chime. “Oh, excuse me,” she said, setting the potholders down. “That’s probably my boyfriend.” Why she needed to justify who it was to Gail, she didn’t know.

  Tapping quickly, she sent a message to him. The woman down the street is growing pot in her house.

  She wasn’t sure what he was going to do about it, or why she felt like she needed to tell him. She sent the message anyway and turned to go. “Well, I have a lot of work to do at my mother’s house.”

  This place is creepy, she sent as she walked out of the kitchen and back into the small living room. The door was so close, so close.

  She opened it, ready to run all the way back down the street to the safety of her mom’s house.

  But those two men stood on the porch, one of them with his fist raised as if to knock.

  “Oh, excuse me,” Serenity said, determined to simply walk past them and forget about them. Why she’d thought coming here was a good idea, she couldn’t fathom.

  They stepped together, their shoulders almost touching. The bigger one—Greg, she remembered—asked, “Who are you and what are you doing in my mother’s house?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Liam texted Serenity again, his worry starting to replicate exponentially. It was almost nine o’clock at night. No, it wasn’t completely dark as it was the height of summer and the days were long.

  But she had never stayed at her mother’s past four before. And she always answered his texts and calls. His last five texts hadn’t even been read, and both of his calls went to voicemail.

  She’d texted about a creepy house down the street, and he hadn’t known what she was talking about. He’d responded to her almost immediately, and then…silence.

  He looked out the French doors, trying to decide what to do. His imagination went wild, and he thought about how far someone could get in five hours. In a car, they could almost be to Chicago by now. Or across the Canadian border.

  Without second-guessing himself—which he’d been doing for the past few hours—he grabbed his keys from the counter and headed for the front door. As he drove into town, he dialed his brother Jon.

  “Liam Addler,” Jon said as if he were Liam.

  “This is serious, Jon,” he said. “Serenity didn’t come home.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m headed over to her mother’s house. I’m wondering if you can call in a favor to that cop friend of yours.” Jon’s girlfriend had had some trouble with her step-father a couple of months back. “Morgan Quinn,” Liam said, as the name popped into his head.

  “I’ll call him. Give me the address, and I’ll head over there now.”

  Liam didn’t want to get his brother involved, but he recited the address anyway. “I’ll call you if I find her.” He hung up and urged his SUV to go faster.

  Serenity’s car sat in the driveway, but the house was dark. The front door was unlocked, and she’d definitely been there. Her purse still sat on the kitchen counter, and the house was in the process of being gone through.

  But there was absolutely no trace of her.

  Helplessness filled him over and over, drowning him, making breathing difficult and his mind to lose focus. He couldn’t hang on to a single thought, and he went back outside and looked up and down the street.

  She’d said the house down the street, but that could be either direction. It was after nine. Could he go knocking on doors and sniffing for pot?

  He could, and he would. Down the street indicated that the house wasn’t next door, so Liam started across the lawn, bypassing the first house on the same side of the street, his aim the second.

  Perhaps he could just ask. Maybe the neighbors here were friendly and watched out for each other. Maybe they gossiped and knew who was growing pot in their basements or backyards.

  He knocked on the door, feeling less and less brave by the moment. A man answered the door, and he had to be close to eighty years old.

  “Excuse me,” Liam said, donning his personal, professional demeanor. “I’m looking for Serenity Silvers. She’s been cleaning out her mother’s house. Did you see her today?”

  “Wilma,” the old man yelled, and an equally old woman appeared. “He’s lookin’ for Serenity. Did you see her today?”

  “Not today,” she said. But her car sat right there in the driveway.

  Liam nodded and smiled like he didn’t have a care in the world. “What about the neighbors? Do you know if any of them….” He cleared his throat and thought of all the unanswered texts. “Grow pot?”

  “Pot?” the man asked at the same time his wife said, “Yes, and it is going to ruin the whole neighborhood.” She did not look happy, and Liam gaped at her.

  “Who?” he asked. “Serenity mentioned it, and I’d like to talk to the woman she went to visit this afternoon.”

  He tried not to think about the timestamp on her last text. Not even one o’clock. Over eight hours ago. She could be anywhere by now. His panic rose, especially when Wilma pressed her lips together.

  “She won’t get in trouble, will she?”

  “I’m not a cop,” Liam said, hoping Jon hadn’t been able to get in touch with Morgan. At least for a few more seconds.

  “It’s Gail.” Wilma pointed across the street to her right. “She’s had her son living with her on and off, and he started making her grow the stuff. Half the time, I think he keeps her high so she can’t fight him.”

  “Wilma,” the man said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “What?” Wilma said, arguing with her husband. “It’s legal now, Bill.” She shook her head. “Never thought I’d see the day when it would be legal.”

  “Which house?” Liam asked, glancing across the street.

  “The one with the porch light on. Blue door,” Wilma said.

  Liam said, “Thank you,” and practically leapt off the stairs. Legalizing marijuana had been quite the controversy, and it had just passed about six months ago. There was a limit on how many plants a person could have in their house, but Liam didn’t know what it was.

  He hurried toward the appointed house, taking a few precious seconds to tap out the address in a text to Jon. I think I found where she went.

  He knocked on the door again, glancing around the yard and driveway. There were no vehicles. No discarded shoes or trash or anything to indicate anything illegal or nefarious was happening or had happened.

  No one came to the door, and he pressed his thumb against the doorbell for a long moment. It chimed inside, and he pounded with his fist this time. “Hello?” he called.

  Something squealed inside the house. Maybe a door. Maybe a floorboard. A few seconds later, th
e door opened a few inches, and sure enough, a little old lady stood there peering back at him.

  “Are you Gail Henderson?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “Who are you?” She held onto the door and kept it mostly closed.

  “Did Serenity Silvers come see you this afternoon?”

  Horror crossed her face, and she started to close the door. Liam stuck his foot out to prevent her from doing that. “Please,” he said. “You’re not in trouble. I’m just trying to find her. She didn’t come home.”

  Home.

  Oh, how he wanted her to come home to him.

  In that moment, he realized he’d fallen in love with Serenity Silvers. All the way down, and his heartbeat thrashed around in his chest like a fish out of water.

  “I…can’t remember.”

  “Why did she come over?” Liam asked, hoping to keep her talking.

  “She brought me some potholders her mother made.” Gail smiled like potholders were precious. “Then my son came.” Her happiness slipped, and she looked confused. Wilma was apparently right. Her son probably kept her high so she wouldn’t cause any problems for him.

  “What’s his name?” Liam asked.

  “Greg,” she said. “He has a nasty little friend named Ian.”

  Liam nodded like nasty friends were just great, but inside, his panic kept edging up a notch at a time. Headlights bathed the front of the house, lightening the twilight and causing him to turn.

  Jon had arrived.

  “Where does Greg live?” Liam asked, focusing on Gail again.

  “He lives here.”

  “All the time? He’s not here now, is he?”

  “No, he doesn’t stay here all the time.” Gail wasn’t making much sense, and Liam held up his hand to get Jon to stay in the car. He had Gail talking, and he didn’t need to spook her.

  “So where would he be when he’s not here?”

  “Ian has a mechanic shop,” she said. “A few minutes north, along the lake. In Fishhead.”

  Liam’s adrenaline spiked. Serenity had been beat up in a dive a few minutes north. He’d made her promise not to go again, not alone.

  She’d promised.

  But now, it seemed like she’d broken her promise.

  “Thank you,” he said, flying toward Jon’s car. He got in and said, “Fishhead. Go.”

  Jon put the truck in reverse and said, “Explain to me what’s going on.”

  Liam did, hoping they could find the mechanic shop.

  “I know right where that is,” Jon said, making a turn. “Some of our maintenance trucks get serviced there.”

  “They do?”

  “Yeah.” Jon gripped the steering wheel. “There’s two of them?”

  “At least two,” Liam said, eternally grateful Kimmie was in California.

  Ten minutes later, Jon slowed and turned off his headlights. “It’s there. Up on the left. Mariner’s Machinery.”

  “You’re sure this is the place?”

  “It’s the only mechanic shop in Fishhead,” Jon said.

  Liam didn’t want to question his brother, but his nerves weren’t playing nice. “Did you call Morgan?”

  “He’s on-call,” he said, dipping his head to see out the top of the windshield. “He said he can’t do much in his official capacity as a police officer unless someone calls nine-one-one and reports criminal activity.” His fingers flew over his phone. “But I’ve just sent him the name and address of this place.”

  Liam hadn’t taken his eyes off the shop, which did look like a dive. Several of the letters on the neon sign were out, and a street lamp burned over the old and obviously non-functional pair of gas pumps.

  “So what do we do? Just go in, guns blazing?” Liam asked.

  “We don’t have guns,” Jon said. “Should’ve called Phoenix. He rescued Allegra that one time.”

  “What are you talking about?” Liam asked, tearing his attention away from the building. “Phoenix rescued Allegra from what?”

  “Shh.” Jon pointed to the shop as a door opened. A man stepped outside, partially illuminated by the street lamp. He paced away from the building and toward them, but Liam felt confident they were invisible in the darkness.

  The end of his cigarette glowed red, and Liam would’ve bet money that it was a joint. Maybe Liam should rush him. He wasn’t stoned, and he’d surely have the advantage. Before he could even unbuckle his seatbelt, a truck rounded the corner and came toward them, easing to a stop.

  The man got in, and the truck continued down the road—right at them.

  “Get down,” Liam hissed as he ducked below the dashboard in Jon’s truck. The other vehicle roared past, and Liam quickly swung around to watch it. See if it stopped and came back. Found them suspicious in any way.

  The taillights disappeared, and Liam unbuckled. “I’m going in there.”

  “Liam,” Jon said, his phone chiming in his hand. “Wait.”

  Liam didn’t wait. If Serenity was in there, he needed to get her out before the men in that black truck came back.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Serenity knew exactly where she was when she opened her eyes. The smell of grease and metal and body odor filled her nostrils. And blood. Someone had definitely bled here.

  Pain screamed through her body, as if it had just realized that it was the one that had been bleeding. She tried to lift her head and move her hands, but everything hurt.

  She groaned, immediately silencing it when a chair squeaked and footsteps came closer. She closed her eyes and held still, making her breathing as even as she could in the terrifying circumstances.

  Sounds she couldn’t identify met her ears, but no more footsteps. So Greg or his partner or whoever had been set to guard her was still very nearby. Watching her.

  Her skin crawled, and it was so, so hard to stay still. Breathe in, she commanded herself, drawing a long breath. And out.

  “Yeah, she’s still out, and I’m dying.” The man’s voice didn’t sound like Greg’s, but Serenity didn’t know who it was. How could she? She’d been in Forbidden Lake for seven weeks, most of those spent at Liam’s or the beach. “You hit her hard, dude. She’ll be out all night. Come get me.” His voice muffled on the last few words, indicating he’d turned away from her.

  She felt like she’d been hit hard, in dozens of places along her body. Her muscles ached as she searched her memories for what had happened.

  Greg and his friend had stood shoulder to shoulder, blocking her escape. The other man had grabbed her phone and thrown it into the weedy bushes beside the front door, and Serenity had run at them. She could buy a new phone.

  But she hadn’t made it off the porch before Greg practically lifted her up and threw her back into the house, snarling about her poking her nose into his business and how he honestly didn’t need this right now.

  Need. This. Right. Now.

  He’d slammed her shoulders against the floor with each word. No wonder her whole body ached.

  She remembered lying very still after that, partly unable to move and partly to avoid getting hurt further.

  A door opened, making her flinch out of her memories. Light spilled into the room for a few seconds as the man left. Then it closed again. Clicking and metal on metal indicated she was locked up tight.

  “Can’t stay here,” she muttered to herself, her mind working more normally now. “Gotta get out.” She once again tried to move her hands and found them bound behind her, tied to the chair. Her shoulders pulsed pain out to the rest of her body in a powerful way, and helplessness filled her throat.

  She’d seen nothing in the room in the brief moment the light had come in, but it didn’t matter. She needed to get untied first. Then she’d find a weapon for when they came back.

  “Come on,” she said. “Think.”

  Her fingers scrambled along the ropes around her wrists, but it was a long reach and she couldn’t really get a grip. She strained against the restraints, and they gave a little. Pausi
ng, she tried to think if she was making the ropes looser by pulling, or tighter.

  Probably tighter.

  She wiggled her hands, rotated her wrists back and forth, got her fingers around part of the rope. Everything was hard because she couldn’t see, so she closed her eyes, trying to envision how to get the rope off in her mind.

  Please, she prayed, desperation rising through her. She had no idea how long it would be before Greg returned.

  Another deep breath, and she told herself to calm down. She could do this. She’d undone knots in shoelaces for kids—she could do this too.

  She twisted, she tugged, she loosened. When she thought she might be able to drive her hands apart again and get more give, she put all her strength into it. Sure enough, the rope slid a few inches, and when she put her palms together again, she had room to get her hands out of the ropes.

  Relief cascaded through her with the power of river rapids. She got to work on the bindings on her legs, and a few moments later, she stood up. Everything in her wanted to fight, and she walked forward, one hand out.

  She stumbled into a table, her fingers touching leaves.

  Marijuana plants. The scent hit her now, coming forward and covering the oily smell of the garage. She moved left, as her captor had seemed to have approached from that direction and had retreated that way too. Tables with plants. More tables with plants.

  She didn’t know all the laws in Michigan, but she was pretty sure someone couldn’t have as many cannabis plants as these guys did. Finally, her fingers touched a cinderblock wall, where she knocked her knees into what felt like a stool. Probably where the guy had been sitting.

  She ran her hands along the wall, searching, searching for a light switch. Surely these guys had to provide light for the hemp, as this room had no windows. Her fingers touched a metal door before she found a switch, and she ran her hands across it to the door knob. It twisted, but the door didn’t swing in or out.

  It was definitely locked from the outside.