by Debra Webb
No time to fix his broken image.
He bumped into the wall on his way to the walk-in closet. The idea that his blood alcohol level might still be lingering above the legal limit filtered through his mind. No time to fix that either. He’d take food and water with him and work on that particular issue en route. He grabbed the leather overnight bag he’d used for the eleven years of service he’d given the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
He ignored the row of suits and crisply pressed shirts and stuffed a couple of polo shirts and another pair of jeans, socks and underwear into the bag. A pair of loafers went in next. Should have gone in first. Before his fall from grace he’d packed this damned bag so meticulously that even his shirts came out as smooth as when they’d gone in. Not anymore. On second thought he shoved a suit jacket into the bag. If he halfway looked the part maybe Angie wouldn’t have too many questions.
At the door to the bedroom he remembered his Dopp kit. He might not want to shave now but he’d have to eventually if he expected the local cops to listen to what he had to say. He added the toiletry kit to his bag.
As a profiler for the Bureau he’d spent a lot of years learning how to manipulate the locals to accomplish his goal. In fact, he’d become a master manipulator. Maybe all that bad Karma he’d left in his wake had finally caught up to him.
He glanced at the blonde in his bed. This was the part he always dreaded.
Chelsea or Chanel wasn’t happy about being roused. She called him every foul name in her vast repertoire while he helped her dress. When he’d called a cab, he gave her a bottle of water and maneuvered her out of the building. As the car pulled away from the curb she shouted asshole and flipped her middle finger at him.
Nothing he didn’t deserve. He climbed into his BMW and collapsed against the seat. Anthony LeDoux, this is your life.
Somehow, until he figured out where the hell Tiffany was, he’d have to find a way to pull himself together and at least pretend his world hadn’t gone to shit and that he could help rescue his niece from whatever trouble she had gotten herself into.
Too bad he’d lost his hero credentials months ago.
4
Milledgeville, Georgia
8:30 p.m.
It was late, but the tension in the chief of police’s office was motivated by far more than the hour. Tony sensed the animosity the moment he walked through the entrance doors of the Public Safety building. Obviously, the man already had Tony’s number. Not surprising. Any cop worth his salt would do his homework.
There was a time when Tony had been damned good at prompting all the right reactions. Not anymore.
Since it was well past business hours, a uniformed officer had been waiting to allow him into the one-story building and then to escort him to the office of the town’s top cop. A tall, fit man, Chief Arlan Phelps had no doubt spent the last thirty or so years in law enforcement and possessed no tolerance for those who used evasion and innuendo to manipulate events.
Not so good for Tony since these days those were his most valuable assets.
“Make yourself comfortable, Agent LeDoux.” Phelps gestured to the chair in front of his desk.
“Thanks.” Tony settled into the offered seat, careful to keep his gaze on the chief. He’d pulled over at a truck stop outside Atlanta. After topping off the gas tank, he’d spent some time in the bathroom shaving and changing clothes. Then he’d forced himself to eat a hot meal. He’d used some Visine to tone down his bloodshot eyes and popped a couple of Advil. By the time he made the exit for Milledgeville some ninety miles later he felt reasonably human.
Phelps hadn’t stopped staring at him since he came into the room. The older man smoothed a palm over his slick head. “There is nothing in this world I hate more than having my time wasted, and you, Mr. LeDoux, wasted a good deal of my time this afternoon.”
So, he knew Tony’s secret. Great. Might as well play this out and see if there was anything salvageable. “How do you mean, Chief? When a young woman—anyone for that matter—goes missing, I take it very seriously, and time is not an asset that should ever be wasted in a situation such as this one.”
“The FBI tells me you’re no longer in their service.” Phelps leaned back in his chair and rested his hands on its worn, smooth wooden arms. “I don’t know what to make of that, Mr. LeDoux. Isn’t it against the law to impersonate a federal agent?”
Now he was just being an asshole.
Tony nodded. “You’re right. I used the position I once held to prompt you to action. The truth is Tiffany is my niece—my only niece, daughter of my only sister. My goal is to ensure everything possible is done to find her.” He held up a hand when Phelps would have spoken. “I no longer serve the Bureau, that’s true, but I did and I was very good at my job. I can help—I want—to help.”
Phelps smiled. “I figured as much after I spoke with the girl’s parents. Here’s the problem.” He leaned forward, eliciting a groan from his chair. “We have no real proof at this time that Tiffany Durand is missing. She’s nineteen years old and even her roommate said she might just have decided to take a little vacation with the new guy she’s seeing and hasn’t made it back to class in time. It happens. It’s too early to get worried just yet.”
Tony prepared to list the litany of reasons that assessment was inaccurate except this time Phelps was the one holding up his hand. So Tony grabbed onto his last shred of patience and heard the man out.
“I make my decision based on facts and the facts simply don’t indicate foul play just yet. I don’t know how well you keep up with your niece, but this isn’t the first time she’s disappeared. Campus security is lead on any case that involves the students and they’ve questioned her roommate and several of her friends—just because her parents called. I spoke with the chief over there—for no other reason than you asked me to do so. As you know, without some indication of foul play or suggestion of imminent danger, Tiffany is not technically missing. She’s a nineteen-year-old woman who didn’t show up for class and who has a record of doing so. The good news is she always comes back. Never misses more than a day or two.”
When the chief paused to take a breath, Tony argued, “We believe this time is different. Tiffany’s mother knows her better than anyone and she has reason—”
“Mr. and Mrs. Durand explained their feelings very clearly and we all completely understand their misgivings. Hell, I have two daughters and raising them about put me six feet under. Girls, no matter how smart and how sweet, can break your heart and scare you half to death.”
Tony took a moment as if he were weighing the chief’s sage words. “So, you’re choosing to impose a waiting period?”
Federal law left the decision in the hands of local law enforcement, but few opted to hold out and be the reason a missing child or young adult became a homicide case. Tony held the older man’s gaze. Men like Phelps didn’t like veering outside the lines. They chose a path in their careers and they never deviated, kept it simple. But life wasn’t simple. Tony had seen up close what a psychopathic serial killer could do to a victim in a couple of hours. Time was always the enemy.
“Tiffany’s done this before,” Phelps reminded him. “The security folks over at the college are an outstanding team. They go through the same training as our state police so we’re not talking about a group of rent-a-cops. They’ve performed their due diligence. Frankly, they’ve already gone above and beyond—questioning other students, talking to her professors. They haven’t been twiddling their thumbs over there. In fact, I’ve spoken to the chief several times today. Based on Tiffany’s previous activities, he feels she’ll show up in the next twenty-four hours.”
“Her previous activities?” The headache had resurrected and started to throb behind Tony’s eyes. “You keep insinuating she’s done this before but I’m not hearing any actual dates or firm accounts.”
Phelps heaved a
n impatient sigh. “Twice last semester and a third time back in February, she disappeared for a couple of days. Her confidential contact confirmed that she left of her own volition after her final class last Friday. Bottom line, at this time we have no credible reason to consider her missing. If she does not show up or contact her family or confidential contact by tomorrow morning, we’ll move forward with a missing person report.”
“Confidential contact?”
“Each student has the option of designating a confidential contact that isn’t necessarily a parent or other next of kin. Typically, a confidential contact is close to the student and would be aware of his or her whereabouts.”
“Well.” Tony stood. He closed the button of his jacket. “I’ll see you first thing in the morning, Chief.”
Before Tony reached the door, Phelps said, “You’re that convinced she’s not going to show up.”
Tony thought of all Angie had told him. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
He reached for the door once more, and Phelps said, “Sit back down, Agent LeDoux.”
Tony hesitated for a couple of seconds, mostly to annoy the man. Finally, he turned and took the three steps back to his chair. There was only one reason to continue this discussion after such a lengthy discourse of reasons not be concerned. “You know something you haven’t shared with the family.”
“I’m speaking to you in a professional capacity.”
Could have fooled me. “I appreciate that, Chief.”
“This goes no further than this room. We have to consider the welfare of our students and the last thing we want is to have them unnecessarily unsettled.”
What he really meant was he didn’t want parents calling to demand answers. “I understand.”
“There’s another freshman who didn’t show up for class yesterday.”
The rising tide of fear Tony had been holding back for the past nine hours threatened to push past his defenses. He needed a drink. “Any similarities?”
Phelps nodded. “Her purse, other personal belongings as well as her cell phone are still in her room. Her car is still in student parking, just like Tiffany’s. Unlike your niece’s, this girl’s confidential contact insists that something is wrong. Since this student has no history of failure to show up for class or of disappearing for a couple of days without telling anyone, her parents have already been contacted. The chief over at campus security, Ed Buckley, has started the missing person protocol.”
“Are my niece and this other student friends? Classmates?”
Phelps reached for a manila file on his desk. He opened it and pushed it toward Tony. “As far as we can tell, they don’t know each other. Had no classes together and look nothing alike. No friends in common. About the only trait the two share is that they’re both students who maintain a steady four point oh.”
Tony studied the file. Vickie Parton was eighteen. Her black hair was one of those feathery short cuts and her eyes were hazel. Other than being model thin, Parton and his niece had nothing whatsoever in common—on the outside.
Phelps scrubbed a hand over his somber face. “No one has seen or heard from her since her final class on Friday afternoon.”
Tony pushed the folder back toward him. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Phelps nodded.
“You know,” the chief said, stopping Tony at the door once more, “I can already tell I’m not going to like you, LeDoux.”
Tony shifted to face him. “If it makes you feel any better, I was just thinking the same thing.”
One corner of the older man’s mouth quirked. “But if you can help, I’ll pretend for as long as it takes.”
Tony gave a nod. “Sounds like a plan.”
As he moved along the corridor, Tony gave himself a mental pat on the back. He might be out of the game but he hadn’t lost his touch. He would find Tiffany. If his niece had been harmed in any way, whoever did the deed better hope the locals found him before Tony did.
Antebellum Inn, 11:00 p.m.
“I wanted you close.”
Tony dredged up a smile for his sister. “Saved me the trouble of looking for a place.”
Angela LeDoux Durand looked so damned much like their mother with her fair skin and dark hair and those oddly pale eyes, more gold than brown. Sometimes even her voice made him have to look twice to ensure their mom wasn’t talking to him. Tony had inherited his lighter hair and darker eyes from their father. Right now, his sister’s eyes were filled with worry and fear—the same worry and fear he felt churning in his gut.
“I was afraid you’d be angry.”
Tony tossed his bag on the floor of the room. “Why would I be angry?”
Ang had been to Milledgeville several times to see Tiffany. She’d stayed at this historic inn every time, which was why she’d automatically called in a reservation on the way here. Only this time she’d reserved a room for him, as well. Not a problem. Really. He and Ang had always been close. As kids they’d been inseparable. Even as teenagers they’d shared many of the same friends. Adulthood hadn’t changed that—at least not until recently. Sharing the news of his divorce with his sister had been relatively easy; the career crash and burn, however, was a whole different ball game. He didn’t want to see the disappointment in her eyes. She’d always looked at him as if he was a hero, starting the day he’d kicked nine-year-old Lacon Turner’s butt for putting gum in her hair.
He did not want to fail her or Tiffany now.
Ignoring his question, she gestured to the room at large. “I knew you’d need some privacy. I hope this works.”
The pool cottage was behind the main house with its four guest rooms. A narrow rear yard, small parking lot and the pool stood between the cottage and the back steps of the hundred-plus-year-old home. The cottage accommodation was bigger than the rooms in the house and had its own kitchen. His sister had been right about the need for privacy. The last thing he wanted right now was for her to start worrying about his personal issues.
He gave her a nod. “It’s perfect.”
She summoned a weary smile. “Good. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She’d insisted he replay verbatim his meeting with the chief of police. To prevent the hysteria he noted beneath the surface of her carefully controlled expression, he’d done as she asked—except for the news about the other girl. He loved his sister and he would do anything to find Tiffany, but there were some things civilians didn’t need to know.
Civilians? He almost laughed at himself. You’re a civilian now, dumb ass.
Maybe so, but he’d seen things. There were things he couldn’t erase from his brain—things that haunted him every single hour of every day of his life. Those things were what really scared him where Tiffany was concerned.
Don’t go there yet.
Before his sister could go, he pulled her close and hugged her tight. “We’ll find her, Ang. I promise.”
She cried for a minute. He squeezed his eyes shut to hold back his own emotion. He had to be strong for her and for Tiffany.
Tony stood at the door and watched as she crossed the property, returning to the main house. The night air had a chill to it. Once Ang was inside, he closed and locked the door. He plugged in the laptop Ang had carried in for him. The damned thing had been in the trunk of his car since the day he walked out of his office. The box of personal possessions from his office was still in his trunk, too. He hadn’t cared about looking at any of it. The few scattered personal items he’d kept on his desk were just a reminder that he’d screwed up. The photo of his ex-wife he’d shoved into a drawer months ago. The bag of peppermints he’d recently started using to conceal the alcohol on his breath. The keys to the house that was no longer his. His ex got the house and the dog and his best friend—who hadn’t really been a friend at all as it turned out. Tony had gotten nothing. Didn’t matter. He didn’t need a
nything. The townhouse he moved to suited his needs and friends were overrated.
Enough about the past. His new motto was to live in the moment.
He closed the blinds and dug into his bag where he’d stashed the pint of bourbon he’d found in the trunk—ironically in the box of personal effects from his office.
He opened cabinet doors until he found the mugs. A mug in hand, he made himself comfortable at the table. He fired up the laptop. While it loaded, he poured himself a healthy serving of bourbon. He’d been dying for a drink all evening.
The first sip burned like hell. But the promise of that burn allowed him to begin to relax. He downed another swallow and focused his attention on the laptop screen. Time to see what his niece had been up to on social media. He may have walked away from his career with the Bureau’s Behavioral Analysis Unit but he still had a few valuable contacts.
Even when the police had officially listed her as missing, it would take time to unlock all the barriers that prevented law enforcement from seeing what Tiffany had been doing online and on her cell phone the final days and hours before she disappeared.
Tony intended to know as much of that as possible before he closed his eyes tonight.
The chief had made a reasonable point when he mentioned Tiffany’s occasional disappearing acts. Tony got that. But this time was different. He trusted his sister’s instincts far more than he did those of Chief Phelps.
There were necessary steps that had to be taken before determining Tiffany’s status. As with unlocking her phone and social media accounts, each step required time.
If she was in trouble, time represented one of the biggest threats to her staying alive.
5
Milledgeville
Wednesday, April 11, 7:50 a.m.
Jo reached for her coffee but curled her shaking hand into a fist rather than risk picking up the mug.
She wasn’t supposed to come back here. Ever. In fact, she hadn’t set foot in the state of Georgia since she left eighteen years ago. Never coming back. Never, never coming back. She shouldn’t be here now. Deep breath. No choice.
