by Rebecca Deel
“We think Sartelli’s responsible for the death of a friend,” Eli said. “His name was Joe Baker. Joe mentored Jon and me in private investigation work.”
Brenna moved around to the front of Jon’s desk and sat in a director’s chair. “What happened to him?”
“Joe called me about a month ago. He said he was meeting an informant and if the info was good, Joe wanted us to work a case for him.”
She frowned. “Why didn’t he investigate the case on his own? He was a private investigator, right?”
“He’d retired and sold the business to us. Joe was traveling the US with his wife in their motor home and fishing in the lakes and streams wherever they camped. Said the world’s biggest large-mouthed bass was waiting for him to sink his hook in the water.” Eli’s voice grew huskier the longer he talked.
“What brought him out of retirement?”
Jon stood and paced to the window. “We think it had something to do with a missing person case Joe couldn’t solve. A 16-year-old girl from Boston named Kaylee Young. The Boston PD traced her to Nashville, but the trail went cold. The detective was a friend of Joe’s and thought he could pick up the trail. Joe tracked her to The Watering Hole, but that was all. Nothing else ever surfaced, almost as if the trail stopped at the door.”
“The Watering Hole?” Brenna blinked. “Sounds like a bar or something. What would an underage teenager be doing in a place like that?”
“It is a bar. Fake IDs are easy to get on the street,” Eli said. “And based on her picture, Kaylee looked older than her age. Dana’s neighbor, Tim, is the manager of The Watering Hole.”
Brenna sighed. A connection to Dana’s neighbor. Did her sister suspect Tim was involved in something shady? “Do you think Tim is connected to Kaylee’s disappearance?”
“We don’t know,” Jon answered, turned toward her. “It might be a coincidence Tim appeared on the scene around the time Kaylee vanished from Nashville. He doesn’t have a criminal record, if that’s what you’re asking. No arrests as a juvenile, either.”
And, of course, Jon had checked with no obvious repercussions, like jail time for hacking into law enforcement databases. The former SEAL was scary good.
Coincidence didn’t exist in her story worlds. Any event happened because she planned it or her muse knew when something should occur and a significant plot point snuck onto the computer screen, always leaving her wondering where the idea or inspiration came from. She suspected real life was the same. Ice poured through Brenna’s veins. “But you think it’s connected, don’t you?” First Kaylee, now Dana missing. Could Tim be involved in either disappearance or both?
“Maybe.” Eli tossed his empty water bottle in the trash. “None of us could find any proof.”
Another idea surfaced. Her eyes narrowed. “Did you ask Dana to keep an eye on Tim, too?”
Eli shook his head.
“She did know about Kaylee,” Jon said. “She saw her photograph on my desk a few weeks ago.”
Eli’s cell beeped. He pulled it out and read the text message. “Jon, Maddox sent us a link. He thinks it might be related to Dana.”
Three long strides and Jon had seated himself at the computer keyboard again. He refreshed the emails and clicked on the link.
Brenna hurried around the desk, her throat tight. She prayed Fortress had found something, anything to help them locate her sister. Right now, she, Eli, and Jon were all grasping at whisper-thin threads. She felt Eli’s solid chest behind her back, his hands on her shoulders. The silent support came at the perfect time.
Seconds later, a picture appeared on the screen, Dana wearing a red bikini, her face tear-stained. The caption underneath, “The newest Scarlett Beauty. Bidding ends in 48 hours.” A clock counted down the time in the upper left hand corner of the screen.
“No.” Brenna’s hoarse voice pierced the utter stillness of the office. In her purse, her cell phone beeped. With a shaking hand, Brenna yanked open her bag and dug inside until she located her phone. A text message from an unknown number. “Eli.”
“Open it,” he said.
She punched the button to read the message and shuddered. “Like the picture? You can stop the clock. The recording in exchange for Dana. Fail to deliver and she will be sold to the highest bidder.”
Jon grabbed his coffee mug and hurled it against the far wall.
Eli gathered a trembling Brenna into his arms. “Jon, take a few minutes. Go clear your head. I’ll talk to Maddox.”
His partner said nothing, just stalked out of the office. A minute later, the outer door slammed hard enough to rattle the windows.
“Who would do this to Dana? To any woman, for that matter. Eli, they’re auctioning her off like a side of beef or something.”
Eli’s gaze flicked back to the gut-wrenching picture. Did the kidnappers mean to do what they threatened? That required connections to human trafficking. Having to rip open a still healing wound made him want to heave. Memories of his failed final SEAL op surged to the surface, refused to stay behind the cement wall he’d built in his mind, the wall which helped him maintain his sanity.
He didn’t blame Jon for smashing his coffee mug. Unfortunately, shattered pottery wouldn’t erase the faces of the women and children who had died in that foreign compound. SEAL Team 5 had been an hour too late to save the ambassador’s daughter and the other victims. Their bloody ghosts populated his nightmares.
Eli dragged his attention back to the present and Brenna. Maybe the kidnappers were adding pressure, hoping to force Brenna to turn over the recording. They must know she wouldn’t hold it back if it meant her sister’s safe return. He feared the countdown clock was all too real. The question he needed answered—how long ago was the photo taken? It could have been taken ten days ago and only loaded onto the Internet recently.
It made a difference in how he and Jon responded when they found Dana. And they would find her, whether she still lived or not. If Dana remained alive, they would go after her in stealth mode and extract her. Once she had been taken to safety, they would dismantle the organization and deal with the scum bags who ran the business. If they got lucky, they might find out who bought the Young kid.
A wave of cold fury swept through him. If the traffickers killed Dana, all bets were off.
He pressed a kiss to Brenna’s forehead and eased her into Jon’s vacated chair. “Let me talk to Maddox, see what else he’s learned.”
Eli placed the call to Maddox’s direct line.
“That her?” Maddox asked, once again forgoing manners for expediency. In his business, a minute one way or another meant life or death.
“Yeah. When was it posted?”
“About two hours ago. The computer analyst tripped the clock when he forwarded it to your email account.”
“The sister was sent a text message. We found a video clip on a CD in Dana’s car. Might be what the kidnappers are after.” He leaned over Brenna and grabbed the mouse. “I’m sending you a copy of it right now. Have the analyst clean it up.” A few clicks later, he sent an attached copy to Maddox. “Anything you can give us would help at this point because we’ve got zip.”
“I’ll get back to you.” A dial tone sounded in his ear.
Brenna scooted her laptop across the desk and brought up her Internet connection. “Do you know anything about the Scarlett Beauty reference?”
Eli stilled. “You don’t want to go down that rabbit hole, Brenna.”
“Why? It sounds like a reference to a business or something.”
Yeah, or something, all right. “Sugar, trust me. You don’t want to dig too deep. Let me or Jon do the research.” Whatever she found would give her nightmares. She didn’t need to sully her dreams with the garbage Eli knew they’d find connected to Scarlett.
Brenna eyed him, her lips pressed tight. “You might know about special forces stuff and PI tactics, but I know research. I write historical romances, remember?”
“This isn’t research for a book.
Life can be ugly. Human trafficking is one of the ugliest things one human being can do to another. You won’t like what you find.”
“What do you know about it?”
“A lot more than I ever wanted to know. Enough that I don’t sleep most nights.” And when he did sleep, those same accusing faces haunted his dreams. One hour too late.
Brenna tilted her chin, defiance in her face. “It looks like Dana’s living it. If I can help you find her by researching that organization, I’ll do it.”
Jon walked back into his office, his face totally devoid of emotion. “Out. Both of you.”
“Maddox says the picture was posted two hours ago. He’s still digging. I also sent him a copy of the video clip.” Eli pulled Brenna to her feet. “Bring your computer to my office, sugar. We’ll track down Helen Lynch. Maybe she can give us another link in the chain to find your sister.”
“Why did you drag me out here with you?” Brenna studied the Lynch home through the Camaro’s windshield. The ranch-style red brick home had multiple fire bushes and boxwoods along the drive. Flowering rosebushes lined the outside walls of the home. Her mother would have enjoyed the landscaping. She would have chosen pink roses instead of the red favored by the Lynches. “I could have been more help doing research than being your arm candy.”
Eli turned off the ignition with a soft chuckle. “Believe it or not, that is why I brought you. Ms. Lynch didn’t sound comfortable with a stranger coming to her home. I can’t blame her for that. Figured she might be more helpful if a gorgeous woman was with me.”
Brenna turned her narrowed gaze on her companion. “Gorgeous, huh?”
“Oh, yeah. Total knockout.”
“Piling it on a little thick, aren’t you, Wolfe?”
“Is it working?”
“Am I supposed to be oblivious to everything in the room but you?”
“Well . . .”
“Because let me tell you right now, Wolfe, I don’t simper and fawn over anybody unless it’s a baby. You don’t qualify, buddy.”
Eli laughed and opened the door.
They followed the concrete path to the porch. A middle-aged woman opened the door within seconds of the bell chiming.
“Ms. Lynch?” Eli said. He handed her his card. “I’m Eli Wolfe. This is Brenna Mason.”
The woman examined his card and appeared satisfied with what she read. Brenna wondered if the woman realized that anyone could have cards printed at a quick-print shop or order them on the Internet. She should have asked for Eli’s investigator’s license. Then again, if Brenna had been confronted by Eli Wolfe before Dana’s disappearance and the apartment break-in, she might not have asked for the ID either. Would she ever feel safe again?
“May we come in?” Eli asked. “Like I mentioned earlier on the phone, we need to ask you some questions about Dana Cole.”
“I don’t know that I can help you, Mr. Wolfe. I met Dana once. She was supposed to get in touch with me, but she never called.”
“Please, Ms. Lynch.” Brenna stepped closer. “Dana is my sister. She’s missing. We need your help.”
Helen Lynch’s face blanched. “Missing?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Eli said. “Would you be more comfortable if we talked out here?”
She stepped back. “Come into the kitchen. It’s too hot to talk outside.”
Brenna walked through the door and traipsed into the kitchen a few feet behind Eli and Ms. Lynch. He’d warned her ahead of time to let him walk ahead of her for safety. He didn’t know what they were walking into, doubted it was dangerous, but insisted on the precaution anyway. She took a few seconds to scan the photos lining the walls. A blond girl in various stages of life. Ms. Lynch’s daughter, from the close resemblance. Very pretty girl.
“Would either of you like some lemonade? It’s fresh, from scratch.”
“Appreciate it. Nashville summer heat and humidity are pretty fierce,” Eli said.
“Thank you, Ms. Lynch.” Brenna smiled at the woman.
“It’s Helen. Lemonade is Julie’s favorite drink.” Her eyes glistened with sudden tears. “I keep a pitcher in the refrigerator, hoping.”
“Julie? Is she your daughter?” Brenna asked. “I saw the pictures in the hallway.”
Helen wiped tears from her cheeks. “Julie’s missing. The police think she ran away three weeks ago.” She opened the cabinet and removed three glasses which she filled with a light yellow liquid from a glass pitcher.
“But you don’t.” Brenna accepted the glass with a smile and sipped the icy drink. “Oh, this is great, Helen. Perfect.”
The woman smiled. “Fresh-squeezed lemons make all the difference.” Then the smile was gone. “Julie didn’t run away. It’s just us now.” Helen sat at the kitchen table, waving them to chairs across from her. “Ben, my husband, died on patrol last year in the Middle East.”
“What branch of the military, Helen?” Eli asked, his voice quiet.
“Army. He was with the 101st Airborne. Anyway, Julie and I are close. She’s seventeen, a senior, and we’ve been making plans for her to go to college next fall. She wants to be a doctor. We haven’t had any fights. Her boyfriend, Chad, is beside himself with worry. They weren’t having any problems, either. She’s just gone.”
Eli pulled out his notepad. “What’s Chad’s last name?”
“Elliott.”
“Know how I can contact him?”
“He’s a good boy, Mr. Wolfe.” Helen’s hands clenched around her glass. “He wouldn’t hurt Julie. They’ve been dating since the seventh grade. He treats my daughter like she’s made of blown glass. My husband thought well of him, too.”
“I’m not saying he hurt your daughter, but Chad might know something that Julie didn’t share with you. You know how kids are these days.”
Helen sighed. “They confide in each other. I know that, but the police already questioned him. He didn’t know anything.”
“It’s been a while. He may have remembered something else or the news of Dana’s disappearance might help him connect some things that didn’t seem important a few weeks ago.”
After a sip of her drink, Helen gave him the phone number.
“How is Dana involved with your family?” Brenna asked. “She never mentioned you or Julie.”
“Julie has been working for Sartelli Construction in the afternoons. She helps with whatever odd jobs Dana finds her to do. After Julie went missing, Dana called every day, checking to see if I had heard from her.”
“When was the last time you heard from Dana?” Eli asked.
“Almost two weeks ago. A Thursday night. Dana said she might have an idea what happened to Julie, but she needed to check something before she said anything more.” Helen shrugged. “I didn’t hear from her after that. I figured she grew tired of me calling all the time, but I was desperate.”
Brenna’s throat tightened. That was the night Dana had been to Red Lobster with Sartelli. Could Dana’s disappearance be linked to Julie Lynch’s? Of course it was. The disappearances were around the same time and were similar enough to be nothing less than a real connection. And the police had no leads to Julie’s whereabouts. How were Eli and Jon and their private security employer going to find what law enforcement missed?
“Tell us about the day Julie disappeared,” Eli said. “Did she work with Dana that day?”
Helen nodded. “She called me from the office and said she was driving to the Sartelli home. She was to address invitations to some charity event Elena is hosting. The police questioned Mrs. Sartelli. She didn’t know anything, just said Julie never showed up.”
“What about her car?”
“The police still haven’t found it.”
After making sure Helen had both her and Eli’s cell numbers, Brenna and Eli drove away from the home.
Thoughts wound through Brenna’s mind in an endless circle. What could Dana have learned about Julie Lynch’s disappearance? Brenna wished she had pushed Dana harder, insisted that she sp
ill what troubled her weeks ago. If Julie disappeared because of her job, Dana would have done anything necessary to find her since she’d helped the young teen land the work. The same thing Brenna should have done for Dana that fateful summer. She should have pushed harder for information then, too. Would she never learn?
Eli broke the silence a few blocks from the Lynch place. “You up for another stop?”
Jon ended the call, fury burning a hole in his gut. Maddox’s tech geek had learned nothing new in the last few hours. His old SEAL buddy either needed new computer talent or more quantity. How hard could it be to track down the Internet service provider hosting the Scarlett’s Beauties website?
The police had stonewalled him, claimed their crime scene techs needed more time to process Dana’s car. Cal hadn’t responded to the message Jon left thirty minutes earlier. All of which left him with a desire to knock a new hole in the wall.
He studied the sharpened image of the girl sent to his email inbox from Fortress a short while earlier. Jon tweaked and rotated the image, and clicked the print button.
He frowned. What was a young girl doing at a construction site? From the equipment showing in the foreground, it was an active site, too dangerous to be wandering around even in daylight. And why didn’t the construction crew chase her off?
Jon highlighted a worker on the left side of the image and enlarged the face. His lip curled. Well, look at that. Same tango that helped Mendoza carry the woman in the video clip.
After a few clicks of the mouse, he grabbed the phone. “It’s Jon. I sent you a photo. Need an ID.” He listened to the irate voice on the other end of the line, fist slowly clenching. “How soon? Yesterday. Clock’s ticking. We’re at less than forty-five hours.”
“When did you last see Julie?”
Eli studied the teenager in the waning afternoon light at Centennial Park. Very clean cut for a kid his age, he decided. Most teen boys he knew sported longish hair, tattoos, and a few piercings. Of course, that assumption was based on his four nephews, ages 13 to 19. Come to think of it, that description fit his nieces, too.
