by Kylie Brant
Either Fred Flintstone had turned to a life of crime, or the offender had taken the precaution of wearing a mask.
But they still had a sketch of a man that might be the UNSUB. Cam had ended up leaving a copy of it with Boelin distribution to the news organizations up there before heading back to Iowa. It’d been almost midnight when he’d dropped Sophie off at home. He wouldn’t blame her if she were catching a few extra hours of sleep.
He considered the rest of the neighborhood. People were starting to move around. Collect their papers. Walk their pets. Leave for work. It wouldn’t be long before one of them wondered what the hell he was doing on Sophie’s front porch.
Cam actually started to turn away. He could keep trying to call her on his commute. She’d answer the phone eventually, right?
But maybe not before she’d watched the local morning news.
A scowl settled on his face. Damn Maria and damn ‘the reality of her job.’ Despite the conversation they’d had before he’d left, the assistant director had gone ahead with a press conference in which she’d released Sophie’s criminal profile. Not only that, but some enterprising reporter had found a picture to pair with her name. Despite a few professional differences he and Sophie might have, he knew they’d share similar opinions on actions such as the one Maria had taken. They muddied an investigation with no real hope of furthering it.
And he didn’t want Sophie to be caught unaware, the way he’d been this morning when he’d opened the Des Moines Register. With a little online digging, he’d discovered that the local TV station had run breaking bulletins with the news for a couple days.
He headed back toward his car parked in the drive. Hesitated and eyed her garage door. So sue him, he recalled her security codes. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried to void that and all other memories of the time they’d spent together. Unfortunately, his memory of all things Sophie-related remained stubbornly entrenched.
Hell with it.
Wheeling around, Cam marched to the garage door. Punched in the code. It wouldn’t hurt to see if her car were there. And least then he’d know whether… Ducking his head under the rising door he saw that her sleek black Prius was parked neatly on one side of the garage.
Without giving it another thought, he headed through the space to the door that led into the condo. It was locked, as he’d figured and protected by her condo unit’s security system. He entered that code, too. He’d just have to take his chances that her outrage at his actions was tempered by concern for those taken by Gonzalez.
“Sophie?” He poked his head inside the condo. Noted that the purse she’d had with her on their trip sat on the table just inside the door. Which didn’t mean much. The woman literally changed purses to match shoes. A feminine accessorizing he normally found baffling, except that it was all wrapped up in the fascination she still held for him.
But he was working on that. Cam walked further into the condo, closing the door behind him. He wasn’t mooning over the woman like some seventeen-year-old pining for the lead cheerleader. There were hours every day when he never gave her a thought.
It was the nights that were still giving him problems.
“Sophie!” Even as he tried again he noted her car keys sitting next to the purse. He did a quick walk through the space. It was all one story. He checked out the kitchen. Empty. The automatic coffee maker had a full carafe. No mug was in evidence on the counter or—with a few extra steps he verified—the sink. A quick look out the back window showed no one in the miniscule yard or on the patio. The small sunroom, guest bathroom, office and second bedroom were also empty. Music was coming from the direction of her bedroom. She had one of those iPod alarms. It had been a source of conversation between them once. He preferred to waken to silence and she…well, Sophie had the unfortunate taste to prefer waking to a barely-out-her-teens singer wailing about bad break-ups.
The recollection almost, almost brought a smile to his lips.
He halted his progression through the condo just outside her open bedroom door. He was close enough to hear the shower running. A peek inside showed the bed only slightly mussed, with pillows askew. It was minus the lacy feminine comforter that had been on it the last time he’d been there. The door to the adjoining bathroom was also partially open. He jerked his head back to avoid seeing further into that room.
Deliberately pitching his voice louder, he said, “Don’t get mad but I figured once you heard what I’m here to say you might forgive my coming in like this.” With effort, he kept his gaze from straying toward the bathroom. He’d expected some sort of outraged protest, at least. He knew for a fact that one could shower in there and carry on a conversation with someone in the bedroom. They’d once had a spirited discussion in just that way over the merits of waffles over pancakes. Waffles had won, of course. That hadn’t even been a contest.
“I tried calling, but you didn’t pick up. So anyway, here’s the thing.” Propping his shoulder against the wall outside the bathroom, gaze determinedly turned toward the bedroom window, he gave her a brief rundown of what Gonzalez had done, and why. “Believe me, I tried to talk her out of releasing that profile before we left. Thought I’d succeeded, to tell you the truth. I didn’t want you to get ambushed by the news looking at the paper today because—big surprise—it’s splashed all over the headlines.”
When she still didn’t respond a trickle of unease slid down his spine. Sophie wasn’t one of those women who believed in the silent treatment. If he’d offended her by coming in like this—and that was a given—she’d let him know in a civil tone that flayed despite it’s evenness. Then she’d deal with the news he’d come to share.
But she wasn’t saying anything. And the queen of green as he’d once dubbed her was environmentally sophisticated. She even shut off the water while brushing her teeth in order to conserve.
She definitely didn’t take long showers.
The trickle of unease became full-fledged trepidation. “Sophie?” He nudged the door further open with his foot. “Soph?” He took a couple steps inside her room and paused, catching sight of something on the floor. Rounding the bed he saw it was the beige suitcase she’d carried with her on their trip. It was on its side, contents spilling carelessly from it.
The blood in his veins iced. Six quick steps took him to the half-open bathroom door. He pushed it open with his elbow. The walk in shower was clearly empty, although the water was still running. The door to the shower stood open. Water pooled in small puddles on the floor. One towel bar had been partially pulled from the wall and hung from the remaining screw. The flowering plant usually kept on the counter was on the floor, its container smashed. The rugs were in disarray and pinpoints of bright red spots dotted the tiled floor.
A fist clenched in his stomach. He tamped down fear, let instinct take over. He backed slowly out of the bathroom. Reached down to slip off his shoes and set them on the edge of the dresser. Swiftly he backtracked out of the room, crossing to where she’d left her purse. He knew she didn’t retain a landline.
Checking the cell phone he found in the front outer pocket, Cam discovered her last call out had been three days earlier. Which meant she hadn’t contacted an ambulance or a neighbor about an emergency. But the call log showed one missed call last night at twelve thirty-two. The name Livvie appeared next to the number. He pressed the call button, waited impatiently until a woman picked up.
“Hey, sorry about calling so late last night. Minor crisis averted here, at least for the short term, but still need your help with something.”
The voice was naggingly familiar. A moment later he placed it. “You’re the neighbor.” Livvie Hammel had the condo on the left. She and Sophie had seemed friendly the one time Sophie had been unable to avoid making stilted introductions when she and Cam had encountered the woman in the driveway. Already he was going to the front door, opening it and stepping out on the porch.
There was a pause. Then a guarded, “Who is this?”
�
��Cam Prescott. I’ll be at your front door in ten seconds.” He disconnected the call and strode to Hammel’s porch.
He had the distinct sensation of being studied for several seconds through the peephole before the door was finally opened. The woman’s freckled face looked worried. “Why do you have Sophia’s phone? Where is she?”
“I was hoping you could tell me. You haven’t seen her this morning?”
Hammel shook her head. “I haven’t seen her for a few days. I assumed she was on a job somewhere.”
“She was.” Deliberately he refrained from giving her any details about the scene he’d found inside Sophie’s apartment. “I dropped her off a couple minutes to twelve. She didn’t answer your call at twelve thirty-two. How did you know she was home last night?”
“My condo’s the opposite floor plan as hers. Standing in my bathroom I could see that the light in hers was on. I took the chance that she was still up and called.”
“If she needed help for an emergency of some sort who would she contact?” His questions were coming rapid-fire, barely waiting for her response.
The woman’s expression had switched from wariness to concern. “Me first, I think. We’re friends. Carrie Solberg lives down the street. We all hang out sometimes, but Carrie’s on a cruise. So definitely me. What kind of emergency? What are you doing at her place anyway?”
He ignored the question, thinking rapidly. If there was one thing that he’d learned about Sophie in their time together, it was that she thrived on orderliness and precision. Cam had often teased her about her adherence to routine. He couldn’t imagine her going to bed without unpacking her suitcase and putting it away.
And before turning in every night, her cell was placed on the nightstand. Without exception. In case one of her clients needed to contact her during the night, she’d once explained. It had made perfect sense to him. He always kept his cell close, too.
But her phone hadn’t made it out of her purse. Her clothes hadn’t been put away. Which meant that whatever had happened to Sophie had likely occurred last night sometime between twelve and twelve-thirty.
“Okay, thanks.”
He turned to leave, already planning his next action.
“Don’t even think about leaving without telling me what’s happened to Sophia!” Hammel stepped barefoot onto the porch her eyes fierce. “What’s going on? How’d you get in her condo, anyway?”
“Hey, it’s the dude with the ’tude. Cool. Can I see your badge?”
The boy who now stood in the open doorway was a miniature of his mother in every way except for gender. About seven or eight, Cam calculated, although he didn’t know much about kids. His red hair was a shade brighter than his mom’s and hadn’t been combed that morning. His left foot was encased in plaster from the base of his bare toes to his knee. He was supporting himself on crutches.
Livvie Hammel flushed. “Not now, Carter. Go to the kitchen and start thinking about what you want for breakfast.”
But the boy didn’t move. He was studying Cam’s pants interestedly. “His lap doesn’t look greasy. I still don’t get it.”
Involuntarily, Cam glanced down at his trousers. “What?”
“Carter.” An edge of embarrassment firmed Livvie’s tone. “Kitchen. Now.”
The kid didn’t move. His brow wrinkled, he said, “Dr. C said that, though, remember? You said, hey, what’s going on with you and hunkalicious, and she said it was over because he was a greasy laps judgment. And then you said but he was tasty, right? And Dr. C said he was absolutely delicious. But you never did explain what greasy laps judgment was and I just looked and his lap isn’t greasy.”
Whatever else the kid had been about to say was muffled by the hand the woman clapped over his mouth. Twin flags of color rode high in her cheeks. “I swear the child can’t hear me tell him to stop using his crutch as a bat in the house, but he can hear a whispered conversation thirty yards away.”
Despite the urgency surrounding the matter, Cam couldn’t help asking, “Greasy laps judgment?”
She grimaced as she loosened the hand she had over the boy’s lips. “Egregious lapse in judgment. A trait shared by Carter on occasions too numerous to mention.”
“Ah.” The phrase sounded so like Sophie that it brought a quick hard smile to his lips. One that faded in the next instant. Urgency was pulsing through him, getting more and more difficult to contain. “Did you see anyone around her place yesterday, before she got home?”
“No, sorry. Carter broke a growth plate in his foot a few days ago and it’s all I can do to keep him entertained. I’ve been home trying to keep him off it this week. That’s kept me too exhausted to focus on much else.”
The kid was giving Cam a look that was probably supposed to be angelic. It failed miserably. He looked like a pint sized evil genius. “What was the crisis you called Sophie about last night?”
She jerked her thumb at Carter. “Slugger here woke up wanting a drink of water. While I was fetching it he decided to use his crutch to play Sammy Sosa. Sent a tennis ball through his bedroom window.”
Cam looked at the boy. “Sosa, huh?”
“He’s the all-time home run hitter on the Cubs,” the kid informed him. “Soriano only hit thirty-two last year. He’s never going to come close to Sosa’s record.”
Sad, but true. “Good point.” Cam switched his attention back to Livvie. “How was Sophie going to help with a broken window?”
“Not help, exactly, but I just wanted the name of the outfit that repaired hers this week. I figured since they already knew the area, maybe I could drop her name and get them out here without being put on a waiting list.”
Everything inside him stilled. “She had a broken window this week?”
“Yes. Well, I don’t know exactly what was broken.” She glanced at the boy. “My son saw a van from a glass shop out front. When was that, Carter?”
“Day before yesterday,” he replied without hesitation. “I had to stay in the living room while you were hiding clues for the scavenger hunt. It was boring, so I was looking out to see if maybe Ryder or Zach were outside on their bikes.”
“What kind of van?”
“Dark blue. It had a sign on it that said Dr. Pane. I thought that was funny and told mom the doctor was visiting the doctor.” Carter looked at Cam for his appreciation of the humor.
Ice slicking down his spine, Cam had heard enough. “Stay available. Someone will be back to talk to you.” This time when he walked away Hammel didn’t try to stop him. Heading back to Sophie’s, he pulled his cell from his pocket, his fingers oddly uncoordinated as he hit speed dial for a familiar number. He could hear the kid’s voice behind him.
“Hey mom, how come he gets to wear his socks outside?”
He stopped at his vehicle and opened the trunk with his free hand. Reached in and started digging around in his crime scene bag to make sure he had shoe covers as well as gloves. When Jenna finally answered he didn’t bother with a greeting. Politeness was beyond him at this point. “Get crime team to Sophie’s condo. Here’s the address.” He recited it without having to think. “I don’t know what happened. She’s not here.” In short succinct sentences he explained what he’d found without going into his reason for being there.
“Tell them to hurry.” The words settled in a hard ball in his throat. It took effort to force them out. “I think someone got to her.”
“Be sure to have them run my latents for comparison prints along with Sophie’s.” Cam was crouched next to Aubrey Hartley, one of the criminalists. She was in front of the kitchen door, rolling the electrostatic dust print lifter mat across the tile floor in front of the door. Her blond hair was pulled back in a stubby ponytail. The white TyVek coveralls she wore couldn’t quite hide the girth of her pregnancy.
She arched a brow but her movements never slowed. “You mean you were as careless with your prints as you were with your shoe impressions?”
“I didn’t expect to find a crime scene he
re.”
Something in his bleak tone must have alerted her, because she paused to look at him. “I’m just giving you a hard time. Don’t worry about it. I’ve already taken an impression of your shoe for elimination purposes, too. Where’d you touch when you were looking around?”
“Today? The security panel outside and inside the garage.” Her brows lifted higher at the admission. “The knob from the garage door into the house.” He stopped then, tried to think. “The doorjamb to the left of the master bedroom door. But I’ve been here before when Sophie was home.”
Aubrey’s expression went impassive at she interpreted his words. He’d been a guest here. Moved freely around the space. They’d find his prints on cupboards. Doors. In the bathroom. A shudder wanted to work through him at the thought of the bathroom. He and Sophie had once made love in that shower. The very one she’d likely been abducted from.
“Don’t worry about it, Cam. We’re going to pull out all the stops on this one.”
He caught sight of Maria entering through the front door, shoe covers and gloves donned. Nodding to Aubrey, he rose and crossed the room to meet her. She was scanning the activity in the condo, wearing a slight frown. Jenna was huddled in a corner of the dining area, a cell pressed to her ear. A second criminalist was dusting the doorknob of the entry from the garage. Yet a third was selecting light sources with which to examine the blood samples in the bathroom.
“I hope you’re not jumping the gun here.” Gonzalez held up a hand to halt any protest he might have made. “You explained the details when you called me, but like I said then, there are any number of explanations for Sophia’s absence. I would have preferred you look into all of them before ordering these resources.”
“Dollars and cents? Is that what we’re quibbling about here, Maria?”
Her look was dark. “Don’t take that tone, Prescott. Not when the details of what happened here are still in question. She could have hurt herself in a fall and called an ambulance.”
