by Fiona Quinn
Lynx raised her glass. “Here’s to a good puzzle that we can put together with ease.”
“Here, here,” Deep said, then took a sip.
Lacey couldn’t understand their attitude. Not at all. She dragged her napkin across her lap, dropped her chin to her chest as if in prayer, and squeezed her eyes tight against her distress.
“Lacey.” Deep’s voice pulled her gaze up to find warm brown eyes framed with thick lashes that gave an endearing, almost boyish, sweetness to his face. The kindness she saw there made her heart skip forward two beats too fast. “We’re going to help you the best we can. And we’re damned good at our jobs.”
Lacey nodded with a stuttering inhale.
Fortified from their early dinner and relaxed a bit by the glass of wine, they sat in front of the computer with Deep at the keyboard, flanked by the women.
“So, let’s see here,” Deep said as he pulled open the first file. He flipped quickly through the images.
“And these are all familiar to you — the artists and the tableaux themselves?” Lynx asked.
“Yes, they were all on my acquisitions list.” Lacey knotted her arms under her breasts.
Deep moved to the second file. “You haven’t opened this one yet?”
Lacey shook her head.
It was another series of pictures with dates and time stamps. These pictures chronicled Lacey’s days — there were photos of her at the gym, the park, work, dinner . . . There she was with Steve. And there they were again; she was standing on her toes to kiss him.
Someone had been following her – stalking her. Her whole body buzzed as her nerves lit up. All Lacey could do as Deep scrolled forward was shake her head. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand,” she muttered.
Lynx reached behind Deep to touch Lacey’s shoulder. Lacey knew it was meant to be a supportive gesture, but Lacey had to brace herself so she wouldn’t jerk away. It was if she was holding all of the sensations that her body could possibly contain, and Lynx’s touch overwhelmed Lacey’s coping ability. Lacey would do everything in her power never to feel this way again.
Deep pressed the keys to pull up the third file. This one held copies of emailed correspondence with artists’ agents. Contracts with the agents, caterers, engravers, and with shipping and storage companies – it was as if the art show was completely planned and on schedule for next week. And her name and signature was on each and every one. As if she was moving forward on-task with a show that she knew wasn’t going to happen.
“No. No. No.” Lacey moaned as Deep flipped through the pages. “This is exactly what happened with the Iniquus art.”
“Not exactly, Lacey,” Lynx said. “When you were collecting the Iniquus art and putting it in storage for transport, you were hands-on arranging all of the details and following through with your uncle’s directives.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Lacey agreed.
“You told us that this show was called off because no one trusted your gallery. Your uncle never came back from his trip to Bali, after the Iniquus art theft was exposed. Right?”
“That’s right. He left me in charge of running the gallery the best I could.”
“Do you have proof that these agents pulled back from the show?” Deep asked.
“You mean their letters telling us to take a flying leap? Why yes, they’re on my computer. Do you want me to access them? I can get there through Carbonite.”
“No not now,” Deep said. “If the FBI has your computer, they could be waiting for you to log on so they can follow the information back to this one.”
“They can do that?”
“They have some pretty wonderful capabilities,” Lynx said. “Right now, we don’t want them combing our area. So let’s hold off. It’s not important to see those emails right this second.”
“They can trace a computer?” Lacey’s brow furrowed. “Huh. Well, hopefully it won’t matter.”
“What’s that?” Deep asked.
“Well, I accessed my computer through Martha’s work computer at her house. I was looking up the business card you gave me. I had scanned it into my downloads file. I called you earlier this morning, before I contacted my lawyer, but it was your service that responded.”
“Well, I knew you called me. My answering service gave me the phone number and address of where you’d called from. Of course, the name they gave me was Martha Schwartz, but I was pretty sure it was you. I was swinging by Martha’s house on my way out of town when I heard the radio station announce your press conference.”
“Wow. That’s pretty scary,” Lacey said. “Not that you were coming to check on me, thank you for that, but that you had all that information when all I did was hang up on the woman.”
“Another reason why I thought it was you,” Deep said.
“What I find the most bizarre about these three files are all the third-party photos of you. Did you know you were being photographed?” Lynx bumped Deep’s shoulder with hers and flicked her finger toward the screen.
“No. I never saw anyone with a camera. But I guess anyone on a phone could have taken these.”
Deep scrolled back over to the pictures of Lacey. Lynx stood and tapped her hip into him. He got up and switched chairs with her. They obviously had been working closely together for a long time; they seemed like two wheels on one bicycle. But Lacey didn’t feel like she was a third wheel. More like she was the cart being dragged along behind them.
“Lacey, who’s this guy in the photos?”
“Steve Adamic, he used to be my boyfriend.” Lacey’s lips had trouble forming the word boyfriend and she wondered, as she said it, why her answer felt like a lie. She also noticed she had used the past tense. That at least felt truthful.
Lynx continued to flip through the photos. Without taking her eye off the screen, she said, “Lacey start at the beginning and tell me the story. Was the bar Thursday night a place you go often? What were your plans for the evening?”
“Well,” Lacey said. “We were usually pretty quiet, especially on weeknights. Even on the weekends, we cooked in and watched Netflix. Bars weren’t really our scene.”
“He lives with you?” Lynx asked.
Lacey shot a glance toward Deep. He seemed to be engrossed in the photos. “Not officially, but he was at my place all the time.”
“How long have you two known each other?” Lynx asked.
“Not quite five months. We met in September.”
“And he started hanging out almost all the time at your house when?” Lynx pulled a pad toward her and drew a couple of bubbles where she filled in Lacey’s information.
“Well, I was hurt at the time we met, and he was worried about me. I guess he started staying over almost right away.”
Lynx looked up. “Hurt how?”
“I was in a car accident. I swerved when I hit a deer, and I crashed into a tree.”
More thought bubbles were drawn on the paper. “So you normally stay in. Why was Thursday night different? Were you celebrating something?”
“No, Steve called and asked me to meet him there for drinks and dinner.”
“You sound like you didn’t want to go,” Lynx said.
“I was tired. I’m finding it pretty stressful trying to run the gallery without my uncle there – trying to save our reputation.”
“It wasn’t a special occasion? Have you ever been to that restaurant before?” Lynx pushed.
“I’ve never been there before, and I have no idea why Steve wanted to meet me there. Or for that matter, why he never showed up.”
Lynx stalled. “Wait. What? He never showed? How late was he?”
“About forty minutes. I’d given up and was leaving.”
“No text? No call?” Deep’s brow furrowed.
“Not anything,” Lacey said.
Deep focused on Lynx.
“I can call from a secure line back at headquarters,” she told him.
“Let’s hold off until we can figure out if h
e’s playing on the right team,” Deep said.
What that meant, Lacey wasn’t sure.
Lynx flipped the notebook page to a clean one. “Do me a favor, would you? Can you write down everything you know about Steve? Full name. Address. Contact numbers. Social media accounts. Where he works? Where he was born? Names of friends and family – that kind of thing.”
“But why?” Lacey asked.
“Just turning over rocks,” Lynx said.
Deep got up and walked toward the kitchen. Lacey could swear she heard Deep mutter, “To see if there are any snakes hiding underneath.”
Lynx went back to the beginning of the photo-journal chronicling Lacey’s days. After Lacey finished with her list, she stared out the side window. It was dark already. Suddenly, Lacey’s eyes pulled wide. “Oh, no.”
Lynx followed her gaze to the window then back to Lacey. “What?” she asked.
“Martha’s cat. I’m supposed to feed Twinkle Toes.”
“Well, you can’t do that. You can’t go back to a house where people might be waiting for you,” Lynx said.
“The FBI could have traced your computer,” Deep agreed as he came back in the room. He handed Lacey a cup of tea. “This should help warm you up.”
“No, the FBI can’t do that,” Lacey insisted, taking the tea and sending Deep a brief smile. “The IP address would merely show the city I’m in. They can’t home in on a single address, can they?”
“I can,” Deep said. “Well not here on Lynx’s ThinkPad. But if I were at Iniquus, I could.”
“But Twinkle Toes.” And that was it. The last straw. She had been grabbed, bloodied, herded, chased, shot at and bounced on Deep’s back down the street. She had found out that she was being stalked and photographed for months on end. Why it was that thinking about Twinkle Toes, alone and hungry back at Martha’s house, set off Lacey’s crying jag, she wasn’t sure.
Lacey pushed her mug onto the notepad and pulled tissue after tissue from the box that Deep held out toward her. He seemed unfazed by her near hysteria. Lacey tried to hide the worst of her splotchy red eyes and mucus-filled nostrils from his view behind her French-manicured nails.
Lynx reached out and moved Lacey’s tea toward the center of the table and out of harm’s way, allowing Lacey to fold her arms on the table and hunker down to finish her cry. Lynx put a comforting hand on Lacey’s back but didn’t try to stop Lacey’s tears.
“You know, Deep, I could stop by on the way back to the barracks and feed the cat,” Lynx offered.
“Oh, no, you won’t. Striker would kill me.”
“Striker would never know.”
“No. But thank you.” There was no compromise or wiggle room in the tone Deep used.
Lacey looked up over her tissues as she wiped the last of her tears.
“Do you know anyone else who could take care of the cat?” Deep asked Lacey after she blew her nose in a long, satisfying way into yet another Kleenex.
Lacey couldn’t believe that she was comfortable enough with these two veritable strangers that she’d allow them to see her blow her nose. She didn’t even let Steve see her do that. She unfolded her legs from under her and stood up. “Well, they’d simply need the door code.” Lacey moved to the powder room to throw the Kleenex away, rinse her hands, and run her fingers through her hair to try to regain a touch of her normally lady-like demeanor, but the hiccoughs betrayed her. “I could ask Mary to go over.”
“Uh-uh. Lynx will ask Mary to go over from a secured line.”
Lacey jotted down Mary’s number and the house code on a sticky note and handed it to Lynx.
“And if Mary can’t go?” Lynx asked.
“Then send Panther Force.” Deep’s teasing smile lit up his eyes. “Titus Kane is a softie for furry little kitties.”
Lynx snorted as she headed out the door.
Lacey turned to Deep. “What happens next?”
Chapter Nine
Steve
Friday Night
The crisp crackle of cellophane wrappers broadcast large against the otherwise soundless night. Steve hunkered in his car, unwrapping stadium hand warmers. As they came free of their packaging, he shook the contents to create a chemical reaction. He slid one down his shirt and rested two on the tips of his boots to help revive his toes and keep them safe from frostbite. The last one, he held between his hands to keep his trigger finger warm. The weather app on his phone said it had dropped to twelve degrees, and that didn’t take into account the wind rocking his car. But he couldn’t risk running the engine.
He had pulled his car into a ditch, comfortable that the magnolia tree masked most of its bulk. He still maintained a pretty clear view of Martha’s bungalow. He knew Lacey. If she was physically able, she’d show up to feed the cat. Lacey couldn’t stand the thought of an animal suffering.
She’d been here the night before. The bureau traced her location down when she’d accessed her computer remotely. Higgins said after that, Lacey made a forty-second phone call to someone named Joseph Del Toro. Higgins was following up on that. The next call went to her lawyer’s house. Those were the only calls she made. Lacey hadn’t called him, and Steve couldn’t fathom it.
Steve thought about all the lies he had been feeding her since she first met him. Almost everything about the case – who he was, what he did for a living, how he spent his days – lies. But he hadn’t lied about his feelings. He loved her. He had already decided she was the one he wanted to make a life with. The one to mother his kids and spoil the grandchildren.
But first he had to find her, keep her safe, and explain.
He wasn’t sure, after this mess was over, how he could help her to understand what he did or why he’d done it. He knew that trust was going to be an issue. But he truly believed he could build back her trust with time. If she’d give him the chance.
Right now, he needed to figure out what was going on. Who scooped Lacey up at the press conference? Where had he taken her?
His phone vibrated and displayed a number he didn’t recognize. “This is Steve.”
“It’s Higgins. I’ve got the skinny on your boy Joseph Del Toro.”
“Yeah?”
“He’s clean as a whistle. Born on Long Island. Lived there through high school, then signed with the Marines. After Parris Island, he trained as a Marine Raider. He deployed three times to the sandbox, has medals all over his chest, and now he’s home working as an Iniquus operative on their Strike Force team. Goes by the call name, “Deep”. And as it turns out, I’ve worked a case with him. Good guy. Highly skilled. Tenacious. Fearless.”
“Huh.”
“She must have met him when her uncle stole the Iniquus art work,” Higgins said.
“And when she was in trouble, that’s who she called.” Steve scrunched down in his seat as a pair of headlights bounced down the road.
“It’s who I’d call. She thinks you’re a software engineer. What the hell would you do up against big bad men who aren’t afraid to stab people in public?”
Steve didn’t take the bait. “So did you call Del Toro in for an interview?”
“Iniquus has him listed as on vacation overseas – ‘unavailable for emergency deployment.’”
“So that wasn’t him grabbing up Lacey at the press conference?”
“Not unless he’s got himself a worm hole.”
“Call you back, Danika’s on my other line.” Steve swiped his finger over the phone to pick up the new call. “Hey babe,” he said. He watched as a car turned slowly at the corner and was now inching up the street.
“When are you coming home? I’ve got the munchies, and I want you to bring me something.”
“Yeah sure, in the next hour or so. I’m still out here looking for Lacey.”
“Oh, you don’t need to do that anymore.”
Fear grabbed hold of the base of Steve’s spine and shook him violently. “Why’s that?”
“Pavle picked her up this morning at the news conference.�
��
“I was at the news conference.”
“I know. I saw you on TV.”
Steve felt the fine hairs on his arms lift as his skin puckered with goose flesh.
“We all saw you. Pavle is pissed as hell that you got your face front and center on the news. He says it was sloppy-ass work. He doesn’t need clowns mucking up like that in his organization.”
He swallowed hard. “What do you think that means?”
“I don’t know, but I’d be kissing his ass if I were you.”
“Hang on, I was at the press conference trying to catch hold of Lacey. The sniper was late with his shot. Some guy tackled Lacey, and the bullet ricocheted and hit the woman standing in front of me.”
“Right, well, that was Pavle’s plan, see? The family staged it so the sniper didn’t hit Lacey, but it gave an excuse for his guy to grab her in plain sight instead so she couldn’t go talk to the police and so we’d have hold of her.”
“So it was Pavle’s sniper? You’re a hundred percent sure?”
“Who else would have a sniper gunning for Lacey Stuart?”
“This makes no sense. Why would they go through that charade?”
“Did you think someone was trying to kill her?”
“Yes,” Steve replied, lifting his binoculars to watch a woman getting out of her car in Martha’s driveway. She was too bundled up for Steve to get a good look. She was pretty short – it could be Lacey.
“Did you think that some hero ran in and saved her life?”
“That’s the way it looked to me,” Steve said, half-paying attention to Danika. If he didn’t get a good visual when this person came out, he’d follow her car and call the license in to Higgins.
“But what really happened was Pavle kidnapped her. Isn’t that marvelous?” The receiver filled with gleeful laughter. “So now the family can ask her nicely to get the stuff back from her friend, then they can dump her body. Everything’s handled.”
As the woman walked back out the door, Steve saw a long blond braid hanging down her back. It was the gallery intern, Mary. Shit. “The family can ask her nicely to — what? What stuff are we talking about here? Do you know where they’re holding Lacey?” Steve pressed his eyelids tight in prayer.
