by Regan Black
“No. That’s what worries me most. She’s been dead for days. If no information has appeared anywhere does that mean…”
“Her killer found it and destroyed it.” Troy finished the thought.
“Yes. Won’t that let the killer escape? Mr. Cole keeps increasing the reward for information and still nothing helpful has come out.”
“What is it you know, Dr. Perez?”
“Not enough. Sylvia wouldn’t stop digging for answers.” Ana sighed, wishing they’d found those answers. “Sylvia came to me weeks ago, absolutely certain she’d seen Josie on an internet porn site. That wasn’t her habit, so it had to be something she saw in a client’s home.”
Troy nodded, attentive.
She felt silly spelling out the way she and Sylvia had attempted to investigate, gathering evidence and fitting together pieces of the puzzle to find the missing girl. “One of her clients recently sought treatment through the clinic for a porn addiction. Another client used to run an adult film company. I don’t believe either client was capable of murder or even kidnapping.”
“People are capable of dreadful things.”
“I know.” Ana pinched the bridge of her nose. “I know firsthand the dreadful things people can do. I was drawn to medicine to help and heal, to improve lives.”
“And you do.”
She waved aside the compliment. “The point is now I am certain that whoever put Josie in jeopardy wasn’t in Venezuela. Instead, someone local is killing and kidnapping. Someone who must be my patient.”
“You cannot expect to know the minds of everyone you treat,” he said gently.
“No.” Logically, she understood that. She rubbed her temples. “I read the coroner’s report. Sylvia was strangled in her home, by someone facing her.”
“Hardly access she’d grant to random passerby,” Troy observed.
“I agree.” Ana stood up, too restless to sit still anymore. “I’ve searched my records and so far, no likely suspect has popped out at me.”
“You’re not an investigator,” he said. “You should take your concerns to Deputy Chief Holt or the chief himself.”
“I know.” Oh, she knew he was right. “Even if I did that, I can’t legally turn over the medical records for all the men in town.”
“I suppose it’s too soon to have any idea about the build of the person who kidnapped Josie.”
“It is. Though the million-dollar reward posted by Quentin Windermere should help.”
Troy scowled. “He feels guilty.”
“Apparently.” She returned to her chair, hoping to bring her spinning thoughts into order. “Considering the millions more Zion is offering for information, anyone who could help should have come forward by now.”
Troy stared into the fire for long moments before meeting her gaze. “You don’t think Josie was ever in Venezuela.”
“Of course not. The flight and ticket must have been a ruse. Sylvia and Josie were close. They talked about everything from mascara to business plans. Sylvia was friendly and approachable. People liked talking to her, even the high school kids. She was young and pretty and a self-made, local success story. Most of them wanted to be her.”
He nodded a faint smile shifting the creases on his weathered face. “She was remarkable.”
“You know how protective Sylvia could be. When she first heard the women on her staff talking about a girl who’d disappeared from Josie’s school, it got her attention.”
“She had a low tolerance for people being exploited,” Troy murmured. “She didn’t like to see anyone suffer, especially not those who were working to improve themselves and their situation.”
Ana thought that was a fitting eulogy for Sylvia and words that would comfort Yolanda.
“When Sylvia talked to me, she said Josie had heard about the exchange program at school. One of her friends had come to Shutter Lake three semesters ago, hosted by the Windermeres. While she was here, one of their classmates went missing in Venezuela. Runaway they said, but Josie was sure that wasn’t the case. In wake of the missing girl, Josie’s parents pushed harder for her to apply to the program. They wanted to give her at least a temporary way out of an increasingly unstable country.”
“Sylvia was helping Josie and her parents so they could stay in America.”
“Yes,” Ana said. “It should have had a happy ending.”
“Why didn’t it?”
Ana pressed her lips together until the urge to cry passed. “Troy, whatever Sylvia learned about her clients, I don’t think that’s what got her killed. After hearing the story of Josie’s friend I started digging a little. I thought to persuade an old friend to inquire about Josie’s classmate.” Her stomach cramped painfully to classify any of the people who’d assisted her father’s criminal operation as friends.
“Why?”
“Because it was the right thing to do.”
“Did you learn anything helpful?” he queried.
She shook her head. “There was no response.” And that had been worse. “In my experience…” She had to stop when her voice broke. “In my experience when good girls disappear from good neighborhoods and happy families they don’t go willingly.”
”Should I assume you have intimate knowledge of what Josie’s classmate might have faced if she was indeed kidnapped?”
“Yes.” Ana rolled her shoulders back, ready to deliver the rehearsed reply. “During my ER rotation and in my residency, I treated several victims of trafficking.”
The look he leveled on her burned straight to her soul, but she wouldn’t speak of her childhood horrors. There was trust and then there was foolhardy. She’d been foolhardy one time too many when she’d contacted one of her father’s former cohorts. She’d never forgive herself if her query had led his lieutenants to Josie, if they’d taken that poor girl to quell a potential legal tangle and to send Ana a message.
But if Sylvia had been murdered for her attempts to find Josie and she knew her killer that meant someone in town was tied to the Rojas trafficking operation. Ana rubbed at her temples again, resisting the obvious, and deadly, logic.
“If you tell the police about the friend you contacted in an attempt to help, I assume you risk exposing your real identity.”
Troy understood too well. He might not have the full answers, but he understood. It lifted a weight from her shoulders. “Not everyone in town values discretion, not to mention the legal consequences,” she confessed. “I must sound horribly selfish.”
“No. Everyone has a past,” Troy said, his voice laced with sadness. “Only you can decide if and when taking that risk is the right thing to do. Take time to think it through.”
Plus she needed to create an opening to run. She really didn’t want to test whether or not Laney would choose friendship and reputation over the law. Did it matter if she passed the citizenship test if she’d done it with false papers? Everything she had now was because of her refusal to fail and her devotion to hard work, but it was all built on the lie of Luciana Camille Perez of El Paso, Texas.
“The more I think about it, the more I fear the killer will escape.” Ana tapped her fingertips on her thigh. “If they had solid evidence from Sylvia’s house they would have made an arrest already. Any helpful evidence on Josie has surely been washed away by the river.”
“I’d think the bigger question is where Josie was kept between the time she disappeared and the time she was found,” Troy said quietly, gaze on the fire again.
She thought of the porn addict and the young, drugged girl he’d seen who resembled Josie. The porn site had been labeled as Viva Venezuela, but the girl could have been held anywhere in the world.
Without her permission, Ana’s mind yanked her right back to that dank basement where the dirt floor absorbed the soft sounds of weeping and the harsh scrape of chains and iron cuffs.
Unlike her, Sylvia would never have kept quiet if she’d found a woman being held against her will.
“Dr. Perez?”
<
br /> “My apologies,” she said. “Do you have any ideas about where Sylvia might have stashed her dead man’s switch?”
Troy shook his head. “Maybe your worry is for nothing and the police already have it.”
“She wouldn’t have left it at her house,” Ana argued. That didn’t mean they couldn’t have found it at her office or through a cloud account. “Let’s hope that’s the case and it leads them to her killer.” She stood up and placed her mug on the tray. “I’ve surely overstayed my welcome. Can I clean this up for you?”
“No, no. I’d rather take care of it on my own.” His positive attitude and independence made her job easier and made a world of difference to counter the effects of his disease.
“All right. Thank you for listening.” She bent and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Deputy Chief Holt will appreciate your reassurance about Heidi’s drug dealer.”
“Happy to help. Whatever you decide, Dr. Perez, keep in mind how valuable you are to all of us in Shutter Lake.”
The last light had long since faded by the time she walked out of the house. As she drove through the vineyard toward the road, she couldn’t figure out if she felt better or worse for the time spent with Troy.
Better, she decided, as the gates closed behind her car. At least she’d gotten one answer that would put Laney’s mind at ease about the drug situation in Shutter Lake. She headed back into town to share the news with her friend.
Ana stood out on her deck, a thick cable sweater wrapped around her, and a glass of wine in her hand. She gazed up at the stars sparkling in the dark velvet sky as she unpacked every nuance of her conversation with Troy. He’d been subtle, but she’d heard his opinion loud and clear. He didn’t want her to risk her position by exposing her own secrets in the search for justice for Sylvia and Josie.
Everyone had an agenda. In Troy’s case she didn’t think it was completely selfish. There were plenty of qualified doctors the city council could bring in if she did choose to run.
Did she really want to run again? At forty, in a connected world, it wouldn’t be as easy as it had been at fourteen. Documentation and security had evolved. Was there a place removed enough for her to practice medicine without her identity being challenged?
Wherever she went next, it wouldn’t be anything like Shutter Lake.
The night held a chill, promising frost in the morning. Her little corner of the world seemed so still, as if waiting. As she was waiting. For inspiration or courage, she wondered which would strike first.
Ana hadn’t expected Troy to be so candid. Or to have any idea she hadn’t always been Luciana Camille Perez. While that had been disconcerting, she didn’t believe he would use those suspicions against her. Troy was clever and emotionally wounded but he clearly held Sylvia in high regard, as she did.
She believed him that he had not been privy to where Sylvia might have hidden or stored the dead man’s switch. She did hope he came up with a few ideas because she was fresh out.
It wasn’t as if she could walk through Sylvia’s home and office, turning over tables and peeking behind the artwork hoping to find a note or flash drive or something. She could hardly tell Laney the ‘in case I die’ notice she’d been expecting hadn’t yet come through. She didn’t want to face those questions until she was thoroughly prepared for the fallout.
Ana had spent ten days grieving, distracted and, as the community unraveled, concerned that she would be forced to run or be the next to die.
Listening to the night sounds, she heard an owl in the woods, staking out hunting territory. Creatures rustled in the underbrush. Probably the raccoon or opossum that had tripped her alarm last night.
She rolled the wine glass between her palms. When she told the truth about what she and Sylvia were working on, she had to have her answers ready. Not rehearsed, but locked down, no wiggle room. She would need to be able to give an answer without volunteering the details that would give away her true origins. Laney was a seasoned detective for all that she’d left L.A. behind. McCabe’s drinking didn’t make him as slow as it might appear after duty. The man was sharp, doubly so when he was on the clock.
Or she could just tell the truth.
Laney and Griff were as compassionate as they were dedicated. It was possible they’d listen to her entire story before calling the immigration office to have her deported.
She heard two quick reports, shredding the tranquility of the night. Not natural sounds. Before her brain registered the sounds as gunfire, pieces of her deck railing splintered. In reflex, she rolled out of the chair, crawling for the door and the safety of her house. A third gunshot shattered her glass door. She jerked away from the danger, cowering in the shadows and wishing she had her phone to call 911. It would be okay. The broken glass would alert the alarm company and help would be here soon.
Ana huddled in that darkness, afraid to move. Waiting. Minutes or hours, time became irrelevant as she braced for the worst. Adrenaline flooded her bloodstream and heightened her senses. Fight or flight? Her mind flickered between past and present terrors. The safest option was to hold still. With light from the house splashing across the deck, any motion gave the shooter a target.
She thought she heard the sound of someone rushing through the woods and couldn’t tell if the threat was coming closer or fading away. Would the shooter rush in to finish the job? Hearing an engine on the road out front, cruising by her house and toward town, she hoped it was the shooter fleeing.
Of all the things she’d survived it would be a shame to be killed here and now when she’d been so sure she’d found the safest place on earth.
Her legs cramped, her aching knees were begging for a break. She ignored the small pains. Any discomfort was better than dying. Time passed—she couldn’t say how much—and eventually, in quaking, incremental movements, she uncoiled. Breathing easier, she stuck to the shadows as she crept around the house rather than advertising her position by stepping into light glaring like a beacon from the lamp in the living room.
She didn’t have her phone or a weapon, but she wasn’t defenseless. Improvisation could be as much of an asset as an intentional weapon. By feel she found the hide-a-key in the dark near the garage door and let herself inside. The security panel chirped and she silenced it with the emergency code. If the system worked as advertised, someone from the police department would arrive—silently—in less than two minutes.
Except this was Shutter Lake and response times varied depending on who was on duty. Going to her toolbox, she opened it and grabbed the hammer. Hefting it in her hand, squeezing the grip, she ran through the incident in her mind, searching for any helpful details she could give to the responding officer.
To her surprise, Laney’s voice accompanied the sound of a vehicle out front. The deputy chief called out to Ana. A wave of relief and gratitude stalled in Ana’s throat. “Here.” The word came out as an awkward croak.
“I’ll take a look around back.” That was Griff’s voice.
Ana hurried toward the door as he passed by. “Here,” she said, stronger now. She opened the door and turned on the light overhead light.
“Holt!” Griff shouted. “I’ve got her.”
He didn’t smell like beer or whiskey or the mints from the Rabbit Hole. “Thank you,” she said.
Laney appeared, skidding to a stop. “What the hell happened to you?”
Griff started issuing orders and as the words floated over Ana’s head, she realized she was sliding into shock. Griff touched her shoulder, urged her to lean on him as he pried the hammer from her grasp.
A red stain marred the wooden handle. “Is that blood?” she asked.
“Yours I think,” he confirmed in that steady way he had. “Laney is going to take you to the clinic now.”
“I’ll wash it.” She looked at her hand and flexed it. She couldn’t really feel it. “I’m fine.”
“Of course you are,” Laney agreed, too kindly. “We just need to clean you up.”
&nb
sp; “There’s a first aid kit here.” Ana tried to turn, only to have Laney guide her in the opposite direction. “Kitchen.”
Griff said something more to Laney as they walked away. Ana couldn’t hear the words over the buzzing in her ears. It felt as if her head had been packed with gauze.
“Gunshot from the woods,” she said as Laney helped with the seatbelt.
“Okay. We’ll figure it out.”
“Car,” she added, her head lolling back on the headrest.
“Okay. You’ll tell me all about it when you’re cleaned up.”
Ana didn’t fight the fog swirling through her mind. It muted the pain pulsing in her hand and the stinging on her cheek. Through the haze, she heard Laney’s voice, alternating cadences of command and comfort. She assumed the comfort was aimed at her.
The sensation was as nice as it was foreign, so she let it swallow her.
Chapter Six
Laney’s attention was divided between relaying orders through the station, Ana, and driving. Fortunately the clinic was close. Officer Lott Delaney had the overnight shift. What a night to be on, she thought. He’d taken the original alarm call from Ana’s security company and now he was juggling orders from Laney and Griff.
“The clinic is ready for her,” he said through the radio in the car. “Is she—?”
“I’m just transport,” Laney snapped as she turned off Olive Tree Lane toward town. Ana’s head rolled back and Laney braced her friend’s shoulder through the turn. Suddenly the short drive felt like a cross-country trek. McCabe should’ve called for an ambulance. The fire department surely would have been able to do more than watch and worry.
Laney felt the sweat beading at her hairline, at her nape under her ponytail. She’d just returned from a long run when the call came through from the station about the alarm at Ana’s house. She’d grabbed her badge and gun and headed out.
Laney slammed her car to a stop at the clinic door and hurried around to the passenger side. Donovan Keller, the newest member of Ana’s staff, rushed forward with a wheelchair. Lean and lanky, in his late twenties, she could almost hear the click as he snapped into assessment mode.
