Innocent Prey (A Brown and de Luca Novel)

by Maggie Shayne

  I followed him to the front door and stood there watching him go, mad enough to spit. Since when did I take no for an answer that easily? Dammit, what if he needed my help? What if...what if he was the one who was right about Rodney Carr and this was all a setup? He’d been right about Jake, after all. Apparently.

  Jeez, what if something happened to him?

  The phone rang, the house phone, not my cell. I thought it might have been him, so I raced across the living room to pick it up. “Yeah?”

  “It’s Vanessa Cantone,” said my arch-nemesis. Oh, wait, not anymore. Now she was a potential victim in need of protecting in some way that didn’t ensure Mason was going to wind up taking her place in the slo-mo nightmare produced by my brain. “Is Mason there?”

  “Why would you think he was here?” I asked.

  “Because I tried his place and he didn’t answer, and he’s not picking up his cell.”

  “So maybe he doesn’t take 3:00 a.m. phone calls, Vanessa. You ever think of that? It’s a practice I’m striving to emulate.”

  “He’s a cop, and he took a 3:00 a.m. phone call a few minutes ago, didn’t he?”

  I stood there gaping like an air-starved trout.

  “I have his phone tapped. I know where he’s going.”

  “Well, that makes one of us.” I frowned hard. “You tapped his phone?” Man, was he going to be pissed.

  “I just need to know how long it’s going to take him to get there,” she went on, never stopping to let my comment get through the gates. “Did he leave from your place or his, Rachel?”

  “Mine.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Vanessa, wait. Don’t hang up.”

  She didn’t. She waited two beats, then asked, “What?”

  “I—I think you might be in danger.”

  She was quiet for a second.

  “I saw—”

  “No, don’t. Look, thank you, Rachel. Thank you. I just... Don’t tell me, all right? I don’t want to know. I don’t want it changing the way I do my job. Just...just don’t, okay?”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “No, I am not fucking kidding you.”

  It had never occurred to me that she might not want to know. Jeez, why not make this as difficult as possible, Universe? “Okay.”

  “Okay. I gotta go now. Mason might need backup.”

  “Okay.” I pulled the phone away from my ear, about to hang up, when I heard, very clearly, a little girl’s voice calling, “Mommy?”

  Frowning, I jerked the phone back to my ear and heard Cantone’s voice, sweeter than ever before. “I’m right here, honey.” Click.

  Holy crap, the woman had a child! A little girl. Oh, hell, how was I supposed to hate her now?

  * * *

  Mason checked the entire block around Rodney Carr’s apartment but didn’t see anyone lurking, no one watching. The local bars were closed, and the sidewalks empty except for the occasional newspaper skittering in the breeze. He circled twice more just to be sure. The guy was probably just being paranoid. Still, better safe than sorry. He parked a block away and then texted him, rather than risking an overheard call.

  I’m here. I don’t see anyone watching.

  Ok. Come to the back door, I’ll let u in.

  He walked the block back to Rodney’s address, hugging his jacket around him a little more tightly against the chill. It was cool tonight, clear. On the drive over, the stars had been thick and bright overhead, but here, near downtown Binghamton, they were barely visible against the competing lights of the city.

  The building was a converted Georgian house that had probably been a landmark once. Now it was four apartments, two on the ground level, two on the second, with a chain-link fence around the small backyard. He went through the gate, around to the back door, and he didn’t have to knock. Rodney Carr was waiting on the other side.

  He opened the door, looked warily past Mason, then ushered him inside and closed the door behind him. They were in a small kitchen with the usual accoutrements. A Formica table had a manila envelope on it, and that, Mason suspected, was why he was here.

  “Are you sure no one saw you come in?” Rodney asked. He was pouring coffee into two mugs.

  “I’m sure.”

  “He must think I’d be too scared to talk.” He shook his head slowly, adding cream and sugar to his own cup, then setting both mugs on the table. “Sit down, Detective.” He handed Mason a cup without asking.

  Mason sat. He sipped. Then sipped again. It was damn good coffee. The maker, he now noticed, was bright red and expensive-looking. None of the other appliances in the kitchen seemed to be of the same quality, so it was either a gift or Rodney had a passion for coffee.

  Rodney sniffed, cleared his throat. “Okay, I guess I just have to say it. Two days ago I woke up naked in a no-tell motel with no idea how I got there,” he said, pushing the envelope to Mason’s side of the table. “This was on the bed with me.”

  Mason opened the envelope, slid the photos out. He saw naked limbs, recognized the social worker in one shot, and that was enough. The poor guy was red to his roots. He slid the photos back into the envelope, deciding to take a more thorough look in private.

  “What do they want?” he asked, disappointed that Rodney hadn’t called him with something more useful than a personal problem. He’d thought this was about the missing girls. In fact, the guy had led him to believe it was. Was that a ruse just to get some help with an attempted shakedown?

  “They want the name and last known address of a girl who has recently aged out of the foster care system and has no known relatives, or at least none who give a damn about her.”

  Mason jumped to his feet. “You’re shitting me.”

  He nodded at the envelope. “There’s a note.”

  Mason took the note out, read it. “‘We know you’re married,’” he said aloud. Then he looked at the guy again. “Married?”

  “It’s legal in New York now, you know. What they didn’t realize is that my wife is a man and would no more fall for this obvious frame job than I would.”

  Mason smiled. “They sure picked the wrong guy.” Then he frowned as more pieces started to snap into place. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

  “I was waiting to see what they wanted. I know it was stupid, but I thought they might never call, and then I wouldn’t have to deal with all this. But they did. And when they told me what they wanted, I realized they must be responsible for all those missing girls.” He shook his head. “Someone’s been giving them names of girls they can...they can prey on. And for whatever reason, that someone stopped.”

  Judge Mattheson, Mason thought. And he’d stopped because he’d stroked out. He’d been about to confess when they killed him. “When do you have to give them the information?”

  “Noon tomorrow,” Rodney said. “They said if I told anyone they’d do worse than show those photos.”

  Mason said, “They mean it.” Then he looked at the guy. “And yet you called me anyway.”

  “Of course I called you anyway. If these people are the reason nine of my girls have gone missing...” He met Mason’s eyes. “It’s worth the risk. I mean there’s only one of me.”

  Mason nodded. Rachel had been right about this guy. He’d been dead wrong.

  “So...what should I do?”

  “Help me take them down. If you’re willing.”

  “I am. How?”

  “By doing exactly what they asked you to do. Give them the name and last known address of a girl. Only the girl is gonna be an undercover cop, and when they take her, they’re gonna lead us straight to the others.” He shrugged. “I hope.”

  * * *

  I couldn’t go back to sleep, so I ground up some fresh beans and made coffee. The whole downstairs smelled like heaven as my Bona Vita chugged and steamed. The boys were still sleeping. They’d sleep through a hurricane. Myrtle, on the other hand, had probably heard everything. The phone call, and us getting up and
moving around the house. She’d heard Mason leave, and there was no question she could smell the coffee. I didn’t think her other senses were necessarily sharper due to her blindness. I think dogs’ hearing and smell are always supercharged, blind or not. Hell, of the five senses, sight is probably the least important one to a canine.

  And when the hell were we going to stop listing our senses as five? Animals clearly had more than that. And so did I.

  When I saw headlights in the driveway I smiled, and went to the kitchen to pour two mugs full of the fresh, luscious brew. Mason was a man who appreciated a great cuppa as much as I did, and it wasn’t like a couple of caffeine junkies like us would be kept awake long by a single mug. I was carrying the cups back into the front of the house when I heard the knock on the door. Weird. Mason would’ve just come in. We were way past knocking. On that aspect of our relationship we were in complete agreement. See? It wasn’t all confusion and fear of commitment.

  I set the mugs down on the coffee table, tugged my very short but very luxurious silk robe a little more snugly around me and wished I had more on underneath it. Then I went to the door and peeked out through the glass panes. Shit. It was Agent McPretty. I opened the door. “Cantone.”

  “De Luca.” She came in, then lifted her perfect brows and sniffed. “God, that smells good. Can I have a cup?”

  I nodded at the coffee table where two mugs sat steaming and saw her eyes go round as she headed for the sofa. “Damn. You are good, aren’t you?”

  “I’m a fucking genius.” I took a quick look outside, in case Mason was in sight, but no luck. Then I closed the door but didn’t lock it. “I thought you were going to back Mason up. What are you doing here?”

  “I finally got him on the phone. He’d already left and was on his way back. He asked me to meet him here.” She picked up her mug and looked around the living room. “Man, this place is gorgeous. I guess you must do okay.”

  “I do all right. Sit down, make yourself at home. Cop conventions in my living room are my favorite. Especially at—” I glanced at the clock “—4:45 a.m. Yeah, it’s the best time.” I headed for the kitchen to pour another mug for Mason.

  Instead of sitting, Cantone followed me into the kitchen. “Damn, de Luca, you really know how to live.”

  “So I’ve been told.” I grabbed another mug. “So he was on his way back when you talked to him?”

  “Yeah.” She spied the sugar and cream I’d left out on the counter and helped herself to a bit more of each.

  I filled Mason’s mug and fixed it the way he liked it. “Did he say anything about what happened?”

  “No.”

  “I guess he’ll tell us when he gets here, then.”

  “Guess so.”

  It was a little awkward. She knew that I knew something about her. I knew that she wished I didn’t and didn’t want to know herself. The phrase elephant in the room was an understatement.

  I sighed and carried Mason’s mug back toward the living room, where the slightly rumpled blanket tossed haphazardly over the back of the sofa probably revealed that I’d been sitting there all wrapped up and cozy, awaiting my man in a scene of domestic bliss.

  I set his mug down on the coffee table and pulled the blanket around my shoulders. Then I sank onto the cushions of the biggest armchair in the room. That was better. Now I was feeling more like a queen on her throne than a half-dressed, half-asleep, wild-haired writer with her nipples showing through her silk bathrobe.

  “So how old is your little girl?” I asked.

  Cantone had been perching in the rocker, but now she froze and sloshed coffee all over her hand. “Where the hell did you get that?” Then she frowned. “Did you...?” She pointed at her head and moved her forefinger in a circle.

  “Um, no, I heard her voice on the phone. And that’s the gesture for bat-shit crazy, not NFP, by the way.”

  “NFP?”

  “Not Fucking Psychic.”

  She smiled a little. I thought she appreciated my brand of sarcasm. “So, your little girl. She sounded...what, seven?”

  She finished sitting down. “Six. Good guess, though.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Lilly.”

  “And you bring her with you when you’re on cases.”

  “No. That was a Skype call in progress.” She sipped her coffee. “She had a nightmare. She often does when I have to leave town on a case.”

  And just like that, I got it. “That’s why you’re after the chief’s job.”

  “How do you know about that?” She rolled her eyes at her own question. “Why do I keep asking you that. Yes, that’s why I want the chief’s job. I heard through the grapevine he was getting ready to retire and might be scouting potential replacements. That’s why I volunteered to come out here when this case came up.”

  I nodded, getting nothing but honesty from her. I didn’t volunteer anything. She didn’t need to know that Mason wanted the job. Okay, that wasn’t accurate. She didn’t need to know that I wanted Mason to want the job.

  “It would be nice to have a desk job in a nice place like this. It’s quiet.”

  “It’s fucking pastoral.”

  She grinned. “Good word.”

  “Words are my specialty.”

  She pressed her lips together, thinking about something. Deciding on something, I thought, and then she nodded, decision made. “I need to ask you for a favor, Rachel. Woman to woman. Just between us.”

  I must not have been as gifted as she thought I was, because I had not been expecting that. What could I possibly do for her? “Shoot,” I said.

  “Don’t tell them.”

  I blinked, and my brain tried to decide what she was referring to. “You’re gonna have to be more specific. Are you talking about the job now, or—”

  “My daughter. Don’t tell Mason or the chief or anyone about my daughter.”

  “Why the hell not?” I asked.

  “I’m a woman in a man’s world. Trust me, it wouldn’t be good for my chances at the job.”

  And there it was. The easiest way in the freaking universe to put her out of the running for Mason’s future position. And would I use it? Come on, now. I’m a bitch, but I’m not a backstabber.

  The front door opened, and Mason walked in, met my eyes and told me without a word that he was glad to be back. And that his mysterious late-night meeting with Rodney Carr had been a good one.

  I held up his mug. He said, “You’re a mind reader.” Then he grinned. “Sorry. It slipped out.” Then he came to take his cup and glanced at Cantone. “Did she tell you she’s been monitoring my cell phone?”

  “Yeah. And I know all about those 900 numbers you’ve been calling, pal.”

  He crooked a brow at me, I winked and he relaxed.

  “I’m sorry about that,” Cantone said. “Look, I’m FBI. You were keeping some pretty significant things from me when I made that decision. I’m sharp enough to know that much. I just didn’t know what they were.” She paused, then added, “Now that I do, I’ll cancel the monitoring. I understand why you two were playing things so close to the vest. I get the need for discretion. And I want you both to know that this...NFP thing—” she smiled when she said it “—is off the record.”

  “I appreciate that,” I told her.

  “Well, you know, I wouldn’t do anything to fuck up another woman’s career if I could help it.”

  Oh, man. Subtle, she wasn’t. I sighed. “Neither would I.”

  She looked so relieved it should’ve been obvious, but she quickly leaned back and sipped her coffee, trying to act like nothing important had just happened.

  Mason looked from me to her and back again, clearly aware something had transpired between us, so I changed the subject before he could ask what. “So? What did Rodney Carr have to say?”

  He smiled. “He said he’s gonna help us nail the kidnappers, save the girls and put this case to bed. So Jake Kravitz and whoever else he’s working with are toast.” H
e smiled a little bit bigger. “In other words, we’ve got ’em.”

  “We do?”

  Mason nodded, and then he filled us in. Rodney Carr had been set up with a half-naked hooker, photographed and then blackmailed for the name of another girl who’d aged out of foster care. A girl no one would miss.

  “Which means whoever was supplying them with names before, stopped,” Vanessa Cantone said. “They need a new insider.”

  “It has to have been the judge,” Mason said. “He’s been supplying the names of the girls. He must have said no more, or maybe he threatened to turn Jake in, so Jake took Stephanie to shut him up and force him to comply.”

  “And even though he had to know that was what happened to his daughter, the bastard wouldn’t tell us the truth.” I shook my head in disgust. I could hardly believe it. “I knew he was hiding something, but I had no idea he was that vile.”

  Mason said, “Maybe he honestly wanted to make sure Jake really had taken her, that she hadn’t just run off on her own again.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “It’s not bullshit. I think Jake had something on him. Blackmailed him into providing those names.”

  I nodded. “The judge had photos of an unsolved hit-and-run that resulted in a death. The suspect vehicle was narrowed down to a full-size white SUV.”

  Mason picked up there. “And the judge owned a full-size white SUV at the time.”

  “Holy shit,” Vanessa said.

  “But when the judge saw Stephanie’s name cut into Venora’s body, he knew for sure the people blackmailing him must have taken her,” Mason said. “You saw him, Rachel. You felt his reaction to that. He had a stroke, for God’s sake.”

  I lowered my head, wanting to hate Judge Mattheson, to condemn him. But I couldn’t really do that. “Okay, maybe he didn’t know what was happening to the girls whose names he was providing. Maybe when he saw Venora, it all hit him at once. That the girls were being harmed. And that now his own daughter was with them.”

  “And he was going to come clean. Probably right before he stroked out. And then again, once he came around, right before that fake nurse killed him,” Cantone said. “Doesn’t excuse his behavior. He made bad choices. Real bad.”