Forever Alexa (Book Four In The Bodyguards Of L.A. County Series)

by Beauman, Cate

  “Uh, I don’t think so. That’s not really her scene. Why?”

  He shrugged. “Just playing with the pieces, trying to make them fit.”

  “Which pieces exactly? There are a million.”

  He pulled into the parking garage and rolled down the window, grabbing the ticket the machine spit out, then driving forward. “The police still can’t find the tie that connects Abby to the other victims.”

  She unbuckled as he turned into a parking space. “What if there isn’t a connection between the girls and Abby? What if the cases are unrelated? The police could be chasing down leads to nowhere.”

  He killed the engine and looked at her. “My gut tells me they’re on the right track. The abductions are too similar. There has to be something to it.”

  “But what? I just don’t see it.”

  “Well, let’s break it down, starting with the first three victims.”

  She turned in her seat, facing him. “I’ve read everything I can get my hands on about the girls. Even their cases aren’t necessarily similar. The first two girls have the most in common: broken homes, a lack of supervision, mothers with substance abuse issues, absentee fathers, etcetera, etcetera, but not Kristen Moore.”

  Alex had done her homework. He didn’t expect anything less. “She had a different home life, but there are definitely parallels,” Jack said. “Kristen’s parents are loving, quality individuals, but divorcing. She was taking the separation hard and getting herself into trouble as a result. All of the girls’ friends reported sneaking into nightclubs on more than one occasion, so that’s a connection right there. You add that up and we get three troubled young women, fractured home lives, and the Baltimore club scene. That’s the dot connecting three identical abductions.”

  Alex frowned as her busy brain worked. “Okay, I can see your point, but once again, how does that bring us around to Abby? Other than the actual kidnapping—the vans and the two men grabbing her—the cases don’t sound even remotely the same to my sister’s. Abby isn’t into the club scene. She has a great head on her shoulders. She’s confident, driven, and successful in her own right. She has a degree in fashion and a minor in business. She doesn’t need a man to make her feel good about herself. We had a terrible home life—no doubt about it. The mother with serious mental health and addiction issues…and eventually suicide; the non-existent father. But that was so long ago. Money was always hard to come by, but somehow Gran pulled it off with her meager social security checks. Our first few years with my mother left little impact, especially after the counseling. Gran raised us to be strong, independent women.”

  “I loved your Gran. She was amazing. She did a hell of a job.”

  Alex smiled. “Yes she did.” Her smile dimmed “And that’s what makes this so much worse. We’ve all worked too hard for this to be it for Abby.”

  “This isn’t the end of her story, Alex. That’s why we’re out here tonight.”

  She blew out a breath, fluttering her fake blond bangs. “You’re right.”

  “One of the most important things we can do for Abby is keep an open mind. After my conversation with Detective Canon today, I know the authorities are seriously considering a lure.”

  “A lure?”

  “Yeah, someone who seeks out the ideal ‘candidate’—tells them what they want to hear, promises them love, fame, drugs—whatever it takes—before they bag ‘em.”

  “See, again, that doesn’t fit with my sister. She’s not the ‘ideal candidate.’ Abby lived in Federal Hill with three other fashion majors. Maggie, one of her roommates’ father, owned the row house they stayed in. It’s a beautiful place—very upper class. They split the utilities four ways. It was very reasonable. Abby did a bit of modeling here and there to pay for her classes and room and board. She didn’t need anyone to promise her love, money, or drugs. That wasn’t what she was after. Abby isn’t a party animal like you were. She’s obsessed with her sketchpads, sewing machine, fabric, and mannequins. She was usually at school, a fashion show, home with Livy and me, or working on her art.”

  “Would she have gone to a club if one of her roommates wanted a friend to tag along?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe, but I can say without a doubt she wouldn’t have been a regular. When you knew Abby, she hadn’t discovered her passion yet. She was still finding her way.”

  Jackson grinned. That was an understatement. “Abby was pretty relaxed about school.”

  Alex chuckled. “‘Relaxed.’ I like that. Gran and I certainly pulled a few hairs out over Abby’s nonchalance. But that was before Gran’s downstairs neighbor started making Abby’s senior prom dress. Halfway through, Ms. Beesley fell ill and was hospitalized. Gran tried to work on the gown, but with her hands the way they were, it was impossible. She called me once, upset because she was afraid Abby wouldn’t have anything special to wear. My skills with a needle and thread are passable at best. I was pregnant, exhausted, and stressed out with student teaching and finding a job, but I told her I would come home over the weekend to see what I could do to help. Gran called me the next night and said not to worry about a thing. Abby finished the whole dress and added a flourish or two of her own. From then on, Abby was obsessed. She applied to schools and sent designs along with her applications. Despite her grades, they accepted her. She’s amazing, Jack. Gran was so proud.”

  “She was proud of you both.”

  Alex took his hand and squeezed it, smiling. “She was, but Gran and Abby shared something…a little bit different. I think I was always more guarded with my feelings. I was my mother’s first, whereas Abby was always hers.” Her smile dimmed, and she pulled free of his grip. “I’m so glad Gran’s not here to deal with all this. It would’ve broken her heart.”

  He took her hand back and stroked his thumb over her knuckles. “You’ve had a right to your ‘guard,’ Alex. You dealt with more than any one person should have to. I’m sorry you and Abby are going through this. If I could make it go away…” He wanted her to smile again.

  “You’ve been just what I’ve needed. I don’t know how I’d be getting through this nightmare without you.” She pulled his hand to her face and rested her cheek in his palm—an old gesture that surprised him and gave him his first inkling of hope.

  He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. “Let’s see what we can find out tonight.”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  Twenty minutes later, after a two-block walk, Jackson gripped Alex’s hand as they made their way through the mobs of people dancing to the pounding bass and multicolored lights of Club Jerhico. He scanned the alarmed exits and noted the hordes of patrons surrounding the bar. There was no way in hell Abby was here. There were too many opportunities for escape among the chaos. This was either a dead end or a front for lures. He would give them half an hour to figure it out before they moved on.

  Alex slammed into him when he stopped. “Sorry.” She stepped back. “So, what are we looking for?”

  He pulled her against him. “First and foremost, we need to blend. If something’s going on here we don’t want anyone figuring out we’ve noticed. Keep your eyes open for under-aged girls and men hanging around them.”

  “It’s so crowded.” She glanced over her shoulder and started to turn. “How are we supposed to tell?”

  Despite her outfit, Alex screamed ‘fish out of water.’ “Just dance with me for a little while.”

  “How can I find my sister if we’re dancing?”

  “We’re blending while we look, remember?” He took her hands and wrapped them around the back of his neck as he found his rhythm to the hammering beat.

  She stared at him for several seconds. “I’m not much of a dancer.”

  “I haven’t seen you try. I’m doing it, aren’t I?”

  “Yeah, but you’re an athlete. You
look good whenever you move.”

  He grinned. “Are you hitting on me?”

  “What?” She blinked several times. “No. No, of course not. I was just saying…”

  He laughed. “I’m kidding. Lighten up.” He pinched her chin gently. “Dancing is part of our cover. Give it a try.”

  She licked her lips and imitated his movements. Within minutes her shyness vanished and she was smiling. “This is kind of fun.”

  Despite her initial hesitation, she had decent moves. His mouth watered as her willowy body brushed and bumped his. He scanned the crowds and glanced at several men watching her. Maybe Alex dancing wasn’t such a good idea after all. Her short, tight skirt barely covered her. The thin, clinging top she wore showcased her tiny waist and a provocative hint of smooth creamy breasts. She’d pulled off ‘sexy’ a little too well.

  “Over there.”

  “Huh?”

  She pressed her body to his and leaned in close to his ear. “Behind you.”

  He shivered as her breath heated his neck and his fingers touched her hips.

  “There’s no way that girl is twenty-one. She’s not even eighteen.”

  Jackson glanced over, spotting at least twenty women.

  “That guy’s all over her,” Alex said in a disgusted hiss. She eased back and stared into his eyes as Jackson casually turned them in the direction she spoke of.

  He scanned the crowd. “I don’t see her.”

  The song changed, slowing, but grew louder.

  “What?” she yelled, shaking her head.

  He leaned in as she had. “I don’t see her.”

  She turned her head in the girl’s direction and raised her hand to point. “She’s wearing—”

  “No, Alex. Here. Look at me.” He took her face in his hands. “You’re gonna blow it.”

  “You’re right. Sorry.”

  “Just focus here. I’ll check it out again in a few seconds.” He trailed his fingers over her jaw.

  She clutched at his waist. “What are you doing?”

  “Blending. Looking like everyone else.” The masses of men and women crowded around them, held each other tight. “What does she look like?” He traced his thumb down her neck and paused on her hammering pulse, then he continued down to her collarbone and toyed with the triangular charm resting against her chest.

  “Um, she’s…” Her lids fluttered closed as he made his way back up. “Brown hair.” Alex opened her eyes, locking on his. “She has brown hair.”

  He was taking advantage of the situation but didn’t care. She looked so different in her wig, but she smelled the same—vanilla and flowers. He brushed his mouth along her cheekbone and pressed his lips to her temple. “What’s she wearing?”

  Alex’s fingers wandered to his hair. “She—I—I can’t think when you touch me like this.”

  He clutched her ass over the little denim covering it, yanking her against him, and snagged her bottom lip, tugging gently, wanting to devour her whole right where they stood. God, she was driving him crazy.

  “Jack.” The heat of her breath warmed his skin as she whispered his name.

  He turned them a fraction to the right and spotted the young girl with brown hair out of the corner of his eye. “Is she wearing a blue skirt?”

  Alex’s brows furrowed. “What? Yes. Yes, and a white, sleeveless top.”

  He studied the pretty brown-haired girl, for surely she was still a girl—no more than seventeen—take a piece of paper from a good looking, well-built man easily five to ten years her senior. “Her friends are cruising over. I think they’re leaving.” He rested Alex’s head on his shoulder and turned slowly in a dance that matched the rhythm of the music blasting through the huge space, watching until the group of four girls disappeared in the crowd toward the exit. “They’re leaving.”

  She pulled her head from his shoulder. “Well, thank God. How are they—”

  “Hold on.” He took his phone from his pocket and moved until he framed the darkened, blurry image of the man in the screen. “Smile.”

  Alex did as she was told. He snapped the photo.

  “Why’d you do that?”

  “I’m getting a shot of him. I’ll send it to Ethan and see if he can make anything out of it.”

  Seconds later, the man vanished into the mob of dancers.

  “He makes me sick. I’m so sick.” Alex started to move into the crowd.

  Jackson grabbed her hand before he lost sight of her. “Hey, wait a minute.”

  “I can’t.” She whirled. “How are they getting in here? Even with a fake ID, it’s clear she isn’t of age.”

  “Come on.” He walked with her through the noise until they stepped out the door and into a cloud of cigarette smoke.

  Alex coughed as she fanned her hand in front of her face. “We need to call the police.” She reached into her purse.

  He tugged her toward the direction of the parking garage. “Let’s stroll for awhile.”

  “The police—”

  “No police, Alex.”

  “But he was taking advantage of her.”

  “And what should we tell them? This place is a Disney movie compared to where we need to go, Alex. That guy hit on someone he shouldn’t have. He gave her a phone number—again, pretty G-rated. Unacceptable,” he added when Alex steamed out a breath. “But G-rated nonetheless.”

  “Okay, so no cops. But I’m still angry.”

  He kept quiet as they made their way along the sidewalk in the balmy summer air. This wasn’t going to work. “We should go home.”

  “What?” Alex stopped in her tracks. “No. We can’t.”

  “I think we have to.”

  “But it’s only eleven. We haven’t even started looking for Abby.”

  “You’re right, we’ve barely started looking for Abby and you’re already worked up. It’s going to get so much worse.”

  “I can handle whatever I need to.”

  He stared at the fierce determination darkening her eyes. “One more stop, Alex. You show me you can keep it together at the next club, or you’re finished.”

  “You can’t—”

  “I can and will. This isn’t some action flick or suspense novel. The people who have your sister aren’t fucking around.”

  “I’m aware of our reality, Jack. Take me to the next place. I can handle it.” She stormed down the sidewalk.

  He stared, sighing, then started after her. They might just make it through the night if the hard light stayed in her eyes instead of the sad vulnerability and outrage he saw moments before.

  Chapter 11

  Alexa peeked at Jack’s watch—two in the morning. She’d lost count of the bars and clubs they’d ducked in and out of over the last few hours. They stayed at some spots for mere minutes, other places longer, but this club was different. They had been here for almost an hour. She had no idea what compelled Jack to stay, but she trusted his instincts.

  Her eyes burned and her throat was dry and irritated from the clouds of smoke surrounding them as they sat. She eyed the glass of water Jack ordered her, yearning for a sip, but didn’t dare. The establishment—and that was a loose term for it—didn’t appear to be overly worried about the city’s health codes. Who knew what types of diseases waited on the rim of the filmy glass?

  Bright pink lights showcased dancers sliding on or gyrating against poles to loud hip-hop. The young women were scantily clad in various colored g-strings.

  Alexa stared at the stage entrance and exit, too sick inside to watch the women exploit themselves for another second. Was this what Abby did night after night? She struggled not to turn away as a dancer shoved her crotch in a man’s face while he threw bills on the stage. Alexa’s sense of urgency to rescue her sister only incre
ased after Jack brought her to the first strip joint. She’d never consider herself a prude or sheltered, but maybe she was—sheltered, anyway.

  Alexa looked down at her lap when a college-aged kid waved a fifty in the air, and a mostly naked brunette left her pole to crouch and press his face to her breasts. His tongue flicked out, lapping, to the hoots and encouragement from the group he’d come with, before an intimidatingly bulky bouncer dressed in black pushed the over-eager man away.

  God, God this was awful. She wanted to tell Jack she’d had enough, but she sat where she was. Abby didn’t get a choice. Her sister had no free will to leave a life she hadn’t chosen. If Abby endured this each night, she sure as hell could sit here too.

  Who would Abby be when they brought her home? Would the trauma send her down the road their mother had taken? Would her sister drown herself in an abyss of alcohol and depression until she couldn’t take it anymore? Would she walk into a bathroom and find Abby dead in a bathtub full of blood and water, the way she had her mom?

  Alexa squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fists against the horrid memory. Abby was so bright and talented. Gran had worked hard to erase the neglect and distress of their early childhood. Alexa needed to believe Abby would be strong enough to overcome this too.

  Did Abby know she was searching for her and that she would never, ever give up? Alexa clamped her fists tighter until they ached, willing her sister to feel her—wherever she was out there. Abby wasn’t here. She hadn’t been in any of the places they’d gone to. Alexa took a deep breath of stale, smoke-filled air and struggled not to give in to her tears. Jack had tried to prepare her for the conditions she would see. He’d urged her several times not to get her hopes up, but her unyielding need to believe that they would soon free Abby from her nightmare didn’t allow her to listen. Although she’d tried to remain cautiously optimistic, a small piece of her had been convinced they would find her tonight.