by Marton, Dana
She finished her coffee and rinsed her mug, left it on the tray next to the others. “Let’s go see the boss.”
“So what did you do to be put here?” Elaine asked on their way over. “You forgot to say.”
Miranda glanced at Milo as they passed his desk. Maybe everyone here had a past as dark as hers. Yet the words were still difficult to speak, cold and hard in her mouth like bullets, regretted the second they flew. “I killed a man.”
Elaine didn’t bat an eyelash. “Haven’t we all.” She stopped in front of Karin Kovacs’s office, knocked on the door, then opened it. “Miranda Soto is here to see you.” Then she flashed Miranda an encouraging smile before she walked away.
Okay, weirdest workplace ever. Miranda drew a deep breath, ready to meet her new boss at last.
Tall, pale, wearing a strict charcoal-gray suit, the boss was trim and fit. Her blonde locks were fabulous enough for a shampoo commercial, falling in a perfect straight line to the middle of her back, making Miranda conscious of her short-chopped, no-glamour brown hair that she’d cut for convenience in the army and hadn’t figured out what to do with since. Karin Kovacs had no smiles for her as she invited her in with a brisk gesture. Their introduction was even brisker. She didn’t seem like the type to waste time on pleasantries.
“Any questions so far?”
“Where do I pick up my service weapon?”
“No service weapons. Every country has different weapons restrictions.”
Miranda digested that information. All right. She’d been trained in hand-to-hand combat in the army.
Karin held her gaze, assessing. “I understand you left the army because you shot someone you weren’t supposed to. Friendly fire?”
“Something like that,” she lied, relieved that Karin didn’t know everything.
“We’re not going to have any accidents here.”
“No, ma’am.”
A brisk nod. “Any other questions?”
Miranda glanced at Milo through the open office door. “When do I meet my partner?” She was used to working in teams. She liked having someone to watch her back if things went south. Which, sooner or later, they did on every job, in her experience.
“No partners,” Karin informed her matter-of-factly. “Keep in mind that CPRU has no authority to do anything in any of the countries you’ll be visiting. You’ll be a guest. They have their own law enforcement to fight crime. You’ll be there with their permission and at the discretion of their goodwill. In fact, your very presence will imply that we think they can’t handle the job, so the work is best done delicately. We can’t send an entire team.”
Right. “So basically, go in, find the target, and get out without stepping on any toes.”
“Keeping a low profile is key. Think of it this way, it’s like one of those prime-time crime shows, except our investigators work without a team, deal with hostile cultures and foreign government bureaucracy, and investigate in remote regions where Internet and cell phone reception might not exist, without access to modern lab equipment and the usual amenities.” She sounded almost as if she was trying to discourage the new recruit.
Which, of course, had the opposite effect on Miranda. She smiled at last. “CSI: Sahara Desert?”
“Without the authority or the equipment. You’ll be spending most of your life on the road, investigating in remote areas, probably living in miserable circumstances. For minimal pay.” She watched Miranda dispassionately as she paused. “I usually meet our recruits before they come in for training. Normally, I’m the one who hires the investigators.”
Okay, that explained the reserved reception. Miranda shifted on the chair. So why had the general taken an interest in her personally? He’d stepped on Karin’s territory. Great. Her boss hated her already, and she’d barely started.
“Elaine said two new cases came in today.” She wanted to prove, to Karin and to herself, that her mind was on the job, in the right place.
“One LR, one BR. Milo is taking the Live Retrieval. LRs get priority. The Body Retrieval will have to wait.” She slid a folder over to Miranda. “This is what a case looks like when it comes in. Basic parameters.”
But Miranda didn’t hear the last words. She was staring at the photo stapled to the inside of the folder and the name written under it. In a dazed rush, she read the summary sheet. Glenn Danning. Last seen in Caracas, Venezuela, on the fifteenth of March.
Body Retrieval.
Her heart twisted inside her chest. God, she hadn’t seen him in ten years. Four weeks! “Why did the case come in so late?”
“Mr. Danning was on vacation in Venezuela and not checking in frequently, the family didn’t immediately realize that he was missing. And then they tried to find him with their private resources first.”
Of course, they would. Gloria wouldn’t want publicity. She was old money, from an era when prominent families kept their private lives private. She could afford the best help money could buy and handle the search for her son without the press.
Miranda cleared her throat, a million disjointed thoughts flying through her mind. “I know him.”
Karin’s eyes narrowed. “Personally? How well?”
“We went to college together. MIT. Could I work on his case? Please.”
She hadn’t been sure about the job. Part of her was scared of it, what it would do to her, the memories and nightmares it might bring back. But now she held her breath for Karin’s response. She needed to bring Glenn back, even if in a box. She owed him that much. Once, a lifetime ago, they’d been good friends. Lovers.
Karin raised a strict eyebrow. “We need to go through our protocols first. And training.”
“I can read through the protocols on the plane. I had two years with Personnel Recovery in the army. I know how it’s done. He’s a friend. If it’s just a body recovery . . .” She hated saying the words, wouldn’t think of that until she had confirmation. “I can’t really mess it up, can I? But if he’s still alive, every day counts. I know him. I know how he thinks. I’d be the best person to track him.”
Her new boss assessed her, tapped her pen on the desk, then laid it down. “I’ll check with the general.” She picked up her phone and sent a text.
Then Karin pulled a three-inch-thick folder from her desk drawer and plopped it in front of Miranda. “I have some time this morning. Might as well start bringing you up to speed.”
Karin ran through a couple of past and current cases, explaining the kind of incidents they handled, the type of protocols they used, and the available resources.
A full hour passed before Karin’s phone pinged. She glanced at the screen, then looked back at Miranda, her face emotionless. “All right. If you think you’re ready, Glenn Danning is your first case.”
A test, Miranda thought. If she failed, Karin had the perfect excuse to let her go.
An hour ago, she would have been fine with that. Not anymore. She was going to bring Glenn back, one way or the other. She was not going to fail here.
Chapter 3
HE WAS GOING to die in the middle of the Venezuelan jungle, without his family ever knowing what had become of him. Despite the muggy heat, shivers ran through Glenn as he lay at the foot of a smooth-barked tree on a bed of rotting leaves. He had no shelter, no way to reach the outside world. His Jeep was stuck in the thick vegetation less than a hundred feet from the main road, at least two-dozen miles behind him.
“Let me know if you spot a pizza joint,” he called up to the monkey above him in the trees. For some reason, Winky had followed him instead of running off when freed.
Glenn listened to the sounds of the jungle, a symphony of birds and bugs. He hadn’t heard the soldiers behind them since that morning. Maybe they’d given up.
They probably thought the jungle would kill him. He hated to make them right, but he was pretty much tapped out. He cl
osed his eyes, trying to ignore the pain.
He’d cleaned his feet in a creek he’d come across at one point, wrapped them in banana leaves that he stuffed with moss for cushioning. The makeshift shoes kept his wounds protected from dirt, albeit too late.
His feet were infected, he had a fever, and he was starving. “One quick nap, then we’ll get going,” he promised the monkey.
But instead of sleep, his brain filled with images: the commander, the torture . . . Miranda, because he’d been using the memory of her to disassociate from the present. Except now his fever-addled brain remembered only her leaving, discarding him. Ripping his heart out. Not a woman to trust, obviously. He’d been completely naïve and unguarded with her. He hadn’t made that same mistake since.
First he’d loved her, then he’d hated her. His mind filled with scenes of fights that never happened, of him telling her exactly what he thought of her. She screamed that she couldn’t care less about him. And she buzzed.
Glenn opened his eyes. No, the jungle was buzzing. Or was the sound in his head?
Winky screeched up in the tree, jumping around, clearly agitated. Glenn sat up. Maybe he wasn’t hallucinating the noise. What was it?
He struggled to his feet and followed the sound as the buzzing grew louder and louder.
Roadwork?
That’d mean a road. Hope and excitement lent him strength. He lurched forward. But instead of a road crew, once he fought his way through the vegetation that resisted him at every step, he found a sizable logging operation. He crouched behind one of the denser bushes as he watched.
A dozen men worked the heavy machinery that cut the trees and stripped them of their branches, then stacked the logs onto a trailer. They weren’t nearly as interesting as the twenty-gallon water container and several coolers—presumably filled with food—on the opposite end of the clearing.
He wanted to run for the buffet. Hunger pushed him forward, urging for a blind dash. But even fever-brained, he knew to be cautious. He stayed in cover.
Would the men turn him over to the police, suspicious of a foreigner who couldn’t explain what he was doing here? He couldn’t exactly say that he was on the run from the military, who thought he was a foreign spy.
Illegal loggers, on the other hand, wouldn’t be so keen on contacting law enforcement. But they weren’t keen on witnesses either. They might just shoot him.
His empty stomach cramped with hunger. The loggers had food and water. If he could regain his strength, he might yet beat the fever. If they would help . . .
Except, the dozen burly guys standing between him and the coolers looked rather discouraging. Several carried weapons. Against the dangers of the jungle? Or against anyone who might happen by?
Food and water. Within reach.
He sat back on his heels. Winky dropped to the ground next to him. Not near enough to touch, but close enough to indicate a certain level of trust and camaraderie. A good start, but Glenn needed a favor.
You never knew till you asked. “I could use some distraction.”
The monkey winked at him.
Chapter 4
“THIS IS NOT what we asked for,” Tyler Danning said. Glenn’s younger brother stood at the head of the twenty-foot tiger maple executive conference table at Danning Enterprises, flanked by Gloria Danning, his mother, on one side, and Cesar Montilla, the company vice president, on the other.
The privately held company owned one of Baltimore’s most prominent high-rises and had its offices on the top floors, while renting out the rest to other businesses. The executive conference room featured a wall of windows overlooking the city. Apparently, making parts for oil rigs brought in good money.
“Why isn’t the FBI handling this?” Tyler demanded.
Miranda turned fully toward him, away from the view. “Because it’s not their job. It’s mine.”
She’d met Tyler ten years ago, when Glenn had dragged her home for a Danning family Thanksgiving. Tyler had been a lanky high school senior at the time. Now he was a pissed-off corporate executive, clearly used to power. He had the same facial structure as Glenn, but while Glenn had inherited Gloria’s lighter coloring, Tyler had their father’s darker features.
Miranda imagined he intimidated a lot of people. Since she’d faced down insurgents with AK-47s, a self-important suit didn’t exactly make her quake. She met his disapproving gaze head on. “Do you have any idea who would benefit from your brother’s disappearance?”
Tyler scoffed.
“Who stands to inherit his company shares?” she clarified.
And Gloria burst out with, “Don’t be ridiculous!”
Cesar moved next to Gloria and patted her hand on the table. They were about the same age and had been friends for decades. His daughter, Victoria, had been married to Glenn, briefly, until their divorce five years ago, according to the files.
Miranda would have liked to know more about that, but the current stage of the investigation didn’t warrant digging into the topic. She waited for Tyler to answer her question.
“In the event of my brother’s death, his shares would be divided between Gloria and me equally,” Tyler said after a long moment. Even her two sons called Gloria by her given name.
The powerful matriarch had aged in the decade since she’d warned Miranda away from her older son in no uncertain terms. She’d acted like the queen of the castle, which, unarguably, she’d been. Even now, she was as much a grand dame as ever, with perfectly coiffed hair, her still slim figure wrapped in blue silk. She wore the famous Danning pearls. But her mouth was bracketed by lines, worry sitting in her gray eyes. She was a mother who’d lost her child. Miranda couldn’t even resent her. She could relate.
She observed the power trio of Danning Enterprises as they glared at her from the other side of the table. The number one question, the one an impartial investigator would ask, was: Did any of the three have anything to do with Glenn’s disappearance?
Glenn was an engineer at heart. He wasn’t given to flights of fancy. He’d never been irresponsible, certainly not enough to wander off on some adventure and neglect to tell his family. That left foul play. But at whose hands?
Tyler kept huffing and puffing. “We’ve employed a team of private investigators for the past several weeks. They came back empty-handed. You seriously mean to go after my brother alone?”
She hadn’t been enough for them ten years ago, and she wasn’t enough for them now. Nothing changed. Okay, not entirely true. This time, their rejection didn’t hurt.
The last time, she’d been in love with Glenn. Even if she’d told herself she wasn’t, to make leaving easier. She’d never, for a moment since that time, acknowledged how much she missed him.
And now here they were again.
Miranda kept her demeanor polite. “The sooner you give me all the information you have, the sooner I can get started. Are you aware of your brother having any enemies?”
Tyler and Gloria looked appalled and offended at the suggestion.
But Cesar Montilla said, “He’s head of one of the largest privately held companies in the country. We push out competitors. We hire and fire hundreds of employees each year, let vendors go if they don’t live up to our expectations. Environmental groups protest us because we work in the oil industry, even if ninety percent of our products have to do with safety. Hard feelings are unavoidable in any business.”
Gloria’s lips flattened. “I want the FBI. This is a travesty. What is the CIA doing? And why can’t we have a SEAL team go after him? That’s what they’re for. My father was a United States senator, for heaven’s sake.”
Miranda met her gaze. “We can’t send the Navy SEALs into Caracas for the same reason we don’t have Venezuelan army troops in New York City when a Venezuelan tourist disappears. NYPD investigates crime in New York. The Caracas police investigate crime in Caracas.�
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“Well, the Caracas police are good for nothing,” Gloria snapped. But she nodded at Tyler, and he strode out of the room, annoyance showing in every stride.
Gloria clasped her hands on the top of the table. “Just, please, bring my son back. That’s all I’m asking.” She hesitated. “If I offended you, before, I’m sorry.”
She looked like she meant it. A day for miracles.
“We have such big plans for him. He’s going to follow his grandfather’s path to the Senate.” Her eyes softened. “He could do so much good for so many people. You have to bring him back.”
Miranda nodded. “I’m going to do my best.” Their falling-out had happened a decade ago. She was working a case here, and she was going to give it everything she had, because that was the way she worked.
“When was the last time you heard from him?” She knew the answer from the files, but as an investigator, her job was to look for inconsistencies in people’s stories.
Cesar cleared his throat. “He sent an email to his secretary on March first, around eight p.m. Just checking in.”
That matched the files. Miranda had a copy of the email, nothing suspicious, Glenn saying he hoped everything was going well at the office and reminding the secretary to contact him if needed.
Before Miranda could ask anything else, Tyler returned with a stack of papers. “This is all we have.” He dropped the pile onto the table in front of her. “These are all the reports from the previous investigators, and all the documents we provided them.”
“Including a list of companies you’ve recently taken over and employees fired?”
Tyler gave a curt nod.
She asked questions for another three hours, but didn’t find much to go on. His family obviously loved Glenn. His ex-wife had remarried, happily, lived in New York with three kids by her new husband. Glenn had received no threats prior to his disappearance. He had not, they all insisted, participated in anything remotely criminal.
