by Jana DeLeon
To win at any cost.
Some of the things he’d put forth in court as reasons to deny custody were simply egregious and even worse, they seemed to have worked in some cases. Which was exactly why he used them. Shaye figured if Allard was willing to manufacture evidence for his client’s benefit, he didn’t have a problem crossing the line. Given that he’d actually kept documentation on his transgressions just reinforced her belief that Allard thought he could get away with anything. The fact that he’d died of natural causes and not in a jail cell backed that up.
She pulled all of the files out of the box and put them in two big piles to her right. Then she grabbed one off the top and opened it to begin reading. Since Jackson was no longer working the kidnapping case, she’d been hoping that he would be able to help her plow through some of these files after he got off work, but he’d called her around six and said he had to work late and had no idea when he’d be done. His voice had sounded strained when he’d called, and that wasn’t the norm. Jackson was usually unnervingly calm about most things. Something must have happened at work, but she didn’t want to ask him about it then. When he could tell her, he would.
That was probably the hardest thing for her to adjust to in their relationship. The necessary secrets. She understood, of course, that Jackson couldn’t tell her certain things, and 99 percent of the time, she was fine with that. But that 1 percent caused her enough anxiety to feel like more. The irrational, distrustful side of her crept in, whispering in her ear that if he could withhold things from her with good reason, then he could withhold things from her for bad reasons as well. In her heart, Shaye knew Jackson wasn’t that kind of man, but the demons of her past were never completely at rest. And given that all of the fallout with her grandfather was fairly recent, some demons were a little more active than others.
But all of that was hers to deal with, and she shouldn’t subject Jackson to her emotional baggage. He already made enough concessions for her. Not that he ever said anything, but she noticed the deliberate things he said and did and more importantly, the things he didn’t say and do. And she appreciated all the adjustments he made to accommodate her and make her feel more comfortable, so she wasn’t about to pile on more with her own occasional insecurities. Jackson would tell her what was going on with him when he could. She knew that. She just had to keep reminding herself.
She opened the next file and scanned the documents. Another divorce case. At least it was easy to eliminate those. She sat it in a pile and put a sticky on top with the year of the case on it, as she was attempting to return the files in better order than what they were now. If a former client contacted Brenda, a more organized storage system would help her locate files. She’d claimed she was going to have them scanned, but who knew if that would ever happen. To be honest, Shaye wasn’t sure she would bother if she were Brenda either. The likelihood of people coming to ask questions was slim.
She managed another two hours and almost three more boxes before exhaustion started setting in. Her shoulders and neck were stiff from sitting for so long, so she hopped off the stool and stretched, thinking that a long, hot shower and a soft bed might be in order. She glanced back at the counter. Only five more files before she’d finish this box. Might as well clear them out. That would only leave her four more boxes to do tomorrow morning, and then she could go trade that set for another and start all over.
And you can get back on invoices.
Sighing, she climbed back on the stool. Since Jenny had asked her to stop the investigation, it looked as though invoices were her priority again. That was disappointing on several fronts, but mostly because Shaye had a feeling that something was about to break loose on the case. Cody Reynolds’s murder indicated she had made someone nervous, and the fact that it happened six years after Caitlyn’s disappearance was definitely interesting. She wished Jenny had given her a little longer. Even a couple more days could have made a difference.
The reality was, if she wanted to, she could keep looking. It wasn’t as if she had to have a client to poke into things, but having a client gave her weight with people when she interviewed them. “I’m just being nosy” probably wouldn’t be taken as well as “my client wants to find her missing twin sister.” Maybe she’d get lucky and Jackson and Grayson would find the person who killed Cody and it would all come out. Then everyone would finally have their answers and she wouldn’t have an ethical dilemma to consider.
She opened the next file and scanned the top, expecting to see the usual divorce rhetoric that she’d seen over and over again, but this time she stopped. It was an adoption case. She checked the date. The month and date matched the entry in Clancy’s journals. She sucked in a breath.
Stay calm. This still might not mean anything.
But she couldn’t stop her racing heart as she read the name of the adoptive parents on the legal document. Her hands shook as she pulled her laptop over and did a search for their names. A Facebook profile for the woman came up with a location of Dallas. She clicked on the link and opened the woman’s profile. There in the banner was a woman, a man, and a boy and girl.
Her breath came out in a whoosh and her heart clenched as the room began to spin. She made the image larger just to be sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her, but the longer she looked the more certain she was.
It was like looking in an age-regressed mirror.
She had zero doubt this was her daughter.
20
CAITLYN SAT in the truck she’d stolen and waited. It was 11:00 p.m. The next on her list would come home sooner or later, and she’d be there to greet him. She couldn’t wait to see the look on his face. Her fingers brushed against the torn cloth of the truck seat, and she shook her head. How stupid could people get? Just leaving keys in the visor. She’d figured the farmer’s truck was old enough that she might be able to boost it the same way she’d learned before. She’d only checked the visor on a lark because she’d seen it in a movie. She was still amazed that people actually did that, even out in the country.
She pressed her fingers to her temples and drew in a long breath. She’d found a bottle of aspirin and some spare change in the glove box and had stopped and bought a bottle of water. But despite taking several of the aspirin, her headache hadn’t subsided. It probably didn’t help that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. And she was certain that the drugs she’d been given were causing problems as they worked their way out of her system. At least she hoped they were working their way out, because she couldn’t live this way. Not for very long. She looked back across the street and blinked twice to clear her vision. It was still going blurry sometimes. She’d had to pull over twice while driving just to give it a chance to refocus.
A car moved down the street and she watched as it passed under the streetlight, trying to make out the man inside. She smiled when she saw him. He had no idea what was coming.
But she’d bet money she’d be smiling when she left him, too.
21
GRAYSON HANDED the binoculars to Jackson. “What do you think?”
Jackson looked down the street into the house at the end. Drapes covered every window, but he could see the faint outline of a person behind the fabric. The image search had been a success, producing two hits—a pair of childhood friends who had apparently carried their juvenile records into adult life—Louie Sutton and Brock Tasker. They had no affiliation with any one particular group or gang or any obvious preference for type of crime. What they appeared to be were opportunists for hire, and the job didn’t matter.
Their arrest records contained fraud, drug running, arms dealing, and plenty of theft and bribery charges. The DA had managed to make some of the charges stick, but others had been too flimsy on the evidence end, although Jackson had no doubt they were probably guilty of everything they’d been investigated for. They’d just gotten better as they’d gotten older, and the arrests were further apart. More concerning was that each was a person of interest i
n three separate homicides, all of which had the markers of being contract hits.
It had taken several hours of digging to run down some known associates who could be persuaded to talk but finally, they had an address where the two were supposed to be staying for the time being. The woman who’d owned the property was the great-aunt of one of the men and had passed away six months ago without children or a will. So currently, it was vacant until the courts decided who inherited it. Well, it was supposed to be vacant.
Louie and Brock had apparently taken advantage of the situation and set up a temporary address for their criminal empire. The question was whether or not they were holding Brianna inside.
Jackson handed the binoculars back to Grayson. “Someone’s inside. At least one someone, anyway. Looks tall, so probably Brock. Assuming it’s our two guys in there, of course.”
Grayson nodded. “There’s no alarm system connected on the house. Doesn’t mean they don’t have their own safeguards, but I’m guessing they didn’t bother.”
“Probably not.”
They hadn’t been able to determine where Ian LeBlanc had crossed paths with the two men, but Jackson seriously doubted it was at work or the country club. If Victor LeBlanc hadn’t hired a PI to follow his son, it was unlikely anyone would have ever put them together. Which meant Louie and Brock weren’t worried about being found. They had the simple part of the equation. All they had to do was keep the girl hidden until they got a payoff, then drop her off on a street corner and leave. It was an easy payday, assuming Ian lived up to his end of the bargain, which unfortunately was the big open-ended question.
“I have a FLIR in the trunk,” Jackson said. “I say we walk closer and find out how many heat signatures are inside. If Brianna’s in there, she’ll register smaller.”
Grayson looked over at him. “You keep a FLIR in your car?”
Jackson nodded. “This is my surveillance car. You never know what you might need if you’re watching someone, so I picked one up a couple months back.”
“Cool. The street is pretty dark and there’s that tall hedge between the houses. We could probably head down the sidewalk and then into the hedges. Should be close enough to get a heat signature, and the house being wood helps.”
“And if the neighbor sees us and comes out with a gun?” The neighborhood was an old one, so large trees lined both sides of the street, blocking what little light there was from illuminating much of the yards. And few people had on front porch lights, so the whole street was very dim, but the vigilant neighbor was always a concern.
“Then I’ll show him a badge and suggest he head back inside and remain very quiet until I say otherwise,” Grayson said.
“You really want to do this? Just the two of us?”
“If that girl is in there, then we’ll call for backup, but I’m not waiting around. If we see an opportunity to get her out, we’re taking it. And before you say anything, yes, I’ve been thinking of nothing but the repercussions all night, but it doesn’t change the fact that there’s a little girl in there who might die because she had the misfortune to be born to a sociopath. If we bring the FBI in, they’ll haul in Ian and then the whole thing is blown.”
“I agree.” Grayson and Jackson both figured either one of the men was keeping watch on Ian to make sure he did what he was supposed to, or they’d drafted a third party to do it for them. If Ian was hauled out of his house by the FBI, no doubt they’d know something had gone wrong. At that point, Brianna was a huge liability and the best thing for them to do would be to get rid of her. If she couldn’t identify them, then they might just haul it out of town and leave her there. But if she’d seen their faces, they might not be willing to run that risk.
They climbed out of the car and put on their bulletproof vests, then Jackson grabbed the FLIR from the trunk. It was close to midnight, and the street was quiet. A few houses still had lights on inside, but it looked as though the majority of the block were regular working people or retired and they’d turned in for the night. They crossed the street and headed up the sidewalk. Jackson carried the FLIR in one hand, and his other rested on the gun under his jacket. When they got to the hedges, Grayson gave the neighbors’ house a quick once-over, then darted into the bushes.
Jackson stepped in behind him, then turned on the FLIR and directed it at the house. He picked up the person he’d seen in the window immediately. Scanning back through the house, he saw another heat signature in a back room. This one looked as if it was sitting but was definitely also an adult. He directed the FLIR toward the far end of the house but didn’t find anything. Disappointment flooded through him and he blew out a breath.
“Let me make another pass,” Jackson said.
“Move down a bit farther and try a different angle.”
Jackson took several steps farther down and started the scan again. He was almost done when he saw a patch of light that wasn’t there before in the far corner in the back of the house. Grayson pointed at the screen and Jackson nodded. The signature was small and appeared to be huddled on the floor.
“That’s her,” Grayson said. “I’d bet on it.”
“You are betting on it,” Jackson said, “but I’m with you. So how do you want to do this?”
Grayson pulled out his cell phone and dialed. “This is Detective Grayson. I have a possible hostage situation and need an unmarked backup unit sent to this location. No sirens, please, and have them park down the street.” He gave them the address and disconnected.
“Let’s see if we can get a look in that room,” Grayson said.
They started to move, but then Jackson noticed the front door open and grabbed Grayson’s arm. They both ducked back into the foliage and watched as Brock Tasker walked out onto the porch with his cell phone.
“What the hell, Ian. You said this was going down today, and now you’re saying we have to wait longer. I don’t like it, man. This isn’t what we signed up for. Yeah, I hear you. Do you hear me?”
He hung up as Louie Sutton walked outside. “Problems?” Louie asked.
“I think he’s flaked on us,” Tasker said. “I don’t trust him to pay, even if the old fart sends the money. I think we should clear out of the city for a while.”
“What about the girl?”
“She’s a liability. Handle her and grab the guns and money and we’re out of here.”
Louie nodded and headed back inside, Tasker close behind.
Jackson’s pulse shot up, and he pulled his pistol from the holster. “I’ll take the front, you take the back?”
That gave each of them one man to take down in order to get to Brianna. They couldn’t afford to wait on backup.
Grayson nodded, his expression grim, and they headed out of the bushes, each taking a different direction around the house. Jackson ducked below the level of the front hedges, then crept onto the porch. He plastered himself flat against the wall just outside the front door and pulled out his cell phone to send Grayson a text.
In place.
Several seconds later, the response came.
Five-second countdown.
Coordinating a takedown from two different entry points without radios wasn’t optimum. Even a couple seconds’ delay between entries gave one man an opportunity to retaliate or make a break for it. Jackson hoped that this house hadn’t gone through a contemporary remodel and still contained the compartmentalized rooms that homes built in this era usually had. If the rooms were separated by walls and hallways, that gave them some leeway to take down both men before they could retreat and converge, assuming they were in different locations in the house.
The second big issue was that they were entering the house blind. They knew where the heat signatures were located before they’d come onto the porch, but had no way of knowing what room the men were in now or how they were armed.
Jackson got in ready position a couple feet from the front door, ready to launch against it as soon as he heard Grayson breach. A couple seconds later, he hear
d a crash and the sound of glass shattering. He launched at the door, praying that it broke, and he got his wish. The thin old wood cracked away from the hinges and he almost fell into the room.
Brock Tasker had been digging some things out of a coat closet and he whirled around, then made a break for the hallway. Jackson did a flying leap and tackled him from the back before he could flee the room. They crashed into the floor and slid into the wall. Jackson felt a bolt of pain shoot through his shoulder, which had taken the brunt of the impact, but it didn’t even cause him to pause. Tasker struggled to flip over, and Jackson shoved his pistol into the back of his neck.
“Police! Stop or I shoot!”
Jackson had expected a fight but apparently, age had made Tasker a little smarter. With Jackson on top of him, knee in his back and gun pressed into his neck, Tasker’s chances of overpowering the detective were slim to none. And if there was one thing Jackson had learned about criminals, they preferred prison to death.
Jackson pulled out his handcuffs and secured Tasker’s hands behind his back before running to the kitchen, where Grayson had Sutton cuffed to the refrigerator. Jackson gave his partner a long enough glance to assure himself Grayson had the situation under control before running for the corner room.
“Tasker’s cuffed in the hallway!” Jackson yelled as he ran. “Call for an ambulance.”
Jackson hoped Brianna wasn’t physically injured, but he wanted a professional opinion on that and wanted it as soon as possible. He slid to a stop in front of the door and realized it was padlocked from the outside.
