The Alvarez & Pescoli Series

by Lisa Jackson

  Your luck is just about to run out.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Mason Rivers was under the radar.

  Not at his office, of course. It was Sunday.

  Not answering his cell.

  Not at home. Nor was Sherice. Or if they were home, they weren’t picking up.

  At the very least, he was screening his calls, not answering an anonymous call from an unregistered cell phone.

  “I struck out,” Jillian admitted, sliding the phone into the pocket of her jacket again. “Same away message on his voice mail every time.”

  MacGregor studied what was left in his glass, a dark brew that looked, in Jillian’s opinion, more like cold coffee with a smidgen of foam rather than beer. “And yet, he seems to be a part of this, whether intentional or not. Whoever attacked you knew that you would immediately think he was involved and propel yourself straight here.”

  She frowned as the waitress brought refills, eyed the untouched bowl of salty bits, then retreated to some hidden cavern behind the bar.

  “So glad I’m so well trained.” She leaned back against the booth and shifted a bit. Her ribs were healing but still pained her every so often. At least she could laugh now, could breathe. Coughing, though, that was still out.

  “What is the away message?”

  “Sorry, I’m out. Leave a message. I’ll call back.” She hesitated. “Except for the office. That one said, ‘I’m out of town for a few days. If you need to reach me, leave a message with my secretary….’” She thought back to the days of their marriage and how many times she’d listened to Mason’s stock line. The message hadn’t changed—nor had the inflection of his voice. Just then something shifted in her brain. A cold awareness cut her to the bone.

  “What?”

  “Mason and I had a place in Spokane—a place he got in the divorce. I don’t know…that’s the same message he left whenever he went out of town, and it reminded me of how he would escape to Spokane.”

  “What exactly are you thinking?”

  “Mason has a license to practice law in Washington. Maybe he kept the place in Spokane.”

  “And so…?”

  Partial ideas, little bits of memory that had been digging at her, came together. “And it’s probably nothing, but Spokane always held a fascination for Aaron, too…well, lots of places held a fascination for him, but I think I remember him mentioning it as one of the places he’d settle down in if he ever settled. Spokane or Bend, Oregon, or Colorado Springs…somewhere around Tahoe. But Spokane, that was one of the places. He and Mason share a connection there, I guess.”

  MacGregor was staring at her, letting her work through her thoughts. “You think Spokane’s a key?”

  She asked suddenly, “Do you have those pictures of Aaron, the ones I was sent when I was in Seattle, the ones that started off this whole wild goose chase?”

  “Copies,” he reminded her. “The police still have the originals. They’re in the truck. I’ll go get them.” Before she could say another word, he’d left the table and was striding past the beer signs reflecting on the fake snow sprayed upon the windows.

  Now that she’d leapt to the conclusion that Spokane, not Missoula, should be her destination, Jillian was antsy, could scarcely wait the two minutes it took him to return and slide the pictures across the table.

  She examined the grainy copies and shook her head. “I…I don’t know. It’s too dark in here.”

  “We can fix that. Right now.” He motioned for the waitress, slapped some bills onto the table and helped Jillian outside. A couple of patrons looked up from their drinks for a second—a woman near the door and a guy at the bar who was huddled over his drink when not staring at the television screen.

  Jillian felt his eyes on her, and when she looked over her shoulder, he turned his attention to his drink quickly, as if he were embarrassed about being caught ogling.

  Or was it more than that?

  She didn’t wait to find out but walked as quickly as she could to the truck. Inside the cab, MacGregor found a flashlight and a magnifying glass.

  “Who keeps a magnifying glass in their glove box?” she asked.

  MacGregor cleaned the lens with his hot breath and his sleeve. “My friend, the one who loaned me this truck. He’s a little…”

  “Strange? Paranoid?”

  “All of the above, and curious, too.” He handed her the circular lens and she looked for any sign on the pictures that would give her a sense of where Aaron, or the man who looked like her long-lost husband, was when they were taken. But no street signs were visible, and the storefronts looked as flat and nondescript as a thousand strip malls across the country. “This could be Anywhere USA,” she said. “Don’t you think the police have done this?”

  “Yes. And maybe they know something they aren’t telling us. But unless they checked deep into Mason Rivers, they might not know about Spokane.”

  “I think he was just a consultant, not listed with any particular firm there. But I don’t really know.”

  “Believe it or not, it hasn’t been all that long since you were abducted, and they have a few other victims to check out as well, so I’m thinking the police will get there. Soon, if not already.”

  “Do you think we should call them with this information?”

  MacGregor’s jaw grew rock hard. “Probably. But you know how I feel about them. Let’s just see if your ex is there. We need something more, something corroborating.”

  She looked over the pictures, inch by inch, but even the magnifying glass couldn’t help her. “It’s no use,” she said. “I can’t see anything. Whoever took this picture was careful.”

  “Everyone trips up.”

  “You’d think,” she said, and then she noticed something in the picture, something unintentional. “There’s something…in the mirror of the bus. It’s just a smudge but it might be letters…a signpost or something? If I could just make it out….”

  MacGregor angled the flashlight and the magnifying glass.

  The smudges became no clearer. “It’s probably nothing,” he said, but he snatched up his cell phone, dialed a number and said into the receiver, “have you looked at photograph number two, the one where the subject is crossing the street? Yeah…uh-huh. No, we couldn’t either, but Jillian thought there might be something in the mirror on the bus. If you can enlarge that, see what it says and get back to me. Yeah? Well…that goes without saying. Back to even.” He hung up and switched on the ignition.

  “Chilcoate?” she asked. MacGregor had filled her in on the childhood friend who owed him, big-time.

  “He’s rapidly getting himself out of debt.” MacGregor pulled out of the lot and headed toward the interstate. Though they were less than a hundred and fifty miles from Spokane, it would take some time getting there because of the weather. “There’s a key in the glove box. Can you find it?”

  She opened the box again, felt around and came up with a key.

  “Open that panel on the passenger door,” he instructed.

  “What?”

  “There, just beside your feet.”

  “Now what?” she asked, but fiddled with the key. A compartment opened and within it lay a small cache of weapons. Two pistols and a hunting knife. “This looks…illegal.”

  MacGregor smiled.

  “You think we’ll need them?”

  He sent her a look and she was reminded all too quickly of freezing, being alone in the bitter cold. Naked. Tied to a tree. Knowing that she would die.

  “Okay, I get the point.”

  “There’s ammunition in there, too. Load up your weapon of choice, keep the knife, and load the second gun, then give it to me.”

  “Don’t we need licenses…something? Okay, forget I asked that,” she said, and pulled out the pistols.

  “I assume you’re game?”

  She snorted and snapped the ammo clip into the first pistol, a Glock that was heavier than it looked. “If there’s anything in Spokane, then le
t’s find it.”

  “That’s my girl.” He gunned the engine and Jillian started loading the second gun.

  His girl?

  Oh hell.

  Probably more than he knew.

  Pescoli took a late lunch and cruised through the only stores in the old Flagstone Mall that would have anything either of her kids would like. It was snowing again. Nothing crazy. Not a blizzard. But with this winter, who knew how fierce the next storm might be, and though Missoula wasn’t that far from home, she didn’t want to be delayed too long.

  Or too far from the case.

  Since Hannah Estes had given up the ghost, with a little help, it seemed, from the FBI reports, they were in a holding pattern, waiting for something to happen, some clue to emerge. So far, nothing but theories.

  She settled on a chain drugstore that carried everything from pantyhose to Pepto-Bismol, household cleaners to hush puppies. As requisite Christmas music piped cheerily through the store, she jostled with several other shoppers, searching for the perfect gifts. In desperation, she found a new toy in the shape of a Christmas elf for Cisco to tear to shreds, a makeup case and some hair “product” for Bianca, along with a couple of colors of hideous nail polish a salesgirl of about sixteen insisted were “tight,” and a couple of DVDs and a CD case for Jeremy, though he’d probably hate both. She planned on putting a twenty-dollar bill in the makeup case and the same in the CD case. Lastly, she grabbed a board game for “the whole family.” It wasn’t a lot, but it would just have to do.

  Satisfied that Christmas wasn’t going to be a total disaster, Regan loaded up with a few groceries and headed home to talk to Jeremy. If he was in the mood. Well, even if he wasn’t. She wasn’t done with work for the day, not officially, so she’d have to return to town for a couple of hours, probably making it home for dinner after seven. By then Bianca would be back and they could actually have time together. She glanced at her watch. It was already after three, pushing four, so dinner might be closer to eight, but so be it.

  Tonight they were going to eat together, without the television, iPods, cell phones or computers as distractions. Everyone around the table for the first time since…oh God…she couldn’t remember when. Certainly not last Christmas.

  Rotating the kinks out of her neck, she drove out of Missoula and through the snowy hills to her house. The weather was turning again, snow collecting on the road, her windshield wipers battling against the fluff. It was winters like this one that caused her to understand the people who had sand for lawns and decorated palm trees with colored lights for the holidays.

  Jeremy’s truck was parked in its usual spot, which made her feel a little better. The truth of the matter was that she’d been worried he would take off on her, think, “Screw this, Mom can’t tell me what to do,” and drive away to some unknown destination, so it was rewarding to see the snow piling up on his old truck’s hood and roof.

  She’d guided the Jeep into the garage and pushed the button to close the door when she first sensed that something was different. Not quite right. The whole place seemed quiet. Too quiet.

  Why didn’t she hear the dog clawing and yipping on the other side of the door?

  She inhaled a long, careful breath.

  Unzipping her pistol from her shoulder holster, she flipped off the safety. She wouldn’t be stupid enough to shoot her own kids, even if they jumped out at her, but she had a feeling…. She opened the door slowly and the dark interior welcomed her coldly. No lights were lit on the Christmas tree, no candles burning, not a sound from within.

  Her skin crawled, and in her mind’s eye she saw the victims of the Star-Crossed Killer, all lashed to trees, their skin stiff and blue, their eyes open and sightless, frozen in their own terror.

  She thought of Bianca, caught a glimpse of a picture of her that was framed and propped on the bookcase. She’d been seven, her front teeth too big for her face, other gaps visible in her bright, wide smile.

  Don’t let them be harmed, oh please.

  And Jeremy. What would the brutal killer do with her son?

  She swallowed back her fear, couldn’t think that way. Any minute now her kids would leap out at her and scare her half to death. She was careful as she walked slowly from room to room…but even if the kids could keep quiet in their game of scare-the-liver-out-of-Mom, what about Cisco? The dog couldn’t be kept quiet.

  Oh God.

  She heard something pounding, then realized it was the drumming of her own heart. She pushed open Bianca’s door but it looked as if her daughter hadn’t been home, and then the bathroom, too…but the dog? And Jeremy? Had he taken off with a friend? She stood in the hallway upstairs and dialed her son’s number, half-expecting Jer’s cell phone to start its weird ring tone from some rocker he loved.

  Nothing.

  She tried Bianca’s.

  Again, no answer, nor ringing within the house.

  Her guts turned to water. Something had happened to them, to her precious babies.

  Don’t. Don’t go there! Don’t let your job make you paranoid. If they’re not here, then they’re with friends or their damned father….

  She started down the stairs, the steps squeaking under her weight. Well, now there was no reason to be quiet. “Jeremy?” she called. “Bianca?”

  Nothing.

  Only the creaking of old timbers settling, the gentle hum of the furnace and the rustle of the wind as it picked up to press against the house.

  “Cisco! Come on, boy!”

  The door to Jeremy’s room was ajar, weird turquoise shadows playing upon the walls. Holding her breath, she nudged the door open and peeked inside. His lava lamp was glowing, the floating globules of oil, or whatever it was, casting the shifting colors of light.

  No one inside.

  Not even the dog. She saw the picture of Jeremy’s father in its usual place and thought, I’m sorry, Joe. I’m so sorry, but damn it, why did you have to die?

  Backing out of the room and up the stairs, she was standing in the kitchen when her own cell phone went off.

  The kids!

  Lucky’s number showed on caller ID.

  Her heart sank, and before she even said hello, she knew she was going to hear something she didn’t want to. “Hi, Lucky. Don’t tell me, the kids are with you.”

  “That’s right.”

  “You took them?”

  “You weren’t there.”

  “I was working! We talked about this.”

  “Jeremy called. I came and got him.” There was a long, pregnant pause and Pescoli half-collapsed against the archway into the kitchen because she knew, deep in her gut, she was going to hear bad news. She wasn’t wrong.

  “The kids, Michelle and I have been talking—”

  You goddamned son of a bitch.

  “—and we all agree that Jeremy and Bianca should live with us.”

  Her knees, always so steady, wanted to buckle as her darkest fears surrounded her. She backed into a small corner of her kitchen. “We all didn’t agree. I have a vote in this. I’m their mother.”

  “But—”

  “And the State of Montana. The court system, remember that? I have custody.”

  “Things change. At the time, yeah, I wasn’t the best role model around, but now that Michelle and I are married—”

  “Hey!” she cut in, anger burning through her, chasing away her despair. “Do not play the ‘happily married’ card with the Barbie doll, okay? Cuz I’m not buying it. She’s too young to be the kids’ mother.”

  “I just thought you’d want to know they were safe,” he said, and there was that brittle, almost punishing tone to his voice, as if he enjoyed making her crazy. Well, he succeeded. Hadn’t he time and time again while they were married? He could be devastatingly charming one second and as deadly as a viper the next.

  “You can’t even muster up child support and now you want to raise them? Get real.”

  “Well, about that. We’d have to turn that around. You would be pa
ying me.”

  Whatever hope she’d had for having a civil relationship with him withered at that point. So that’s what this was about. Money. Not that he didn’t care for the kids in his own Lucky Pescoli kind of way, but it was the money that really motivated him. He’d always griped that she’d gotten a sweet deal in the divorce. It had always pissed him off, although it hadn’t been true. She had ended up with the house because she’d bought him out, and she’d gotten the kids because she had been more steadily employed, but he hadn’t wanted to look at the truth at the time. Now her steady demanding job was the weapon he was using against her. What a damned prick.

  “I want the kids back here tonight.”

  “Not gonna happen.”

  “And what about Cisco? Did you take my dog, too?”

  “Let’s get one thing straight. I didn’t ‘take’ my kids. They came because they wanted to, because their mother doesn’t have time for them, because they want some stability in their lives.”

  “With you?” she asked, dumbfounded.

  “And as for the dog, Cisco belongs to Jeremy, so yeah, he’s here, too.”

  She glanced at the empty water and dog-food dishes on the floor and she felt a weird sadness, different from the pain of knowing the kids had picked their father and stepmother over her. She felt the sting of tears but wouldn’t give in to them. “Pack the kids up, Lucky,” she said, her teeth clenched, her lips barely moving. “Because I’m coming to get them. And that includes Cisco. I want my son. I want my daughter. I want my dog. And I’m coming to get them.”

  “Is that Mason’s car?” MacGregor asked as he drove to the condominium Jillian’s ex-husband had owned in Spokane. It was a four-storied brick building, one-and two-bedroom units on each of the floors, all accessed by a private entrance that required an electronic key. Parking spots were under the building, and Jillian and Zane were staring through the locked gates of the garage, which occupied the part of the ground level of the building not dedicated to shops and specialty boutiques.

  Peering through the grate, Jillian eyed the cars and checked the parking space Mason always used, the one MacGregor had indicated. A new white Mercedes was parked in it. “That’s his space but I don’t know what he drives. I would assume it’s his.”