The Alvarez & Pescoli Series

by Lisa Jackson

  “…so if Chris wants to come over here and…hang out…play games or something…that would be okay.”

  “Play games?” She rolled her eyes. What did he think she was? Seven?

  “Okay, then watch TV or…” He looked to the kitchen as if hoping Michelle would appear and offer up some kind of really cool idea to help him out of this, and Bianca realized her father didn’t understand her at all. “Come on, honey. Give Chris a call and see if he’ll come by. I should get to meet him. Maybe we can have pizza or…spaghetti…or…”

  “Pizza. We can do pizza.” Michelle stuck her head into the doorway. “I’ve got some in the freezer and extra pepperoni and olives in the pantry.”

  “Whoopee.” Bianca twirled her finger beside her head.

  Scowling, Michelle disappeared again.

  Dad got all grumpy. “You’re staying in. And so is Jeremy, when I track him down. Until we find out what’s happened to your mom, I want you both to stick close. Got it?”

  She fought a new spate of dumb tears.

  “Got it, pumpkin?”

  “Got it!” She only hoped that he never, ever, used that dumb nickname for her around Chris. It was just stupid and gross. She marched into her bedroom, slammed the door, and flopped down on the bed. Sniffing back tears, she found her cell phone and speed-dialed Jeremy. Maybe he could get her out of here.

  She’d called him all day and he hadn’t picked up, so she texted him:

  Where R U? Get me outta here. NOW.

  She thought about adding more info, then just sent the text and prayed that he would arrive. Jeremy bugged the crap out of her. He was just such a dipwad most of the time, but he was her brother and he knew what a pain Dad could be.

  Bianca had always thought Michelle was okay, but she was changing her mind fast. What was this putting down rules and playing like she was Mom? What a bunch of garbage. Mom could be a real pain, but at least she was her mother. Michelle trying to act all parental and stuff, it was just wrong.

  Bianca rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. She thought of her mother and her insides turned to ice at the thought that Mom was in real trouble.

  Then she tried calling Chris.

  Maybe he would come over…It was kinda lame, the whole pizza thing, but she needed him right now.

  Really needed him.

  At Mountain View Hospital, Dr. Jalicia Ramsby rotated the kinks from her neck as she walked down the hallway to her desk. It had been a morning of meetings, first with her women’s group, which consisted of five women who had suffered through abusive relationships, and then an administrative meeting, where she was told that she’d have to cut costs in her department, probably losing at least one aide. “Times are tough,” Hedgewick, the administrator, had told all the department heads. “The economic decline is taking a hefty toll.”

  “But people are still sick. They still have to get treatment for mental illness,” Ramsby protested, a few of her peers rumbling agreement.

  Hedgewick had appeared concerned, his lips pursing, his eyes behind his reading glasses darkening, his hands clasping over the smooth table top and his neatly typed pages. “That’s what makes our job challenging,” he said, placating her. “We have to offer the best services possible while staying within the constraints of the company budget.”

  She thought about the Mercedes he drove but held her tongue. His wife was rumored to be wealthy in her own right and it didn’t matter. Hedgewick always kept his eye firmly on the bottom line.

  Now reaching the door to her office, Jalicia looked down toward the far end of the hallway where a woman quickly slipped around the corner. For a heartbeat, Dr. Ramsby thought the petite woman with the dark hair was Padgett Long.

  Which was ridiculous. Padgett never moved faster than a slow walk and she was in the secure wing.

  Maybe someone who looked like the silent patient?

  Ramsby walked swiftly enough that her lab coat billowed as she headed toward the corner. She had to have been wrong. As far as she knew Padgett had never been out of her wing and surrounding yard.

  Which was sad, but true.

  So why…?

  Within seconds she rounded the corner to the landing area where she could have sworn the woman had darted.

  The corridor was a dead end to a wall of windows now splattered with rain from the ominous clouds scudding across the sky. On the right were two service elevators; on the left, restrooms. Ramsby noted that both elevator cars were heading downward, one at the second floor, the other stopping on ground level.

  Had the woman gotten on one?

  Had it been Padgett?

  Jalicia had never been one to discount a person’s feelings or gut instincts and she’d often felt that something was off around Mountain View. Curious, she stepped into the women’s room and found it empty. The men’s was locked.

  Hmmm.

  Telling herself she was imagining things, she waited near the elevators, her arms folded over her chest, her eyes on the restroom door, her hunger for a cigarette burning through her blood like fire, though she hadn’t smoked in over eight months. Maybe it was time to try the damned patch.

  Brrring! She nearly jumped out of her skin when her cell phone went off. Checking the screen, she saw that her secretary, the ever-impatient Annette, was calling. “Yes?”

  “I’ve been trying to reach you,” Annette said, obviously peeved. Again. Soon, Ramsby feared, it would be time to have an attitude adjustment talk with the woman.

  “I was in a meeting.”

  “I know, but that lawyer Barton Tinneman’s called again. I thought you’d want to know.”

  Hubert Long’s, Padgett’s father’s, attorney. She wondered what he wanted now. “I’ll have to call him back later.”

  As she snapped her phone shut, the door to the men’s room clicked open and Dr. Langley, a frail-looking psychologist with a thin white beard and perpetual knit brow, was tucking his shirt into his pants as he walked out. He looked up and caught her eyeing him.

  “Anyone else in there?” Ramsby asked, her gaze doing a quick once-over of the tiny room while the door was open. She caught a slice of her own worried reflection in the mirror over the sink before the door slowly closed.

  “Pardon?” Scott said, coloring slightly. He cleared his throat and adjusted his tweed jacket.

  “I thought one of my patients may have wandered…oh, never mind.” Ramsby felt suddenly foolish. “I was mistaken.”

  “No one was with me in there, Dr. Ramsby, if that’s what you’re asking.” Langley’s white eyebrows inched up a notch.

  “I wasn’t asking anything,” she said, then turned on her heel and headed toward her office again, the feeling that something wasn’t right at Mountain View greater than ever.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Oh, great.

  Now Mom’s partner was going to try to give him some advice.

  Jeremy saw it in the set of Selena Alvarez’s jaw and the way she walked straight to the table where he’d been asked to wait in this tiny little windowless room, an interrogation room, he thought. It smelled of sweat and bleach. Bad. And he was uncomfortable, always had been when he was near a police station. His mom had said being a cop was in his blood because both she and his father had been on the force, but uh-uh, no way did he want anything to do with law enforcement. He didn’t trust cops. Sometimes even his mom.

  “Hi,” Alvarez said. All friendly-like. Though she wasn’t smiling. Mom had said she was intense.

  Jeremy wasn’t up for small talk. Just like he hadn’t wanted any cookies from the woman with the fake smile and weird clothes. “Have you found my mom?”

  “Not yet.”

  He’d thought he was ready for bad news, but he suddenly had trouble drawing a breath, as if someone were sitting on his chest. “I saw her car,” he admitted. “Totaled. At Horsebrier Ridge. It was…A tow truck was winching it up from the canyon floor.” His stomach twisted as he remembered the mangled wreckage. “Is she dead?”
He was trying to appear in control of his rapidly eroding emotions.

  “I don’t think so.”

  God, this was freaky. Horrible. Jeremy felt his damned leg trembling and he wanted to scream. Mom isn’t dead, she isn’t dead. Not like Dad…oh, dear God, no…Mom isn’t dead. “You don’t know, though.”

  “No. But your being here isn’t going to help. The best thing for you to do is to go home with your dad and sister—”

  “He’s not my dad and I can’t go home. The cops are all over the place.”

  “I meant to your stepfather’s house. Isn’t that where Bianca is? With Luke? And his wife.”

  He lifted a shoulder. No one ever calls Lucky, Luke. Well, except Michelle, especially when she’s really pissed off. “I don’t keep track of my sister.”

  “Maybe you should. Until your mom gets back.”

  “What if she doesn’t?” Jeremy blurted out, his worst fears right out in the open, all of his confidence stripped away. His throat was tight and his eyes burned. Oh, shit, he wasn’t going to let himself cry. No way. But he was scared. Scared as hell. “What then?” he demanded, his voice cracking a little. Holy crap, would he be stuck living with Lucky and Michelle? Could there be anything worse? And what about Mom? Where the hell was she?

  Alvarez was staring at him as if he was from outer space and he finally realized he was chewing his fingernail and spitting the bits onto the floor—something his mom hated and was always ragging on him about. From the looks the detective was shooting him, she wasn’t keen on his nervous habit either. “I’m, um, I’m just worried.” He forced his hand to his lap, but his damned leg was still shaking nervously.

  “I don’t blame you,” she said, a bit more kindly, “but you can’t do anything down here. Trust me.”

  He flinched. Whenever an adult started out saying those two words, “trust me,” it meant they were about to try to force you into doing something you just knew in your gut was wrong. “We’re doing everything we can to find her.”

  “It’s not enough,” he said flatly and for the first time noticed the little camera mounted near the ceiling. Oh, God, was he being filmed?

  Footsteps rang behind her and over Alvarez’s shoulder, through the open doorway Jeremy caught a glimpse of a tall man with thin, silvering hair heading their direction.

  Undersheriff Brewster!

  Heidi’s prick of a father.

  Shit!

  “What’s he doing here?” the big buffoon demanded, stepping around Alvarez and looming over Jeremy seated in the uncomfortable chair. In an instant, Jeremy was on his feet, almost standing eye to eye with the tall cop.

  “He’s worried about his mother.”

  Brewster gave him the evil eye. “You should be in lockup for what you did, Strand.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Got my daughter drunk. God knows what else would have happened if you hadn’t been picked up.” He was mad all over again, his face turning red, his lips bloodless.

  “Cool it,” Alvarez said tautly.

  Brewster hooked a thumb in Jeremy’s direction. “All this little jerk-off wants to do is get high and drunk, then go out driving and try to get into my little girl’s pants.” He leveled a hate-filled glare at Jeremy. “You keep your filthy, horny hands off my daughter, you hear me, boy? You so much as call her, I’ll have you arrested.”

  “For what?”

  “Anything you can think of, only worse.”

  “Enough!” Alvarez snapped out. She stepped between Jeremy and Brewster. She was a full head shorter, but she held her ground even though Heidi’s dad was her boss. “Let me handle this, sir,” she said, trying to defuse the situation, but it was too far gone.

  Jeremy smelled the fight before the first punch had been thrown. Though his brain warned him, Don’t let the old fart goad you into it. Don’t try to take him down, he felt that sizzle in his blood, the tension in his muscles, the tightness between his shoulders. God, he’d love to land one fist onto Cort Holier-Than-Thou Brewster’s smug face.

  The old man felt it, too. “Come on, punk. Hit me. You know that’s what you want to do.”

  “Undersheriff Brewster!” Alvarez was still wedged between them. “Stand down! Both of you.”

  “But the punk thinks he can take me. Sick little perverted prick. He wants to screw my daughter and beat the crap out of me. Isn’t that right, Strand? You’re a loser, you know that. A dope-smoking, beer-sucking loser, and Heidi’s too good for you, so you just stay away.”

  Jeremy’s fist balled so hard it hurt.

  Just one shot, that’s all he wanted. To show this asshole what he was.

  “Try it, sissy.”

  Oh, God.

  His cell phone beeped. Another text message.

  “What’s that?”

  “We’ve got more important things to worry about,” Alvarez pointed out coldly.

  In a second, Brewster lunged and had Jeremy up against the wall, one arm twisted painfully behind his back, his face turned sideways but smashed into the cinder blocks.

  “Stop it!” Alvarez ordered.

  But Brewster pinned him harder and started patting him down. Jeremy squirmed. He couldn’t let Heidi’s dad see the pictures she’d been sending him. Brewster would kill them both. “Let me go!”

  “I think you’ve got some weed on you, punk!”

  “No, I don’t!”

  “Stop it, Brewster,” Alvarez warned.

  “What is this…Oh, here we go.” He reached into Jeremy’s pocket and pulled out his wallet and cell phone.

  “Give that back!” Jeremy said, panicked. Oh, God, the guy was going to look at his cell phone. “It’s mine!”

  “What’s it got on it? Your dealer’s number?”

  “No, Mr. Brewster, please, don’t—” The change of tone was a mistake. Jeremy saw it in the flare of interest in Brewster’s eyes.

  “Then you’ve got nothing to hide.”

  “Isn’t this an invasion of privacy or—?” Jeremy’s voice dropped as Brewster opened the phone and dark red color climbed up his neck to burst into his face, so that his blue eyes looked about to pop from his head.

  “What the hell is this?” he hissed. “What did you do to my daughter?”

  “Nothing!”

  “Are you trying to tell me that Heidi sent you these of her own free will, you little snot?” He was advancing on Jeremy again and this time Alvarez stood between them.

  “Stand down, sir! If you don’t stop harassing this boy, I’m going to arrest you.” Alvarez was all business. Jeremy thought she might draw her damned weapon.

  “Arrest me? Are you out of your mind, Detective?” Brewster snarled.

  “You don’t want the department to face assault charges. Sir.” Her voice was like steel.

  Brewster snorted, “This punk’ll hide behind the law over my dead body.”

  “Fine!” Before he could think, Jeremy rounded on the man, his fist smashing into Brewster’s jaw. The older man’s head snapped back and he went reeling against the far wall, Jeremy’s cell phone clattering to the floor. Jeremy looked down and saw the picture, the one of Heidi in the Santa hat and red panties, her beautiful tits with their dark nipples completely bare while she was sucking on a candy cane and winking at the camera.

  Oh, Jesus.

  “You little pervert!” Cort Brewster sputtered, back on the balls of his feet and rubbing his cheek, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “You’re under arrest!” He glanced at Alvarez. “Read him his rights, Detective, and make sure he understands that he’s in my custody now.”

  “Sir, his mother is—”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Brewster pointed a shaking finger at Jeremy. “This kid’s a troublemaker. Walkin’ a thin line. Now put his butt in jail. He assaulted me. The way I figure it, we’re doing his mother a favor.” Brewster, looking like he would like to kill Jeremy, turned on his heel and strode out of the room.

  “That was a dumb thing to do,” she hissed to
Jeremy once they were alone. “Real dumb.”

  “He’s an asshole.”

  “And the undersheriff.”

  “He wanted to fight me.”

  “You took the first swing, so you have to go down to a holding tank for a while.” She bent down, picked up the phone, and saw the picture of Heidi. Her lips twisted downward and she shook her head. “And you might want to remind your girlfriend to keep her clothes on when there are cameras or cell phones around.” She pocketed his phone and led him through the department.

  “You’re not really going to arrest me.”

  “I don’t really have a choice,” she said tiredly. She didn’t bother with cuffs, but did read him his rights as she walked him down to a room where he was to be booked. “I’ll try to square it with Brewster. Talk to Sheriff Grayson, if I have to. Everything that happened is on camera, so I think we can work things out. We here at the department have a lot more to worry about than Heidi’s attempts to pose for Playboy. But her dad has to cool off a while before that happens. It could take a little time.”

  “How much?” he asked, the thought of being locked up again starting to panic him. Why the hell had he let that son of a bitch spur him into hitting him?

  “I don’t know.” He didn’t say anything and she pushed a finger into his forearm. “Got it?”

  He did, but he didn’t like it. “Yeah,” he mumbled.

  “Good. Hang tough.” She paused a moment and added, “I’m going to get myself a sandwich from the vending machine. Want one?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Sure? It’s been a long day.”

  He shook his head. He had a feeling this long day was going to get longer.

  The task force meeting brought everyone up to speed. Stephanie Chandler and Craig Halden, the two FBI agents, had returned and they sat at the table in the task force room with Sheriff Grayson, Undersheriff Brewster, Alvarez, Zoller, and a few others.

  Alvarez didn’t say a lot, just sipped her tea and hoped the half of a chicken-salad sandwich she’d choked down before the meeting would sustain her. She’d popped a couple of daytime cold capsules, too, working to keep her symptoms at bay. So far so good. She had yet to straighten out the mess with Regan’s son, but she would. She owed her partner that much. And Brewster, just because he was the damned undersheriff, couldn’t get away with being a bully, a cop who let his emotions get the best of his judgment.