When She's Gone

by Palmer, Jane;

  “Sometimes.” Ara straightened her legs out in front of her. “I used to all the time. But Sam . . . what’s happening now . . . it reminds me of why I didn’t always make a good cop.”

  “You feel it.”

  “Too much.” She touched her chest. “The responsibility crushing down on you. So heavy you almost can’t breathe.”

  They sat in silence, and for the first time, it was easy between them.

  “I’ve been thinking about Nick,” she said, breaking the stillness. “Trying to remember everything Sam told me about him.”

  “And?” When she didn’t answer, Luke waved a hand in front of him slightly. “It might make it easier if you talk it through.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Ara licked her lips, her gaze focused on a point on the floor. “Sam told me he was twenty-one. She was flirting with him. It was obvious, and I disapproved since he seemed so much older than her. He also had a look about him. Like he wanted to fit in with the wealthy but couldn’t quite pull it off. He wasn’t born with money.”

  “Working class.”

  Ara nodded. “Definitely.” Her eyebrow creased in concentration. “Sam told me he was an art dealer, but Kat knew him as the delivery driver.” Ara was staring off again, a strange look on her face.

  “What?”

  “Their interaction . . .” She frowned. “Sam told me she was trying to get a date with him, but something about their body language indicated they knew each other.”

  Luke straightened up. “What do you mean?”

  Ara gasped. “Of course.” She scrambled to her feet and grabbed Luke’s hand. “Come on. I think we might have video of this guy.”

  * * *

  Ara watched the images flicker across the screen in rapid succession. The Boones’ security system was top of the line, with cameras in nearly every room of the house. The bedrooms and bathrooms remained private. It’d always made sense to Ara, but now she wished her employer hadn’t been so particular.

  She was chilly in her damp exercise clothes, and goose bumps prickled her arms. Finally, she spotted what she was looking for and gave a cry of excitement.

  “There.” She pointed to a nondescript van that parked in the driveway. A young man dropped out of the driver’s seat. Blond hair, a long-legged walk, broad shoulders.

  Nick.

  “When was this?” Luke’s voice had an edge to it.

  “August twelfth. Two months before the kidnapping.”

  They watched in silence as Nick removed a large, painting-sized package from the back of the van and approached the house.

  “Can you change the camera angle?”

  “Of course.” Ara moved to the foyer. Nick was greeted by the main housekeeper, Rose, and directed upstairs.

  Right to Sam’s bedroom door.

  She came to the door, barefoot, wearing jeans and a simple T-shirt. Her hair was loose and flowing over her shoulders. Ara had to swallow hard at the image. So damn young.

  She focused her attention on the interaction between Sam and Nick. There was a brief conversation. Sam smiled broadly, flashing perfect teeth, before she opened the door wide and they disappeared.

  “Can you change it to inside the bedroom?”

  “No.” Frustration had Ara’s lips tightening. On screen, Rose reappeared, her quick stride taking her down the hall. They waited several minutes, but when no one else came by, Ara began fast-forwarding the video.

  Nearly thirty minutes later, the door to Sam’s bedroom opened. She was laughing. Her hand brushed against Nick’s arm.

  Beside her, Luke sucked in a breath.

  The two of them continued down the hall and stairs. Out the front door. Obviously flirting, based on body language. Nick’s face flushed a few times, and Sam elbowed him in jest. He gave a final wave before climbing into the van and driving off. Sam waited until she couldn’t see him anymore, and then she turned back toward the house.

  There was a skip in her step.

  Ara stopped the video, her stomach tight, her mind whirling.

  He’d known Sam.

  He’d been inside the house.

  The importance of that did not escape Ara. Since Sam and Nick had known each other, it was entirely possible they’d met at other times. Secretly.

  “He gained her trust,” Luke said aloud, completing Ara’s own line of thought. “Slowly. They dated, kept their relationship a secret.”

  “And the whole time, he was planning.”

  He spun toward her. “When was it confirmed Sam and Holly were going to the gallery opening?”

  “One week before. At least, as far as Sam was concerned. Holly had confirmed several weeks earlier, and dinner reservations were made, but she didn’t tell Sam about it until the Sunday right before the exhibit.” She bit her lip. “They had a huge fight about it because Sam didn’t want to go. She had made plans to go to some club with her friends.”

  “Was it the type of argument a young teenage girl might tell her boyfriend about?”

  Ara nodded. “Exactly the type. Which means that the text you found on Sam’s phone the night of the kidnapping could’ve been to Nick.”

  “And she would’ve been deleting all of Nick’s texts because she didn’t want her mother to learn about the relationship.” Luke continued pacing, his steps coming as fast as his words. “Let’s play this out. Sam and Nick meet, and when they start dating, he convinces her to keep it a secret from everyone, claiming her parents wouldn’t approve of him. She starts paying Gannon to give her time and space so they can meet without being detected.”

  “This kind of relationship would have appealed to Sam,” Ara said. “She was rebellious. And she knew Holly would never approve of her dating someone so much older, especially someone who worked as a delivery boy. He would have fed right into Sam’s notion that her world was fake, that the people in it didn’t care about anything real. She was already feeling some of that anyway and—”

  “He would’ve played on it,” Luke finished her thought. He jabbed a finger at the frozen image of Nick. “He’s the mastermind. I’ll bet you anything. Nick came up with the brilliant plan to kidnap her, convincing her it was the perfect way to get back at her stepfather and her mother.”

  Luke charged out of the room. Ara chased after him, catching up in the dining room. Several members of the FBI team were hunched over laptops, but they glanced up, their concentration broken, when Luke burst in.

  “I need to know who Nick is, people. I need a last name. I need an address. And I need it right now.”

  “I might be able to help with that.” Thomas spoke from a corner of the room, hanging up his cell phone and tucking it into his pocket. A broad smile cracked his face. “I have some leverage for you to use at the gallery. The owner will hand over everything she has, and she’ll be grateful to do it.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Shaking with fury, Luke marched into the art gallery, Ara hot on his heels. Two different employees tried to stop him, but he bypassed them without a word, bulldozing his way right into Kat’s office.

  Kat jumped in her chair, her startled gaze drawn to the pair of them in the doorway. She placed a hand to her throat. As Luke drew closer, he could see the rapid pulsing in the curve of the woman’s neck.

  “You scared me.” Kat’s tone was accusatory. “What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

  “I want all the information you have on Nick.” Luke’s tone left no room for argument. Kat caught the dark look on his face, and her own paled, made starker by the bright dusting of blush on her cheeks.

  “I told you, Agent, you need a warrant. Do you have one?”

  “No.”

  “Then I suggest—”

  “I suggest,” Luke said, leaning closer to her, crowding her, forcing Kat to move backward in her chair, “that if you don’t want to go to jail, you comply with my request.”

  “Threats again,” Kat’s words were meant to be tough, but her voice shook slightly. “Those don’t work with me.”r />
  “I have evidence that you are forging artwork and substituting the fakes for the originals when the paintings are delivered to the buyer.”

  Kat’s face paled even more, and her whole body began to tremble. “That’s . . . that’s ridiculous.”

  “That’s the truth,” Luke spit out. “Did Nick know what you were doing? Was he in on it? Is that why you’re so protective of him?”

  Ara stepped forward. “You’ve sold several pieces to the Boones. It would be a simple matter to have an art appraiser out to the house to assess whether or not the paintings are the real deal.” She gave her a mean smile. “It could be done within the hour.”

  “Once that happens,” Luke added, “the FBI will have enough evidence to launch an official investigation. Immediately. Is that what you want?”

  The desperate look on Kat’s face answered for her.

  “Give me the records.” Luke lowered his voice, making it smooth and comforting. “Now that your secret is out, there’s no need to keep us from questioning him.”

  “You want to talk to him about what I’m doing?”

  “No.” Luke backed up, and Kat visibly exhaled. “I want to discuss a completely different matter with him. But if I have to arrest you in order to be able to comb this place over for his information, then I will.” He cocked his head at her. “Do I need to do that?”

  “No.” With a shaking hand, she opened the drawer next to her. “I don’t have much on him. Just a telephone number and an address.”

  She handed a manila folder over to him. When he flipped it open, his heart sank at how little paperwork was inside.

  “What about paystubs? 1099s?”

  She flushed, and her hand gripped the handle of the drawer tighter. “I always paid him in cash. It was per delivery.”

  He pinned her with a dark stare. “If you’re lying to me . . .”

  The threat hung in the air between them, unspoken.

  “I’m not.” She swallowed hard. “I promise. That’s all I have.”

  * * *

  “It seems our Nick is something of an enigma.” Luke took a turn into Mike’s Mechanics. It was the address listed for him in Kat’s records. The area around the shop was a mix of old and new, ancient brownstones mingling with their modern, glass-fronted counterparts. Mike’s stood out, the storefront twice the size of others in the area. His garage doors were wide open, cars spilling out in organized chaos.

  “At least we have his last name now,” Ara replied. “Your team will work their magic to find Nick Flores.”

  “In the meantime, we follow the trail of breadcrumbs.” Luke climbed out of the car. The scents of gasoline and oil hung heavy in the air. The doors to the shop were open, and an older man with graying hair and a potbelly was crouched over a car. He looked up when they approached, his bright-blue eyes startling against his dark skin.

  “What can I do for you folks?”

  “We’re looking for Nick Flores?”

  “Nick?” The old man’s eyebrows drew together. “Haven’t seen him around lately.” He reached for a rag and wiped his greasy hands. “Has something happened?”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Because when two cops show up on your doorstep, it’s usually not a good thing.” He caught the look of surprise on Ara’s face and chuckled. “It’s the way you move, sweetheart. A cop all the way. I should know. In my youth, it paid to know what makes a cop a cop, even when they aren’t wearing the uniform.”

  “And you are . . .”

  “Mike Travis.” He swung a dirty hand in the direction of the sign over his shop. “Owner.”

  “When’s the last time you saw Nick?” Luke asked.

  “I’d like to know why you’re looking for Nick before I start giving out information about him. Is he in some kind of trouble?”

  “I can’t give out the particulars,” Luke said, “but what I can say is that if I don’t find Nick soon, things might get a hell of a lot worse.”

  Mike was quiet for a moment, his gaze drifting between Luke and Ara. Sizing them up, perhaps trying to determine their intentions. Ara met his stare, and he sniffed. “Is that your assessment as well?”

  “We need to find him. It’s . . .”

  “It’s important,” Luke finished for her, stepping toward the man. “And we don’t have a lot of time to waste. So I’m going to ask again, when was the last time you saw Nick?”

  Mike let out a breath. “It would be last Friday. He was doing some work for me in exchange for storage of his van.”

  “His van?”

  “Yup.” Mike threw the dirty rag onto his workbench before leaning against it. “He has a delivery job of some sort. Drives an old Ford for it. He doesn’t get paid much and needed a place to store it. We made up a nice bartering system. He does some work for me around the shop in exchange for a parking space.”

  “Where’s the van now?”

  Mike shrugged. “Dunno. He must’ve come and picked it up on Saturday morning. It wasn’t here when I came in. Haven’t seen the van or him since.”

  “Is that unusual?”

  “Kinda. On Friday, we discussed him doing some work for me today, but he hasn’t shown up. That’s not like him . . .” Mike’s voice trailed off as his eyes widened. He stood up, squaring his shoulders. “Has something happened to the boy? Is he hurt?”

  “We don’t know. We’re trying to locate him.” Luke’s tone was even, but it did nothing to ease Mike’s sudden worry. The lines in his forehead deepened, and his mouth formed a frown.

  “So you’re lookin’ at him for some kind of crime then.”

  “Would you be surprised if we did?”

  “Hell yes.” Mike’s face flushed. “Nick’s a real good kid. He’s no innocent flower, mind you, but for the most part he keeps his nose real clean. A hell of a lot cleaner than I did at his age.”

  “Do you know where he lives? Do you have an address for him?” Luke asked.

  Mike hesitated.

  Ara caught his gaze. “I get it. You care about him.”

  “Whatever you think he’s done, he hasn’t.”

  “Which is exactly what Nick will tell us when we find him,” she said. “But we need to find him first. It could mean the difference between life and death. If you care about him, you’ll help us.”

  She paused, letting her words sink in. Beside her, Luke was stiff.

  “Okay,” Mike said. “Come with me.”

  Luke let out the breath he’d been holding and glanced at her. The corners of his mouth tipped up just slightly, just enough to tell her she’d done a good job.

  Together, they followed behind Mike as he hurried to the back of his shop and into a messy office. Piles of grease-stained paper formed mountains around an old telephone and beat-up computer. Mike went straight to the metal filing cabinet and opened the first drawer. It gave a squeal of protest.

  “His dad isn’t alive anymore, died two years ago, but his mama’s a real nice lady. She used to work down at the convenience store over on the next block.”

  He pulled out a folder and opened it. His stained finger trailed down a page until he found what he was looking for.

  “Damn, I think this is his old address. They moved right after his daddy died.”

  “It’s all right. Write that one down for us anyway.”

  Mike scribbled it on a scrap piece of paper he unearthed. He handed it to Luke, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “There is another place you might try though.”

  “Where?”

  “Nick has a warehouse he paints at.”

  Luke’s heart jumped in his throat. Beside him, Ara stiffened as the words registered with her.

  “He’s an aspiring artist,” Mike continued, “and creates these amazing—”

  Luke cut him off. “Where is it? Where’s the warehouse?”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The warehouse was only fifteen minutes away from Mike’s garage. It was nestled in an industrial area, the bu
ildings showing their wear with chipped concrete facings and faded roofs. Nick’s was easy to spot, the last on the row, the smallest of them all. When they drove past, Ara scanned it carefully. Not a whisper of movement.

  But her instincts were screaming.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Luke hissed as he picked up speed and drove them around the corner.

  Ara realized her hand had crept toward the door handle. She forced herself to pull it back. “Sam’s in there.”

  “Maybe.” He found a position for the vehicle that was out of the way of traffic but allowed them to still see the front of the building. “Maybe not.”

  Despite his words, a muscle had tightened at his jaw, and his movements were high energy, as though he’d also had a rush of adrenaline flood over him.

  This was the break they’d been waiting for. And Luke knew it as much as she did.

  The FBI agents descended and were organized within forty minutes of Luke’s phone call. Ara waited outside with a bulky babysitter named Mark, who was ordered not to allow her anywhere near the warehouse during the raid. Tension coiled in her stomach. It felt like she was crawling out of her skin.

  She wanted to be in on the action. Desperately wanted to break down the doors, rush inside, and help in the search. Standing outside, doing nothing, made her feel helpless and useless.

  Out of control.

  Hold on, Sam. Just hold on.

  A flash of metal from the top of a building caught Ara’s eye. The snipers were almost in position. The raid was about to begin. Her body felt tight, muscles rigid. She couldn’t tell one agent from another, couldn’t see where Luke was as they approached the warehouse. The team moved together, a coordinated mass of helmets and vests.

  The sound of the battering ram hitting the door echoed across the space separating Ara from the agents. She sucked in a sharp breath as the door gave way. The scent of tear gas, the flurry of pounding boots and men shouting were all carried on the breeze.

  The moments stretched out. Seconds. A minute or two at most. But it felt like an eternity. Ara strained to see through the cloud of dust, to catch a glimpse of the first agents as they exited the building. Her heart pounded so hard against her ribcage, it hurt.