When She's Gone

by Palmer, Jane;

  “Are they working with Dmitri? Or for him?” Luke asked.

  “We can’t tie them together,” Vicki answered. “Yes, Eddie works in the club, as did Gina. But other than that, we can’t find any further connection. There’s no indication, either from their arrests or from the people we’ve interviewed, that Eddie and Gina were in deeper with Dmitri or the mafia.” She arched her eyebrows. “We can, however, tie them to the art gallery. Nick worked as a delivery driver for the owner, Katherine Carmichael, and we have evidence linking the painting forgery scheme to Kat. Eddie also worked at the gallery part time, doing odd jobs as needed.”

  Ara sucked in a sharp breath. Beside her, Luke held up a hand. “Hold on, Eddie also worked for the art gallery?”

  Vicki nodded. “We have several witnesses, including former employees, who all agree that Eddie worked periodically for the gallery.”

  “And Eddie also worked for Dmitri. Can we tie Dmitri to the gallery?”

  “No.” Vicki pushed a button on the projector, and several investigative pages appeared on the screen, some highlighted. “And this scheme would be way outside of the realm of things he’s suspected of. His most profitable businesses involve drugs and the sex trade.”

  “And yet,” Luke interrupted, “if Dmitri is invested in the forgeries coming out of the gallery, it would be difficult to trace that connection. I think we need to keep him in play.”

  Several heads nodded in agreement around the table. Vicki’s mouth pursed slightly. “In all honesty, sir, I can’t understand why Dmitri would bother. The kidnapping would give him money, of course, but it’s a huge risk to have kidnapped the stepdaughter of someone as well-known as Oliver Boone.”

  Ara raised her eyebrows at Vicki’s argument. Part of her wanted to reject it. Dmitri was tied to several of the individuals involved, and Luke was right—it would be difficult to tie him to the forgery scheme if he was behind it. And yet, she had to admit that Vicki’s point was spot-on. Dmitri’s goal was to remain in the shadows, out of the direct sight of law enforcement and the FBI. Like a snake slithering through the woods, one they knew was there but could never quite catch. Kidnapping Sam would change the rules of the game, upping the attention on him dramatically. The amount of ransom requested didn’t seem big enough for such a risk.

  From the tightening of Luke’s mouth and the tapping of his thumb, he was also considering Vicki’s argument. Whether he agreed with her or not wasn’t clear, and before Ara could ask, Vicki spoke again.

  “We received an address from our informant at Mist. A house she went to with Eddie and Gina. This residence is owned by Marcus Jackson, an art restorer and appraiser.”

  The name rang a distant bell for Ara. She’d heard of him before. As she tried to place it, his image came on the projector. A sharp, handsome man with edged cheekbones and perfect, white teeth.

  Ara gasped.

  Luke looked over at her. “You know him?”

  “Not personally. But Holly has used him, on occasion.” The edge of her excitement wedged deeper, and she spoke faster. “He was recommended to her by Kat.”

  “We just keep coming back to the gallery, don’t we?” Luke turned to Thomas. “I want Kat Carmichael picked up right now.”

  “If she refuses to come?” Thomas asked.

  “Then put some men on her, watching her. I want to know where she is.” He turned his attention back to Vicki. “Does Marcus have any priors?”

  “Clean as a whistle.” She lifted her chin a bit. “I took the liberty of having some officers patrol past his house last night when I learned of the connection. It’s been quiet.”

  Luke flashed a quick smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Not for long. Good work, Vicki. I want the entire team digging into the art gallery and Kat Carmichael. I want money trails, I want evidence. I want to know if she’s behind this kidnapping, if it’s Dmitri Grishnokov pulling the strings, or if Nick and Eddie are working alone.”

  His voice hardened. “And I want every single place connected to Eddie, Nick, and Gina searched. They’ve moved Sam to a new location. We need to find it, people. And we need to find it now. Time’s running out.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The neighborhood was quiet and quaint in its simple touches. A child’s bike lying across a driveway, a yellow ribbon tied around a tree, the bright, colorful cushions decorating front porch swings. Suburban America, complete with postage-stamp-sized yards and cookie-cutter houses.

  Marcus Jackson’s house was a small, one-story ranch style. The front porch was littered with dead plants, and the yard needed resodding. His roof was faded, and a broken gutter hung precariously, filled to the brim with leaves and dirt.

  “The Homeowners’ Association must hate him,” Ara remarked as she climbed out of the car.

  Luke frowned as he slammed his own door shut. “Does Oliver do background checks on people he uses?”

  She gave a half shrug. “I would expect so, although you’d have to ask him for sure. Why?”

  “This place is a far cry from the Boone mansion, that’s all.”

  Ara followed him up the walkway but then took a detour to the garage. She borrowed a cement brick from the pile nearby. Standing on top of it on her tiptoes, she looked through the tiny windows at the top of the door and whistled.

  “What?” Luke asked.

  “A Ferrari.” She hopped down and replaced the brick before swiping her hands together to remove the dust her fingertips had picked up. “Candy-red and tricked out. He’s getting some serious money from somewhere.”

  Luke nodded and continued up the porch. Ara followed, the rickety stairs creaking with her weight. The swift knock Luke gave the door sounded extremely loud to her ears.

  No answer.

  She reached out and rang the doorbell a few times. The chiming bells echoed through the house, but nothing stirred.

  “I don’t think anyone’s home,” Luke declared, leaning over the railing to look through the closest window. “I can’t see a damn thing through the curtains.”

  “He could be inside but avoiding us.” Ara pounded on the door with her fist.

  “Come on.” Luke spun on his heel, his long strides taking the creaky stairs with ease.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m calling it in. We’ll get a team out here for surveillance.” He cast a glance over his shoulder. “He’s got to come home sometime, but I don’t have the luxury of waiting around for him.”

  “Hold on.” She bounded down after him. “He has to be home. His car’s in the garage.”

  Luke shook his head. “He could have caught a ride with a friend. He could’ve taken a taxi.”

  “But we can’t just leave without making sure.” She tugged on his arm, and he stopped midstep. “This guy is the best lead we have at the moment.”

  “I’ll get a warrant for the house.”

  “That’ll take time.” Ara glanced down at her watch. “We don’t have it.”

  “Perhaps, but I don’t have legal grounds to enter.”

  “That only means that you can’t go in.”

  His eyes widened with understanding. “I’m a federal agent. I can’t just stand by and watch you break into someone’s house.”

  “Then close your eyes.”

  She marched up the driveway, circling to the back gate entrance. She rose on her tiptoes, peering over the fence and scanning the yard for any potential guard dogs.

  It was quiet.

  She pulled her gun from the holster before flicking the gate latch open and slipping inside. The grass was ragged with light-brown patches of dirt peeking through. The back patio concrete was cracked. A rusting BBQ sat in a corner offset by two large potted plants with sagging leaves and wilted flowers. Ara tried lifting the pane of the nearest window, but it was locked. The blinds were shut, preventing her from catching a glimpse of what lay inside.

  Silently, she crept up to the back door. The top half was clear glass, the bottom wooden. No shades.<
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  Her heart beat faster as the destruction inside the house slowly become visible. The kitchen’s tile flooring was littered with trash, pots and pans, food from the fridge.

  Cabinet doors hung open, forgotten. Drawers half cocked, their contents spilling out. She paused outside the door, straining to hear anything coming from inside. Dread twisted her stomach.

  Using the tail of her shirt to prevent fingerprints, she gripped the knob on the door.

  Please don’t be locked. Please.

  With a hard twist and a push, the door swung open. The small measure of relief was overshadowed by the smell that smacked her in the face. A scent she would know anywhere.

  Death.

  Ara hesitated. A quick flash of faces crossed her mind, the echoes of screams painfully loud, and she took a step backward. She sucked in a sharp breath and shook her head, clearing the thoughts.

  With silent footsteps, she carefully traversed the kitchen, clearing the rooms as she passed. Each one was empty, each worse than the last. Papers, clothes, books, knickknacks. All of them had been thrown down, torn apart, smashed into pieces. The place had been completely trashed.

  The smell grew stronger the closer she got to the front door. Keeping her back to the hallway wall, she slid up to the open door frame leading to what was probably the living room. A light, the only one on in the darkened house, was shining out into the entryway. With a final deep breath, Ara pivoted into the room, gun raised.

  And came face-to-face with the source of that horrific smell.

  Marcus Jackson was duct-taped to a chair wearing nothing but a pair of pajama bottoms. His feet were bare, the toes curled grotesquely into the carpet, the ankles bound with more tape. The dark sprinkling of hair on his chest could barely been seen through a thick layer of dried blood. His head was thrown back, his face damaged from the beating he’d received before his executioner had slit his neck from ear to ear.

  Ara could see the white bone of his spine.

  “Fuck,” she whispered, lowering her weapon. “We’re too late.”

  * * *

  Luke’s face reflected a hard coldness as he stared down at the dead man in the living room.

  “Someone knew we were coming,” she said, stating the obvious.

  “Yes.” He spit out the answer through clenched teeth. “But how?”

  “Maybe Kat?” Ara suggested. “By asking Thomas to have her picked up, she may have figured out what was going on.”

  Luke shook his head. “No. This took time. The bastards were here last night.” He didn’t say it, but she heard it anyway. While we were sleeping.

  The guilt raged through her until her muscles were so tight, she thought they would snap. Another death on her conscience. Another connection to Sam lost.

  “It could’ve been Michelle,” he said aloud, almost to himself.

  “Our informant? Why would she tell us about Marcus and then have him killed?”

  “She wouldn’t have. But Dmitri may have figured out she spoke to us.”

  “So you do think he’s involved,” she said.

  “It’s still on the table.”

  A thought struck Ara with such force that she sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh God, it could have been us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Dmitri was surprised by Gina’s death. We caught him off guard, just for a moment, with the news. Maybe Nick and Eddie messed up by killing her, or maybe Dmitri didn’t know about the kidnapping until we told him. Afterward—”

  “He could’ve started a cleanup.” Luke finished the thought for her. “Killing everyone who could connect him to Eddie and Nick.”

  “And the paintings,” she added.

  Luke grabbed his phone out of his pocket and dialed. Ara half listened as he spoke to Thomas in rough, clipped words. Kat hadn’t wanted to come in for questioning. Luke ordered her immediate arrest.

  As he continued with Thomas, Ara surveyed the room. The couch cushions were ripped apart, the stuffing pulled out to litter the floor. The television was smashed, statues cracked in two, bookshelves stripped bare.

  “What were they looking for?” She brushed aside a novel split along its spine to reveal the papers lying underneath. Yesterday’s mail. A flyer from a local grocery store, a cable bill, a notice from the Homeowners’ Association.

  “Something important to them.” Luke snapped his phone closed and slowly circled the room. “Something valuable enough to beat and terrorize Marcus for.”

  “Or . . .” Ara bit her lip. “It’s for show.”

  “To make us think they were looking for something,” Luke added. He paused at the torn-up couch, his forehead creased. “To slow us down.”

  “Or to keep us from finding something that would really help us.” Ara approached the desk. “If Marcus was involved in the forgery scheme, then he may also have been involved in the kidnapping. He may have written down where they’re keeping Sam.”

  “I’ll have forensics go through everything immediately.”

  “There’s too much.” Ara opened her hands, encompassing the entire mess. “If there is something in all of this to help us, Sam will be dead by the time we find it.”

  “Yes, but we have someone Dmitri hasn’t managed to kill yet.” His expression darkened. “And I’m going to make her tell me what the hell is going on.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “Are you ready for this?” Luke asked.

  Ara watched through the observation window as Kat paced the tiny interrogation room. She was muttering to herself, arms crossed over her chest, face tilted to the floor. Nervous. Very nervous.

  “I’m ready.” Ara surprised herself by placing a hand on Luke’s arm before he could open the door. “Thank you. For letting me in the room with you.”

  He could’ve easily kept her out. She wasn’t a police officer or a federal agent. She’d been ready to fight to be in the observation room next door, at least, where she could see and hear Luke’s interrogation. But before she could even ask, he’d shocked her with the news that she could be involved in the questioning.

  At her thanks, the mask he wore dropped for just a moment. A breath. But it was enough to see the mixture of emotions crossing his face. Surprise. Pleasure. Then his jaw tightened, and his face smoothed into its normal, placid expression.

  “You’re a member of the team. And you know more about Sam than anyone. It’s important you’re in the room.”

  Those were all good reasons, but it was more than that. He trusted her.

  Kat paled when Luke and Ara entered the interrogation room. She paused midstride, her gaze moving from his face to hers. The air in the room smelled sickly-sweet, like a mixture of sweat and fragrant body wash.

  “What is the meaning of this? You promised to leave me alone if I gave you what you wanted.”

  “The situation has changed.” Luke gestured to the closest chair. “Please sit down.”

  Her hands tightened on her arms, wrinkling the silky fabric of her blouse. “I don’t want to sit down. I want to know why you’ve arrested me like some kind of common criminal.”

  “Maybe because you are a common criminal,” Ara offered wryly.

  Kat’s cheeks flushed. “How dare you—”

  “Oh, give up the victim act.” The other woman’s haughty tone was more than Ara could stomach. “You’ve been selling forged paintings for God knows how long. It’s a wonder you haven’t been arrested before now.”

  “You can’t prove anything.” Kat lifted her chin. “I had no idea Nick was delivering forgeries to my customers. It’s shameful and embarrassing, but I’m not the criminal here.”

  She’d obviously been thinking about this, coming up with a reasonable explanation for the fake paintings hanging in the Boones’ house, an explanation that would keep her innocent and pin all the criminal activity on someone else.

  “Perhaps,” Luke responded. “But, as I’ve said, the situation has changed. Arresting you was the only way I could ensure your
protection.”

  “My protection?” Her voice rose to a screech. “How exactly is dragging me out of my gallery in handcuffs ensuring my protection?”

  “I’m protecting you,” Luke said, opening a folder and throwing down an autopsy photograph of Marcus, “from this.”

  All of the color drained from Kat’s cheeks as her gaze dropped to the image before her. She swayed, her knees bending. She would’ve dropped to the floor had Luke not reached out to grip her arm.

  “Marcus. Oh my God, Marcus.”

  Luke steered her into the closest chair. “We found him this morning. In his home. He’d been beaten, his neck slashed.”

  Tears flooded Kat’s eyes, and she brought a trembling hand to her face. “And you’ve arrested me . . .” Panic made her eyes widen, her nostrils flare. “There’s no way I can hide from him.”

  “From who?” Ara stepped closer to the table, placing her hands flat on its cold surface. “Who do you need to hide from?”

  Kat’s gaze remained glued on Marcus’s face. She shook her head violently.

  “I can help you,” Luke’s tone was a soothing whisper, a calm promise in the face of Kat’s desperate panic. “I can protect you.”

  She let out a burst of laughter. “You can’t protect me. I’m a dead woman walking. There isn’t any place you can put me to protect me from him.”

  “Bullshit.” Luke leaned in closer, dipping his head so that he could look her in the face. “I have the resources of the FBI at my fingertips. You tell me who you’re afraid of, and we can make you disappear.” He snapped his fingers and Kat jumped. “Just like that. It can happen in as few as four hours. He’ll never be able to find you. I’ll turn you into a ghost.”

  Ara could see Kat wanted to believe him. The desperation wavered, the panic losing its edge.

  Suspicion took its place.

  “Why should I trust you?”

  Luke pulled out a new photograph from his folder. This one was of Sam, her sweetheart face lit up with a beautiful smile. “Because I want to save her life. And I need your help to do it. If you answer our questions, if you help me get her home, then I will help you out of the mess you’re in.”