by Sarah Wynde
Lucas glanced at her, sensing her sudden worry. “What is it?”
Moving quickly, Sylvie walked to the elevator door just as it opened and its sole passenger, Ty, disembarked.
“Thank God,” he said with a sigh of relief. “Have you seen Rachel?”
“Rachel? Here? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Don’t start, Sylvie.”
“This party is totally inappropriate for a fourteen-year-old.”
“I said, don’t start. Chesney wanted her here.” Ty rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, as if a stress headache was just beginning.
“God, that man is a lousy father,” Sylvie muttered. Not that she had the right to criticize. It wasn’t as if she’d been much of a mother. But she would never have brought a child to a party of mercenaries, much less a teenage girl.
“What’s going on?” Lucas directed his question to Ty, not seeming to need introductions.
Ty glanced at him. Perhaps he recognized Lucas’s potential usefulness, because he replied without hesitating, “Hourly check-ins. Her bodyguard hasn’t answered.”
“Lydia?” Sylvie asked. That wasn’t like the older woman. Sylvie respected Lydia’s ability and ethics, but calling her strict barely did her justice. Rigid and uncompromising were closer. Fortunately, she and Sylvie usually worked opposite shifts.
Ty nodded.
Sylvie frowned, but Lucas immediately followed up with another question. “Who’ve you got looking and where?”
“I’ve got four of us on duty tonight. Mark and me on Chesney, James at the car, and Lydia on Rachel,” Ty responded promptly. “I’ve called James in already. I met him downstairs and he’s searching, but it’s crowded, noisy, and tough to see down there. Chesney’s in his VP’s office and Mark’s with him there. I was about to start looking up here.”
“Where was Lydia on her last check-in?”
“Downstairs,” Ty answered.
“And how late is she?”
Ty glanced at his watch. “Twenty minutes now.”
“We’ll start downstairs then,” Lucas stated.
Ty glanced at Sylvie. She hadn’t said a word since asking if Lydia was the bodyguard on duty. She could see in the raise of his eyebrows that he was questioning whether this was okay so she smiled crookedly and nodded.
As the elevator dropped, she thought to Lucas, ‘A little bossy, aren’t you?’
‘Sorry,’ he thought but without a trace of apology in his emotions. ‘The first hours are the most important when someone’s missing.’
“Tell me about Lydia,” he added aloud.
“Organized, responsible, reliable, uptight,” Sylvie responded promptly.
“Not the kind to lose track of time?” Lucas asked, but Sylvie could tell that he already knew the answer. In fact, she was almost sure that he’d known the answer to his previous question, too.
She narrowed her eyes, looking at him intently. “Did you investigate us?”
He looked away from her, glancing at the floor number display as if checking how close they were to the ground. “Are you going to get mad when I say yes?”
She thought about it. It seemed like the kind of thing she would have gotten angry about ten years ago. Was it a sign that she’d grown up that she no longer felt that way? If she’d been capable of it, she would have found out everything there was to know about Lucas and the people around him. “Not this time.”
“Good.”
“Did you learn anything interesting?”
He grinned at her. “Nothing that indicated anyone was connected to the Zetas and that was all I was looking for. But your colleague James is an eclectic guy.”
Oh, Sylvie so wanted to ask questions. James never talked about his past. But they’d arrived at the first floor and reluctantly she put the thought aside. First, they needed to find Lydia and Rachel and then they’d try to learn more about Chesney. Maybe after that she’d grill Lucas about James.
Finding Lydia turned out not to be difficult. James was hovering outside the nearest women’s bathroom, cell phone pressed to his ear, talking to Ty.
“I don’t know,” he was saying, sounding exasperated. “There’s a sick woman, that’s all I’ve found out. I can’t go in. It’s the women’s bathroom and there are at least two women in there. You want them to call the cops on me? Ah, here she is. Back in five.” He stuffed his phone into his suit jacket pocket and turned to Sylvie with relief and a quick fire scrutiny of Lucas.
“No Rachel?” Sylvie asked.
James shook his head. “I asked a woman who was going in to look for them. She came back out for a minute, said no kid, but a woman who seemed sick or drunk, then went back in.”
Sylvie nodded and didn’t pause. Pushing the door open, she entered the bathroom. It was surprisingly empty for a women’s restroom during a party. Two women were crouched on the floor at the far wall, talking to a woman half on the ground, half leaning against the wall.
It was Lydia. Her eyelids were fluttering and she was mumbling something, weakly trying to push away the hands of a woman who was trying to get her up. “You’ve got a friend waiting outside for you,” the woman said. “Let me help you.”
“Lydia, where’s Rachel?” Sylvie dropped to the ground next to Lydia, assessing her quickly. Someone who didn’t know her might say drunk. Really, really drunk. But Sylvie knew better. Could she have had a stroke? Or a heart attack? Or was she drugged?
Lydia tried to say something but the words were indistinct. Her head lolled sideways.
“She’s trashed,” the other woman said with disapproval. “She needs to sleep it off, but not in here.”
“She needs medical attention,” Sylvie corrected her. She was running scenarios in her head, trying to think through the situation.
Say Lydia got sick. A stroke. Would Rachel have gone looking for assistance? She might not have had her cell phone on her, but surely there would have been a woman here who could help her. Why was this bathroom so empty? Sylvie asked the question out loud.
“There’s another restroom on the other side of the auditorium,” the first woman answered readily. “It’s closer to the dancing and bar. I was on my way upstairs so I stopped at this one.”
The other woman nodded. “I came over here because the other one had a line, but it’s not as convenient.”
All right, so it was possible that no one was here when Lydia got sick. It still didn’t make sense that Rachel would leave Lydia. The girl obeyed all the rules and abandoning her bodyguard was definitely not in the rulebook. But she’d been more rebellious lately, Sylvie reminded herself. There was the drinking and then the lie that took her to her mother’s art show. Could Rachel have seen this as an opportunity for a little freedom, not realizing how sick Lydia was? Maybe she was out on the dance floor this very minute, flirting and pretending to be older than her age.
But what if Lydia was drugged? Not on drugs, not by choice, but deliberately drugged with the intent to knock her unconscious. Could Rachel have been kidnapped? From the women’s bathroom in the middle of a party? That would almost mean a woman had to be involved. And maybe that Rachel went willingly.
Moving quickly, Sylvie hurried back to the door.
“She’s here,” she said to James. “But we need to get her to a hospital, ASAP. Call Ty and find out whether he wants us to call an ambulance or take her. And tell him there’s no sign of Rachel.”
James nodded, face grim, pulling out his phone before she’d finished the sentence.
Sylvie turned to Lucas. ‘What do you know about Rachel’s mother?’
He looked a little startled, but answered, ‘Almost nothing.’
‘New question, then—what can you find out about Rachel’s mother and how fast?’
‘You think she might be involved?’
‘I think . . .’ Sylvie paused and then finished out loud. “I’m not sure what I think. Except that this doesn’t feel right.”
Chapter Twelve
The
train stopped.
Dillon frowned. It had stopped several times already, but this felt different. There’d been none of the noise that indicated they were coming into a station, just a slow glide to a halt. Why weren’t they moving?
Rachel propped herself up on her elbows and looked out the window into the dark night. She’d boarded the train and found her room without trouble. Both beds had already been made in the tiny train compartment and she’d promptly climbed into the top bunk.
Dillon had thought about lying down in the lower bunk, but it felt weird somehow. He didn’t sleep any more, of course, and lying in the bed with the bunk on top of him, no view out the window, seemed too coffin-like for his taste. Instead, he perched on the closed toilet seat, so close to Rachel in the small space that if he raised his hand he could touch her leg.
Rachel pressed her face up to the glass. “There’s nothing out there.”
“Nothing?”
“And we’re not moving.” There was a hint of worry in her voice.
“Way to point out the obvious,” Dillon responded and then immediately felt guilty. He shouldn’t be mean, even if she couldn’t hear him. But he was nervous and scared. He couldn’t seem to stop worrying about all that might go wrong. Or all that might have already gone wrong. He wondered if Lydia was okay.
He’d realized, too, that he and Rachel hadn’t talked about what she’d do after she got to Tassamara. They should have. She’d get off the bus and then what? He could go find Akira but he’d be leaving Rachel alone. Where would she go? What would she do? Tassamara was too small to have a bus station: it was just a stop. If she stood there and waited—a strange girl all by herself on the side of the road—someone would start asking her questions within a couple of minutes. They’d find out she was a runaway and before he could even text his mom, Rachel would be on her way back to Washington.
No, he had to make sure someone could meet her. But who?
If he texted Akira, he knew exactly what would happen. She’d call his dad and discover what was going on, even if he told her not to. Akira didn’t like uncertainty. She’d want to know what he was doing and she’d take the most direct route possible to finding out. If he texted his uncle, Zane would tell Akira and the end result would be the same.
He could try texting his Aunt Grace. Of all his relatives, Grace was closest in age to him. She’d been his regular babysitter when he was little and if he asked her to keep a secret, she would. But Grace was always busy. She’d do it, but she wouldn’t be happy about sitting by the side of the road waiting for a bus. His Aunt Natalya would wait for the bus, but would she send Rachel back to Washington the moment she found out who Rachel was? Maybe.
No, he could only trust one person to meet the bus and not ask questions. His grandpa. But how would Rachel react to that? Would she freak out if a strange old man approached her? Dillon felt his frustration level rising. Why hadn’t he thought about this earlier?
Rachel shivered. “It’s so cold. I hope it’s warmer in Florida.” Her black leggings and long-sleeved shirt weren’t enough for the weather, but they were inside now. She should be warming up.
“You could turn the heat up,” Dillon suggested. “The thermostat is right behind you on the wall.”
She didn’t respond, and he sighed. He understood why she’d had to throw away her cell phone, but not being able to communicate with her was driving him crazy.
The train still hadn’t started up again, so Dillon stood, leaning against the bunk and peering over Rachel and out the window. He couldn’t see anything except the reflection of the room in the glass.
Was it a mechanical problem? Something on the track? Or had they already found Rachel’s trail? Was the train stopped waiting for the police to arrive and take her away?
“Brr.” Rachel hugged herself. “It’s freezing.”
She looked cold, Dillon realized. Her cheeks were pale and her lips touched with blue. He glanced at the thermostat. It was set as high as it would go. Was it not working?
Oh, hell.
Dillon hated himself.
He hated being a ghost, he hated being unable to communicate, he hated being helpless.
And he especially hated that he was causing the temperature to drop because he was so worried.
“It’s me,” he told her, feeling miserable. He backed away from the bed, but the room was so small that there was no way for him to get far enough away from her that she wouldn’t feel his cold aura. He needed to calm down. But how could he?
He pushed himself through the door and out into the train hallway. He’d promised to stay close to her and it felt as if he was breaking that promise. But he’d stay where he could see if she left the compartment and while he did, he’d text his grandpa. And he’d try to calm down.
But it would sure help if the train would start moving.
*****
Rachel was missing.
The words pounded in Sylvie’s head like a drumbeat. She could feel the tension along her spine and in her shoulders, the rush of adrenaline pouring into her arms and legs telling her to go, go, go. But where was there to go? She kept her voice even as she said to James, “Someone needs to be at the hospital with Lydia to find out what’s wrong with her. Ask Ty who he wants to go.”
He nodded, speaking into his phone, and she turned back to Lucas.
“Fill me in on Rachel.” He’d pulled his phone out, too, but he made no move to use it.
“Spoiled brat,” Sylvie said succinctly. “Whiny, sulky, rude.” Close protection security consultants got to know their clients intimately, but the good ones didn’t talk about them. Under the circumstances, though, Sylvie would make an exception.
“The classic teenager?” His voice was serious but with a trace of amusement at her tone.
“More like the classic neglected rich kid,” Sylvie admitted. “She’s who you get if you raise a kid with high expectations but no love, affection, or attention. She’s miserable so she does her best to make everyone else miserable, too.”
“Harsh.”
“But she follows all the rules, always does as she’s told, gets straight As.” Sylvie glanced back at the bathroom door, torn between going in to check on Lydia and thinking the situation through with Lucas.
“You think she might have run away?”
“From a party? In Capital Hill?” It sounded so unlikely. And yet Rachel was gone. “Where would she go?”
No, it made no sense. What were the options? Rachel could be in the building, looking for help for Lydia. But if that was the case, she should be back by now. She’d been gone for at least half an hour, since Lydia’s missed check in. Even if Rachel had made the stupid choice of looking for her father instead of going straight to the security desk, she would have found him by now.
If Lydia had felt sick, would she have left Rachel alone somewhere? Could Rachel be waiting in another room for Lydia to return? That seemed unlikely to the point of absurdity. Maybe one of the other guards would have taken that chance at a closed party but Lydia? Never.
No, Rachel had left Lydia, not the other way around. But by choice or by force? She would have gone quietly with a gun on her. And she might have gone willingly if she was going with or to her mother. Could her mother have gotten into the party?
Sylvie shook out her hands, fighting the urge to move. Every cell in her body wanted to be doing, to be in action. She needed to go into the bathroom and help Lydia. She needed to head to the auditorium and start searching for Rachel on the dance floor. She needed to get to building security and see what camera coverage the building had. She needed . . . she turned back to James.
“GPS,” she said. Rachel would have had her tracking device with her. It wouldn’t necessarily tell them anything until they found it: if it was still in the building, it might mean that she or a kidnapper had left it behind.
James nodded and said as much into the phone.
“Or cell phone,” Sylvie said. “Maybe we can trace her cell phone.”
“The FBI will do that. They’ll check messages, too, see who she’s been talking to,” Lucas responded.
“No FBI.” It was Ty, stuffing his phone in his pocket, a little out of breath. He must have run down the stairs, Sylvie guessed. “And no ambulance.”
“What?” Sylvie stared at him.
“Chesney doesn’t want to risk any publicity.”
“Ty!” Sylvie protested.
“Sylvie. It’s the client’s call.” His words were an order and Sylvie, fuming, shut up.
“The FBI has the expertise—” Lucas started, voice mild.
“The client’s call,” Ty interrupted him. Sylvie could feel the frustration and worry simmering under his calm exterior and Lucas must have sensed it as well, because he didn’t push, just stuffed a hand into his pocket. Sylvie suspected it was clenched into a fist. She stepped a little closer to him, resting her own hand on his arm.
“Mark’s on Chesney,” Ty continued. “Let’s get Lydia to the car and—shit.” He ran a hand through his short hair.
Sylvie raised her eyebrows in question.
“Not enough people, not enough cars. I’ll call in backup, but it’s Friday night. I don’t know how soon anyone can get here.”
“Rachel’s GPS is on the move,” James reported. His head was bent over his phone, fingers tapping away at the screen.
“Fuck!” Ty’s frustration boiled over.
“I’ve got a car and driver here,” Lucas offered. “Sylvie and I can take Lydia to the hospital.”
Ty breathed a sigh of relief. “That would help.”
“No.” Sylvie shook her head. “I’m staying here.” All three men looked at her with varying expressions of surprise, but Sylvie didn’t bend. Rachel’s GPS device might be on the move, but that didn’t mean Rachel was with it.
What if this had been a crime of opportunity? AlecCorp hired dangerous men. Most would be smart enough to steer clear of an executive’s young daughter, but alcohol turned even the smartest soldiers stupid. Sylvie wanted—no, needed—to make sure that Rachel wasn’t in the building.
