The Missing Piece (The Jigsaw Files)

by Sharon Sala

  Found this picture of us in a drawer in your old desk. Thought you would want it back. Call when you’re ready to come back to work. We’re so thrilled you conquered cancer. We’re working on one of your old theories. Thought you might like to get in on it.

  This was so much bullshit. That man was no father to her. The company had dumped her when she’d gotten sick, with no excuse except to say they were sorry that she wasn’t what they’d expected her to be. And she’d fooled them all. She was far more than they’d imagined, and now they wanted her back. They could kiss her ass.

  As for the job offer and the tease of coming back to work on her own projects, they were going to be pissed as all get-out if they ever figured any of it out and went to file a patent. She’d already changed the processes, completed everything she’d left behind and held the patents on all of it.

  But this envelope meant they’d been in her building. Someone from the company, or hired by the company, had stood in the hall outside her door and talked to LaRue. They’d ruined the place for her now.

  “Bastards,” she muttered, then turned on her heel and marched to the bedroom.

  She hauled two suitcases from the back of the walk-in closet and started packing. This would be her third move in the city in the past two years. It was a damn shame because she liked this apartment, but in reality, it was just a roof and four walls. She pulled her lockbox out of the closet and dropped it in a duffel bag, stripped the sheets off her bed and piled them in the duffel, then proceeded to fill both suitcases with her clothing.

  Within the hour she had everything she intended to take with her and was only slightly pissed that she was leaving a week’s worth of groceries behind.

  The apartment was a sublet of a sublet, and she was sending a text to the owner as she ran to the kitchen to get the envelope. She stuffed the picture and the note back inside, slipped it in a pocket of the duffel bag and dragged her luggage into the hall. Then she knocked on her neighbor’s door again.

  The door opened. LaRue saw the suitcases and arched a brow.

  “Was it something I said?”

  Wyrick dropped the key to her apartment in the old woman’s hand. “Someone will be by to get this tomorrow,” she said.

  “So I’m your secretary now?”

  Wyrick grabbed her suitcases and started pulling them toward the elevator.

  “Hasta la vista, baby,” LaRue said, waving the key.

  Wyrick pressed the down arrow on the elevator and while she was waiting she heard her neighbor’s door close.

  Hasta la vista, LaRue.

  A few minutes later, she left the parking garage, heading to an address on the far side of the city.

  Two

  Wyrick took the Mercedes down the Woodall Rodgers Freeway like a jet through a mummers parade, weaving in and out among the strutters, drummers and trombone players.

  After the day she and Charlie had been through, this wasn’t how she’d planned to spend the evening. It wasn’t like she was in hiding. She was just trying to live life on her own terms, and staying in one place too long made that difficult.

  As she drove she kept looking in the rearview mirror, aware that she was probably being followed. She frowned at the funky headlights that had been behind her for at least three miles. Not slowing down or changing lanes or speeding up. Just there, stuck to her like she was some homing beacon.

  Bastards.

  She stomped the accelerator and darted across four lanes of traffic in a “forty-five-degree slingshot” move that took her to an off-ramp. Satisfied that she was on her own again, she made a loop back onto the same freeway she’d exited, and kept driving until she segued onto I-35 and took an exit into Old East Dallas.

  She used to come here when she first moved to Dallas, but they’d found out about the place, so she’d quit doing that. But she was confident enough of her welcome at her current destination to show up unannounced.

  It was almost nine fifteen when she turned off the street and headed up the driveway to the elegant if somewhat crumbling estate. The security lights surrounding the property taunted the night-fliers. Moths swarmed beneath the cool white aura, and when she started toward the three-story mansion, motion-sensor lights came on, making the place glow like a church at Christmas. She pulled up in front and killed the engine. She put on her game face as she got out and rang the bell.

  The door opened, and the old man looked a bit taken aback and then squinted at her as if trying to find a person within the oddity she’d become.

  Wyrick sighed.

  “It’s me, Merlin.”

  His rheumy eyes widened in obvious shock. “Wyrick?”

  “Yes.”

  He gasped. “Dear Lord! I say! What a wonderful surprise. You disappeared so suddenly that we were worried. Come in, come in!”

  “Thank you, but no. I didn’t come to visit. I need you to answer a question,” she said.

  “Ask.”

  “Is the apartment in your basement still available?”

  “Why, yes... You need a place to stay?”

  “I do.”

  He smiled, revealing a perfect set of obviously false teeth.

  “Then it’s yours!”

  It wasn’t until he said “yes” that she realized she’d been holding her breath.

  “What’s the rent per month?” she asked.

  “Last time it was rented, I got eight hundred a month, but—”

  She took out her wallet, peeled off eight big ones and handed them to him.

  “Thank you very much,” she said.

  He pocketed the money with a satisfied nod.

  “Give me a moment. I’ll go get the key.”

  She stood beneath the floodlights, struggling with the impulse to unscrew them.

  A minute or so later, the old man returned.

  “Here’s the key. I don’t know what shape the apartment’s in. Might be a little dusty.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Wyrick said. “I appreciate it. And I’ll be quiet.”

  He paused, studying all the physical changes in her appearance until he was impelled to ask, “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. I’m fine.”

  “We still meet every other Saturday night,” he said.

  She shook her head. “Thank you, Merlin, but that’s no longer a good idea.”

  “I understand. At any rate, I’m happy you’re here.”

  She returned to the car, followed the drive to the back of the house and unlocked the private entrance leading to the basement.

  Thirty minutes later, she was unpacked and prowling through the place, looking for all the ways an intruder could get in. There were two windows with black shades, both facing the street in front. There was one door in and out of the basement, and a locked door leading upstairs. It would suffice. She’d buy groceries on the way home from work tomorrow.

  She’d forgotten to ask Merlin if she could use his Wi-Fi and then decided that if he asked, she’d tell him. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t check to see what she was doing. Merlin might look like a doddering old man, but his IQ was Mensa level, which explained the group she’d belonged to that met here, before UT found her again. Coming back might have been a mistake, but with Wyrick, nothing was ever written in stone.

  * * *

  Charlie was almost packed when Wyrick showed up at his apartment for work the next morning. He was carrying a stack of underwear when he opened the door, then waved toward the dining room and their temporary office.

  “I checked email. Nothing pressing,” he said, and walked out of the room with the underwear to add to the suitcase, raising his voice to be heard. “I took the Dunleavy case. I’m heading to the airport to catch a plane to Denver. I left you a list of the information I need on them. I’ll be in touch. Is there anything I should know before I leave?”

  “I moved.”

  Charlie stopped and walked back into the living room. “Again?”

  “Roaches,” Wyrick said.

  Her eyes n
arrowed, daring him to comment.

  He glared, disliking the secrecy of her life.

  “Whatever. The extra key to my apartment is by your computer. I’ll worry about a new office when this case is over.”

  She added the key to her key ring, and when he left the room, she grabbed his phone. In less than thirty seconds she uploaded a little app she’d been working on and then hid the icon. The last time they lost contact was when he was out on a job. It took her two days of searching by air to find him, then a wild boat ride with a rescue team to get him out of the Everglades. When she finally got him back to civilization, he had a raging fever and a dislocated shoulder.

  That shit wasn’t happening again.

  * * *

  Cyrus Parks arrived at work late because he was waiting for a phone call—one he didn’t want to take at the office. But since he was the boss, and the last word in decisions at Universal Theorem, he could be late whenever he wanted. He was refilling his coffee cup when his cell phone finally rang.

  “Hello.”

  “This is Mack Doolin, Mr. Parks. Packet delivered as requested. I stayed around after she came home like you instructed, and she did move out. I followed her as far as I could on the freeway, but lost her in the evening traffic. And she drives like a bat out of hell, so there’s that. What do you want me to do?”

  “Do like before. Follow her home from work until you find her new location!” Cyrus snapped.

  “Well, I can’t do that, sir, because the building the office was in, plus a whole city block, blew up yesterday. Right now, I don’t have any idea where they’re doing business, or even if they are doing business,” Mack said.

  “Ah...pity. However, stay on the job, and when you find her, put a tracker on her car, and there’ll be no need to have this discussion again.”

  “Yes, sir,” Mack said and disconnected.

  * * *

  Thanks to the files Wyrick had put on his iPad, by the time Charlie’s plane landed in Denver he knew more about Carter Dunleavy than he knew about his own mother, God rest her soul. He picked up his rental car, a Chevrolet Equinox in an unsettling shade of red, and drove to his hotel. Once he’d registered and was in his room, he pocketed the half-dozen flash drives Wyrick had sent with him, then texted Jason Dunleavy that he was on his way to the headquarters of the Dunleavy Corporation. It was nearing 11:00 a.m.

  * * *

  Jason Dunleavy was on the phone with Miranda Deutsch, his on-again, off-again girlfriend, who’d been calling him every day since his uncle’s disappearance was made public. She was in Europe when Carter disappeared and offered to rush home to be with Jason, but he’d promptly turned her down. It hadn’t stopped her from calling him daily, and today she was calling from Rome.

  “Jason, darling, is there any news?”

  “No. I would’ve let you know if something had changed,” Jason said.

  “I’m so sorry, and I miss you like crazy. I’ve told you how much I love it when you make me come.”

  Despite the fact that he didn’t love her, she was so damn good in bed he hadn’t been fed up enough yet to break it off.

  “Yes, and I like even better what you do for me,” he said. “Have fun spending your daddy’s money. I’ll see you when you return.”

  Miranda giggled. “Oh, you know me so well. Kiss, kiss, my love. I miss you madly and can’t wait until we’re officially husband and wife.”

  She hung up before Jason could disagree, and the thought of actually marrying her, which was never going to happen, sent him reaching into his little drawer of goodies and doing a line of coke.

  It was up his nose and rocking his world when his phone signaled a text. He closed his eyes as the drug shot through his system hard and fast, just like he had sex. He rode it out until the hair was standing on the back of his neck before he opened his eyes and wiped his nose.

  “That’s some good shit,” he muttered and wiped the white residue off the black Carrara marble, then checked his message. So, Charlie Dodge was already in Denver and on the way to his office. The man came highly recommended. He hoped Dodge lived up to the reputation that preceded him.

  * * *

  It was just after 7:00 p.m. in Rome when Miranda called Jason. The eight-hour difference had confused her at first, but she soon caught on to the best times to reach him in the office. She always got hot talking to him, and as soon as they were off the phone, she grabbed her favorite dildo—an eight-inch, fully erect penis she called Rubber Dicky—and went at it, pretending it was Jason.

  Rubber Dicky had caused something of an uproar at the security checkpoint in Atlanta, before she’d boarded her nonstop flight to Paris. Miranda, being Miranda, had not been embarrassed by Rubber Dicky’s discovery at all, but reveled instead in the laughs and comments as it was repacked among her things.

  Moaning and shuddering as the second climax rolled through her, she collapsed backward onto the bed with Rubber Dicky still inside her. After she’d calmed down from her adrenaline-laced high, she was so relaxed that she decided to order room service instead of going out to dinner. After she put in the order, she called her father, Johannes Deutsch.

  Her mother, Vivian, had died when Miranda was eleven, so the bond she had with her father was stronger than might have been typical for an unmarried woman nearing thirty. As soon as she heard his voice, she smiled at his silly question. Even though he had caller ID, it was always the same.

  “Hello. Miranda, is this you?”

  She giggled. “Yes, Father, it’s me. I’m in Rome now, and I just wanted to tell you I’m having a wonderful time. I’m finding the most beautiful clothing for my trousseau, and as soon as I get to Milan, I’ll begin shopping for my wedding dress.”

  “I am so happy you are finding things that please you. You know how I love to see you smile. Making you happy is my joy. You make your father proud.”

  She giggled. “Thank you. You are the best father ever! So what have you been doing since I left? I hope you’re behaving yourself, and that widow who sits behind us in church isn’t flinging herself at you again. She doesn’t like me, you know.”

  Johannes laughed. “I have no time for such things.”

  “So you say,” Miranda said. There was a knock at her door. “Oh, I have to go. Room service is here. Love you. We’ll talk again soon.”

  “Yes, yes, goodbye,” Johannes said.

  Miranda tossed her phone aside and went to the door.

  * * *

  While Miranda was taste testing her food in Rome, Jason was primed and waiting for the private investigator to be shown into his office.

  A few minutes later, Charlie Dodge walked into the room, nothing like the man Jason had pictured.

  Dodge was tall, and his body looked as hard as the glint in his eyes. He wasn’t even close to rumpled and shuffling as Jason had imagined, and he wasn’t the least bit soft or overweight.

  Now Jason had to adjust to the fact that Charlie Dodge was intimidating. Maybe that would work to their benefit. The Dunleavy Corporation needed to know where it stood business-wise. The sooner the answers about his uncle’s status were revealed, the better for the family and the company.

  Eyeing Dodge’s dark hair and the olive cast to his skin, Jason rued his red hair and pale skin even more than usual, then shook off what could only be termed jealousy, and walked toward Charlie with his hand extended.

  “Mr. Dodge, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  * * *

  Charlie was shaking the man’s hand when he saw a streak of white on Jason’s navy blue tie and filed away the fact that the man snorted coke.

  “You missed some,” he said, pointing to the smear.

  Jason looked down, saw the cocaine on his tie and dropped Charlie’s hand. Instead of acting embarrassed, he shrugged.

  “Pity,” he said and brushed it from his tie. “Have a seat.”

  After the flight from Dallas to Denver with his long legs cramped into a too-small space, Charlie took advantage o
f the big roomy chair as he studied the acting head of the Dunleavy Corporation. So far, he found him sadly lacking. He snorted coke and shook hands like a girl.

  Wyrick’s face slid through his mind and she was frowning, which made him edit his own damn thoughts. So “like a girl” was too broad a statement. Excuse the hell out of me. He groaned inwardly. Not only was he talking to himself, but his thoughts were turning into conversations, as well. Ridiculous. Fucking ridiculous.

  Jason waited, assuming Charlie would begin talking, but was mistaken. “So, what can I do to assist you in starting the investigation?” he asked.

  “Send the retainer to my office and give me full access to Carter Dunleavy’s office and computers.”

  Jason took a slow breath, reminding himself to tread lightly with this man. So what if he didn’t like Charlie Dodge? If he could find Uncle Carter, he’d pay him twice what he asked.

  Jason buzzed his secretary.

  “Please see that Mr. Dodge is escorted to Uncle Carter’s office. He has full approval to see anything he wants and has permission to access whatever he needs.”

  Charlie heard the catch in the secretary’s voice as she answered. “Yes, sir.”

  Jason stood up and walked Charlie to the door.

  “If you need any other information, you have my number. I’m happy to help in any way I can. We need to find Uncle Carter. He means a lot to the company, but he means more to the family.”

  “There’s one other thing. What’s the name of the lead detective handling this case?” Charlie asked.

  “Detective Cristobal. He’s with the Denver Police Department. Our family home is actually in an area called Greenwood Village, but since Carter’s disappearance is so high profile, Denver PD is handling the case. I’ll give him a call and let him know we’ve hired you. They have some interesting footage you need to see about Uncle Carter’s car disappearing on traffic cam.”

  Charlie mentally filed away that information and followed the secretary out and then down to the end of the hall without comment.