He grimaced. “I know. I spent my time walking a beat for a couple of years before transferring to the marshals.”
“You did? I didn’t know that.”
“Yep. Why? You respect me more now?”
Chloe stopped, looked him in the eye. “I have tons of respect for you, Blake. For a lot of reasons.”
He lifted a hand and brushed a few stray hairs from her eyes. What did that mean? He almost asked, but needed to focus. Clearing his throat, he nodded. “Thanks.”
“So, what’s next?”
“Anyone who’ll say yes, that they recognize this guy. I’m tired of nos.”
“I understand.” She reached over and squeezed his hand. He couldn’t tell her how much her support meant to him.
“Well, I don’t. He had to get his supplies from somewhere.”
“Could have ordered them online and had them shipped.”
He grunted. “True.”
Chloe had decided they needed to question not only high-end art shops, but any place that looked like it might carry a painting, oils, or a drawing pencil.
He glanced at the list. “A museum? Really?”
“You don’t like museums?”
“I mean, sure, they’re fine. I’m just not into it like some people, I guess.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Well, if someone is into art, they’re into museums. And besides, there’s an art gallery in the back.”
True. “Fine, let’s check it out.”
“10:15. It just opened.”
“Awesome. We’ll beat the rush.”
He pulled open the door and let her precede him. Blake didn’t like doing it, but he’d asked for a personal day. Chloe already had the day off and had agreed to spend it with him pounding the streets to see if they could ferret out at least one lead that would help them find Rachel.
Or a human trafficker or two.
Chloe plucked the picture from his fingers and walked up to the information desk with Hank padding along next to her. “Hi, I’m Officer Chloe St. John. We’re looking for a guy who may have some information on a case we’re investigating. Do you know him?” She slid the photo in front of the well-dressed young man who was probably in his midthirties. He wore black pants with a white shirt and had the cuffs rolled to just above his wrists.
He glanced at the picture and lifted a brow. “It’s not a very good likeness, but it could be Ethan.”
Blake actually jerked, he was so surprised to hear the man say something besides “I’ve never seen him before.” He cleared his throat. “Ethan? Does he have a last name?”
“Of course. Ethan Wright. If it’s him,” he squinted, “and I think it is. We have a rather large gallery in the back and he’s one of our bestselling artists.”
“Great,” Chloe said. “Do you know where we can find him? Do you have his contact information?”
“I can’t give that out. You’ll have to talk to the gallery director. He’s often in touch with Ethan, though.”
“That’ll be fine. Where can I find him?”
“Let me call him for you.”
He picked up the phone and relayed the message. While they waited, Chloe wandered over to the display showing Ethan Wright’s work. Boats on the water. The beach at sunset. A couple watching the sunrise while the waves washed over their feet. She had to admit, his paintings were gorgeous. “They’re so lifelike. Almost like if I reach out and touch the water, my hand will get wet.”
“That’s why his work is selling so well.”
She turned to see a man in his midsixties walking toward them, hand outstretched. When he smiled, he reminded Chloe of Bruce, the shark in the Disney movie, with his pearly whites and gleaming eyes. A predator all the way. “Neal,” he said, “could you please help the delivery guys unload in the back? They’re waiting.”
Neal rolled his eyes. “Mr. Barlow would never have me do such a mundane task.”
“Well, Mr. Barlow isn’t here, is he?”
“No, he isn’t. More’s the pity,” he muttered. But he rose and opened a drawer. Keys in hand, he disappeared down the hall, his steps quick and sure, yet silent on the tile floor.
“Sorry about that,” the older man said. “I’ve been here for eight months, you would think I would have won over the staff by now. Unfortunately, Neal is pretty much my staff and I suppose he’s still grieving poor Mr. Barlow’s death.”
“His death?”
“Car accident. Now, I’m Bryce Fleming, how can I help you?” He turned on a wide, toothy smile.
Chloe choked, then went into a coughing spasm. Blake slapped her on the back. “Chloe? You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, sorry. I just swallowed wrong.” She couldn’t help the strangled sound to her words, but Bryce? One letter away from Bruce? She swallowed another giggle. She was either losing it or punchy from lack of sleep. Probably both. She needed to get it together.
Blake raised a brow at her before turning back to the director. “We need to find Ethan Wright. Do you know how we can get in touch with him?”
“Oh yes, Ethan. An amazing young man. From teacher to one of our bestselling local artists. While he’s not yet well-known outside of our gallery or on a national level, I guarantee he soon will be.”
“His work is going to be featured in this auction?” Blake asked. He pointed to the flyer taped to the welcome desk.
“Yes indeed.”
“Good for him. Could you tell us how to find him?”
The man sighed and clasped his hands in front of his chest. “Alas, I wish I could help you, but unless I have permission to give out the contact information of our artists, I simply can’t do it. I would never violate the trust that’s been placed in me. I do hope you understand.”
“And you do understand that we’re cops, right?” Blake said. “We’re not the general public or a fan who wishes to meet his favorite artist.”
“Of course, of course.” He frowned and his forehead creased in distress. “But it’s just our policy. No matter who’s asking.”
“I guess I can always ask with a warrant.” Blake’s scowl would probably give most people nightmares. Mr. Fleming didn’t even blink.
“By all means,” he said, “please get the warrant if you feel it’s necessary.”
Chloe placed a hand on Blake’s arm to hold him back. “That’s fine. We certainly wouldn’t want you to betray anyone’s trust and we won’t need the warrant. We have his name and probably won’t have any trouble finding him. It’s kind of what we do. Thank you for coming out to speak with us.”
“Absolutely.” His smile actually warmed a little.
Chloe dug a card out of her pocket. “But since you know how to contact him, do you mind passing a message on to him?”
“I’d be happy to.” He took her proffered card and slid it into his front shirt pocket.
“Just let him know we have a couple of questions for him. He’s not in any trouble, okay? Can you please make that clear?”
“Of course. You should expect to hear from him soon.”
“Wonderful. Thank you.” After he shook their hands, he turned on his super-shiny shoes and strode back down the hall where Chloe assumed his office was.
“What was that all about?” Blake hissed. “We need that contact information.”
She gripped his arm and Hank’s leash and led both of them out the door, stopping only to give the young man, Neal—who’d apparently finished his mundane task—a cheeky wave. Once outside, Chloe dropped Blake’s arm, trying not to miss the feel of his bicep beneath her palm. “Chloe? Hello?”
“Oh.” She blinked and flushed. What was he talking about? Oh yeah.
“Weren’t you listening? We have Ethan’s name. We don’t need to fight Bruce to get the rest of the info on the guy. We’ll just have Linc run him through the system.”
“David, our tech guy, could do it just as easily, but I’m pretty sure he’s still going through the footage from traffic cams trying to pick up the route of the s
emi that had the girls in them.”
“I’ll call Linc. Why don’t you give David a call and see where he is on that?”
“Good idea.”
Blake got on his phone while she dialed David’s number. He answered on the fourth ring, just as she thought she was going to have to leave a message. “David here.”
“Hey, it’s Chloe. Have you managed to track down the route of the truck yet?”
“No,” he sighed. “I’ve just decided that’s pretty much a wash. I even consulted with Linc’s tech girl FBI buddy, Annie, who’s in agreement. She’s incredibly smart, by the way.”
“Smarter than you?”
He laughed. “Not likely, but that remains to be seen. Anyway, we caught up with the eighteen-wheeler on I-26 heading east where it crossed Broad River Road. A couple of the cameras before that were out, so we’re not sure where it came from to enter the highway.”
“Okay, thanks. At least that tells us they’re coming from outside the city.”
“Yeah, in other words, it’s not much.”
She sighed. “Right. Let me know if you get anything else.”
“Will do.”
She hung up and passed the information on to Blake, who shook his head. “Linc’s having Annie run Ethan. Come on, we’ve got the task force meeting. We’ll fill them in on this Ethan Wright character and see if we can get some answers.”
Rachel stomped her feet, impatient with the cold and the slow passing of time. Wasn’t anyone going to come open the store?
She had no idea how far she’d walked last night. But she’d counted six cars that had passed her before she’d come across the small gas station–slash–general store. It had felt like forever, but had probably only been about five or six miles. She’d run that far before during training. And she wouldn’t think twice about swimming a couple of miles. But walking in the dark, the cold, and the sometimes drizzle had been an excruciating experience.
The relief that had poured through her at the sight of the place had fizzled quickly when she’d realized it was closed. But the sign said it was supposed to open at eleven o’clock this morning.
She had no idea what time it was, but surely it had to be getting close to eleven, didn’t it? Last night, the walking and the horse blanket had kept her pretty warm, but once she stopped, she’d quickly cooled. Shivering, desperate for her bedroom and snuggly down comforter, she’d had no choice except to take shelter in an unlocked storage building behind a small farmhouse. She’d huddled under the horse blanket and slept deeply, waking shortly with the sun already high in the sky. She considered continuing her march, but the road seemed to go on forever with no other stopping place in sight. Her captors had chosen well for their little house of horrors. Out in the middle of practically nowhere, she had no idea where she was. Thirty minutes from Columbia. That was all she knew.
And just past the store, the area opened up with pastures and farmland. If she were to keep walking, she’d be exposed for who knew how long? From what she’d figured while listening from her spot in the cage, Carson and his cohorts traveled this road almost every day.
No, she was right to stop and wait for the store to open. The only way not to be caught was not to be found.
One good thing, in her tour around the building, looking for a way in, she’d found a patch of wild blackberries and a garden growing in the back. Blackberries in November. She couldn’t believe it, but supposed it had something to do with the unseasonably warm fall that had only turned cooler in the last week. Frankly, she didn’t care what had caused them to grow, she was just glad to have them.
She’d eaten her fill and decided blackberries had never tasted so sweet or so good. She’d even scarfed down two carrots, not caring she couldn’t get all the dirt off. She’d heard of fall carrots, but had never had a fresh one, straight from the ground. They’d been surprisingly good. One thing was for sure, she’d never take food for granted again. Or complain about the things she shouldn’t eat because of her diabetes.
To top off her meal, she’d found a water hose that worked. Of course, the owner of the garden would have one. Not that he’d needed it over the last couple of weeks with all of the rain. She was surprised the garden hadn’t been washed away, but grateful for small things. Now that her thirst was slaked and her belly full, she was starting to feel better and was ready to find a phone.
At the tail end of that thought, she heard a car turn into the parking lot. Rachel jumped to her feet and raced to the side of the building so she could have a good look at whoever had just arrived. A silver Ford Escape parked to the side and a woman in her early fifties climbed out of the vehicle. As if on cue, two more cars pulled up.
Good. That was good. They couldn’t all be working for Carson and whoever else was involved with the operation.
Rachel waited, heart pounding. She desperately wanted to hear Blake’s voice. Wanted him to come and rescue her. But would he? She didn’t deserve his concern or even his love since she’d done nothing but be a total brat to him. But right now, she’d give anything to feel his arms wrapped around her with promises to make everything right.
A low grunt escaped her. Okay, she’d even take a chilly “I’ll be there in a few minutes,” if that was all he was willing to give. Then again, she might not be giving him enough credit. After all, he’d sounded frantic on the phone. And he’d said he’d drop everything to come to the hospital. For some reason, the doubts left her.
He’d come here. He’d find her. And he wouldn’t hold her bratty attitude against her.
Whatever phone she used, he’d have to be able to track it.
Voices disappeared into the store. Rachel drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Excitement and desperation slugged it out in her midsection, battling the caution and fear that kept her from moving. She finally let the old horse blanket fall to the ground and shivered when a gust of wind whipped against her. Clasping her arms against her belly, she walked to the heavy glass door and pulled it open.
Stale smoke and fresh coffee greeted her. The coffee would be nice as it would warm her insides, but for now, she was grateful for the heated store.
So very grateful.
For a moment, she simply stood there trying to get a good look at all of the people inside. Besides the cashier, there were the other two. A woman in her sixties, maybe, and another who could be in her early thirties. She looked awful. Like she had a broken nose or something. Two green eyes with dark circles around them met hers before she turned away and opened the refrigerator holding drinks.
“Help you, hon?”
Rachel jerked. The woman behind the counter was eyeing her with a curious look on her face. Rachel flushed. “Um . . . could I use your phone?”
One over-arched eyebrow rose. “You don’t have a cell phone?”
“No, ma’am.”
She scoffed. “Come on. All you teens have cell phones.”
“I don’t have it with me and I need to call my dad. Please?”
She waved a hand. “All right, honey. I got a landline you can use. Help yourself. And girl, where is your coat? It’s too cold to be walking around out there in that flimsy outfit.” She pulled a handset off the base next to the cash register and handed it to Rachel. “Now, don’t be taking off with it, you hear?”
Rachel blinked. Take off with it? “Of course not. I wouldn’t.” What in the world would she do with a handset?
“Hmm.” The woman reached behind her. “And here. It’ll be too big for you, but put this around you. You’re practically blue.”
Rachel took the heavy fleece-lined hoodie with a grateful smile. “Thank you. I’ll give it back to you in just a few minutes. It won’t take my dad long to get here.” She hoped.
With a huge sigh of relief and on the edge of tears, she stepped to the side, put the warm coat tight around her, and leaned her forehead against the wall as she dialed her father’s number.
Blake and Chloe had returned to the downtown headquarters offic
e to meet with the rest of the task force. Impatience clawed at him. What was he doing to help find Rachel? What was he not doing that he should be doing?
Linc stood at the front of the room and faced the conference table, surrounded by those on the task force. “We’ve got a name we’re going to follow up on,” he was saying. “Ethan Wright. For some reason, Rachel MacCallum, who was on the truck with the other victims, left the hospital and climbed into the back of this man’s SUV. We believe it was deliberate, that she followed him for a reason. I think once we find her—or him—we’ll have a lead on our traffickers. David and his FBI counterpart are working together on this. Hopefully, they’ll have something for us to chase down soon. What we do know is that he’s former Army turned bestselling artist for one of the local galleries. His work is in high demand. He’s no longer living at the address indicated on his driver’s license, but we don’t have a forwarding address right now. Should have that soon. He’s teaching several art classes at the university. He’s supposed to be in class right this minute, but when we called to speak with him, we were told he’d called in sick this morning. And he might very well be sick. He’s got no priors and is squeaky clean, so he’s simply a person of interest we want to talk to.”
Blake’s phone buzzed. He didn’t recognize the number but immediately answered, muscles bunching. “MacCallum here.” He stood and motioned he was going to step out of the room. Linc nodded.
“Blake?”
He blinked and stopped. “Rachel? Is that you? Where are you?”
All talking ceased. Every eye was on him. He hit the speaker button. “Hang on one second.” He motioned to Linc. “Record this.”
Linc nodded and immediately had his phone next to Blake’s, the record app going. “Where are you, Rachel?”
“I don’t know,” she said, her voice raspy and hurried. “I’m at a gas station. Hold on, I’ll ask.” He didn’t want her to stop talking, but at least he could still hear her. “What’s the address here?”
Blake heard whoever Rachel was talking to give the street address. “Chapin, South Carolina, honey,” the woman said.
Called to Protect Page 13
