“Correct. Davos has been a mentor to her.”
“Just a mentor? Or more?”
“My understanding is just a mentor. About a month ago, she contacted him and hinted that there was a problem.”
“At Scolareon?”
“That’s not clear, but is a fair assumption. When he pushed her on it, she played it down, said it was probably nothing and not to worry. They have been in the habit of emailing at least every other day, if not every day. After this exchange, their correspondence carried on as usual until the night before she disappeared. When he emailed on the evening of the fourth, she replied within minutes that she would soon be sending him a present to mark the anniversary of the first time they worked together. Only that had happened in the fall, not in April. What this told him was that she was worried about someone reading her email, so he replied that he looked forward to receiving it, and said it had been a while since they’d had a chat and for her to call when she had a chance. She promised she would, even going so far as to say perhaps the following evening. When the night of the fifth came, however, she didn’t call, nor did she respond to his email as quickly as she usually did. Her reply didn’t arrive until the following day, only instead of the usual message, it was brief, businesslike, and nothing like the way she usually responded. He tried calling her but was sent to voice mail every time.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“No mention of what she was worried about?”
“None.”
“And the present she mentioned, I’m guessing it didn’t show up.”
“Not as of this morning.”
“Okay, I get that’s kind of troubling. But how did he make the leap to assuming she’s missing?”
“After a few days, she stopped responding to any of his emails, so he phoned her work number and was told she was away on a family emergency. But Davos knows her family. Her only immediate relations are her brother and his wife and kids in Chicago. He had an associate contact the brother on some pretense having to do with Natasha’s former employment, and it was clear that the brother had no knowledge of any family emergency.”
“It could have been something else. Perhaps a friend who needed her help or a personal matter she didn’t want to share.”
“That’s true. But Davos did as much as he could to locate her and found nothing. That’s when he came to us.”
“Excuse me if I’m missing something here, but you gave me the impression that your organization was secret. How would he even know to come to you?”
The Administrator hesitated. “I misspoke. He didn’t come to us specifically. He came to his friend, who happens to be a member of the board. The board member was concerned enough to ask me to look into it. After a preliminary investigation, I concurred with Mr. Davos’s assessment that Miss Patterson is missing, and the committee decided to activate our full involvement.”
“Meaning me and the team.”
“Correct.”
Chapter Five
The Great State Of Washington
A delay out of Seattle meant Ananke’s flight to Spokane didn’t land until nearly one a.m. Except for a cleaning crew and a few airport police officers, the place was deserted. Thankfully, the Mustang registered to her new alias was exactly where she’d been told she’d find it. She retrieved the key fob from under the rear bumper, climbed in, and got underway.
After her conversation with the Administrator, he had emailed her a link and an access code that she used to download additional information. It wasn’t much. Natasha Patterson went by the name Tasha. She was thirty-four, never married, no kids. Other info included the woman’s social security number, credit cards and bank account numbers, and her known habits and social media links.
A second file provided specifics about her brother, and the names and basic info on the three people in Bradbury with whom she was closest. Instructions from the Administrator stressed, however, that the brother should not be contacted unless absolutely necessary, and even then, only if the Administrator cleared it.
The drive from Spokane was mostly due north through a valley that cut through the Colville National Forest. Ananke guessed it was a beautiful route during the day, but with the moon yet to rise, she saw little beyond the halos of her headlights.
It took about an hour and a half to reach the Columbia River, and another twenty minutes before she arrived in Bradbury. Though she was tired enough to justify heading straight for her hotel, her professional habits would not let that happen. To survive as long as she had in the secret world, especially doing what she had been doing for a living, didn’t happen by luck. She had taken to heart the precautions instilled in her by the trio of operatives who’d served as her mentors. One of those precautions was, whenever possible, don’t sleep someplace new until you have the lay of the land. So, even though it was the middle of the night, she wasn’t going to feel settled until she took a drive around town.
There was no missing the charm of Bradbury. The brick buildings lining the central road—Main Street, of course—all appeared to be well over a century old. Most had been refurbished, but in keeping with their historic roots rather than being plastered over with ugly commercial facades. Instead of the old five-and-dimes and general stores and insurance offices the buildings had probably once housed, there were now trendy-looking cafés and coffee houses and shops, all clearly intending to appeal to the nouveau adults the area’s tech boom attracted.
About the only businesses that looked like they’d been there longer than a few years were a doctor’s office, a shoe store with a neon sign that must’ve been nearly as old as the building itself, and the office for the Bradbury Evening Independent, the local paper.
On the roads surrounding Main Street were the old homes that made up the heart of the original town. Along the highway just a few blocks north of downtown, however, things began to change. The first sign of the town’s new direction was the Bury Business Park. It stretched off to the right, its buildings designed to pay homage to the historic downtown. Next came a housing tract that could easily have been found in Portland or Seattle or even parts of Los Angeles, the homes stylish and hip, in a mix of bright colors and subdued tones. None appeared to be smaller than eighteen hundred square feet, with several that must have been double that. These were the kinds of houses that would have been out of the average family’s price range in a big city, but here they were likely affordable for most, if not all, residents. Parked in the driveways were Mini Coopers and Priuses and the occasional German import. Ananke figured that here lived the coders and the developers and the management who were the breath of the burgeoning industry.
Another few minutes up the highway, at the edge of town, were two large hangar-like buildings, one on either side of the highway. At the entrances to both were identical signs indicating the buildings were home to Scolareon.
She continued north, passing more businesses and scattered homes. Then, right before the wilderness crowded the highway again, she came to a road running into the hills opposite the river. Attached to a curved rock wall at the intersection were illuminated metal letters that read GREEN HILLS ESTATES.
Down the road about twenty-five yards sat a guard hut and a gate. She could see the top of someone’s head through the hut’s window.
Home to Bradbury’s elite? Some of them, she guessed. She’d love to take a drive through and look around, but that would require getting past the guard, and she didn’t think he’d raise the gate just because she asked him to, especially at this time of night. There’d be opportunity later to look around, if a visit proved necessary.
She made a U-turn and started back toward her hotel near the heart of town. Almost immediately she spotted headlights coming toward her. This was the first car she’d seen since she began her recon of the area.
As the gap between them closed, she realized it was a police sedan. She checked her speedometer. She was driving at the limit, but eased back on the acceler
ator anyway. Even then, she was pretty sure the officer looked over at her as he drove by. When the squad car made a quick U-turn, she was sure he had.
The police car sped up until it was right behind her, and stayed there.
“Nothing to see here,” Ananke whispered. “Feel free to pass me at any time.”
The words were barely out of her mouth when the cop car’s rooftop lights started flashing.
Annoyed, Ananke flipped on her blinker and pulled to the side of the road, just shy of the entrance to the Scolareon complex.
While she waited, she retrieved her Shawn Ramey ID, the equally fake vehicle registration from the glove box, and rolled the window down.
In her rearview mirror, she could see the cop still in his car, face faintly lit by the screen of a laptop. Running Ananke’s plates, no doubt.
All right, Mr. Administrator, you damn well had better have my ass covered.
Finally, the cop got out of his car. From his silhouette, she guessed he was almost six feet tall. He sauntered up to her window, leaned down, and looked in.
“Good morning, ma’am,” the cop said.
Not a policeman. A policewoman. The name tag on her uniform read M. HARRIS.
“Morning, Officer.”
“Are you lost?” There was a definite you-must-be-lost-because-you-don’t-belong-here tone to her voice.
“I’m sorry?”
“Haven’t seen you before, so was wondering if maybe you took a wrong turn somewhere.”
At another time, Ananke might have said, “Is it illegal for someone you don’t know to be driving on the highway?” or “That’s none of your business,” or the old standby “Screw you.” Instead, professional Ananke smiled demurely and said, “Actually, I am a little lost. I was looking for the Collins Inn and Suites.”
Her response seemed to take Harris by surprise. “You mean the one here in Bradbury?”
Fighting hard to keep her voice innocent, Ananke said, “That’s the one.”
“Your driver’s license and registration, please.”
“Have I done something wrong?”
“License and registration.”
Ananke handed them over, and Harris carried them back to her car.
Ananke monitored the cop via her mirror as Harris sat in her driver’s seat and worked her computer again. After a couple of minutes, she picked up a radio mic and spoke into it. This was followed by more computer time before Harris finally climbed out again and returned to the Mustang.
“Here you are, Ms. Ramey.” The cop handed Ananke the documents. “Head back through town. Then turn right on Clearwater Drive. It’s just past A&R Diner. Go a quarter of a mile. You’ll see the Collins Inn. Can’t miss it.”
“Thank you.”
Harris touched her cap, said, “You have a good night,” and returned to her car.
If things had ended right there, Ananke might have been willing to brush off the encounter as an asshole graveyard-shift cop playing tough.
But they didn’t.
When Ananke pulled onto the road, Harris did the same, following her a couple of car lengths back, all the way to the Collins Inn. There, Harris parked on the street and watched Ananke walk from the Mustang into the building.
Deputy M. Harris, you just made my list.
The clerk behind the desk was a college-aged guy who, at the sound of the door swishing open, looked up from a TV and quickly stood when he realized he had a customer.
“Good morning,” he said, with a lot more cheer than Harris had managed. “How can I help you?”
“Checking in.”
“Do you have a reservation?”
She gave him the pertinent information, and he gave her a pair of key cards to room 312.
Before she could walk away, he said, “We have a reservation linked to yours for a Caroline Cruz, arriving later this morning. We have her staying in the room next to yours.”
“Great. Thank you.”
“Those rooms have connecting doors. If you’d rather have something more private, I could arrange that.”
“Nope. Connecting doors are fine. Thanks again.”
Seven minutes later, Ananke was sound asleep.
Rosario arrived at Sea-Tac International Airport at 8:30 a.m., after spending a grand total of thirty-four hours in Mexico City. That had barely been enough time to get some decent food, a few hours of rest, and to make sure her absence over the last couple of weeks hadn’t resulted in anyone raiding one of the stashes of equipment and valuables she’d hidden around the city.
When the Administrator had contacted her about another job, her inclination was to tell him not this time. Trust was not something that came easily to Rosario. The Administrator and the organization he represented had a long way to go to earn that from her. But when he told her Ananke was already on board, Rosario had reconsidered.
While she hadn’t known Ananke any longer than she’d known the Administrator, she’d worked with Ananke on two missions already, and in that short time had developed considerable respect for the woman. If Ananke had said yes, then Rosario wanted to be at her side.
She made her way to the appropriate departure wing and headed to her gate.
“Well, hey now. Look who’s here.” Ricky Orbits waved at her from inside a bar along the walkway. “Come! Join me for a drink. We’ve got plenty of time.” He patted the stool next to him.
The Administrator had warned her Ricky would be on this flight, and that since their cover identities weren’t supposed to know each other, it would be best if they ignored each other.
Cursing under her breath, she scanned the area to make sure no one was paying them undue attention. Her internal threat radar remained silent, so she reluctantly walked into the bar. She did not sit.
“Whatever you’re drinking, I’m buying,” Ricky said, a half empty pint of beer in front of him.
“What are you doing?”
“Uh, what does it look like I’m doing? What are you doing?”
She narrowed her eyes and whispered, “We do not know each other.”
He frowned. “Really? I wasn’t told that.”
“I was told.” She turned to leave.
“Wait, you’re already here. Just one drink. If anyone asks, we’ll say I was trying to hit on you.”
The thought of that sent a shiver up her spine, but walking away now might draw more attention than if she stayed for a bit. “Fine.” She flagged down the bartender. “An orange juice, please.”
“Orange juice?” Ricky said. “How about a shot of vodka in that?”
The bartender paused, looking at them.
“It is 8:45 a.m.,” Rosario said.
“So?” Ricky asked.
She glanced at the bartender. “Orange juice. No vodka.”
While the man went to get her drink, Ricky snickered. “Not a morning drinker, either, huh?”
She eyed his beer.
“Oh, this is an exception,” he said defensively. “Did you know that the Karas Evonus is a dry ship? Can you believe that?”
Part of the deal allowing Ricky to be sprung from prison and be part of the team was that between missions, he was restricted to the ship—the Karas Evonus—that served as the team’s floating headquarters.
“I do not care,” she said.
“Ah, come on, Rosy. You can’t be that heartless.”
As he raised his beer to his lips, she said, “What is your problem? Why can you never call anyone by their proper name? It is annoying and rude. Everyone thinks this.”
He started to snort, but caught himself before beer could spew out of his mouth and nose. With great difficulty, he swallowed, then said, “Not everyone.”
“Everyone. You need to stop.”
“Has anyone told you you’re too serious?”
The bartender returned with the orange juice. Rosario drank it down without stopping. “From this point forward, I am Caroline Cruz and you are Rudy Schmidt, and we do not know each other.”
“Can you believe that name? Rudy Schmidt? Sounds like I should be serving bratwurst at Soldier Field.”
Turning away, she said, “I am going to the gate now.”
“Wait up. I’m almost done.”
She kept walking.
Upon landing in Spokane, Rosario proceeded to the Hertz rental counter and picked up the car that had been reserved for her, avoiding any further encounters with Ricky. He’d been seated at the back of the plane, far from her—thank you, Mr. Administrator—so she had walked as quickly as possible to make sure their paths didn’t cross.
She did see him one more time before reaching Bradbury. A few miles north of Spokane, he raced by on a motorcycle, beeping as he passed.
At the Collins Inn, she picked up a key to room 314, and was told her colleague was staying in the room next door. The rooms turned out to have adjoining doors, so as soon as she finished freshening up, she opened the one on her side and knocked on the other.
A moment later, a deadbolt slipped free and the door swung open.
“You made it!” Ananke said, smiling.
After a hug, she motioned Rosario into her room.
“Any problems?” Ananke asked as they walked over to a sitting area where an opened laptop sat on a table.
“Other than Ricky? No.”
Ananke paused mid-step. “Ricky?”
“We were on the same flight from Seattle.”
“Please tell me he got thrown off mid-flight.”
“If only we were so lucky.”
Ananke snickered and Rosario joined in, and soon both were laughing loudly.
When they finally calmed down, Rosario relayed what had happened on the trip to Bradbury, ending with, “He passed me a long time ago so he should be here by now. Has he checked in yet?”
“Of course not.” Ananke grabbed her phone and shot off a text.
“What about Dylan and Liesel?”
“Due in tomorrow.” Ananke’s phone buzzed. “Well, look at that. Ricky is here.”
“Is he staying in this hotel?”
“Yeah, but I made it clear to the Administrator I didn’t want him anywhere near us.” She sent another message, and the response came back within seconds. “He’s in room 201. Which is on the other side of the hotel.”
Town at the Edge of Darkness (The Excoms Book 2) Page 4
