Racing Against Time

by Marie Ferrarella

  “Then you’re not going to investigate them?”

  She hadn’t meant to give him the wrong impression. “Oh, yes, every one of them. Even the ones in prison.” Just because a person was in prison didn’t mean he or she couldn’t reach out and arrange for a heinous crime to be committed in their name. It wasn’t just the arm of the law that was long, but the criminals, as well. She looked down at the files. “I just wanted some alone time with them. I’ll bring them back tomorrow.” As she spoke, she began making out a list of the files she was taking with her. Callie glanced up at him, a half smile on her lips. “I promise.”

  “No need to promise, I find you eminently trustworthy, Detective Cavanaugh.” The formal edge from his voice faded as he added, “And I’m glad you’re the one working on this case.”

  That caught her off guard. “Why?”

  “You’re not the only one who hears rumors.” He pulled the drapes closed. “You have a reputation of never giving up.” Brent crossed back to her. “Right now I need someone like that on my team.”

  “Rachel’s team,” she corrected. And because it was about a child, it galvanized all of them on a task force that much more firmly. “This is all about your little girl, and none of us are going to rest until we find her.” She could see what he was thinking. “Alive,” she added to chase away the look on his face.

  A small, grateful smile curved his lips as he nodded his head. “Thank you. You know, I didn’t realize how weak I was until this morning.”

  “Weak?” That was the last word she would have applied to him.

  But it was the way he thought of himself right now. He was vainly trying to suppress an all-pervasive, weak-in-the-knees feeling. “Part of me feels like everything inside is collapsing.”

  Figuratively, she’d held more than her share of hands. “The other part is filled with rage, right?”

  She’d picked the right word, Brent thought. Rage. Pure, white-hot rage. It undulated through him now. “How did you—?”

  “You’re not my first distraught parent,” Callie replied. “And the rage helps balance things out inside, putting everything on a more even keel. But you’re not weak.” The list finished, she handed it to him and picked up the files, tucking them against her chest. “You’re just human. I can tell you that if you didn’t feel this way, then you’d be right up there on the top of our suspect list.”

  “So you’ve cleared me?” It was a rhetorical question. He assumed she had. Crossing to the doorway, he held the door open for her. When she stepped through, he locked it behind her.

  The floor looked deserted. Only every other light was on, part of the energy conservation push that was going on in California.

  “No, you cleared you,” she corrected as they walked toward the elevator. “I just listened to the facts as you talked.”

  That was a relief, he supposed. He couldn’t imagine a worse situation than having the police think that he was involved in any other way than he actually was. He pressed for the elevator, then looked at the files she was holding. Was she also inadvertently holding Rachel’s fate in her hands, as well?

  “Do you really think he’s in there?”

  That was the sixty-four-million-dollar question. “If he is, we’ll find him.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  She wasn’t going to insult Brent by giving him a definite answer without a solid foundation. She liked to pick her occasions for that, and she had already sworn to him that he’d be reunited with his daughter, something logically she knew she couldn’t really promise.

  So instead, she gave him the rationale behind the search. “I think it’s highly likely. And right now, it’s our best bet.”

  He nodded, knowing he couldn’t ask for more. Other than getting Rachel back.

  The black-and-white container of Rocky Road ice cream was leaving an irregular sweat ring on her coffee table. For the moment, engrossed in what she was reading, Callie had forgotten that it was even there. Ice cream, diet soda and M&Ms were her diet of choice every time she became entrenched in a case. She knew that it would have driven her father wild if he knew, but then, the preponderance of her meals were taken at the house and he saw to it that she was well fed most of the time.

  Desperate times called for desperate food.

  Her feet curled under her, Callie sat on her sofa, the files divided into two piles on the coffee table, safely out of the range of the ice cream container with its spreading sweat ring. One pile contained the more dominant suspects, the ones Brent thought of as more dangerous.

  The people within the files comprised a spectrum of humanity. Not all were hardened criminals. She’d noted that there was even a disgraced former computer CEO in the lot. He’d actually been the judge’s first case. Not a very pleasant man to deal with according to the file. One of those creatures who believed himself superior to the general population. He was also one of the ones who was currently in prison. She couldn’t see the man engineering a jailbreak to get back at the man who’d sent him away. He was more the type to earn himself a law degree and argue his way out just to show up Brent.

  Still, she’d go see him, or send one of the others on the task force to do it. As she would all the other people in the files on her coffee table. Every possible lead had to be looked into. Just like every call that came in from well-meaning citizens had to be heard to, logged and checked out.

  Putting the file down on the sofa next to her, she reached for the container. The spoon she’d left in it, its lower edge buried in a rock-solid portion of chocolate, was now listing to one side, its foundation softening to the consistency of hard pudding. She didn’t care. She was partial to ice cream soup, sometimes preferred it. Took the effort out of chipping away at a frozen portion of ice cream for the next mouthful.

  Dark-blue eyes suddenly flashed through her mind. Sad dark-blue eyes.

  She had no business sitting here feeding her face, when he was home, worried out of his mind, and his little girl was who knew where.

  With a sigh Callie got up to return the container to the freezer before she had a pool of Rocky Road on her coffee table, then made a beeline for the files.

  On her way to the kitchen, she noticed that it was after one in the morning. No rest for the weary, she thought. She wondered if Brent had managed to fall asleep yet, and if he had, if he could sleep peacefully.

  With the softened container of ice cream now butted up against a stack of frozen vegetables, Callie returned to the sofa and the remaining files she had yet to study.

  The long night got longer.

  Chapter 6

  Callie woke up to the sound of Brent’s voice. Or rather, to the ringing of the telephone, which, once she finished fumbling for the receiver buried under a file on her nightstand, led her to the sound of the judge’s baritone voice.

  “Any news?”

  Realizing that her eyes were still shut, Callie pried them open and tried to focus. On the room and on the question.

  Bits and pieces of last night returned, falling into place like a kaleidoscope rolling down a hill. The image kept changing, but the kaleidoscope remained a given. Callie glanced down. She’d fallen asleep in her clothes again, propped up against a mountain of pillows on her bed, surrounded by the files. Hoping there was such a thing as osmosis when it came to breakthroughs because, heaven knew, she wasn’t making any the regular way.

  Taking care not to send any of the files tumbling to the floor, Callie sat up slowly and dragged a hand through her hair, pushing it away from her face. There was a syrupy taste in her mouth that had turned sickeningly sweet. One last hit of Rocky Road before trudging off to the bedroom was the culprit responsible. She ran her tongue along her teeth, willing the taste away. When would she learn?

  “No,” she told Brent, hating the fact that she had nothing new to tell him, no new lifeline, however thin, to toss him. “I’m sorry.”

  Callie heard him attempt to suppress a sigh. He was less than successful. The so
und of his breath rippled through her. As did the short, scratchy noise that followed. His stubble rubbing against the mouthpiece, she guessed. It had an intimate sound that pulled a response from her she didn’t want touched.

  Get hold of yourself, Cavanaugh, she silently ordered, exasperated.

  Of all the times to have her barriers need retooling, she couldn’t have picked a worse one. Whatever attraction she might have once had for Brent Montgomery was going to have to be pushed into the background again until all this was over. Anything else wasn’t ethical.

  Blinking, she looked at the wristwatch she never removed except for the length of time it took her to take a shower. “I’ll be heading into the office in about ninety minutes, let me call you from there. Better yet, meet me,” she suggested. “I’ve got a few questions to ask you about this motley crew.”

  “Motley crew?”

  Tucking the receiver against her ear, she began gathering up the files before they had a chance to spill their contents on the bed and mingle. “The people in the case files.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  It would give him a direction to go in, Brent thought, hanging up. Something to focus on. God knew he needed that.

  His sister and brother-in-law had tried to persuade him to come stay with them at their house. He’d politely but firmly turned them down. He knew they were both concerned, both meant well, but he didn’t want to be subjected to their barely veiled looks of sympathy and compassion. He couldn’t deal with that. He wanted nothing more right now than to just operate on automatic pilot, moving ever forward until he could sweep his daughter back into his arms.

  Automatic pilot meant getting less than three hours of sleep.

  He’d sleep once Rachel was back.

  Brent looked down at the receiver he’d just replaced on his desk. He supposed he should try reaching Jennifer again, although the first two attempts had been futile. Brent sighed. He didn’t need any added frustration, however minor.

  Contact with Jennifer was never minor frustration, he reminded himself. No matter how cool and even-tempered he tried to be, with Jennifer it always felt as if there was a major blowup on the way. Jennifer knew how to push every single wrong button in his makeup. It was obviously a gift.

  But, like it or not, she was Rachel’s mother, and she deserved to hear the news from him before he held the press conference he’d been putting off. It was scheduled for nine this morning in front of the police station.

  Maybe it had been the wrong thing to do, not going to the press immediately, but he’d held on to the hope that Rachel could be found without his resorting to a public appeal. It was against his nature to willingly draw the huge volume of media attention that one of these cases always attracted. Attention and nut cases. He’d tried so hard to shield Rachel, to create a perfect world for her.

  Or as perfect as was possible with only one parent emotionally available to her.

  With a sigh, he reached for the telephone and tapped out first Jennifer’s home number and then the one that connected him to her cell phone. The first got him the same answering machine recording he’d already listened to twice before. There was no point in leaving another message. She obviously hadn’t received, or at the very least, chosen not to answer either of them.

  The second number only put him in touch with the same annoying message he’d received each time he called. That she was either not answering or out of the service provider’s area.

  The latter was probably the case. Jennifer was supposed to be off somewhere in Nevada on vacation. Nothing ever got in the way of her having a good time, he thought with uncustomary bitterness. He had no idea exactly where his ex-wife was. That information hadn’t been forthcoming from her, not that he’d wanted it at the time. He wouldn’t even have known she was going to Nevada if she hadn’t let it slip to Rachel during the last minute of a parental visit she’d paid the girl over a month ago.

  He listened to the cell message, frowning. He had more important things to do than stand here, listening to disembodied recordings prevent him from making any human contact.

  Slamming down the receiver in its cradle, Brent went to get dressed.

  When he didn’t spend too much time bugging her about the fact that she looked tired, something she knew for a fact to be evident at first glance despite her artful application of makeup, or that she’d arrived late for breakfast again, Callie knew something was up with her father. It wasn’t like him not to make continual suggestions and observations.

  She knew she should count her blessings and get going right after she’d paid her obligatory visit and consumed a piece of toast, but Callie couldn’t just leave him this way.

  So she lingered over her breakfast, waiting until Rayne and the twins filed out. Patrick and Patience, who’d put in a quick appearance earlier that morning, had already left. Shaw had never shown up. The case he was working on had taken him down to L.A. and he’d wanted to get a quick jump on traffic.

  As if that was possible in California.

  Callie watched while her youngest sister kissed Andrew goodbye and then closed the door behind her. She turned and gave her father a long, penetrating look, the same one he gave her whenever he was digging. “Okay, Dad, tell me what gives.”

  Andrew avoided her eyes as he dumped the large frying pan into the sink. Hot water met the greasy surface. “What do you mean?”

  “You didn’t bother giving me the third-degree this morning. About anything.”

  He looked at her over his shoulder as he placed the pan on the counter, to be washed later. “Would it have helped?”

  She talked only when she wanted to. She was as stubborn as he was that way. “No.”

  “Maybe it’s an old dog learning new tricks.”

  Ha, that would be the day. Callie held up one finger, “One, you’re not an old dog and two,” a second finger joined the first, “you already know every trick in the book.”

  The disgruntled expression didn’t leave his face. “I guess those are supposed to be compliments.”

  “Observations.” Because she was feeling too much energy to just stand still, even in her tired state, Callie began to clear the table. “Now, I want to know. What’s wrong?”

  He stopped moving around to look at the calendar before looking at her. “You know what today is?”

  She blew out a breath as she thought for a second. “Wednesday? Two weeks away from Halloween?” But even as she said the last sentence, it dawned on her, going off in her head like a delayed flash from a still camera. “It’s Mom’s birthday.”

  Andrew nodded, trying not to notice that even after all these years his throat still filled up at the thought of being without Rose. “She would have been fifty today.” Facing the window, he looked out sadly across the backyard, a backyard that had once been privy to such happy times. “And I would have teased her mercilessly about it.”

  Callie gently laid a hand on her father’s shoulder. Even at his age the man still had a powerful build. He’d always been such a source of strength for her. She wished she could give him some of hers right now. It touched her with both pride and anguish that he still missed her mother after all this time. Another man would have long ago found someone else to fill the space. Still, it hurt to see him alone. One day all of them were going to be gone and the house would be empty. He needed someone his own age to be with.

  “Dad, you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

  Andrew cleared his throat. He didn’t usually wallow in self-pity. That wasn’t like him. Drawing himself up, he turned his attention to his firstborn daughter. It was about his kids, it was always about his kids. They were what had kept him going all these years.

  That, and the hope that Rose was alive somewhere.

  He snorted at her advice. “Said the one who’s still grieving after a whole year’s gone by.” He pinned her with a look. “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, kiddo. Don’t waste it.”

  Callie withdrew her hand an
d stepped back, shaking her head. She might have known. “How did this get to be a conversation about me?”

  Andrew winked at her. “Didn’t you know? Every conversation is about you.”

  “I’ve got to get going.” Bracing her hand on his shoulder, she reached up and brushed a kiss against his cheek. “Maybe I’ll stop by tonight and we’ll do something.”

  “Maybe,” he agreed, knowing that even though she meant it, she wouldn’t be by. When Callie was on a case, she became consumed with it.

  Just the way he’d always been.

  Walking her to the back door, Andrew watched her leave, then closed the door behind her. He glanced at the dishes in the sink and along the counter, waiting to be prepared for the dishwasher. Leaving them where they were, he went to his den. Where the missing person’s file was spread out across his desk.

  The one with his wife’s name on it.

  Hurrying through the parking lot, Callie recognized Brent’s car parked in the section marked Visitors just before she reached the building. Brent was here already. Her heart surprised her by doing something akin to a hiccup in her chest.

  Maybe she was going through a second adolescence, she thought disparagingly. She’d told him to meet her here, hadn’t she? What was the matter with her?

  If this was what lack of sleep did, she was going to have to make a point of getting at least four hours a night, otherwise, she wasn’t going to be of any decent use to anyone.

  Muttering under her breath, she headed up the stone steps and into the five-story building.

  Callie made a point of stopping by the forensic lab before she went to her office. Any information they’d come up with from the crime scene would be more than she had at her disposal at the moment.

  The head pathologist shook his head in response to her question. “Not much yet, we’re still processing our findings from the autopsy. There’s a partial imprint of a grill on the woman’s chest.” Callie tried not to shiver as she listened. “Looks like the kidnapper might have been driving a Mercedes.”