Vanished (Private Justice Book #1): A Novel

by Irene Hannon

  Plus, she’d noticed the stupid ring.

  It wouldn’t cause any more trouble, though. He’d left it in the top drawer of his dresser after he’d removed it on Saturday, before tailing her, as a safety precaution. That’s where it would stay too. It made him sick to look at it.

  But the damage had been done.

  He tossed the wadded-up tissue in the toilet and flushed it away. Wishing he could do the same with whatever evidence Moira Harrison had stumbled across that had been powerful enough to convince the police to demand an autopsy on Verna.

  The question was, how much did she know?

  Had she also, somehow, identified Olivia?

  If so, could she have figured out his destination on that rainy night?

  A surge of panic froze his lungs.

  No. Not possible. If she had, the police would be searching Ted’s place with cadaver dogs by now.

  They soon might be, though—unless he could come up with some way to stop this thing before it went any further.

  His hands started to shake as he tried to think through his options. There weren’t many. Anything he did could raise suspicion.

  So what could he do?

  Make sure there’s nothing to find.

  As the obvious solution echoed in his mind, he swallowed past the bile that rose in this throat at the prospect of that grim task.

  Yet it had to be done. Tonight, if possible. Because if they found Olivia, they might find other incriminating evidence. A stray hair on her body, perhaps, despite the hood he’d worn. Or the stud from his tux shirt that had gone missing.

  He should have gone with the river alternative he’d considered originally, instead of opting for land disposal.

  But it was too late for second thoughts.

  Twisting his wrist, he checked the time. He was done with surgery for the day, but he had a full schedule of appointments that would keep him at the office until late afternoon.

  That was okay, though. He couldn’t risk going out to the cabin in broad daylight, anyway. He needed the cover of darkness. Besides, he had preparations to make. Things to buy. Nylon rope and concrete blocks and . . .

  His cell phone began to vibrate, and he yanked it off his belt to check caller ID. Marge. As he put it to his ear, someone else walked into the men’s room.

  Pushing through the stall door, he acknowledged his anesthesiologist.

  “No rest for the weary.” The man mouthed the words.

  Somehow Ken managed the ghost of a smile as he nodded to the man and continued toward the door.

  “What’s up, Marge?” He exited and moved toward his locker.

  “Sorry to bother you during surgery hours, but Dr. Gonzalez called again with a request for additional funds. We’re operating on fumes right now, but I wanted to talk to you before I gave him the bad news.”

  Ken yanked his jacket out of his locker. After all the work he’d put into establishing the clinic, after all he’d done to keep it alive and growing, he was not going to let his dream crumble.

  “Wire him everything that’s left except for five hundred dollars. Tell him I’ll supplement with some additional personal funds.” He could manage another short-term loan. That should hold them until Verna’s bequest came through. She’d told him her assets were in a trust, meaning no probate delays.

  “All right. We’ve been getting some donations as a result of the follow-up media coverage of the earthquake too. They’re only trickling in, but I’m praying God will provide.”

  “I’m confident he will. Tell Carlos I’ll touch base with him later today or tomorrow. I have to run.”

  He ended the call, shoved the phone back onto his belt, and slammed the locker shut.

  Those children needed Verna’s money, and he was going to make sure they got it. No one—no one—was going to derail his operation. He clenched his fists at his sides, restraining the urge to kick the locker.

  Turning, he found that his colleague had emerged from the men’s room and was watching him with a surprised expression.

  Not good.

  Kenneth Blaine was always calm, cool, and in control. In public, anyway. He couldn’t afford to let that image slip. That, too, would raise questions—and he was dealing with enough of those already.

  “Problems with the clinic?” The man walked over to his own locker.

  “The fund-raising is slow going.” He kept his tone conversational, shading it with a touch of frustration, and relaxed his fingers. “And the need is great.”

  “Those kids down there are lucky to have you. Good luck.”

  “Thanks.”

  But as Ken walked away, his mouth settled into a grim line. Luck was overrated. As far as he was concerned, people created their own luck through planning, perseverance, and hard work. By taking on the hard jobs and doing what had to be done. No matter the cost.

  Just as he had done in the past.

  Just as he would do again tonight.

  “Double bingo.” Cal set his phone back in the cradle on his desk as Dev passed his office, paused, and backed up.

  “Good news?”

  “News, anyway. That was one of my buddies from County. Verna Hafer’s attorney was more than happy to confirm she left a very sizeable chunk of her very sizeable estate to Let the Children Come. And get this—she made that change in her bequests less than a month ago.”

  Dev gave a soft whistle and dropped into one of the chairs across from his desk. “I think you’ve latched on to a big one this time.”

  “I have more. I also talked—”

  “Is this a party?” Connor stuck his head in the door.

  “Sort of.” Dev motioned him in. “Cal’s closing in on our humanitarian of the year.”

  “Yeah?” Connor settled into the chair beside Dev. “What’s the latest?”

  Cal repeated what he’d told Dev. “Here’s the other piece of news. St. Charles called five minutes ago with an address for the neighbor’s property. It’s closer to Defiance than Augusta. On a spur off the same road where Moira had the accident, a half mile farther down toward Highway 94.”

  “It would be interesting to take a look around that place.” Connor crossed an ankle over a knee. “Especially if you get a DNA match on the tooth.”

  “I had the same thought.” Cal rolled his pen between his fingers. “I might have to come up with a pretext for the neighbor to get me legally on the property this weekend.”

  “And if you don’t get permission, you could always be checking out real estate in that area and find yourself lost,” Connor offered.

  “That did occur to me.”

  “You might want to take Moira with you again,” Dev added. “A couple is always less suspicious. And if anyone does give you trouble, just tell her to smile. They’ll be putty in your hands.”

  “Thank you both for all the advice. I’ll take it under advisement.” Ignoring their grins, Cal gestured to a file in front of him. “You guys want to run through our ops plan for Mexico one last time? I spotted a few potential glitches we should discuss.”

  Connor rose and stretched. “You’re reading my mind. I’ve made a few modifications since my phone conversation with our client earlier this morning that I need to pass on anyway.”

  “I’ll grab my coffee.” Dev stood too. “But I have a call to return first. Give me ten. You want to meet in the conference room?”

  “Works for me.” Cal reached for his phone again. “I’ve got a call to make too.”

  Dev exchanged a look with Connor. “I bet it’s Moira.”

  “I don’t bet against sure things.” Connor disappeared out the door.

  “Good point.” Dev strolled off, whistling “Some Enchanted Evening.”

  Cal sent a dark look toward the doorway. He was hooked up with a bunch of comics. Shaking his head, he tapped in Moira’s number.

  Too bad they were right.

  Except he had more than a phone call in mind.

  19

  Moira pulled into t
he parking lot next to Cunetto’s, her pulse ticking up as she caught sight of a white van.

  Cal was already here.

  Pausing to check her lipstick in the rearview mirror, she tamped down the little flutter that cropped up every time she thought about the impromptu lunch invitation he’d extended three-and-a-half hours ago. So what if it was premised on business? It might be true he had some updates to pass on before he left for Mexico, but he could have done that by phone.

  This was a semi-date.

  At a real restaurant.

  And there was no trash sorting or surveillance involved.

  She’d take it.

  Three minutes later, as she entered the front door, Cal removed his sunglasses, gave her a slow, appreciative perusal, and smiled at her across the room.

  She reciprocated, which did nothing to smooth out the sudden erratic beat of her heart. In his knife-crease gray slacks, white shirt, navy blue blazer, and rep tie, he was one very appealing man. A fact the woman behind the bar had also observed, based on the not-so-discreet glances she was sending his way.

  Not that Cal had noticed. His focus was on her.

  It had been so worth juggling a few commitments and deadlines to fit this lunch into her schedule.

  As she crossed the room and joined him at the hostess desk, his smile broadened and those deep brown eyes warmed. “Hungry?”

  Oh yeah.

  She blinked. Wait. He meant food.

  A flush crept up her neck, and she did her best to keep it below the collar of her mock turtleneck. “Starved. Your idea to come to The Hill was inspired. They have the best Italian food this side of Italy. And this place has killer cannelloni.”

  “No arguments from me. Besides, I owe you after the veggie sticks and peanut butter routine last weekend.”

  He took her arm as they followed the hostess to a table, the gesture merely polite—but that didn’t stop her from savoring the proprietary touch of his fingers on her bare arm.

  Once they were seated and had ordered, Cal leaned forward. “I have news.”

  She draped her napkin across her lap and rested her forearms on the table. “And I’ve been waiting with bated breath to hear it. You have my full attention.”

  As he passed on the latest information, all of which reinforced their conclusion that Blaine was playing a deadly game, some of her upbeat mood evaporated.

  When he finished, she caught her lower lip between her teeth. “So now that we know Verna Hafer left a large bequest to Let the Children Come, and we also know Blaine needs funds for the clinic, can we assume he decided to step in and claim it sooner than God intended?”

  “I think that would be a safe bet. Her drug screen will tell us a lot.”

  “Weeks down the road.” She tapped a finger on the white tablecloth. “Did the lab have any luck with the syringe?”

  “No. There were no prints, which didn’t surprise me. I think we’re dealing with a very thorough, careful subject. And as I suspected, there wasn’t enough liquid left inside to test.”

  “Did you hear from your lab about the DNA on the tooth?”

  “Not yet. I’m hoping to get the results tomorrow.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  The waiter delivered their salads, and Cal dived in. “Nothing at the moment. Except hope Blaine stumbles. We know he’s nervous, or he wouldn’t have been watching you. He’ll be more nervous when he finds out about Verna’s autopsy. Since his wife”—he shot her a quick smile—“didn’t pass on the news that she died, he’ll stop in as usual to visit her next week. It would look odd if he didn’t, given she’s on his regular circuit. And nervous people make mistakes.”

  She suppressed a shudder and forked up some of her own salad. “I still can’t believe a man like that would be involved in such a nefarious scheme. Why would he do it? He has position, prestige, power. He’s been lauded for his charitable efforts by the governor, by the media, by other organizations. And he does commendable work in Guatemala. It doesn’t compute.”

  “It does to him.”

  Moira tipped her head. “What do you mean?”

  Shrugging, Cal continued to chase lettuce and cheese around his plate. “In his own mind, whatever he’s done or is doing makes sense. It always does to the killer.”

  Killer.

  Her bite of salad jammed halfway down her throat, and Moira picked up her glass of water to wash it down. “Hearing that actually put into words is jolting.”

  “I think it’s accurate, though.” He waited while the server set their dishes of cannelloni on the table, then fixed her with an intent look. “I want you to promise you’ll be careful while I’m gone.”

  Her heart skipped a beat—and this time the stumble wasn’t due to chemistry. “You don’t really think he’d come after me, do you?”

  “Desperation can send people over the edge. He can’t know how much you know, and that has to be driving him crazy. Correction: crazier. It would be foolish for him to target you, and he’s been smart up till now. I don’t think there’s any real danger, but killers aren’t always predictable.” He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. “I wish we had enough to justify a full-blown official investigation, but we’re not there yet.”

  “I’m beginning to wonder if we ever will be.” Moira gathered what was left of her salad into a small, neat pile in the center of her plate. “He’s covered his tracks well. We might never find a connection that’s more than circumstantial.”

  “Maybe not. But we’re rapidly approaching a preponderance of evidence that’s both clear and convincing. And if we exhume a few bodies, that will add even more weight to the case.”

  “Finding out what happened to Olivia would help too.”

  “I agree—and I have a feeling the neighbor’s property may hold the key to that, given its proximity to your accident site. I’m going to see if I can get permission from the owner to do a walk-through this weekend, using some sort of pretext.”

  “If you want some company, I’m available.”

  Amusement softening his lips, he set aside his salad plate and moved the cannelloni front and center. “Dev suggested that.”

  “The one who thinks I’m hot?” She shot him an answering smile and batted her eyelashes.

  “That’s the one. Rather than asking permission, he suggested we pose as a lost couple looking for property to buy—who happened to wander onto Ted’s land.”

  “I could play that role.”

  He broke off a piece of cannelloni with the edge of his fork. “You’re really getting into this pretext thing, aren’t you?”

  More the couple thing than the pretext thing . . . but she left that unsaid.

  She started on her own entrée. “I just want this over as soon as possible. If there’s anything I can do to help, count me in.”

  “I’ll hold you to that this weekend. Plan on a drive to the country. Now why don’t we enjoy the rest of our lunch without discussing mayhem and murder?”

  “I’ll drink to that.” She lifted her water glass, and he clinked his against it.

  True to his word, he kept the conversation light during the remainder of the meal, even managing to elicit some laughs with stories about a few of Phoenix’s tamer investigations. She got a good chuckle out of the one about an insurance fraud case in which they videotaped the subject, who’d claimed to have a disabling back injury, competing in a bowling tournament and skydiving.

  By the time they parted, she felt more relaxed.

  Until he mentioned Mexico again as he walked her to her car.

  “Remember, call anytime if you need me. Our BlackBerries are calibrated to work outside the United States, so you can reach me with no problem.”

  “Okay.” She pressed the auto button on her key chain, and her locks clicked open. “But you’ll be a long way away.”

  Faint furrows appeared on his brow as he stopped beside her car. “If for any reason you sense danger, don’t hesitate to call 911. That’s why they’
re there.”

  “To be honest, I’m more worried about you. It sounds like you could meet up with some rough characters down there.”

  He smiled, and the furrows disappeared. “We can handle it. Don’t worry, okay? Although I must admit I’m flattered by your concern.”

  She did her best to match his lighter tone. “You should be. I don’t give my concern to every man I meet, you know.”

  “I know.” His eyes softened, turning his irises velvet brown, and he lifted his hand to finger her hair.

  She stopped breathing.

  Then he bent down and oh-so-gently brushed his lips over hers.

  Her eyelids flickered closed. The rest of the world faded away. The ground beneath her shifted.

  Had she stepped into a romance novel, or what?

  When he backed off, she groped for the car behind her. She needed something steady—and solid—to hang on to.

  Once more the corners of his mouth flexed up. As if he’d discerned the dramatic effect his kiss had had on her—and was pleased. “I’ll call you as soon as I get back, okay?”

  “Okay.” The word came out shaky, and she cleared her throat.

  He pulled her door open, and she slid in. After two tries, she got her key in the ignition, started the engine, and backed out.

  Right before she lost sight of him in her rearview mirror, he raised his hand in farewell. As if he’d expected her to be watching him until the last minute.

  And that was okay. She wanted him to know she was interested. Very interested. That was why she wasn’t crazy about this Mexico trip. But he’d be back soon—and she had the weekend reconnaissance outing with him to look forward to.

  In the interim, she’d just have to put up with a few boring days on her end.

  Because despite Cal’s warning to be careful, she seriously doubted Ken Blaine would be foolish enough to put her in his sights.

  There was a light on in the cabin.

  Ken peered through the woods at Ted’s modest weekend retreat and killed his headlights.

  Who could be there? Ted had told him once he’d never offered its use to anyone else. Only his longtime friend and trusted neighbor. And the older man hadn’t been out here in a long while.