The Stolen Girl
A Miranda and Parker Mystery
Book 12
Linsey Lanier
Copyright © 2018 Linsey Lanier
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Felicity Books
ISBN: 978-1-941191-52-1
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On a sunny winter afternoon in West Hollywood, California, a seven-year-old girl gets into a car with a stranger.
Two hours later a single mother receives a call telling her not to go to the police.
On the other side of the country, Miranda and Parker are sparring in the gym—until a colleague tells them her sister’s daughter is missing and begs them to help.
A kidnapping? A missing little girl?
Of course, they have to help. With thoughts of the desperate search for her own daughter, Miranda boards the next plane to LA, along with Parker and the team.
But when they arrive in tinsel town, the clues are sparse. Locating the little girl seems hopeless, and soon they find themselves at the kidnapper’s mercy.
But is this just a kidnapping?
Or is it something much worse?
You’ll want to read this next installment in the Miranda and Parker Mystery series, because it will keep you guessing.
Edited by
Editing for You
Books by Linsey Lanier
Linsey’s Amazon Author page
THE MIRANDA’S RIGHTS MYSTERY SERIES
Someone Else’s Daughter
Delicious Torment
Forever Mine
Fire Dancer
Thin Ice
THE MIRANDA AND PARKER MYSTERY SERIES
All Eyes on Me
Heart Wounds
Clowns and Cowboys
The Watcher
Zero Dark Chocolate
Trial by Fire
Smoke Screen
The Boy
Snakebit
Mind Bender
Roses from My Killer
The Stolen Girl
Vanishing Act
(more to come)
OTHER SUSPENSE BOOKS BY LINSEY LANIER:
Chicago Cop (A cop family thriller)
Steal My Heart (A Romantic Suspense)
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter One
Imogen Wesson didn’t always like the teacher at her elementary school in West Hollywood, but today she thought she was just great.
Ms. Bishop told the class they would be going into second grade soon, and it was never too early to think about the future. Their assignment was to write about what they wanted to be when they grew up.
Imogen knew what she was going to write about. And as the bell rang and she pulled on her backpack and headed out the door, her mind raced with ideas.
She wanted to be either an astronaut or a zookeeper. Or a rock star.
A zookeeper, she decided following the rest of the kids out to the waiting buses. She loved animals.
She’d been begging her mother for a puppy. In fact, she’d asked for one that morning before school. But Mommy said they couldn’t have one in their apartment. And they were both too busy to take care of a puppy. She’d gotten mad at Mommy and said she didn’t care about her. She said she bet her Daddy would let her have a puppy.
She hadn’t mean that.
She was sorry she’d said that to Mommy. When she got home, she’d tell her so. And maybe if she made good grades, maybe Mommy would let her have a puppy for her birthday.
Though that was a long way away.
No, not a zookeeper, she thought. She wanted to be a veterinarian.
Thinking about what it would be like to play with puppies and kittens every day, Imogen lingered along the blue fence. As she peered through the gate, something caught her eye.
A squirrel was sitting on the lawn in front of the school chewing on a nut he held in his little paws. He was looking straight at her. She glanced back at her bus. Most of the other kids were climbing aboard, but she still had a little time.
Trying to be quiet, Imogen opened the gate and took a few steps toward the animal.
“Hello, there,” she said, grinning.
The squirrel froze, dropped its nut, and scampered away across the grass and up a nearby tree.
“Oh, you didn’t have to run away,” Imogen pouted, wondering if she really could be a veterinarian.
Then her gaze drifted to the street.
A man stood behind one of the skinny trees growing in the sidewalk. Imogen had always thought it was funny to plant trees in the cement.
The man was tall and dressed in black leather. He had tattoos on his arms, like her daddy. Was it her daddy? She hadn’t seen him in so long, she wasn’t sure.
He was staring at her and smiling. He seemed friendly in a scary sort of way. And familiar.
Slowly she inched toward him.
He bent down and his smile grew bigger. “Hello there, Imogen.”
She sucked in a breath. The man knew her name. “Daddy?” she said softly, her heart starting to beat faster.
“I’m a friend of your Daddy’s. He’d like to see you.”
“He would?”
The man nodded. “He sent me to get you and take you to him.”
“He did?” She’d dreamed abou
t her father coming to get her.
“C’mon. My car’s right over there.” He held out a hand to her.
It was big and rough. Don’t go with strangers, Mommy always told her. But this man wasn’t a stranger. He was Daddy’s friend.
She put her hand in his and let him lead her to the car. It was an old car. The side was dented. As she climbed inside, she saw the seat was torn. The man closed the door, then came around the other side and got in beside her.
He snapped a seatbelt around her. “Don’t want anything to happen to you,” he chuckled, then he started the car and drove away.
She watched the apartment building across the street fade away as they rolled down the street. This was the same direction the bus took every day. She recognized the bushes and the houses.
Was this man taking her to Mommy’s shop? Was Daddy with Mommy? Were they getting back together?
But then they were on the big street with the tall palm trees, and she was sure the bus would have turned by now. They passed a place with a big orange machine. A crane. They were building something here. Green pipes held up a ceiling with no walls.
She turned around and peered out the back window. She didn’t see the bus anywhere.
They were on a wide highway now, with grassy places and lots of trees. She didn’t recognize it.
They drove and drove.
“My Daddy must live very far away,” she said at last.
“It’s only a little longer.”
“Maybe he’ll take me for ice cream when we get there.”
“Maybe.” But there was a scary sound in the man’s voice now.
Mommy never let her have ice cream after school. She made her eat a sandwich. If she finished all her dinner later, then she might get ice cream, but she usually didn’t.
The man made so many turns, Imogen didn’t know where she was. They were on a big street she didn’t recognize at all, with lots of auto repair places. “Trans—mis—sion,” she read on one sign.
Then the man turned down a side street, drove a few blocks, and slowed.
They were at a light green two-story house with dark red trim and a short driveway. It looked funny. It didn’t have a front door. Imogen wondered how they would get in. Then the man turned into the drive, pressed a button, and the garage door opened. He drove into a tidy garage and pressed the button again to close the door behind them.
It was dark in here, and Imogen was frightened. “Where’s my Daddy?”
“Inside. I’ll take you to him.”
She didn’t believe the man, but it was too late to change her mind now.
She got out of the car and followed the man up a short step and into a kitchen. It was small and the edges of the countertops were chipped. On the other side of the refrigerator there was a door. It smelled bad in here. Like someone had forgotten to take out the garbage.
She moved away from the man and hurried into a nearby living room. The furniture looked old and worn here, but there was nobody here.
“Where’s my Daddy?”
“He’s at work. He’ll be home soon.”
“I think you should take me back home now.”
“Sorry. Can’t do that.”
“What if I run away?”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“Yes, I am. I’m going right out that door.” She pointed toward the kitchen.
Though she had no idea what she’d do outside. Would someone help her? Mommy made her memorize her address, but right now, she couldn’t think of it.
She moved toward the kitchen again. The man blocked her.
“I said, you’re not going anywhere.” He sounded mean now.
“Yes, I am.” She tried to go past him.
Before she could get around him, he bent down and picked her up in his arms. She beat against him with her fists, but it didn’t do any good.
He carried her down a hall to a small room. She kicked and screamed, trying to get away from him, but he was too strong.
He stuffed her under one arm and opened the door to the room. It was a dirty place with a mattress on the floor and a wrinkled blanket on top of it. It smelled bad in here, too. He wasn’t going to make her lay down on that. She wouldn’t.
But instead he carried her to the corner and opened another door. A closet.
Was he going to put her in there? No! She screamed again. Then she did the only thing she could think of. She bit his arm.
“Ow. You little bitch, you.”
But he let go of her and she dropped to the floor.
She ran.
She almost got to the hall. Almost got away. Then he lunged for her. His big hand clamped around her arm hard, making her cry out.
“Leave me alone!”
“Shut up.” He picked her up and carried her to the closet.
He slung open the door, tossed her inside and shut the door in her face.
She could hear him locking it from the outside. She banged on the door. “Let me out of here.”
“Shut up, I said.”
“My Mommy will call the police. They’ll put you in jail.”
“No, she won’t. Not if she knows what’s good for her.”
And then she heard the man walk away.
She sat down on the floor. It was dusty and smelly like the rest of the place. She began to cry. Why hadn’t she listened to what Mommy told her? Why had she got into the car with that bad man?
Where was her Daddy? Gone. He had been gone for a long time. He was never coming back.
“I’m sorry, Mommy,” she blubbered into her hands. “I’ll never be angry with you again.”
All she wanted was to go home, but she had no idea how to do that. She didn’t know what to do.
Except cry.
Chapter Two
Olivia Wesson was having a bad day.
First her diva hairstylist had called in sick. Roberto’s schedule was booked solid, so she had to fill in for him herself. Two of her regulars got their appointments mixed up, and she had to do both of them at the same time during a break, without letting the other think she was getting short changed.
Mrs. McDougall wanted a full makeover, which Olivia normally loved doing. She didn’t have time for it today and had to hand it off to another operator. Then Tennille and Nanette, two of her other operators, starting fussing at each other and she had to referee. Plus answer the phone which had been ringing off the hook all day. And she hadn’t even gotten to last year’s books so she could be ready for her appointment with the accountant next week.
She loved running Lavish Looks. She’d worked hard to make the upscale beauty salon a success since she’d bought it four years ago. But today, by the time the afternoon rolled around, all she wanted was to get off her feet.
She finished blow drying a young woman who spent the whole session bragging about being invited to a party in Beverly Hills, and collapsed into a nearby chair.
Suddenly Olivia realized something was missing. Someone. She reached for her phone to check the time. After three.
She looked around the salon. “Where’s Imogen?”
Tennille was combing out a customer in the chair behind her. She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Did you see her come in?”
The tall dark-skinned woman with the short copper hair who looked like a fashion model shook her head.
Imogen usually said hello to everyone when she came in after the bus let her off outside. Olivia shot up onto her aching feet and hurried toward the little break room behind the Ladies room in the back of the shop. She peered inside at the small table where Imogen did her homework while she waited for Olivia to finish up before they went home.
It was empty.
No backpack. No books. No pencils or crayons. No sign of her daughter.
She stepped across the floor, opened the fridge, and found the peanut butter sandwich on seven-grain bread she’d made for her that morning. It was untouched.
She didn’t know what to think. Surely
the bus had let Imogen off as usual.
She hurried back through the store and out the front.
Her salon was in the middle of the second floor of a two-story strip mall with a white stucco exterior. It was mid-January and cool, though the temperature never got too extreme in LA.
Rubbing her arms from nerves rather than the weather, Olivia peered over the banister and onto the parking lot below. It was about half full of cars. A couple was climbing into a red Volkswagen. No little girl out there.
The bus always let her off alongside the curb on La Cienega. Right in front of the mall. Did Imogen decide to sit down somewhere and—do what? There was nothing along the street but antique stores and home furnishing shops. Nothing to interest a little girl.
A skateboarder rolled by on the sidewalk in the distance. Would she have followed someone like that? No. She knew to come straight in.
Maybe she wasn’t on the bus. How could that happen?
What kind of mother was she, not to see her daughter wasn’t on the bus?
No, this was a good area, Olivia reminded herself. And the bus driver always made sure Imogen had climbed up the stairs and was inside the shop before pulling off.
She should call the school. She turned around and made her way back into the store.
Had Imogen gone out the rear exit? There was nothing there but an alley and dumpsters.
And then she remembered the argument she’d had with her daughter that morning.
She wanted a puppy, and Olivia had said no. She’d told her she didn’t have time to talk about it then. Imogen had gotten so mad at her, she hadn’t even kissed her goodbye.
Had she—run away?
In a half daze, Olivia made her way to the back again and sank down into the chair at the table. Where was her daughter?
After her break up with her no-good live-in six years ago, Olivia had struggled hard to make a life for herself and her daughter. They’d been staying in a bad part of Culver City. A place where she’d been afraid to go out at night. It had taken all she had to move to West Hollywood.
She’d worked two jobs and gone to beauty school part time on a loan. She’d even had to go crawling back to her parents and beg forgiveness for how she’d left home years ago.
Worse, she’d always had to wrestle with her guilt about not being there enough for her daughter since she was working so much. But she had to do it to give Imogen the best life she could.
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